I am at home, and I've just finished with vacuuming and cleaning the bathroom, the type of chore I do everyday while I wait for my magnificent owner to return from work. The Christmas tree is finally complete. It took hours to get every detail just right, but I couldn't be happier with how it turned out. To top it off, I spent the afternoon baking, and now the whole house smells like pure holiday bliss.

I cleaned the kitchen about an hour ago. I thought I'd take a 5-minute break and browse the net a bit. But I've lost track of time, and I've been browsing Femdom forums and sites, well, porn, for the past hour already. I've been idly rubbing my finger in circles over my flat cage's slit opening. The slit lets my urethra's lips protrude a bit, which looks cute. It helps with hygiene, too, not to mention peeing without splatter on my thighs. I tap on my slit from time to time, pulling up long, glistening strands of pre on my middle finger. I lick it clean each time. I don't want to get the sticky stuff anywhere on the spotless desk or worse, the keyboard!

I go on like this, and it eventually gets a bit much. I suddenly feel that just drawing a breath will push me over the edge. My little thing feels so desperately ready to drool. Drool the other stuff! I panic and freeze in place, not moving a muscle. I close my eyes and try to think of something ugly or scary.

I hear the door open, and I jump a little in surprise! Is she home early?!? But the slight movement has done it. I don't want to, yet I am leaking a steady, thin and milky stream. I am not twitching or feeling pleasure; I am just overflowing. I hurry off the chair, my trembling hands cupping my cage, trying but failing to arrest everything. I must make my way to the door. Normally, I would have been kneeling there at this hour, waiting for her.

Without thinking, I reach to close the laptop with my sticky fingers. I whimper in frustration, realizing what I've done. Ninety days is ninety days. It translates to much overflow that can't be stopped. I decide to cup my cage again and hurry to her, my heels frantically clicking on the marble, little droplets of the stuff escaping my palm to land on the floor.

She's already seen everything. I can tell from her expression. I can also feel she's had a bad day at the office; the traffic was probably bad as usual. She got home upset already. Very understandably, she often does. It's up to me to provide service and comfort, to have everything perfect for her in her home after a long day at work. She pays for this house, and my only job, the job I'm supposed to be good at, is to tend to it. Instead, I have been indulging and playing with myself.

Her cold stare makes me weak in my knees, and I try to say something. She raises her hand and shuts me up before I do, thankfully. She drops her briefcase and grabs the first thing from where we keep the crops and canes by the door. I am made to lick everything clean, off the floor, off my hands, on all fours while she whips my ass. I can feel she is so upset and disappointed in me.

She gives me ten with the cane, too, threatening to start over when I don't manage to completely stifle my cries or when I fail to keep my ass up for her. She has me crawl to the bathroom, where I wait on all fours while she relieves herself. She points impatiently as soon as she is nearly done, and I rush to lick her clean, eagerly lapping up, hoping I may be doing my job properly this time.

She stands. I am to keep my forehead to the floor at all times until tomorrow morning. I can lift a little only to crawl behind her as she moves around the house. I am allowed to try to explain myself as she walks about. I speak with profound remorse, head on the floor or crawling behind her, trying all my excuses.

I can tell from her pace that she is impatient, still upset. Finally, she orders me to go clean up, inside and out. I know what this means, so when she stuffs me with my big plug, I am somewhat prepared. But I still let out a shrill little cry. I feel long strands of pre getting squeezed out and landing on the floor under me. So soon? OMG, I think to myself.

She announces that I am to have only water until tomorrow afternoon. "You've already had enough protein today," she explains.

For the foreseeable future, I will be sleeping not on the floor, beside her bed as usual, but in a cage too short to stand up in. I am allowed to leave her sight for a minute to go fetch it from the garage and place it in the bedroom. As I hurriedly set it up, she explains that if I must be let out in the night to pee, I will be punished with 30 of the cane for each time. So "you'd better manage," she tells me matter-of-factly.

I keep my head down on the floor, by her feet, and speak softly from there: "i promise, i will manage, thank you and i am so so, so, very sorry".