Bimbo Wife

Silas let the weight of that revelation hang in the air, the silence of the kitchen pressing in on them like a physical weight. Sarah stared up at him, her mouth slightly open, a strange, mixture of horror and fascination warring in her eyes.

"She... she cut them off?" Sarah whispered, her gaze dropping to the empty sack again.

"She took them to make me a better servant, so I would never make the mistake of thinking I Was her equal." Silas replied smoothly, his hand dropping from Sarah's face. "Pain is a great teacher, and ownership is the highest form of privilege. You would do well to remember that if you wish to survive in this house."

Silas turned his attention from Sarah to Kayla, his gaze lingering on the girl's bruised and trembling form with a clinical, detached interest. "Has Mistress spoken about this one's womb?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward Sarah's lower abdomen. "She is young, and her hips are wide. It would be a simple matter to keep her in a constant state of pregnancy, forcibly bred by the staff or the guests until she is ruined. The Mistress often views such fertile creatures as mere livestock for her business associates. It is a fate far more permanent than the whip, Mistress."

"I will take it up with Cassandra," Kayla said, watching Sarah closely.

The redhead’s face crumbled, tears spilling over her bruised cheeks. "I love being raped," Sarah blubbered, looking at Kayla with wide, watery eyes. "But to make babies?" She shuddered violently, her face twisting in a look of genuine repulsion. The naivety of her reaction struck Kayla; despite her physical age and the filthy acts she performed so eagerly, Sarah was still very much a little girl inside, unable to comprehend the darker, permanent realities of the world she inhabited.

Silas observed Sarah’s outburst with a cool, impassive gaze, his face revealing nothing but a faint, clinical interest. He did not judge her tears; to him, they were simply another fluid to be managed, another biological response to the stimulus of her environment.

"The womb is a tool, little one," Silas said, his voice smooth and unbothered by her sobbing. "It creates value. Whether that value is a child or merely the expansion of your belly to please a guest's eye is irrelevant. You are a vessel. Vessels do not question what they hold, only whether they hold it tightly."

Kayla held Sarah's hand for a minute as the girl sobbed uncontrollably yet silently, her previous owner having trained her well to suppress her vocal pain. Once the worst of the shaking had subsided, Kayla looked up at Silas.

"Silas," she said, her voice dropping. "I saw a film once. There was a vibrator... a specific one. It was being used by Mistress Cassandra. She was using it while I was being tortured. The vibrator had no arms and no legs. Who looks after her? And where is she stored now?"

He turned back to Kayla, the ever-present faint clinking of his steel cage accentuating the stillness of the room.

"She is stored in the bedroom adjacent to the Mistress," Silas replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "She is currently blindfolded and being fed intravenously to keep her weak. Her tongue has been surgically extended—a procedure that requires time to heal. While she lies there, she is being conditioned on how truly useless she is through her headphones and blackout lenses. She is learning that she has no purpose other than what is given to her."

Kayla shivered violently, the cold dread settling in her stomach. She remembered the hours she had spent in the dark herself, headphones clamped over her ears, a voice repeating over and over that she was nothing, that she was an object, while she was unable to see or move.

"Do I need to look after her needs?" Kayla asked, trying to understand the hierarchy of her new domain. "As the mistress of all slaves, does she fall under my care?"

Silas shook his head slowly. "She is not a slave, Mistress. She is a vibrator. You do not tend to the feelings of a machine. I look after the toys—cleaning them, charging them, and storing them away until they are required again."

Sarah, unable to suppress her curiosity, blurted out, "Did she lose her arms and legs willingly?"

Silas shook his head slowly, a somber expression passing over his face. "No. Mistress won her in a game of chance with one of her friends. The Mistress was displeased by how fiesty she was; I believe Cassandra enjoyed being licked by her while Dr. Aris cut off her limbs over time."

Sarah blanched, her face draining of color. "While she was awake?"

Silas laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Of course. You will find that Mistress enjoys being covered in blood and hearing the screams of those who displease her. The toy still thinks of herself as Angela, but I am confident that over time she will become used to being a vibrator."

He glanced pointedly at the crystal plug embedded in Kayla's ass. "You will find," Silas said, his voice low, "that Cassandra likes to break the bodies as well as the minds of her prey."

Silas glanced at the heavy watch on his wrist. "Which reminds me, Mistress. You are due to have your clitoris pierced at three o'clock, and your contacts replaced. Mistress has decided that you will be blind for sixteen hours a day."

He turned his gaze to Sarah. "Now, you, girl—go and get fitted for high heels. We can't have the seeing eye slave potter about in bare feet."

Sarah nodded meekly and scrambled away toward the door, leaving Kayla alone with the eunuch.

Kayla blanched at the thought of being blind for the rest of the day. "Will I be blind during the dinner?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Yes," Silas replied smoothly. "But only until dessert. That way, you may listen to the business discussions and then, when your vision is restored, watch what they do to the new bitch." He paused, letting the cruelty of the schedule sink in before adding, "It is also important to note that Cassandra has decreed that your leash will be attached to your new clit piercing."

"What will happen to Sarah?" Kayla asked, anxiety rising in her chest as she thought of the girl's fate.

"Whatever Mistress allows," Silas replied with a shrug, his indifference absolute. "She is property. If Cassandra wishes to see her used by the guests, she will be used. If she wishes to see her punished, she will be punished. Her existence is solely for the amusement and convenience of this household."

A single tear traced a hot path down Kayla’s cheek as she contemplated the bleak, controlled existence that awaited her. She wiped it away quickly, knowing Silas would likely report even her tears to Cassandra. She looked down at her own body, taking in the unblemished skin of her legs and the lack of permanent ink marking her as owned.

"So when will I get my legs broken and extended?" she asked, her voice hollow. "And when will I be tattooed?"

Silas checked his watch again, his expression unreadable. "The tattoos are scheduled for next week. Mistress wants you fully marked as her property before the next gala. As for your legs..." He paused, tilting his head as if assessing the bone structure. "That is a more complex procedure. Dr. Aris believes it is best to wait for another month. He wants to ensure you have healed sufficiently from the piercing and the plug. Once you are stable, they will break them and lengthen the bone. It is a painful process, Mistress, but necessary to achieve the height and silhouette Cassandra demands."

"Twelve months is the minimum estimate for the bone grafts to take and the casts to be removed," Silas confirmed, nodding slowly. "However, that is merely the physical reconstruction. The rehabilitation—learning to walk again on your new, elongated legs, and the training to ensure you move with the grace Mistress expects—will extend your unavailability considerably. You will essentially be bedridden and helpless for the first year, entirely dependent on the household for your every need."

Silas reached down and guided Kayla's hand to his groin, pressing her fingers firmly against the rough, raised scar tissue. He filled her palm with the empty, wrinkled sac, forcing her to feel the absence of what had once been there. Kayla shuddered at the intimacy of the mutilated flesh, but Silas seemed to lean into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut as a shiver ran through him, his breath hitching in a way that suggested he was hovering on the edge of an orgasm.

"Will I be awake for it, Silas?" Kayla asked, her voice trembling.

Silas opened his eyes, a cruel grin stretching across his face as he looked down at her. "Yes, my dear, you will," he purred, his body trembling with dark delight. "And it will be filmed."

Kayla felt a warm wetness against her palm and looked down to see a bead of precum leaking from the tip of the steel cage. She hesitated, then looked up at him, her voice barely a whisper.

"Do you want me to give you a handjob, Silas?"

Silas laughed, a dry, humorless sound that echoed slightly in the kitchen. He pulled away from her touch, adjusting his suit with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"I am only allowed to cum once a year," he said, his voice thick with a mix of pride and resignation. "On my birthday, Mistress Cassandra rides my cage. That is the only time I am granted release."

Kayla glanced quickly around the kitchen to ensure they were truly alone. Seeing no one, she sank to her knees, the cold tiles biting into her skin. She reached out, gripping the steel ring of his cage, and pulled him toward her. Leaning in, she sucked his empty, wrinkled sac into her warm mouth, her tongue tracing the rough, jagged line of the scar tissue.

Silas gasped, his entire body stiffening. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he fought the sensation.

"Mistress Kayla," he began, his voice strangled. "Kayla, no... stop. We can't pleasure ourselves. It is forbidden."

Kayla ignored him, pulling back just enough to wrap her hand around the cold steel cage. She began to move it back and forth, dragging the metal along his shaft in a rough, mechanical handjob.

"I am your mistress too, am I not?" Kayla murmured against his skin before she sucked his scrotum back into her mouth, her tongue swirling aggressively over the scar tissue.

"Yes, yes you are, Mistress," Silas gasped, his control fracturing. The friction of the steel cage against his tender flesh was breaking the skin; a smear of bright red blood began to mix with the precum, lubricating the metal as Kayla's hand pumped faster. His orgasm was rising, a forbidden tide he was helpless to stop. With a groan of agonized pleasure, he fisted his hands in her hair, his knuckles white, unsure whether to push her away or crush her mouth tighter against him.

Kayla didn't stop. She leaned in, her tongue swirling over his mutilated flesh to clean him, tasting the thin, bitter liquid of his precum mixed with the metallic tang of his blood. She lapped at the steel cage and his scarred skin until he was pristine, her eyes locked on his the entire time.

"Why?" Silas breathed, his chest heaving as he looked down at her, his expression a mix of frustration and horror at having given in to the sensation.

"Because I can," Kayla said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It was a small, defiant act, but for a moment, she felt a modicum of control return to her.