Page 39 of Dozer (Rolling Thunder MC #14)

Chapter 39

Dozer

When Daisy had first started cleaning for me, I’d put the electro-butt-plug in her ass and shock the fuck out of her when she couldn’t follow instructions. She’d never held a broom before, much less a vacuum cleaner. She’d never cleaned a toilet, never made a bed. She’d learned how to do laundry while on the road with Dray, but they’d stayed in cheap hotels, where other people still cleaned for them.

And then, when it’d come time for me to tell her, “Go clean all the bathrooms,” and then go check after she was finished to see how she’d done, I’d made her bend over and stare at whatever she’d missed while I’d caned her. I hadn’t wanted to deal with impact play in a negative light, but canes are completely different from hands, paddles, floggers, belts, and whips. I needed something terribly painful and over with quick, so I could tell her to fix it and then cane her again if it wasn’t perfect. Sometimes, I’d put her on her knees on rice to stare at what she missed before I ordered her to fix it, but that takes longer.

Her legs had been permanently striped during those weeks, but she’d figured it out, and now she cleans everything to my specifications just about every time.

Today, she’d been responsible for cleaning the entire downstairs. Everywhere she could reach while on her chain.

And she’d done a fantastic job, so I rewarded her by having a prospect pick up food from one of her favorite restaurants. I usually provide food and she eats it, without a choice in what she gets, but today, I gave her three options I knew she loved, and let her decide between them.

“Thank you, Master.”

“A job well done, little flower. I’m pleased. I also have a project for you.”

I scented trepidation, but her face didn’t show it at all. “What would Master have his slave do, Sir?”

“Viper says tattoo art on leather is a real thing. I want you to sketch something you want to create with the tattoo machine on leather. Something I can frame and hang. If you can’t decide on subject matter, give me a few sketches — small to start if you’d like, but big enough you can show some detail. Once we agree on the drawing, I’ll want you to tattoo it onto a smallish piece of leather, maybe eight by ten, to get the hang of it. Eventually, once you have it down exactly right, I’ll furnish a large skin, with the understanding it might take you months to finish the project at that size.”

Her eyes lit up at the possibilities, and I kissed her forehead. “I’ve ordered the machine you liked best, as well as some inks Viper recommended, along with a list of things he said you’d need. Power supplies, cables, needles, grips, gloves.” Speaking of which. “He says he let you learn barehanded, but it’s best if you always practice in gloves, so it won’t feel odd when you start working on clients.”

“Thank you, Master. I wish there was a way to show you how happy this makes me, and how much your slave appreciates everything you’re doing for her.”

“A Master gets the income of his slave, while she belongs to him. Do I want you in my house cleaning it, or do I want you off making me money? I’ll begin chaining you upstairs on some days soon, so you can clean those rooms while I’m away. Eventually, the chain will go away, but not yet.”

* * * *

Daisy

The next day, the first of the tattoo supplies arrived, and I thanked Master again for taking such good care of me.

Rather than tell me the things he usually does about us having responsibilities to each other, and reminding me our relationship isn’t one-sided and goes both ways, he sat back and stared at me a few seconds, long enough my heart skipped beats a few times, and he finally said, “Want to show me your appreciation? We’ve made meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy together three times, and you know where to find the recipe if you need a refresher. I’m going to chill out in the den while you make dinner. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, crescent rolls, and two other items of your choosing. Make me a plate and bring it downstairs when it’s ready. Once I see what you’ve brought me, I’ll tell you how much you can have of each item, and then you can bring a plate downstairs and join me.”

I chose to add green beans and stewed apples as the other two sides, because I know Master likes both. I fried some bacon in the pan I was going to cook the green beans, cut it up while the beans were cooking in the bacon grease, and then added the bacon pieces back in once it was ready.

The stewed apples were easy, and really, the meatloaf and mashed potatoes aren’t complicated, it’s just a matter of keeping track of everything all at once.

Also, cleaning while I cook. Master likes his kitchen to be clean, even while it’s being used.

I didn’t expect him to pour all my food into a dog dish and make me eat it on all fours with my hands bound behind my back, but it wasn’t the first time he’d made me do it, and I figured it wouldn’t be the last. Also, my clit throbbed between my legs from the instant he pointed to the bowl until long after I finished eating. I don’t know why, but it always does when he makes me do shit like that.

This wasn’t punishment. If he was upset with me for something, he’d tell me. I’m a slave, and slaves eat what they’re given, in whatever manner their Master deems they should eat it. If Master wanted a view of my pussy and ass while I bent over and ate like an animal, then that’s what Master got.

Perhaps he meant for it to remind me of my place. Perhaps it was Master proving to himself how much power he has over me. More likely, it was a combination of the two. The thing is, I already knew how much power he had over me, and it was freeing, in a way. No decisions. No choices. Do what Master says and he’ll take care of me. Was that why my clit turned into a big throbbing mess while I ate? Not so much an in-your-face reminder of my slavehood, but a reminder of how much this man cares for me, so he always takes care of me?

But he was insisting I make a few really big decisions. Did I want to be Daisy Chanel-Hearst? Or would I rather be someone else? Master had asked his brothers to give me a nickname he could use to introduce me to the ol’ladies, and they’d picked Flower. I was already used to Master calling me his Little Flower, so it hadn’t been hard to get used to it as a nickname. This gave me the option of having any name, long-term, and Master said there was no rush in deciding, but in my heart, I knew the sooner I decided, the better.

And if I was completely honest with myself, I wanted to continue to be Daisy, but I truly wanted to be Daisy Stevens. No one ever called Master by his given name, Dwayne, so it isn’t like we’d be Mr. and Mrs. Stevens to them, but legally, that’s what I wanted to be. To Master’s friends, I wanted to be Dozer’s ol’lady so badly it hurt.

He was open about getting my laptop and looking through it. Slaves aren’t allowed privacy for anything. Should I put that down in my journal, so he’d read it? Maybe it was a chickenshit way of telling him, but my rule was that I get everything important I’m thinking to him somehow. He’d never insisted I tell him one way over another, so long as he got the information. Sometimes he can be impossible in his demands, but most of the time, so long as I follow the rules in my own way, he’s good with it.

And so, while I was on the floor eating like an animal, I worded how I’d write it out. Simple and to the point:

The decision would be a no-brainer if Master wanted me to marry him and give me his last name, because then I’d be Daisy Stevens, who used to be Daisy Chanel-Hearst.

Hours later, I asked myself if I was sure while Master put me through the training I hate the most, because I know I’m horrid at it. Master found a yoga teacher who teaches gracefulness online. She’d put a whole bunch of yoga poses I already knew how to do into a kind of dance, and she talked at length about how to move between them with grace.

I knew the poses and had them down, but moving between them the way Master wanted me to was hard, and I got a shock to the plug in my ass every time he deemed my movements displeasing .

But the thing is, he was trying to help me be better. Slaves aren’t supposed to be klutzy and awkward. Master was taking his valuable time to help me learn something no teacher at my boarding school had ever managed. He wasn’t doing it just to be mean. He wanted me to be the best version of myself possible. He cared about me, and he could call me his property all he wanted because that meant he valued me as a person as no one in my life had ever done before.

And so, during my mandatory journaling time the next morning, I typed out my thoughts on whether I wanted to keep my identity or take on another, and I typed the wording I’d decided on while I’d eaten like an animal.

* * * *

Dozer

I read through my Daisy’s entire journal entry three times, looking for clues that might give me a better handle on her frame of mind when she’d written that she wanted me to make her my wife.

And then I slept on it before I made any decisions, because the wolf was pushing hard for me to do whatever I had to do to make her ours for good.

The piercing appointment was scheduled for nine days out, and had been for a while. The guy Viper recommended was booked up, and had needed a larger window to do this as a house call, which was fine.

He’d be bringing simple rings to go in her nipples and above her clit, but if she wanted to be my wife, there was going to be more.

And so, I found a few images of the female chastity device that fits into two vertical piercings, with horizontal ones to help hold it in place — with a shield that locks over the clit in a way so the wearer can’t easily get to the piercings to remove it. This along with multiple labia piercings would allow me to completely control access to her entire pussy area.

I put her on her knees before me, holding her elbows behind her back without being restrained, and ordered, “Eye contact, Daisy May. We’re going to talk about your journal entry of a few days ago. You can take a few seconds to consider your answer, but no longer. Do you want to be a wife under the normal definitions, or do you want to be my slave wife?”

I counted to two in my head before she answered, “Somewhere in between, Master?”

“Explain.”

It was an order, and it meant she could speak freely until I told her otherwise so long as she didn’t veer off the subject at hand.

“I’m your slave for five years, but you’ve let me know I’ll gain freedoms as we move forward, Master. If I’m your wife, then the question becomes who I’ll be after the five years, right, Sir? I’m not romanticizing it, thinking you’ll give me everything I want if I’m your wife. I know that even once I have enough freedoms so I can come and go on a schedule, and maybe even go out to lunch with friends, that I’ll have to do as you say behind closed doors. I don’t like everything you do to me, and sometimes I hate specific things, but I don’t hate being your slave, Master. I…” She took a breath. “Society may not see you as a good person, but I know the truth, that you’re a good man with exceptional morals so long as no one fucks with you or your people. I like the man I’ve gotten to know, and I like living with you despite the little parts of it I sometimes hate.”

“You like me?” I scented dishonesty in those words. Not a lie, but not the complete truth, or I wouldn’t have asked.

Her face flamed red but she didn’t look away. “I think your slave has fallen in love with you, Master.”

“One should be sure before one marries someone. In nine days time, I’m going to ask you to make a big decision. Not whether to marry me or not, but whether to take the first steps towards showing me how serious you are about the possibility of it happening one day. I’m going to administer your enema today. Go to the upstairs bathroom and get everything ready.”

She was required to give them to herself now, but I occasionally enjoyed doing it, and it felt important to do so today — another reminder I control every-fucking-thing about her.

And today? I wanted to really make my point, so I put a bardex nozzle in to make sure she’d hold it as long as I wanted her to, dumped enough castile soap in the water to make her cramps hard and sharp, and I gave her more water than she thought she could take. A lot more.

While she was on her left side, full of water with her legs drawn up, I stretched out behind her, lifted her top leg, and crammed my dick in her cunt — and then stayed still while her insides spasmed and cramped, and my little flower cried. Eventually, I rolled her to her back and fucked her in missionary, slow and easy at first, but forty-five minutes in, when I was close to coming, I fucked her hard and fast for probably three to five minutes before I came deep inside her.

“Someday I might want to breed you, if you decide to be my slave-wife.”

Her scent was conflicted, but now wasn’t the time to talk about it. I picked her up, took her to the bathroom, sat her on the toilet, and released the double balloons on the bardex nozzle. I’d stayed around to watch her shit the first couple of times, but I don’t get off on scat, and I was just as happy to leave her be while she evacuated the enema. I gave her three more to rinse the soap, the first two with some Epsom salts because that would soothe the insult of the soap, and the last with a touch of sea salt, to help make sure she wasn’t bloated.

When she finished getting rid of the last enema, I had a bowl of chicken soup with a few of the fancy crackers she likes, all in a pretty place setting on the table waiting for her. She ate the entire bowl and didn’t want more, and then I put her to bed and held her until she went to sleep. There’d be a whole lot of anal training the next day, but first, she needed rest.