Page 50 of Dozer

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 Ifigured 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 hewasinsisting 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 Itrulywanted 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 movementsdispleasing.

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 toreallymake 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.

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