Intrusions

After groggily waking up twice and sleeping in again, I finally got up with the need to pee and an urge to somehow clean myself. It didn’t take long for me to notice a base arousal, possibly still coming from being still in that tight chastity cage and the slutty clothes. As my small apartment only has one main room, it was just a short way to the bathroom, passing my computer on stand-by. When I sat down on the toilet seat, considering to unlock for avoiding a mess, I remembered I had put both my keys away. I could deal with the spray and droplets, just having had to kind of wash or shower those parts clean. On another note, not only was my breath still smelly from my diet the day before, but I also had quite a solid load to dump. Looking into the toilet bowl, there seemed nothing to worry about, especially since the double processed feces made their final way into the sewers instead of doing another round.

Given the opportunity and how I felt, I undressed and showered, washing away my stains and sin, at least for a while. As I put the girl clothes into the laundry box, I noticed that the panties had a wet spot in the front, kind of sticky. It was a common effect of being in chastity, especially when being locked longer. The pressure from the innie didn’t help, and it must have been a significant amount for that much to make its way to the front after all.

Then I drank some water from the tap and brushed my teeth. I was starting to feel like a normal human being again, which also felt weird compared to the recent hours. It somehow didn’t fit the narrative. Confusion dazzled my mind, as there was so much to think about, and I still wasn’t sure how today would go. Maybe he would just ignore more and leave me on my own, he certainly had better things to do than to deal with me. That would make it harder for me keeping all the promises I made yesterday. Two weeks can be a long time when in chastity, and I was forbidden to play with others or myself without his explicit decision. Despite my brain still in the lower gears, I thoughtfully applied some lotion onto my cage, trying to prevent or at least delay any skin irritations.

Before taking care how to dress and what to do, I activated my computer, aware that if he would watch its camera right now, he would get the full picture of naked me. As if he hadn’t already witnessed and even recorded that. But maybe it would make him somehow happy. I didn’t expect him to waiting for me, or immediately jumping on a motion detection alert he might have set up, and he might not contact me for hours or days. In the old habit of having porn music videos running for whatever I was doing, I activated the computer, being greeted by the very same background picture as he had set on my phone, my open mouth face eating my own feces. It didn’t take me much attention to notice that I was automatically logged in with a new account and didn’t have access to any admin stuff. User name: shit eater. How suiting. My cock bumped against its cage. A little bit to my surprise, I didn’t even have access to the locations my porn was stored on my PC. I found a new folder right on my main screen though labeled ‘porn for shit eater’. My suppressed boner leaned against the metal even stronger.

There were only a few dozens of pictures in it and an audio file. I tried to shrug it off and initiated a slide show with all the pictures and the audio file to play in the background, as usual on my second screen so I could still browse the internet or do other things on my main screen. The pictures weren’t big so it didn’t take any time to load.

While I heard my own voice saying: “I am eating shit despite the taste because I deserve nothing better.”

Now I remembered that this sentence felt a bit off in the middle of the acted lists of acts when I read it for the camera yesterday. He must have cut it out, as it ran in a loop with a humming in the background reminding me of hypnosis files. The pictures one after another with random transition effects always showed the same: his profile picture from the messenger, only in full and good resolution, showing two gloves holding up a wooden cross with strings attached downwards, a marionette controller. One difference was the bold text on them though, each propagating a different message. Among others, they told me:

“You are a loser.”

“Everybody knows you are a loser.”

“Eating shit suits you.”

“Thousands will see your shit eating videos.”

“A day on which you eat shit is a good day.”

“You love to obey.”

“Your misery is a sacrifice.”

“Your purpose is to serve.”

At the moment, I wasn’t too curious about all the statements. I think it had more to do with my general state of mind, kind of wandering like a ghost, shifting between a light sweat and shivers like a flickering ghost. I tried to decide what to do next. Maybe dress?

I don’t know how long I sat there, naked, in front of the computer, my sensation in the cage fading back into a void, the slide show in front of my eyes and my voice indoctrinating me. I guess it must have been minutes if not even half an hour, when a pop-up on my screens broke my stasis.

Though I have encountered remote computer control software at work and seen it mentioned in some online conversations by the kinky peers, I was never on the receiving end. I am used to have one messenger window where I control when I join the conversation and when I leave. This pop-up was weird in that regard. It was hard to read as it moved around on the screen, and I could not interact with it until it stopped, displaying his user name with a message:

“End of Passion: Hello shit eater, finally awake. Looks like you had a good rest as ordered.”

The reply field was already selected. It took me a second to wake up, put my hands on the keyboard and reply, correcting my writing as I noticed the clock:

“Shit eater: Good day, Sir. Thank you. Yes, I am well rested. Just got up.”

Now, our conversation slowly picked up the pace I was used to.

“End of passion: You may dress casually today, just wear panties again instead of your normal underwear. I guess you have more than one set of panties, right?”

“Shit eater: Yes, Sir. A few.”

“End of passion: Good. You might need more sooner or later, as that’s the only underwear you are going to wear from now on. Got any problems with that?”

I gulped. While I have had no choice wearing a chastity cage in public for uninterruptedly wearing it any longer than a few days, it had been my choice to jump in against my anxiety. Looking back, it hadn’t been nearly as risky as I imagined. But making me wear panties was his call now. It felt kind of good to be told, so I had not to decide myself and possibly chicken out. I was going to do it for him.

“Shit eater: No, Sir. I am not used to, but I expect to get used to it like I got used to wearing my cage in public. In the end, most likely nobody notices.”

“End of passion: Most likely. Hehehe. I’ll pick some and order them with your account when I am in the mood for that. Just as a heads-up. But from now on anyways, don’t order anything yourself without my permission.”

That was a massive change. I wasn’t used to order or buy many things anyway, but still, wasn’t that a huge privilege of being a grown-up? It didn’t feel like I had a choice though.

“Shit eater: Understood, Sir. May I ask in case I think I need anything ordered?”

“End of passion: Yes, you may. I had a look at your finances. Respect for the decent income at your age. It’s way above minimum wage.”

Fortunately, he wasn’t going to go harsh on me. As long as I could speak-up, I was sure any issues I had with his rules could be sorted out. A smooth warmth spread out from my belly.

“Shit eater: Thank you, Sir.”

“End of passion: But your expenses are still quite close to your earnings, with nearly no savings, not that I expected much. I guess your parents aren’t that well off?”

“Shit eater: Actually, they have earned and gathered enough, just rather prudent. But they couldn’t wait to not waste any more money on me. They easily agreed to vow for my apartment rent as soon as I got a full-time job nine months ago. My dad was happy I dropped out of school though my grades were actually good. And I was glad to get out of there. At home, I couldn’t even state any opinion of my own or any wishes without being scolded. They kept bothering me to get a job, find a wife, and get some kids to populate the earth as God demands. Nothing about being happy.”

I sighed, being glad I was able to tell someone, still not sure how interested was in my life.

“End of passion: I see. But now that you are eighteen you have become independent?”

“Shit eater: Yes, Sir. It should feel kind of freeing, but I guess I am not there yet.”

Though now, I felt a relief having told someone about my situation.

“End of passion: No need to worry anymore. I’ll take care you don’t run out of money as long as I am entertained playing with you. I won’t sponsor you though. Just obey my orders and honestly tell me whenever there’s an issue and any time you failed me.”

That was neat. He made me curious how he would achieve that. Not that I struggled with overspending, but there were so many mandatory living costs involved in my current life.

“End of passion: Now that you are ready for the day, I have two tasks for you today. That should still leave you with plenty of free time to recover. Maybe that also makes it easy enough for you not to come up with bad ideas how to degrade yourself on your own. That’s my privilege now, shit eater. You may send me a reasonable number of suggestions though, no more than one daily on average. I might read the notes you save on your computer.”

A new Office file appeared on my desktop, labeled ‘Shit eater’s ideas and thoughts’. I trusted him to take them into account as experienced yesterday.

“Shit eater: Many thanks, Sir.”

“End of passion: Let’s start with the simple assignment first. Go shopping for groceries: rice, potatoes, and coarse rolled oats. All of them the cheapest you can get per content, most probably the bigger packages. Don’t worry for any milk or sauces. Water will suffice. Have a look at your current food stocks and the expiration dates. Consume them in time. I don’t like you wasting food, you little shit. Except for that, I want you on that cheap diet as soon as possible. The only other items you buy are a cheap pack of strong clothing pegs, a set of colored permanent markers, disinfection spray, and pills for a full spectrum of essential vitamins and minerals. Do you think that’s easy enough for a dumb-ass like you?”

It was actually quite an easy task, compared to what I did at work. The worst might be carrying big food packages. Frankly, I could already see myself living that style now. It made total sense but I would have never done that on my own, nor being able to endure it. I still wasn’t sure how long I could even go along with it under his thumb. But I was more than willing to try, and try hard. As hard as the arousing pressure of my cock against the innie pushing it inwards.

“Shit eater: I’ll do it right away, Sir.”

“End of passion: That’s what I meant for you. Once you are done shopping, send me pictures of the items. Go on with your day but keep an ear on your phone. I might ping you for the second task any time then.”

Since I had all my orders and he seemed to expect me to, I stood up and dressed, the purple-striped female G-string laying on top of a small extra pile, simple pants and socks over that, a shirt, and a jacket that made me feel safer outside. The next grocery I could buy the items was a good walk away.

The worst was that I had to carry a big sack of potatoes with rice and oat packages on top. I was glad the huge sack of dried rice hadn’t been the cheapest, and that the oats had only come in smaller packages at all, so I wouldn’t need to buy them in such a weight at once. If it would have turned otherwise, I would have had to get creative, as I had proven many times at work. I guess that was one of the reasons why Mr. Vanderbilt paid me that well. He had experienced me as very adaptive and smart helping him out, making things work.

After my successful return, sweating through my shirt, I took photos of the items now on my kitchen counter, as well as the content of my food shelves, refrigerator, and icebox. It wasn’t that much, no snacks as those were comparatively expensive and unhealthy anyway, but a few items I had been looking for to enjoy. One of my favorites were instant noodles, ice cream, and small portions of other desserts. Yummy! I send the pictures right away and rewarded myself with a hot meal and a mini dessert in an industrial but still fancy dessert glass.

Indeed, he left me alone for a few hours, except for a quick ping on my phone I expected to be the second task.

It was a simple message: “Until further notice, I prefer your body shaved like yesterday and dressing slutty at home.”

Although it wasn’t an order, I shaved again, not resulting in much yield, but a nice, wholesome feeling on my skin, especially when I put on the cheap Aloe Vera cream from its big box. Made me smile, and also brought me very much in the mood to pick up the second crop top I owned, a baby blue plain version with short sleeves. I added French Terry hot pants and striped over-knee socks in the same color. I assumed he was watching my computer and phone cameras from time to time. I jokingly went through different poses in front of my desk for a few minutes, watching myself on the screen, the slide show still running on the other.

After that, I kept myself busy with some overdo chores and frustrating internet research due to adult content restrictions and a censoring plug-in. When I was already sitting on my PC, he didn’t ping me but the conversation window opened right away.

“End of passion: Enjoying the new restrictions? Hehehe. As if I would care. Here’s the second task for today. It’s simply meeting an appointment I made for you. Location is saved on your phone navigation app. You are expected on point 4 pm sharp there. The distance is a good thirty minutes for you, and you are going to leave fifteen minutes earlier than necessary. I like you waiting there.”

I checked my phone to find the address he mentioned. First thing I noticed was a mark on my home address: Home of shit eater. A bit scared, I opened the spot. It showed two pictures of me. One was my face holding up my readable I. The other I also knew very well by now: my visible face with my open mouth full of shit, not doubts it was anything else. I felt like skipped a heart-beat. It took me several seriously long looks at the details to calm down by the facts. It was not made public, though that was be only one button push away. I doubt such a pervert post would have been tolerated very long and probably taken down quickly. Then again, it was my account that would have gotten into trouble. On second thought, he likely did prefer to keep that as a vital part of his control and blackmail threads.

An evil corner in my mind softly dropped my hands on the keyboard. They opened the notes file and started typing my recent thoughts. My wicked mind continued it thoughts in writing, that he might pick out one of the kinky community sites with a similar feature, adding exactly that post with my real name and address, and maybe even more proves of my humiliation so far, where it would never be taken down and more likely be seen by people to enjoy my exploitation and possibly joining in at a point. I already regretted my decision to share this but then again, he had ordered me to do so, right?

Then I focused back on the task, hoping the time I had taken for the notes was appropriate from his perspective. The destination looked like a tattoo shop was there.

“End of passion: You introduce there with your name. The rest is already dealt with, including payment, and any choices of course. To not scare the shit out of you, you are going to get your ears pierced, multiple times. They’ll ask you for consent and explain the procedure again. I already picked ear buds for the holes. Nice surgical steel ones, cheapest you can get with a durability.”

I gulped. A tattoo would have been way worse, but still. I never have had any piercings, partly because of the blood, but also since I considered it permanent even though the holes would close without having them filled for a longer time. He was right to inform me because otherwise I might have gone crazy I might be tattooed all over the place. Honestly, characters with plentiful naughty tattoos and piercings were parts of my porn collection I now lost access to, but I never seriously considered getting any. The demeaning modifications that turned me on were too serious in their consequences for me to consider. With my currently shoulder-long hair my ears were hidden under them as long as I didn’t bind them together in any way, so ear piercings were going to be the easiest choice to have some.

“End of passion: They should tell you again, that you need to keep them in and disinfect daily for up to eight weeks. That’s when you already have your next appointment to solder them, meaning you can’t just remove them if you wanted. Once you are back home from the piercing, take pictures of them and share with me. Are you going to be a good toy and endure some pain and this simple modification for me?”

That was pushing me enough to make the jump over this acceptable obstacle: I immediately responded: “Shit eater: Yes, Sir. I love to please you.”

“End of passion: No mistake of yours but as I see it, from now on you’ll write and speak of yourself in the third person, using ‘it’ as pronoun. Say again.”

“Shit eater: Yes, Sir. It loves to please you.”

“End of passion: Very good. I am sure your adult restrictions won’t prevent you from looking up ear piercings in general. Heck, maybe you are even going to look forward to it, you slutty bitch. Just look at yourself. I didn’t ask you to dress like this, though I like it. Keep putting on this little show-off for me whenever you like. Who knows with whom I might share these pictures as a proof of your obedience, or where I might upload it. I’ll make sure the sites will be on your black list so you accidentally won’t find them. Call yourself lucky you don’t have to go to the piercing session in these. Maybe only not yet, Haha.”

I gulped. His words rang true in my mind. I felt even sluttier right now, possibly turning red in my face.

“End of passion: I probably leave you all alone for today. No need to keep your hopes up, shit eater. Same procedure for a healthy sleep tonight, though you’ll undress for the night. I already ordered two cute girlie pajamas for you, credit to your measurements in your order history. If you can’t sleep again, same procedure as last night. Cya”

“Thank you, Sir. I will … it will do as you told it.”

Despite his goodbye, I was still lingering gazing at the window if he would write anything else. Only then I carefully checked the schedule and planned ahead when I would have to change clothes. Since the thought popped up in my head, I briefly dreamed of staying dressed as I was for the appointment, posing in front of the shop for a selfie to impress the new force in my life. I quickly brushed it off. It was scary enough already. Especially after I had encountered these huge ear rings through the ear lobes which seemed to be quite popular with women. Those would be much harder to hide and I dearly hoped he hadn’t chosen any of those.

A friendly, middle-aged woman greeted me. I couldn’t ignore noticing her multiple ear piercings filled with studs and small rings, and a big tattoo on each side on her free arms and shoulders. Due to being way too early, I was given a seat around the reception desk. During my wait, I had plenty of time to look around. The entry area I was in was full of pictures of big area tattoos, a showroom of the shop’s expertise, and plenty of stylish satin cloth, mythical figurines, and dark wooden furniture for style. The clean air was easy to breath with a slight smell of cleaning alcohol. There were two rooms in the back, their entries covered with velvet curtains. I heard the flowing humming sound of a tattoo machine in use but no cries or moaning at all. When the client from that room was done and left through the curtain, I could see a huge, colored shining tattoo on his back, displaying the fight of a tiny, lonely knight against a huge dragon enveloping the space. I overheard the parting chat with the tattoo artist, a black-long-bearded guy, with heavily tattooed free arms. Both of them were quite jolly. The client was already used to the aftercare that the artist reminded him of nonetheless.

While the bearded guy washed and changed his gloves, the woman called me up and guided me towards the other backroom and to take place on the chair there. Soon enough, the bearded guy joined me on a stool beside it, readying his instruments on a small, mounted plate he adjusted a few times for comfortable access. As I had been told, he asked for consent and gave an overview over the small procedure and required aftercare. He sounded like this was a piece of cake, which certainly for him and most of his customers it had become indeed. But not for me. I braced myself when the artist firmly grabbed on my left ear to start.

The sting was swift, but still good enough to make me grit my teeth and groan in pain. My focus was on holding in there to not cause any mishap on my body, even if it were only my ears. The craftsman chuckled. Obvious even to me was the sharp difference between what he had just performed and the rather simple procedure I was in for. I am not too sensitive to pain, but I am not used to it that much, and not eager to. I also don’t believe in that manly trope of enduring pain, silent like an Indian. Why not avoiding harm in the first place? Being hurt in play is only turning me on for pleasing the dominant, not for the pain itself. Another type of sacrifice I have had a hard time executing on my own. For today, I was in for a dozen piercings, just for him, all on my ears, six on each side. Again, I was impressed how much space Human ears apparently had for piercings. I got all mine on the lobes and the helix, the back outward big curve of the ear.

As the pain from each piercing slowly subsided, the overall impact of that many was still significant. I was tempted to touch my ears but restraints myself since I knew better. Then the bearded guy swung the plate around and I looked over a series of six metal ear stud pairs. Those must have been for me, I thought, but still couldn’t believe it yet. Five of them ended in tiny symbol shapes: a bigger shit pile, a lock symbol, a wide cock with balls, two interlocking male symbols, and a spread butt with a visible hole, if you looked close enough.

I was a little shocked first, as I wouldn’t have ever imagined anything degrading like this. And those would be solded in eight weeks, fixed to my ears? My cock twitched behind the innie, as little as it was possible under the pressure that kept it inward. On the other hand, I hadn’t seriously considered any piercings for myself so far. Even in BDSM comics, I had never encountered a whole series of demeaning piercing studs. There was the last pair of studs I had seen in a comic once or twice though. The last studs for me had a small name tag swinging attached to them, reading: “Shit eater”.

In that moment, I wasn’t aware what all the consequences would have been if I had dropped out of the task then and there. The piercings had already been made. If I would have resisted to get the studs in, then all that would have been in vain. And who knows what he would have done then with all the power he had over me now. As a matter of fact, I didn’t say a word but let the tattoo artist proceed. It just happened to me as I went along with everything, numb inside.

As it turned out, the name tag studs came into the very top piercing, so the danger of them showing throughout my hairs hanging over my ears was even lower. Still, I was marked with these symbols and my new name on top of that. I returned home in a rather slow pace. The woman was a bit worried and asked if I was okay when I left the tattoo shop, still fuzzy in my mind with what just happened. These were my very first piercings at all. Hard to believe from an outside perspective, I thought. But then again, it seemed like my fate again. As long as my hair wasn’t cut or put into tails, nobody would see. Back at home, I had to, though, for making the ordered selfies, choosing the familiar twin braids. In a sudden rush of submission, I changed into my slutty clothes again first. Now the overall picture felt way more in sync before I send them.

I got no reaction though. That gave me a break to clear my mind and reflect. A strange sensation from around my chastity cage bothered me. I only knew it from having issues down there from wearing it for longer. I did the best I could do without the keys and breaking any of my rules by generously applying the cream all over it. Then I edited my notes file:

Strange sensation, as experienced before from continuously wearing the inverse chastity cage I am in. Probably something swollen. Not sure if or when irreversible harm might occur.

As that didn’t take too long, I went to bed early this day, still struggling with sleep and having to get the spoon counting the cock pictures again. Was anything wrong with me? Just when I was beginning to slumber, I heard the computer starting up. Following my usual habit, I had shut down my computer, only now to consider if I had disobeyed his order from yesterday. Maybe he wasn’t making any fuzz about it later because he apparently had the power to switch it back on remotely any time. Who knows what he might look up now, if he hadn’t copied all my initial data anyway, or what he might set up now. It’s not if I had any say about it. He would inform me tomorrow about anything he intended me to know. With the acceptance of being in his hand, I shifted into the peaceful tranquility of dreamland.