Chrissie

Randy finally tensed up, wrenched my ears harder and shot his load down my throat before wiping his dick on my wig.

"Good job, sissy. Now, clean yourself up and get started on that damn carburetor."

While Randy worked on his truck, I sat on a bench nearby, scouring the caked-on muck from the carburetor, which, as promised, was incredibly difficult to remove. The job took nearly two hours, with the final half-hour spent alone in the garage after Randy finished his tinkering and headed inside.

When the carburetor was polished to a high gloss, I fixed my makeup and teetered through the kitchen door that led to the garage. The clacking of my heels on the linoleum caused the occupants of the living room to look away from the movie they were watching.

"That carburetor all set?" Randy asked from his easy chair.

"Yes, sir, it's clean, sir."

"Good job, sissy, bring me a beer." He turned back to the adventure movie blaring from the TV.

After I fetched his Corona, Marlene nodded toward the kitchen. "I want that refrigerator cleaned out real good tonight, Chrissie, and the stove, too."

"Yes, Ma'am." Inwardly, I sighed. More work, meaning less sleep for me.

Emily hit her vaping pen and frowned. "There was a huge smudge on the heel of my red boots, Chrissie; didn't you say you polished all my shoes last week?"

"Um, I ... I did, Miss. I'm so sorry; I must've missed that."

"Well, next time do it right, loser."

"Y-yes, Miss. I'm sorry." The bitchy 18-year-old was so haughty, it made me horny and caused my little dick to swell inside my cage — bringing excruciating pain from the needles. I managed to keep my whimper silent, having had much practice after two months of imprisonment in the dastardly device.

Other than calls for drink refills, nobody bothered me further as they got back into their movie while I scurried around them cleaning. The entire time, I was haunted by the vision of Rebecca snuggled in the arms of Tristan Fucking Huxley, whose square-jawed features had graced the cover of my industry's largest trade publication while I toiled away in an obscure cubicle. I kept wondering how tall he was, hoping he might be a shrimp like me, but knowing in my heart that he was probably 6'4, as well as being handsome, successful and rich.

Because I'd been cleaning the Stricklands' house weekly, there wasn't a ton to do after finishing the stove and refrigerator, so I managed to have the whole place done shortly after their movie ended. Emily and Ian retired to her bedroom upstairs, and it wasn't long before I could hear their groans and the bedsprings squeaking. In the household Rebecca grew up in, there was nothing unusual about an 18-year-old girl dragging her boyfriend home and loudly fucking him while her parents were right downstairs.

Nor was there anything unusual about what happened next:

I had just finishing cleaning and was removing my wig, ready to change clothes and head over to Ian's to start on his place, when Randy shook his head pointed to the staircase.

"Uh-uh, put that wig back on; I want you in the bedroom, Chrissie." He grinned. "You ain't getting off that easy."

With my head hung low, I followed him upstairs to his room, where Marlene was kicked back in bed playing a game on her iPad.

Randy joined his wife on the mattress and leered at me. "We're gonna make this one nice and slow, okay, sissy?"

"Yes, sir."

"If I fall asleep, go ahead and let yourself out."

"Y-yes, sir."

Marlene scoffed. "I'm glad you're here to do that, Chrissie, because there's no way I'm gonna."

I blinked twice to acknowledge her but by then she was focused on her tablet.

With a defeated sigh, I started sucking Randy's dick while he relaxed next to his wife watching TV. After about an hour, both of them were snoring, so I slipped off the bed, wiped my mouth and headed downstairs to change. I drove to Ian's apartment, where I cleaned into the night, dragging ass the whole time. The kid was a fucking slob; in addition to the place being trashed from his party, there was dogshit in the living room that had obviously sat there for days. Luckily, Ian's pit bull Sarge was either too old or too lazy to do anything but growl when I got near him, and the beast didn't otherwise molest me.

It was past 4am when I finally stumbled home. My exhaustion turned to heartache when I saw no sign of Rebecca, and realized she was most likely spending the night with Mr. Wonderful.

I wobbled around the foyer for a few seconds before dashing to the bathroom. Lifting the toilet seat, I puked my guts out.

Part XXI

Rebecca danced in the mirror, fluffing her hair and singing a bubbly Katy Perry tune that sounded more like a funeral dirge to me.

"Cuz baby, you're a firework / Come on, show 'em what you're worth / Make 'em go, "Oh, oh, oh" / As you shoot across the sky"

Firework, my ass, I grumbled under my breath as I sat on the carpet just outside the master bathroom polishing my angel's flats and peeking up at her every few seconds to watch her primp. Her new boyfriend was coming over for the first time to enjoy a romantic dinner, and I had been tasked with cooking and serving it. While that made my princess happy, it sucked for me, and her cheerful warbling was only making it worse. I sure as hell wasn't looking forward to facing this asshole, although according to Rebecca he was fascinated with her having "a little sissy slave," and was dying to meet me.

In the week-and-a-half Rebecca had been dating Tristan Huxley, I had been on edge, and often scared to death. My mistress was in love. And this Huxley guy didn't just have everything — he had the Super Deluxe version of everything, with extra pickles and a side of coleslaw.

Looks? He was a square-jawed movie star with piercing blue eyes, according to the dozens of pictures I'd obsessed over online since my angel had first mentioned the name Tristan Huxley.

Sex? Rebecca kept telling her friends that the man had a huge schlong and was a king in bed.

Money? After 10 years as a broker, I had managed to save close to $3 million. Huxley wiped his ass with $3 million; he probably cleared that in a month.

Gee, what else did he have that I didn't? Rebecca's heart? Duh. I knew that was forever off limits to me. Oh, sure, she loved me in her own way — like a girl loves a kitten, perhaps — but I knew if I were to try to rise above my servile station and ask her to be my girlfriend again, she'd roll over laughing. No, her heart belonged to Tristan. For the past two weeks, all she'd talked about was how she was in love with this guy; how it was meant to be ... that it was written in the stars. Fate. Karma. A bunch of Zodiac crap. I would smile and nod, biting back my jealous tears until bedtime, when I'd cry myself to sleep, trying my best to keep quiet by burying my face in the pillow.

Not only was Rebecca completely besotted by this asshole, but he was my professional competitor, as well — although in reality I was no competition for Tristan B. Huxley, the Golden Boy of the stock market who took ridiculous risks and won every time.

Tristan B. Huxley had balls of steel. I had a Kevlar cock cage.

Tristan B. Fucking Huxley had me beat at everything. Well, not exactly everything. When it came to being Rebecca's servant, nobody did it better than me. I tried to take solace in that, and reminded myself that I occupied a valued place in her life. It didn't work.

In addition to Tristan's physical, sexual and financial attributes, Rebecca had been gushing nonstop about his open-mindedness. Not only was he cool with her living with a sissy slave, but according to her, "he says it kind of turns him on."

When she told me that, it made me shiver, sending my imagination spiraling into all sorts of unsavory places.

Rebecca had also told Tristan where I worked, and she informed me that he didn't think much of my boss, Jeremy Colburn, whose grandfather had founded Colburn & Partners in the 1940s. Tristan apparently thought that Colburn was a dumbass who'd inherited everything and was fucking it up. I had to agree my boss wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, although he'd always been nice to me, and I felt miffed that an outsider was badmouthing him — especially some guy who was running circles around our company and fucking my angel.

As I sat on the carpet polishing Rebecca's shoes, I reflected on what a longshot it was for her to have ever crossed paths with Tristan Huxley in the first place. They certainly didn't mingle in the same circles; she hung out with the beer-and-darts Young Country barroom crowd, while, according to her, Huxley rarely went to bars, and certainly not the places Rebecca frequented. But one of his clients was the bar owner, who'd invited him over for a business lunch; she says she locked eyes with him from across the room, "and the rest is history."

Since she'd broken the news, I'd fluctuated between jealousy and concern for my angel, being somewhat suspicious of Huxley's motives. Rebecca wasn't exactly "high society," despite her natural beauty and grace, so why was a big-shot like Tristan Huxley spending so much time with a woman from the other side of the tracks who said "ain't" all the time and couldn't spell for shit? Was he using her just for sex? Was this asshole going to break her heart?

Those thoughts would linger for a few seconds before common sense bitch-slapped them out of existence. It was patently obvious why anyone, from the President of the United States on down, would fall head-over-heels in love with Rebecca Anne Strickland. She was the most wonderful, gorgeous, vivacious, breathtaking, beautiful woman in the world — even if she didn't know the difference between "too," "two" and "to." Syntax notwithstanding, Rebecca was no dummy and certainly nobody's fool, as anyone who ever tried to manipulate her quickly learned.

I looked up at my angel and smiled. Nah, if any hearts were going to be broken, I thought, it would be Tristan Fucking Huxley's.

As I worked a tiny grain of glass from the sole of my mistress's shoe, it occurred to me how it had also taken a lucky set of circumstances for she and I to have met. I'd bought a new large-screen television from Best Buy and the cashier, a gorgeous blonde, rang up the wrong price, undercharging me by almost $400. I didn't notice the discrepancy until I got back to my car, and I went back into the store to fix it. The cashier flashed a devastating smile and told me it was nice to see that there were honest people in the world. That gave me the confidence to ask her out. She accepted. The rest is history.

When Rebecca's shoes gleamed top to bottom and toe to sole, I knocked on the bathroom door.

"Um, Miss? I'm done with your flats."

She continued applying eyeliner for a few minutes before glancing at me through the mirror.

"What are you doing standing there, Chrissie?"

"Um, I'm done ... with these." I presented the shoes to her, realizing she'd been too wrapped up in her thoughts to hear me the first time.

"So?" She frowned. "Put 'em down and go do something. I don't want you hovering around me while I'm trying to get ready — it gets on my nerves when you do that."

"Sorry, Miss."

"Nobody wants a sissy moping around. It's annoying."

"Sorry, Miss."

"And go put on that fancy maid's dress; I know you ain't planning on wearing that thing when he gets here."

"Oh, no, Miss. I was just—"

She showed me the hand. "Whatever, Chrissie. Go."

"Sorry, Miss," I said a third time before retreating to my bedroom to change clothes. Little Miss Priss clearly was nervous about her boyfriend coming over and was taking it out on me.

I shrugged it off. I was used to being her whipping boy.

I'd been fussing with dinner for a few minutes when the doorbell rang. When I looked in the peephole, I gasped. It was Tristan. He was a half-hour early.

Fuck.

Panic set in.

Part XXII

The sonofabitch had a smirk that cut like a shark's tooth.

He smacked his lips. "You must be Chrissie."

I peeked up at the towering rock of a man whose presence and shoulders filled the threshold, and it was all I could do to keep from pissing my panties.

"Um, please come in, sir," I managed to croak before stepping aside.

He walked in like he owned the place and looked me up and down. "Becca wasn't kidding — you ARE a little doll, aren't you?"

"Uh, I ... uh..."

Tristan chuckled. "Where is she?"

"Um, still getting ready, sir. Excuse me a sec while I go tell her you're here."

I dashed to the master suite, where my angel was scrambling to pull on her stockings.

"Uh, Miss ... he ... he's here."

"I know, I heard the doorbell. Damn it, he's a half-hour early. Did you ask if he wants a drink?"

"Uh, no, Miss, I didn't, sorry."

"What's wrong with you, Chrissie? Get out there and offer him one now, and tell him I'll be out in a minute."

"Uh, yes, Miss, right away, Miss."

I returned to the living room, where Tristan had taken the liberty to sit on the couch.

"Sir, Miss Rebecca says she'll be out in a minute. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"What you do have, Chrissie?"

"Um ... I've got some 25-year-old Macallan, if you like scotch, sir."

Tristan shrugged. "Sure."

After I served his drink, I sort of teetered in front of the sofa, unsure what to do.

Tristan broke the ice. "So, Chrissie, Becca tells me you work for Colburn. What's that like?"

"Um ... I don't know, sir. It's okay, I guess." I forced a smile. "Although we haven't been doing so great after your company started up. You guys have been killing us."

He swirled the scotch around in his tumbler. "Well, Chrissie, some people got it, and some don't. Know what I mean?"

"Um ... yes, sir." As I stood before the arrogant prick in my maid's dress while he relaxed on my sofa, I couldn't help thinking that he'd directed his comment at me.

He smiled. "Now, Becca? She's got it. And then some. She's a little firecracker, isn't she?"

"Um ... I ... I don't know, sir."

"You don't know? I do. Rebecca is something else. She told you we're in love, right?"

"Uh, yes, sir, she did."

"Well, good, because we are. I've never met anyone like her. She's an amazing woman. Just amazing. So, get used to having me around, Chrissie, because you're going to be seeing a lot more of me from now on. And in case you're worried, I have no problem with alternative lifestyles; I told Becca I think it's sexy that she has a slave. I've always had a bit of a dominant streak myself, and my old girlfriend and I even went to an S&M club a few times back when I lived in Frisco. So, this should be fun. I'm looking forward to it."

I gulped.

Tristan pointed to a spot on the carpet. "In fact, why don't you be a good little sissy slave and kneel down right there?"

My heart was beating like a jackhammer, and my trembling made it difficult to obey — but obey, I did, kneeling where the smug alpha male had indicated.

He chuckled. "Becca tells me you're, like, crazy in love with her."

I lowered my eyes. "Um ... I ..."

"It's okay, Chrissie. I understand. She's easy to fall in love with, isn't she?"

"She ... she is, sir. She is."

"Well, it's okay. I'm glad you're in love with her."

I looked up. "You ... you are?"

"Sure. We're shipmates, Chrissie. We're both part of Team Rebecca. Our job is to make her happy, right?"

"Um ... right, sir."

He raised his glass. "Well, then, here's to Team Rebecca. Say it: 'Go, Team Rebecca.'"

"Um ... go, Team Rebecca."

He jeered. "Say it like a cheerleader, Chrissie: 'Gooooooo, Team Re-BECCA!!!"

I felt silly, but complied: "Gooooooooo, Team Re-BECCA!!!"

"Maybe we'll get you some pom-poms. Say it again, like you mean it."

"Um, gooooo, Team Re-BECCA!!!"

Just then, my angel made her breathtaking entrance.

"Team Rebecca? Sounds good to me." She headed straight for her lover, who yanked her onto the couch with him while she squealed and mock-protested.

"You're gonna mess up my hair, damn it."

"I plan to." He smacked her butt. "And that's not all I plan on messing up."

"Ooh, is that a promise?"

His answer was a kiss. They made out for several minutes while I knelt on the carpet, eyes cast downward so as not to gawk at them.

When they finally broke away from each other, Rebecca smiled at me. "I see you two have gotten to know each other. Did mean old Tristan make you get down on your knees, Chrissie?"

"Uh ... I ... uh ..."

Tristan emptied his glass of scotch and held it out toward me. "I just wanted to make sure everyone knew their place from the get-go. Refill, Chrissie, on the double."

As I struggled to my feet, Rebecca nuzzled her head against her lover's chest and flashed me a little smile that said, "isn't he just the coolest?"

She kissed Tristan's ear. "Baby, I'm so glad you and Chrissie and getting along. Seriously."

"I told you: I think it's sexy that you have a little sissy slave," he said. "Can you make him do tricks?"

Her giggle was the last thing I heard before disappearing into the kitchen.

I was back in a flash with the refill and returned to my knees. Not two seconds after I settled into position, Rebecca said, "stand up, Chrissie, Tris wants to see your cage."

The blood drained from my face and I couldn't force myself to move.

Rebecca frowned. "Chrissie! I just told you to do something."

"I ... uh ..."

Tristan scoffed. "You're too lenient with him, Becca." He destroyed me with an icy-blue glare. "Chrissie, if you don't want me to take my belt to your ass, you'd better do exactly what your mistress told you, right this second."

In a panic, I jumped to my feet and lifted my dress, exposing my shameful, locked genitals while Rebecca giggled.

"OMG, you are so good with him," she told her boyfriend. "I love you so much."

Tristan leaned in for yet another kiss while I stood there holding my dress up, fighting back tears.

When their snog ended, Tristan tilted his head and studied my chastity device. He reached over and tapped it three times. "That thing looks serious. Does it hurt, Chrissie?"

"Um ... not usually, sir."

"Becca says it has spikes on the inside. You saying that doesn't hurt?"

"Oh, no, sir, that hurts ... um, it hurts a lot, sir. But usually, ... um, I guess I'm just used to it, although ..." I let the sentence trail off.

Tristan cocked an eyebrow. "Although what, Chrissie?"

"Nothing, sir."

Rebecca tittered. "He was gonna say 'although I'm horny all the time because I don't get to play with my little pee-pee.' Ain't that what you were gonna say, Chrissie?"

"I ... uh ..."

She scoffed. "Don't even try it. I know you too good. You little sissy, I still can't believe you embarrassed me in front of company when I told you to do something. I should take Tris up on that offer to get his belt out."

Tristan's eyes widened. "Ooh, that would be fun."

"Seriously? You want to?"

"Well, it sure looks like the little sissy needs to be taught a lesson. I can't have him disrespecting you like that."

"OMG, you're so awesome, I love you so much." She squeezed his bicep. "Want to do it before or after dinner?"

"Let's wait until after. That way, I can work off what I eat."

Rebecca smirked at me. "You hear that, Chrissie? My man is gonna take a belt to your ass after dinner because you disrespected me. You should thank him for taking the time to teach you some manners. Say it."

"Uh ... um, t-thank you, sir."

"No, say the whole thing: 'Thank you for taking the time to teach me some manners.'"

I swallowed. "T-thank you for taking ... taking the time to teach me some manners, sir."

Tristan shrugged. "No problem, Chrissie. You realize when you don't obey your mistress, that drags down Team Rebecca, right?"