The Bamboo Ceiling Ch. 08

As always, this story contains graphic content and potential trauma cues for sensitive readers. This is purely a work of fiction, by and for consenting adults. Any resemblance to real people or entities is unintended and purely coincidental.

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Chapter 8:

It was the second day that I was home alone. No James. No demands to make his breakfast. No bending over a white man's knee for a spanking when I failed to follow orders. Just me; collared, in chastity, and alone with my thoughts.

I hated this about myself, but it took fewer than twenty-four hours for me to miss James. Specifically, I missed the intimidating bulge that I could always see through his trousers. I missed his casual strut as he walked around the house. I missed the direction that my 'Daddy' (or 'Master,' 'Sir,' or 'God,' depending on his mood for an honorary) gave to my otherwise directionless life. I missed the purpose he gave me. The purpose to obey him and worship his BWC.

I also missed the confident way he stated the way things were. Once, when I had contradicted him about a work-related matter, he looked at me with a flat, evil expression.

"It is how I say it is, China Doll."

I hated that he called me 'China Doll.' Aside from the fact that I am actually Korean, it was a demeaning label. But I couldn't help the way I swelled up in my cage when he spoke down to me. I couldn't help the way I arched my back and exhaled when he used demeaning labels. And now, I couldn't help the aching emptiness I felt inside. Emptiness that I wanted him to fill.

Alone in James's big house, I felt lonely. More than that, if I had no Daddy to be a little maid, secretary, cook, and whore for, I felt like I had no purpose. I hated James. But I needed James.

James had left for Los Angeles to inspect a hospital. Our finance firm--at which James was a powerful broker and I was recently demoted to 'secretary'--needed to conduct due diligence on the hospital that the firm was purchasing. Not coincidentally, James set his sights on the hospital at which my sister was a lead nurse. Also not coincidentally, she had been assigned to assist him. Worse yet, the night before they left, she spent the night at his house.

James had told me that he would 'accidentally' only book one hotel room for the two of them. But Ari, my sister, wasn't dumb. She would know that this was merely a ploy for James to fuck her. But she wouldn't care.

Her entire life, my sister has been a whore for arrogant white guys. And even among arrogant white guys, James was a player. Before he started using me as his live-in fuck doll, James had a constant stream of women staying the night at his house. And he definitely had a thing for Asian women.

A soft vibration in my yoga pants interrupted my thoughts. James had bought me one of the best cellphones available on the market. But this wasn't a gift--he had installed tracking software to monitor and filter my communication. There was no way that he would allow me access to the outside world. I was his. His 'China Doll.'

I unlocked the screen to see a text from James.

"Hey Kimmy. Don't think I've forgotten about you. Your sister and I are having a GREAT time. Can't wait to tell you all about what a whore she is. The bitch is down for EVERYTHING. I've filmed a few sessions. Can't wait to show you. Now be a good girl and send me a photo of that slut face. You have sixty seconds before I start pressing the button."

The 'button' to which he referred was an app on his phone that interfaced with my choker. The choker has two small diodes in the back that delivered an electric shock when James needed to 'remind' me of anything. Or for when he was feeling particularly sadistic.

I quickly primped my hair, puckered my lips, pointed my face slightly down, then lifted the phone to snap a selfie. I sent it as quickly as I could to avoid that painful shock.

The shock came anyway.

"Bitch you know better than to not wear makeup during the day. I don't care whether or not I'm home. You're a whore and will look accordingly."

Another shock rocked the back of my neck.

"Sorry Daddy," I typed as quickly as I could, ''I'll fix it right away. It won't happen again."

"Good girl. You have twenty minutes to send me a better photo."

I hated myself for the tide of warm gratitude I felt at his admonishment. My feelings toward James constituted a strong dialectic that I didn't understand. On one hand, I hated James. I frequently fantasized about him dying in a car accident or some other horrible event. On the other hand, I needed his praise and acceptance. It was literally all I had to live for (a situation orchestrated, in large part, by him). And I greatly feared his disapproval.

I rushed upstairs to my bathroom and threw open my makeup drawer.

I say 'my' bathroom because James almost exclusively used the bathroom attached to the master bedroom. 'My' bathroom had become that separate, smaller bathroom in the upstairs portion of James's house. When I first moved in, it looked like a typical bachelor's bathroom; i.e., the counter had naught but hand soap and a towel hanging over the sink.

Now, it looked more like a typical young woman's bathroom sink. It often had a few sprinkles of stray foundation. The drawers were filled with foundation, primer, eyeliner, mascara, shades of eye shadow and lipstick, and the like. I had a light-up, magnifying mirror to help me stress over the little details. Little details that James loved ruining with my post-blowjob 'rewards.'

I worked quickly, starting with the primer, applying my foundation, and skillfully lining my eyes with liner. I applied a particularly dark lavender and whorish eye shadow--in part to appease James for my earlier transgression of being out of makeup. I applied a matching shade of lipstick, styled my hair, and touched up with the finishing layers. After only fourteen minutes, I was taking bathroom selfies with my lips puckered and my ass and hips pushed out to the side.

I loved this activity. And I hated myself for how much I loved it. Specifically, I liked the idea of my appearance making James want me. Making him hard. And somewhere, deep inside in a place that I didn't want to explore, I hoped that James would think about me when he fucked Ari.

After hitting 'send,' I waited anxiously for either a vibration from my phone or a shock to the back of my neck. I exhaled deeply when my phone vibrated.

"Good girl. I'll be home tomorrow afternoon and I expect the house to be spotless. And that means no dust. Understood?"

"Yes Daddy!" I knew to reply immediately. Using his special app (the 'attitude adjuster,' as he called it), James had trained me to jump at his every command. And I also knew better than to allow one speck of dust left on any counter or windowsill. This would be my activity for the rest of the day.

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When James arrived the following afternoon, I was ready and 'in my place.' My feet, shins, and knees touched the cold tile. The soles of my bare feet pointed upward. My back was arched and my shoulders pushed forward and together as my palms rested completely on the floor. My hair was styled perfectly; not one strand deviated from the tight, smart pigtails in which I kept it. My hair was still relatively short for a 'girl,' but James hadn't allowed me to cut it since I moved in. I wondered how long he would eventually want it.

I was careful to contour my face to highlight my cheekbones and downplay my jawline. Feminine, just like James liked. My makeup was lighter and subtler than I'd kept it the day before. My lipstick--another gift from James--was both cherry colored and cherry flavored. In essence, I was there to please all of James's senses.

I wore no shoes, but light and sheer baby-blue panties and a pleated skirt. My midriff was exposed, but I covered my chest with a white blouse. The blouse had a deep V-neck, blue embroidery, and sleeves that came down to my elbows. I was the perfect little schoolgirl for James.

My knees were angled outward, giving James an easy view of my groin. Specifically, one could easily see my caged dick through my sheer panties. Or 'dicklet,' as James referred to it. I still wasn't sure if James was actively attracted to my dicklet. He had no trouble hooking up with biological women, so he surely must have gotten some pleasure from fucking a sissy.

James had explained once that he saw my cock as more of a trophy that accentuated his conquest. I wasn't just some Asian slut that he'd taken home. I was a failed attempt at a man, and my little caged and conquered dicklet was like a trophy. Or a hood ornament on one of his fancy cars.

James entered the threshold of his home, shut the door behind him, dropped his bags on the ground, and smiled at me deviously.

"Such a good girl for being ready for her Daddy."

I couldn't look him in the eye. But I responded with a chirpy, "Thank you, Daddy."

"I can't wait to tell you about my adventures with Ari. And goddamn is she adventurous. You told me that she liked white cock, but you never quite expressed what a slut she is for it. She was like a bitch in heat as soon as we got inside the hotel room. I took some videos of us--she was barely coherent enough to object as she came at me--and you'd think you were watching an episode of the discovery channel."

My mouth quivered in rage. My brow furrowed and my nostrils flared. How could I not expect to be enraged when this asshole spoke so brazenly about my sister. And I loved my sister. Fuck James. And fuck him for fucking Ari.

But deeper down, I knew that my behavior stemmed from another feeling. A feeling that I would never admit to James. A feeling that I could barely admit to myself. Jealously.

My shame grew as I considered that I wished that it had been me that James was ravaging these past few days. And this feeling weighed on me, making me feel even less than I was. Not that I was much more than an obedient little maidservant anyway.

My thoughts were interrupted as James took off his jacket and threw it on me. The jacket hung on my head like a waist-high coat rack. I should have felt humiliated, but I was used to being treated like a piece of furniture.

"I expect my clothes washed, pressed, and put away by this evening," I heard James calling to me as he blithely stepped past me. "But don't open the backpack. I have a surprise in there for you." James trailed off into his office, where he worked for the rest of the afternoon.

I slowly removed James's jacket from my head. As dehumanizing as the gesture was, I was grateful for my face to be covered. For as I realized that my rage stemmed from jealousy, I had started to cry. And I dared not let that sadistic asshole see me cry.

It took my only a couple of hours to have James's clothes cleaned and pressed. A few of his more expensive items would need to go to the dry cleaner, so I bagged those up to take out the next morning. At a meta level, it occurred to me that I had grown more talented as James's personal maid and house cleaner than I had ever been as a financial analyst. Indeed, even when James had me do secretary work, I found myself more competent than when I James's 'colleague.'

This realization stung. It weighed on me more than James's abuse and insults because, unlike the demeaning way in which James treated me, my relative success as a 'helper' and relative failure as an independent professional served as objective evidence of what I knew myself to be. A failure. A tool. Lower than. Less than. James--as mediocre as he was--was my superior and I was his inferior.

"Hey Sweet Cheeks," James's voice resonated from his office upstairs, "Grab my backpack from the foyer and bring it up to the bedroom. Then get yourself cleaned up. Daddy has a surprise for you."

Living as James's at-home fuck toy taught me that 'get yourself cleaned up' meant 'I'm horny and I want you to be ready because I'm about to fuck you.'

After bringing the backpack to James's bedroom, I sighed as I walked to my bathroom. It was time to douche. This wasn't something that I'd ever discussed out loud with James, but I knew that if I ever 'painted,' the punishment would be savage. James was a germaphobe. And even if painting would have been natural, James saw me more as his sanitized fuck doll than as a living, breathing organism.

I had just finished 'getting myself cleaned up,' (i.e., standing in the shower while I pumped water into my asshole) when I heard James's deep, resonating voice from the bedroom.

"Be a good girl and come here as soon as you're finished."

It was notable that this was the one activity I did that James never rushed. When I cooked, cleaned, made copies, sent emails, made appointments, or anything else, James would often get impatient and activate--or threaten to activate--the little 'attitude adjuster' that he kept around my neck. But when I was cleaning myself for him, he never punished me for taking my time.

As soon as I was dry, I retouched my makeup and hair. I slid on a fresh pair of sheer panties, and pranced into the bedroom with a stupid smile on my face. This was only partially artificial. Though James was not above telling me that I needed to smile more, I had been longing for this moment for days. James had kept me locked up the entire time he was away, and now I would get my release.

As I entered the bedroom, James was doing something on his phone. Two things happened. First, I heard a soft buzzing from my groin as my chastity device electronically unlocked.

My dicklet had shrunk since the last time it had been unlocked. As James had explained, the penis is made of a pliable, spongelike material. And when it's kept from breathing and expanding for extended periods of time, it shrinks. Accordingly, the lower half of the two-part device fell right off my shriveled cock and into my panties. I reached in and pulled it out quickly, as well as the top part that was still resting on my little clit.

The second thing that happened was more jarring. James had cast a video from his phone to the TV that he kept across the room from the foot of his bed. There, in large screen and high-definition glory, was my sister's contorted face with James standing behind her. James had paused as Ari's mouth was shaped into an 'O' and her eyes were rolled toward the back of her head. She looked to be in pure ecstasy.

I realized that James had set up his phone at the head of the bed and in front of my sister while he ploughed her from behind. This sadistic asshole had filmed himself fucking my sister, and had only unlocked my dick to make me watch his dirty work. My mouth and eyes opened wide and shock. My shoulders scrunched in and I let out an audible gasp.

"I was hoping for a reaction!" James laughed menacingly, then pointed at the screen. "You like the outfit I bought her?"

In the paused screen, Ari wore a fishnet bodysuit. Her body was angled downward to present herself to James and his massive BWC, so I couldn't see much below her breasts and shoulders. But I could see over her arched back that the bodysuit opened up at the ass to allow full access. This looked like something a porn star would wear.

"Well?" James sounded expectant.

"It l-l-" I stammered, unable to form coherent thoughts. "It l-l-looks great, Daddy. Gr-great choice!"

"Good girl. Well, I told her that I'd be taking it home with me but that she was more than welcome to come over and wear it anytime she likes. I wish you could have seen her face. She looked elated."

I hated what he was telling me, but I fully believed him.

"And what do we have here?" James continued as he pulled the fishnet bodysuit from his backpack. It looked like a small pile of twisted string until he unfurled it in front of him. "It still smells like her," James murmured as he held it up toward me. "Why don't you try it on."

I didn't know what to say. But I knew that I couldn't say 'no.' This wouldn't be the first time that James had fucked me while I wore something that Ari had worn after James fucked her. And given how much James seemed to be into this, I doubted that it would be the last.

"Go on, don't be shy now." James was insistent. I apprehensively stepped forward and took the garment--if one could even call it that--from his hands. "Put it on." A smile grew across James's face.

I slipped out of my skirt and blouse, careful not to disturb my hair and makeup. Not that James wouldn't thoroughly 'disturb' it before we were done.

"The panties too," James pointed at my groin, "We don't need those."

I compliantly slid the panties off before stepping into the bodysuit. It was an awkward piece of lingerie--I stepped in through the hole that was meant for the ass, pulled the bottom portion over my legs, then stretched the top portion over my torso and arms. I was ashamed that it fit my slender body just as well as it fit Ari's.

James leaned back on the bed, taking in the view. "Now up on the bed, bitch. On all fours."

I crawled onto the bed, facing him. I could feel the fear coming through my eyes. James loved this.

"Face the television." James pointed toward the TV across the room from the foot of his bed. I angled myself such that I was on all fours, looking at a screen where the paused image of my sister looked straight back at me. James angled himself behind me, just like he was in the video. I felt like I was looking into a mirror. This was clearly the effect that James was going for.

James pulled out his phone and rewound the video to the beginning. Ari was facing forward on all fours with James's face buried into her ass. Her inner eyebrows were turned upward and her eyes were pointed at the ceiling. Her mouth hung open lazily. She looked like an addict who had just shot up.

"Eyes on the screen, Bitch." James's commanding voice boomed from behind me.

"Y-yes Sir."

My breathing intensified as James's hands spread my bulbous ass cheeks outward and up. James had instructed me to do weighted squats, hip thrusters, and clamshell raises every morning in his makeshift gym in the garage. The results were phenomenal as I had packed on some meat on my ass over the past few months. James loved the way that it had started to jiggle when I walked.

James pressed 'play' on his phone, which started the video in front of me. Mirroring himself in the video, James softly kissed me just above my anus. I felt his hot breath as his mouth lowered below my anus to softly kiss my taint.

Mirroring the video, my mouth opened and I exhaled. My inner eyebrows turned upward and my eyes pointed at the ceiling. My jaw went slack and hung open lazily. James was a virtuoso, and I was an instrument in his capable hands.

My limp, shriveled dicklet jolted and tried to straighten itself. James laughed at its pathetic efforts.

"I've never told you how much I love your pathetic little clit," James murmured before his big, soft tongue ran circles around my hole. He pulled his face back a bit. "Not that you're ever going to use it again. I think of it more like a trophy. A little trinket that bounces around, accentuating how much bigger I am. When you prance around with that little mouse bouncing around in your panties, I think of it like a little hood ornament on one of my cars."

"Fuuuuck," I moaned. As much as I hated James, the combination of him talking down to me while stimulating my anus nearly put me over the edge.

"Remember, bitch boy: when you make a mess on this bed, you clean it up."

"Y-y-yes, S-s-sir."

"Good girl."

The video on the screen in front of me was muted, but I could tell that James had been talking to Ari between rimming her. I felt strongly ambivalent about whether I wanted to know what James said to her. On one hand, the racist, sexist dirty talk would have likely enraged me. On the other hand, the humiliation of the situation and how this dominant white god conquered my family would have put me over the edge. I really was his pathetic bitch boy.