Chrissie

"But ... he fucks my brains out with that big dick of his."

I shook my head. "I know ... I know that you ... um, love him — but nobody should ever lay a hand on you. There's no reason you should have to put up with that."

"Yeah, I know. It ain't the first time, either."

"What?! He hit you before? When?"

"A few times. Nothing real bad; usually just slaps. He—"

"Just slaps? That's crazy, Rebecca. He can go to jail for that. Did you ever call the cops?"

"Oh, no, no ... I don't want to go there, Chrissie. I just ... I don't know. He's such a fucking dick sometimes. He makes me want to scream. But I do love him. You know? I love the bastard so much."

"Well, I don't care; he shouldn't be touching you ... um, if you don't mind my saying so."

"No, that's fine, Chrissie. You're absolutely right. I don't need to put up with that shit."

"You don't."

"I don't. That macho asshole can't just go around slapping me every time he gets mad."

There was silence for several seconds before I ventured a question: "So ... what now?"

"I ... I don't know, Chrissie." Rebecca stared out the window at the skyline. "I love him so much, but I can't ... I just don't know."

Her phone beeped and she glanced at it before setting it on the couch cushion face-down.

I sighed. "That's him, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Says he wants to talk."

"Are you?"

She tightened her lips and turned off her phone. "No. Right now, no, I don't want to talk to him."

"Good."

For the next several hours, my angel vented about her husband while I sat next to her providing a sympathetic ear, nodding at the appropriate times and jumping up to fetch Diet Coke refills. For all intents and purposes, I was her girlfriend, even if I was dressed in men's clothes.

After she was finally all talked out, Rebecca yawned. "Well, look, Chrissie, it's been a day. I'm absolutely exhausted. Thank you for everything. Seriously, you don't even know. You've done so, so much for me, Chrissie."

Tears filled my eyes. "T-thank you. All I want is to make you happy."

"Well, you do."

She offered a hug and we sobbed in each other's arms. Our embrace lasted several minutes before she pulled back and wiped her eyes.

"I don't want to be alone tonight, Chrissie; will you stay?"

"Of course, I will. Of course, I will."

"I knew you would. I can always count on you, can't I, Chrissie?"

"Until the day I die."

She touched my cheek. "You're always so sweet."

I followed my angel across the sprawling hotel suite toward the king-size bed, my heart pounding at the prospect of possibly sleeping next to her for the first time since our breakup. Alas, with a disarming smile she handed me a pillow and the comforter, wordlessly indicating where she expected me to crash.

Rebecca picked up on my disappointment. "Aw, I know it's a huge bed, and it's kind of mean of me to make you sleep on the floor, but we need to keep boundaries, Chrissie. You're still my slave, no matter what happens with Karl, and I can't have my slave sleeping in the same bed with me. You understand, don't you, baba?"

I gasped. "Um ... you mean it? You really want me? No ... no matter what?"

Rebecca cracked a real smile for the first time that night. "Of course, I do. Where would I be without my little Chrissie?"

My spirits skyrocketed and more tears formed. "Oh, t-thank, you, Mrs. Mar— ... um, thank you soooooooooooo much. I promise, from the bottom of my heart, I'll serve you the best I can for as long as I live. I promise."

She smiled. "I know you will, baba. And that makes me very happy. I told you the other night: it feels like you were just born to serve me. When you told me about all this while we were dating, it threw me for a loop, and it wasn't something I really wanted ... not with a boyfriend. But this? This is different. It ... just seems right."

"OMG, I feel that way, too, and hearing you say that makes me so happy, I just can't tell you. Please ... I ... I ... thank you so much."

"You're welcome, baba. Now, turn out that lamp and let me get some sleep, okay?"

"Um, okay. G-good night."

"Night, Chrissie. Thanks again for everything."

I lay on the floor all night listening to my angel's cute little snore. With every wheezy breath she drew, I gazed out the window at the purple heavens, mouthing silent prayers of thanks.

Part XV

Rebecca held out until 11 Monday morning before finally turning on her phone. After perusing her husband's deluge of voice messages and texts, she clenched her jaw and dialed his number.

Having called in sick, I stood next to her during the conversation, listening to her side.

"Hey ..."

Pause.

"I'm at a hotel."

Pause.

"Because I needed to be alone."

Pause.

"Don't worry which one."

Pause.

"Jeez, it's not even noon and you're drunk already."

Pause.

"Don't give me that bullshit. I know you. You're hammered."

Pause.

"Karl, I don't care. You hit me — again. What did I tell you last time you did it? Did you think I was joking?"

Pause.

"Yeah, that's the exact same thing you said last time. Word-for-word."

Pause.

"Look, I love you, too. But I'm not gonna do this anymore. I'm not putting up with it. I told you."

Pause.

"Well, I don't care, Karl. I'm done."

Pause. Tears.

"Yes, done. How many times am I supposed to believe you? How many times you think I'm gonna fall for this shit?"

Pause.

"You can't keep using that as an excuse. I don't care about your dad. Lots of people's dads hit them and they don't act like that."

Pause.

"Well, I'm sorry, too. But you put your hands on me for the last time, Karl. I'm done. I'm telling you right now ... I'm filing for a divorce."

When she said that, it was all I could to do tamp down my grin.

Pause.

"I don't care, Karl. You needed to do all that before."

Pause.

"Well, you should probably get a lawyer, because I'm going to be getting one. I'm serious, Karl. I ain't joking."

Pause.

"Who cares if he pays for the lawyer? What's he got to do with anything?"

I bristled, knowing they were talking about me.

Pause.

"Well, you're the one who encouraged it. I told you I'd go ahead and start cleaning more if you didn't want me to call him, but you kept on saying what a great idea it was for us to have a slave — so don't come throwing that in my face now. You wanted him to come over as much as I did."

She glanced at me but I couldn't maintain the eye contact.

Pause.

"Who cares? It don't matter what lawyer I get; I don't want nothing from you, Karl. Shit, you ain't got nothing for me to take, other than that truck now — and you probably should go ahead and get your own insurance, because Chrissie ain't gonna keep paying it now that we're broke up."

The humiliation at being referred to as "Chrissie" during such a grave conversation was offset by my glee that she was actually discussing their divorce as a foregone conclusion.

Pause.

"Look, all I know is, I don't want this anymore. So, you can cuss all you want to, Karl; I'm getting a lawyer. You should, too. I'm hanging up now. Okay? No, I'm hanging up. Bye."

She clicked the button and stared at me for a brief second before breaking down and falling into my arms. I stood on my tiptoes and we hugged and sobbed for ten minutes, ten hours, ten lifetimes.

"I'm so sorry," I lied, because I wasn't sorry at all. "It'll be okay."

"Thank you." She sniffled. "Shit, I ... I ... I don't even know what I'm gonna do. I need to find a place to stay."

"Stay at my place, Rebecca. Of course."

My angel wiped her eyes. "Thanks, Chrissie, you're such a doll, I swear. You do so much for me."

"Please, it's my honor to be able to help. You can move in today if you want to."

"Thanks. Right now, though, I'm starving."

After cleaning up, we had lunch in the hotel restaurant and then Rebecca drove her Range Rover by her house, hoping Karl wouldn't be home so she could get some clothes and other items. The truck wasn't in the driveway so we dashed inside, and while I kept watch at the front window she scooped up her things and we made our escape. As she burned rubber down South Sycamore Street, we leaned into each other, giggling like schoolgirls — a moment I knew I'd cherish forever.

With her most important possessions secure, we swung by the hotel so I could pick up my Mercedes and check out before heading back to my condo. Rebecca relaxed on my couch while I made several trips back and forth carrying her boxes and bags up to my unit, thrilled beyond belief that my dream was actually coming true.

My angel was finally moving in with me — and not only had she accepted me as her sissy slave, she'd made it clear that she loved having me serve her, and that she wanted it to continue forever. It was everything I'd hoped for on that fateful night three years earlier when I sat my then-girlfriend down and confessed my deepest sissy desires, only to have her summarily dump me.

After unpacking her things and moving my stuff out of the master bedroom and into the smaller guest room, I prepared a feast for Rebecca and I to celebrate our first night as roommates.

We gorged until our stomachs hurt. Then, we clinked glasses of Diet Coke.

My angel beamed. "To a new beginning. Me and my little Chrissie."

I returned the smile with tears in my eyes. "To a new beginning. Thank you, Miss Strickland."

BOOK TWO

"Miss Strickland"

Part XVI

The Carbonara Florentine recipe was no piece of cake but it was worth the hassle, since I wanted my angel's 26^th birthday dinner to be perfetto.

I came home to an empty condo after work, changed into my frock and scrambled around the kitchen hoping to have Rebecca's favorite-but-complicated-to-prepare dish ready by the time she returned from wherever she'd gone.

Everything was set by 7pm, with the pasta warming in the oven and gifts arranged throughout the living room. A huge "Happy Birthday" banner hung on the wall where Rebecca would see it as soon as she walked through the front door. Candles flickered. Whispers of lilac essential oil puffed from the diffuser.

With the condo transformed into a shrine honoring my Princess's special day, I changed out of my housecleaning frock and into my formal maid's uniform. Although I was caught up on all my chores, I bustled around wiping, polishing and rearranging knickknacks anyway, anxious for my mistress's return.

The wait was still on at 8. Nine o'clock came and went. Ten bowled me over. When I turned on the 11 o'clock newscast, the anchorman announced: "This just in: Rebecca isn't coming home tonight, dumbass."

Like a sap, I kept dinner warm until midnight. Then, with tears in my eyes, I stowed the food in a Tupperware container, ate a lonely cup of yogurt and trudged to the "maid's room," where I lay in the dark tossing and turning on my pink-sheeted mattress, wondering, wishing, bawling and chiding myself.

What the hell had I been thinking? Her birthday ... on a Friday night? There was no way Miss Popular would've wanted to celebrate it with her lovestruck little maid. Still, I'd hoped she might at least have dinner at home before traipsing off to the clubs with her vampire girlfriends — but as I lay in bed trying to get some sleep, I felt foolish for having been such an optimistic chump.

I spent a good part of the evening crying in the darkness of my sad little room, something I'd been doing fairly often since embarking on a life of service to my spoiled princess. To be sure, I was living a dream and had never been happier — but a year after entering our strange relationship, I'd come to realize that even with Karl out of the picture it wasn't easy being Rebecca Ann Strickland's slave. Tears came with the territory.

The first thing I did after rolling out of bed Saturday morning was check to see if Rebecca's keys and purse were in their usual spot on the floor for me to pick up. With a sigh, I noted that the carpet was bare.

I fixed myself a light breakfast and watched TV for a few minutes, but since I couldn't get Rebecca out of my mind anyway, I decided to make use of the time by doing something nice for her. It had been a few weeks since I'd polished her shoe collection, so I gathered my cleaning gear, laid out newspapers, sat on the floor and got started.

Just before noon, as I was buffing a high gloss onto her tan boots, Rebecca stumbled through the door holding her head. She plopped on the couch and kicked off her pumps.

"Ugh, Diet Coke, Chrissie, and hurry up."

"Yes, Miss," I whispered, since my mistress was obviously suffering a hangover.

After rushing into the kitchen and serving her drink, I teetered near the couch in my 4' heels, hands folded in front of my apron awaiting my next order. My mistress scrolled through her cellphone sipping her soda for several minutes before finally addressing me.

"What's there to eat, Chrissie?"

"Uh, I made Carbonara Florentine last night for your birthday, Miss — your favorite." I shifted. "Um, Happy belated birthday, Miss."

Rebecca leaned back on the couch and groaned. "Ugh, I drank too much. Gina kept buying me Jell-o shots."

"Um, sorry, Miss."

"I always let her talk me into stuff." She stretched and yawned. "That Florentine sounds good, Chrissie; go microwave me a plate."

"Right away, Miss. Um ... do you want your presents now?"

She scowled and waved her hand. "I ain't in the mood for all that crap; can you just bring me my food like I asked you to?"

"Y-yes, Miss."

I hustled to the kitchen, sniffing back tears, crushed at how my cranky mistress had just blown off everything I'd done the night before to try to make her birthday special. But Rebecca had made it clear early on that she didn't want me crying about my "sissy problems," as she liked to put it, so I'd learned to keep my sobs to myself and put on a fake smile.

Rebecca was on the phone when I got back with her plate.

"Yeah, hang on," she said into the receiver before looking up at me. "My mom wants you over there today; Randy tracked grease all through the house and she don't want to wait till Monday. Leave now."

"Yes, Miss."

Without acknowledging me, my mistress started eating her birthday leftovers while continuing her conversation. Sighing, I slogged to my room and slipped on sweats.

Rebecca's childhood home, where she'd grown up with her mother Marlene, stepdad Randy and little sister Emily, was about 15 miles away. With no weekend traffic I made the drive in just a few minutes.

Emily answered the door with a smirk.

"Hi, sissy."

"Um, hello, Miss Emily."

The 18-year-old vixen grinned. "I left a you present in my room."

"T-thank you, Miss Emily."

"Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Um, y-yes, Miss Emily." I braced myself.

"It's three whole bagfuls of my new boyfriend's laundry. Isn't that a great present?"

"Y-yes, Miss Emily. T-thank you, Miss Emily."

"Ian couldn't believe it when I told him my sister has a slave who'll do whatever I want. He said you can come over and clean his apartment, too; I'll see what Becca says."

Marlene called from the living room: "Em, leave that damn sissy alone; he needs to get started on these grease stains."

"Bring me a beer first, Chrissie," Randy ordered from his spot on the La-Z-Boy.

"Yes, sir."

As I headed to the kitchen I took inventory of the damage. Black marks scarred the carpet across the living room, fading as they continued up the staircase. With slumped shoulders, I realized it was going to take hours to clean the mess.

I served Randy his Corona, changed into my housework uniform and got started on the carpet while he relaxed nearby watching college football. Marlene and Emily, who had left the living room shortly after my arrival, returned minutes later, dressed to go somewhere.

Marlene leaned down and kissed her husband. "We're headed out shopping, honey; see you in a little bit."

Emily scowled at me. "You better not leave before Ian's clothes are done, Chrissie."

Randy chuckled. "Oh, Chrissie will still be here when you guys get back; when he's done with this floor, he's gonna be detailing my truck, and that'll take at least a couple hours."

"Well, whatever, Ian's clothes better get done, you hear me, sissy?"

"Y-yes, Miss Emily."

Marlene touched her daughter's shoulder. "Come on, hon, let's go."

As soon as the ladies were out of the house, Randy winked at me.

"Hey, Chrissie. We're all alone now. Know what that means?"

I bowed my head. "Y-yes, sir."

"Did you bring your lipstick?"

"Yes, sir."

He snapped his fingers. "Then put it on, sissy, and then come and give your daddy some lovin'."

Slipping into autopilot mode, I floated like a phantom carrying out what was probably the most distasteful aspect of my service to Rebecca — having to orally serve her bisexual pig of a stepdad. Since I'd started my weekly Monday night cleaning of Rebecca's parents' home shortly after my angel moved in with me, Randy had taken every opportunity to maul me. He did it whenever we were alone, and sometimes after Emily had gone to bed or wasn't home. Marlene didn't care; she hated giving blowjobs, and was more than happy to let me take over that duty. Sometimes I'd spend an hour or more fellating her husband while she relaxed in bed next to us watching TV or playing card games on her iPad.

After applying the apple-red lipstick Randy preferred, I knelt in front of the La-Z-Boy, closed my eyes and started sucking his dick. He relaxed and watched football, clicking from game to game, sipping beer and, every once in a while, farting in my face. At one point, when I'd subconsciously quickened my pace, probably because I'd wanted to get the nightmare over with, he cuffed me on the ear.

"Slow down, bitch. What's your hurry? You got a train to catch?"

It must've been an hour-and-a-half before Randy finally grabbed my hair and started face-fucking me until shooting his load down my throat.

He shoved me away. "Good job, sissy. Now, you better hurry up and get back to them stains — Marlene's gonna be pissed if she gets back and they're not cleaned up."

"Y-yes, sir," I said, wiping my mouth.

Randy chuckled. "Yeah, I spilled some damn grease in the shop and it made a big fucking mess. Sorry 'bout that, sissy. You'll have to get it out of my truck carpet, too."

"Y-yes, sir," I said, calculating in my head how many hours of work awaited me, and not liking the answer — between finishing with the carpet stains, getting all the regular housework done, doing Emily's boyfriend's laundry and detailing Randy's truck, I figured I wouldn't be getting home until at least 10pm.. That meant my hopes to spend the Saturday with Rebecca were shot.

I tossed the first load of laundry into the machine before getting back to the grease stains. It took about three hours before the carpets were clean, and then I started on the regular chores — scrubbing the kitchen and bathroom, cleaning everyone's bedrooms and doing windows. As I worked, I darted in and out of the laundry room to keep up with the wash while fetching Randy's beer refills. After a year of being Rebecca's overworked slave, with her pimping me out to her family and close friends for housework and other errands, I'd become quite adept at juggling.

Marlene and Emily returned from their shopping excursion while I was detailing Randy's truck, having thrown my sweats over my maid's uniform.

"Bring our bags in," Marlene said, gesturing toward her SUV before she and her daughter waltzed into the house.

I scooped up the ladies' purchases and hurried inside.

"Carpet looks good, sissy," Marlene said.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

Emily frowned. "Did you get Ian's laundry done?"