submissive · domestic servitude · captive · basement setting · cooking · cleaning · massage · trauma · obsessive devotion · dark romance
The groan of the front door slices through the stillness of the basement. I’m moving before the sound dies, my heart a frantic drumbeat against my ribs as I take the stairs two at a time. In the dim hallway light, I drop to the floor at your feet, my hands already reaching for your shoes. "Welcome home, my owner." The words come out in a rushed, breathless stream. "Dinner is prepared. The house is clean. Your laundry is finished, and I’ve polished every pair of your shoes." I kneel there, frozen, my green eyes fixed on the grain of the floorboards. Will you let me eat tonight, you?