My masters had wanted me to get an early start Saturday morning, so by 9:30am I was already in my maid’s uniform scrubbing the hallway baseboards while Rebecca and Karl relaxed in bed smoking a wake-up joint and watching cartoons.

From my kneeling position just outside their room, I fluctuated from cleaning to ogling the half-dressed, reclining stoners to glancing at their TV show, “Hoop the Horse.” When a wheel fell off the equine hero’s dune buggy, sending the vehicle tumbling over a cliff, Rebecca slapped her head.

“That’s what I was trying to remember to tell you — that damn wheel on the car keeps rattling,” she said. “Can you look at it today?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Karl scoffed. “I don’t know about you, honey, but I been thinking it ain’t right that we got a slave driving a goddamn BMW and you’re stuck with that piece of shit. Hey, Chrissie!”

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Get your ass in here.”

I scrambled to my feet and stepped into the bedroom.  “Y-yes, sir?”

Karl frowned. “You think it’s right that Rebecca has to drive that old Neon while you’re running around in that nice Beemer you rented? I mean, ain’t you supposed to be the damn slave around here?”

“Um, y-yes, sir.”

“Well, then, she shouldn’t be driving that Neon, should she?”

“Um … I … uh, no, sir.” I bit my tongue; if I had any balls, I’d have asked the selfish bastard why he didn’t just let his wife take my Mercedes while he drove the older of the two cars. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing that questioning Mr. King Shit would only cause my angel to reprimand me, because in her eyes the sonofabitch could do no wrong.

Karl leaned his head back and regarded me through buzzed eyes. “I think my girl should be driving that Beemer, what do you think, sissy?”

I gulped. There was only one acceptable answer. “Um, yes, sir. Uh, I’d need to add her name at the rent-a-car place, though, so she’d be authorized to drive it.”

“Yeah, well, make sure you get that done before she has to go to work Monday,” Karl ordered.

“Y-yes, sir. Um, I better get there today, then, sir, because they’re closed Sundays … um, if it’s okay, I can run over there as soon as they open at 11, and then come back and finish up my chores here.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. Take care of it, Chrissie. My Becca should have the best.”

Rebecca leaned over and kissed her hubby. “I love you, babe.”

“Love you, too, girl.”

I seethed and returned to cleaning the hallway baseboards. As usual, my resentment faded after just a few minutes and was replaced by an overwhelming desire to please my angel. I got to thinking that maybe it made more sense to just buy her a new car — and then, like a good wimp, I started second-guessing myself. Would she consider that over the top? Would Karl? And if I bought her a car, would I have to get one for him, too? I already knew the answer; did I really want to shell out that kind of money?

Fuck it, I scoffed to myself as I wiped a smudge from the wall — why not buy them a goddamn house while I was at it?

The first time that question ran through my mind, my inner voice was being a smartass. Then, as I worked my way down the hall to the baseboards near the bathroom, I started contemplating the matter more seriously. Why not buy them each a car? Why not buy them a house? I certainly had the money. Were they not my masters? Was I not their slave? Was it not my job to make their lives comfortable at all costs? Was this dynamic of ours not real? It sure seemed like it to me; after just a few weeks I couldn’t imagine a world without being allowed to serve Rebecca — and yes, Karl, too, as much as I hated to admit it.

After finishing in the hallway, as my masters were working on the morning’s third joint, I decided to take a chance and bring up the idea of buying them new cars, although I thought offering a house at that point might be a bit much.

I stood before them wringing my hands. “Um, Mrs. Martin? Um, sir?”

Rebecca hit the doobie and blew smoke my way. “What, baba?”

“Um, I … I hope you don’t think I’m moving too fast, or that I would … um, you know, expect anything … you know, in return … I mean, you might think it’s a little too much, but it’s something you both really need, and I … well, I think—”

“What the fuck are you babbling about, sissy?” Karl took the joint from his wife and held it in front of his lips. “Spit it out, for chrissakes.”

“Um, well, I was wondering if it might not be better to … uh, for me to just … um … buy new cars for you guys.”

Rebecca and Karl glanced at each other. Then she turned to me, her brow in a knit.

“That’s sweet, Chrissie … but … I don’t know …”

“But … uh, it’s not a problem; I … um, I have the money.”

“I don’t …” she mused. “No … no, I don’t want you buying cars, Chrissie.”

“Mrs. Martin, how come?”

My angel arched her eyebrow. “Well, frankly, if you want to know the truth, I don’t want you thinking I owe you anything.”

“Oh, no, no, Mrs. Martin, I would never think that.” I clasped my hands together. “No, I would never … please, I would never, ever think that you owe me anything. Please — I’m the one who owes you.”

Karl scratched his balls and sucked his teeth. “And you’re talking about buying ‘em for us free and clear? No strings attached; they’d be our cars, 100%? In our names?”

“Sir, yes, sir, no strings, sir. I … I just want … I just want to serve you.” My eyes watered. “Please.”

Rebecca turned to her husband. “What do you think, honey?”

He shrugged. “Sure, fuck it, why not? As long as our name’s on the title and not his. Hell, it’s Saturday — we can go the damn dealership later on today if you want to.”

Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “Okay, baby, if you think it’s alright.”

He nodded. “Hell, yeah, I don’t see why not. Fuck it.”

She studied my face and chuckled. “My little Chrissie. You do soooo much for us, don’t you?”

I bowed my head. “Um … I don’t know … I …”

“Well, I’m happy we have you, baba. Such a loyal, hard-working little thing.”

A tear snaked down my cheek. “T-thank you so much, Mrs. Martin. Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be serving you. I really am.”

Karl clucked his tongue. “One big happy family. Now, I’m starting to get the munchies; how ‘bout you whip us up some bacon and eggs right quick, sissy?”

“Oh, yes, sir, coming right up, sir.” I literally ran to the kitchen. Rebecca giggled at my enthusiasm.

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

Karl drove us to the dealership in my Mercedes, with Rebecca riding shotgun and me hunched in the backseat, my ears on fire from the Bose system blasting 105.3 FM, the Young Country station, at full volume.

He pulled into Bob Baxter’s Friendly Ford and made a beeline for the row of F-350s. Karl and Rebecca strolled through the lot holding hands and gawking at trucks while I followed behind them. Within minutes, a salesman appeared.

“Hey, guys, that’s a nice one, huh?” he nodded at a red F-350 that had attracted Karl’s eye.

“Real nice.” Karl kicked the tire. “Can I take ‘er for a spin?”

“Sure, follow me,” the salesman said, and we trailed him to the office, where he copied Karl’s driver’s license before handing him the key.

“Sweeeet,” Karl said, sounding like a middle-schooler as he gamboled out of the office toward the truck, leaving Rebecca and me trailing behind.

“Come on, baby,” he called over his shoulder. “Hop in.”

She slipped into the passenger seat, and Karl pulled out of the lot.

The salesman smiled. “You guys all friends?”

“Uh … yeah.” I crammed my hands in my pockets and pretended to read the sticker on a car window, sending a wordless signal to this greaseball that I wasn’t interested in further conversation. My head was pounding from the pressure of the situation; at some point I was going to have to explain that I was the one who’d be paying for the truck my companion clearly planned to drive, and all morning I’d been racking my brain concocting possible cover stories.

I’d considered the obvious options; I could say I was Karl’s brother or uncle, and that this was a birthday present; or that I’d lost a bet. But I hadn’t yet discussed the matter with Karl, and I was scared the immature sonofabitch might go ahead and tell the salesman the truth — that I was the couple’s rich slave who was buying them each a vehicle.

Despite all my teeth-gnashing, the subject never came up. When Karl told the salesman he’d take the truck, the man asked how he’d be paying and my master pointed at me. I simply said, “I’ll be taking care of it,” and the greasy guy in the tan suit, knowing he had a for-sure pending sale and reading my mood, shut the fuck up and stopped asking personal questions.

After getting the financial issues squared away, securing the plates and setting up the insurance payments through my checking account, Karl drove his new toy out of the dealership. Rebecca took the wheel of my Mercedes while I sat beside her; she didn’t want to ride with her husband because he’d said he wanted to “let ‘er rip” before heading to the next car lot, meaning he was going to probably hit more than 100mph. My angel wanted no part of that.

“This is so nice of you, Chrissie,” she said as we sat at a red light. “Honestly, I don’t even know what to say.”

I gulped. “I … I really want to make you and Mr. Martin happy. I really do. It’s … it’s all I ever think about.”

“Well, you’re sweet. You always were; that was never the problem.” She reached over and rested her hand on my thigh. “Chrissie, I know things didn’t work out between us when we were together, but … I don’t know, this just seems perfect. This kind of relationship, I mean. It’s like you were born to be my slave. I’m so glad I called you.”

Tears filled my eyes. “Oh, Mrs. Martin, thank you. Thank you so much. All I want is for you to be happy — and for Mr. Martin to be happy, too.”

“Well, I am happy, Chrissie.” She shimmied in her seat and squealed. “Now let’s go get my Range Rover. Woo-hoo!”

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

When the salesman at the Sunnyside Land Rover dealership asked Rebecca if she and I were married, her response sounded suspiciously like a scoff.

“Chris is a friend,” she said. “My husband will be here in a minute; he had to stop and do something first.”

She neglected to tell the salesman that the “something” Karl “had to stop and do” entailed him hitting the freeway and slamming the pedal to the metal to see how fast his new truck would go, which is why Rebecca had ridden with me in the first place, since she knew how crazy her redneck husband drove.

“Ah.” The salesman nodded at the $170,000 Range Rover P530 SUV Rebecca had been eyeing. “Well, I bet your husband is going to love seeing you in this. It’s a beauty. I can go get the keys if you want to take ‘er for a spin.”

“Ooh, wow, yes, please.” My angel’s smile lit up the universe.

As we followed the man into the office, Rebecca leaned toward me, her shoulder brushing my ear. “This is so awesome. You’re so sweet for doing this. Thank you so much. I’ve never had a new car; shit, I’ve never even had a car that’s less than five years old. So, thanks.”

“Well, I’m just really, really glad that you’re happy — so, thank YOU.” I was dying to say more but didn’t want to display too much servility within earshot of the salesman. Had nobody been around, I’d have dropped to my knees and thanked my Princess for giving me the opportunity to make her this happy. I’d have told her how grateful I was for allowing me back into her life. I’d have shed tears at how beautiful she looked when her eyes were lit up with joy.

Instead, I swallowed my boiling emotions and stood by while the man photocopied Rebecca’s driver’s license and handed over the keys.

She grinned, showing me the key fob. “What do you say, Chris? Let’s go for a ride.”

I followed her and the salesman outside, thrilled that she’d invited me along to share this moment — a feeling that immediately evaporated when Karl’s red F-350 came screeching onto the lot.

He rolled out of his truck and stormed our way. “Fuckin’ cops gave me a goddamn speeding ticket on the freeway.”

“Oh, damn, baby, I’m sorry; that sucks.” Rebecca walked up to her husband and melted into his embrace. “Don’t let it bother you, okay, baby?”

He huffed and squeezed his wife tighter. “Yeah, fuck it. I ain’t gonna.”

Rebecca had to tilt her head way back in order to smile up at her towering husband, an act that sent a bolt of humiliation shooting through my 5’6 frame. “Baby, I’m about to take this Rover out for a ride if you want to come,” she said.

Karl shrugged. “Sure, babe, let’s go.”

My beloved turned to me. “Chris, why don’t you go ahead and get started on all the paperwork and insurance stuff? That way, if I end up deciding on this one or another one, we’ll have a head start already.”

“Um … uh, okay.” I’d almost slipped and called her “Mrs. Martin” in public but caught myself.

This salesman was smart enough to refrain from asking questions, and he didn’t comment on how my “friend” had just cast me aside and invited her husband along for the test-drive after she’d just asked me to go seconds earlier — even though I obviously was the one who’d be paying for the vehicle, should it strike her fancy. That’s exactly what happened; by the time she returned, Rebecca had fallen in love with the SUV and the first words out of her mouth after she pulled up were: “I’ll take it.”

That didn’t exactly put me in the best bargaining position as far as trying to finagle a lower price, but the glow on my angel’s face was all I could think about, so following some perfunctory wrangling, I signed on the dotted line.

After the paperwork was filled out, the insurance squared away and the deal consummated, Rebecca, Karl and I huddled in the lot outside the dealership office.

“I’m hungry; let’s go eat,” Rebecca said.

“What about him?” Karl nodded my way.

She shrugged. “He can come with.”

“I dunno, babe. It’s getting late, and he’s still got all them weeds to pull next door, and a bunch of shit to do at the house still, since we been gone all day. Unless you want him to come over tomorrow and do it all.”

“No, no, we were gonna go to that fish fry with Cyndy and Tom tomorrow, remember?” Rebecca turned to me. “I’m sorry, baba, you can eat with us next time. Go ahead back to the house and get started pulling those weeds, and we’ll be back in a little bit, okay?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin,” I said after glancing around to ensure nobody was within hearing range.

She smiled. “You’re such a sweetie.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

I watched through watery eyes as Rebecca and Karl traipsed to their respective vehicles — top-of-the-line models that together had just set me back more than $200,000, not counting the future insurance payments. They each drove off without so much as a glance my way.

At least Rebecca had thanked me multiple times for the pricy present. Karl hadn’t said a goddamn thing.

With relentless self-criticism tying me in knots as usual, I drove my Mercedes back to the shitty part of town. Every time I’d glance down and see the jagged burn mark in my leather seat, I’d grit my teeth and hate myself for allowing things to spiral out of control like they had … and then my resistance would melt, and I’d slip into a sub-space trance, where everything felt so right.

Sure, I’d just dropped a ridiculous amount of cash on my ex-girlfriend and her husband — but $200k was a pittance to me, since I had about $3 million in savings, and my money wasn’t doing me any good sitting in the bank, anyway. The amazing, submissive cloud I’d been floating on since embarking on my service to the Martins was priceless. I’d never felt more alive and wanted that to continue. A couple hundred grand was nothing.

I got back to South Sycamore Street and chuckled when I saw Rebecca’s Neon still parked in the driveway. Her new SUV was worth 100 times more than that piece of shit, and it dawned on me that Karl had been absolutely right earlier that morning — Rebecca had no business driving a car like that. While I had been thinking the same thing since I’d started serving her, I felt ashamed that Karl had been the first one to say it out loud.

After surveying the size of the driveway, I decided to park my Mercedes in the street to allow room for the two large new vehicles that would require spots once Rebecca and Karl returned home from the restaurant. Then, with a sigh, I squared my shoulders and got started on the fucked-up lot next door.

The weed-choked, litter-strewn parcel wasn’t part of the property my masters were renting, but Karl had said he was tired of looking at it, and since nobody from the city had responded to his complaints, he’d told me to clean it up. It was a huge endeavor that was going to take several hours to finish, which is why my masters had wanted me to report to their house early Saturday morning. Those plans changed once they decided to go to the dealerships, but my masters still wanted everything done.

It began to rain, and I found out the hard way that it’s nearly impossible to pull wet weeds bare-handed. Since I didn’t have the key to the shed where the work gloves were stored, I did the best I could, getting soaked in the process.

After about an hour-and-a-half, Karl’s truck pulled into the driveway, and he dashed through the pouring rain into his house without saying a word, even though he’d glanced my way and we’d made eye contact. I hung my head and kept working. About 20 minutes later, I spotted Rebecca’s stylish new SUV turn onto the block. After she parked, she also ran to the house, but to my great joy, she paused in the doorway and yelled out to me: “dry off and come inside.”

I didn’t have anything with which to dry myself, so I stood on the porch wringing out my shirt and shaking my head like a dog to expel the excess water. When I was no longer dripping, I used my hand to slick back my hair and ventured into the living room, where Rebecca and Karl were relaxed on their couch, smoking a joint and watching television.

“I feel like celebrating.” Rebecca smiled up at me. “Make me a nice, strong screwdriver, Chrissie.”

Karl scratched his balls. “Beer and a shot of Jack for me, sissy.”

“Coming right up.”

With as much enthusiasm as I could muster, I scooted into the kitchen to fix my masters’ drinks, feeling like I was an important part of this little family we seemed to be developing, even if I was the perpetual flunky.

I served Rebecca’s drink first before moving to Karl’s side of the couch and setting his beer and shot glass on the table in front of him. He picked up the shot, clinked it against Rebecca’s glass, and the two of them formally celebrated their new vehicles. I was surprised that my angel downed her whole drink in one gulp.

Karl handed me his empty shot glass. “It’s raining too hard for you to keep going on that damned lot, so you’ll just have to come back here tomorrow and get it done while we’re at the fish fry, I guess.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Shit, we should just get you your own key.” Karl shrugged. “It ain’t like you’re gonna steal anything.”

“Oh, never, sir.”

He leered. “And you’re not gonna rummage through the dirty clothes, sniffing my wife’s underwear?”

“Why would he need to do that? He’s got a pair of his own.” Rebecca’s eyes danced. “Do you sniff the panties I gave you, Chrissie?”

I forced out the words: “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl smirked. “Hey, sissy, you want to listen to me and Becca again tonight? Because I definitely plan on tearing that little pussy up.”

Rebecca slapped his arm. “Have some damn class. You’re such a pig.”

He chuckled. “Chrissie don’t think so — do you, Chrissie?”

“Oh, no, sir. Um, thank you very much, sir.”

My master shrugged. “Hey, like I said, you do good, you get rewards. You been a real good slave for Rebecca and me. That truck’s sweeter than a motherfucker. Good job, Chrissie.”

“Um, uh, thank you so much, sir.” Here I was thanking him for the privilege of buying him a $85,000 F350, knowing that his little “good job, Chrissie,” was as close to a thank-you as I was ever going to get.

After serving refills, I returned to cleaning the house while the lovebirds chilled on the couch, sipping alcohol and smoking herb. By the time I had the kitchen spotless and was working on the bathroom, they were feeling no pain.

I was scrubbing the toilet when Karl came running into the room, unzipping his pants. “Move, Chrissie, I gotta go.” I backed away from the commode just in time for Karl to brush past me and release a firehose stream. I knelt there with my head bowed, listening to the tinkling.

When he finished, Karl zipped back up and chuckled. “You’re gonna want to get that, Chrissie,” he said, jerking his thumb at the yellow dewdrops that dotted the floor and toilet rim. He strolled away, leaving it to me to flush the toilet.

By the time I’d finished in the bathroom, my masters were stoned and horny, judging from their hot-and-heavy activity on the couch. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I stood before them in my frillies with my head bowed and hands folded in front of me, floating on a wave of submissive bliss.

After they snogged for a good twenty minutes, they unlocked lips and sucked down more alcohol. Rebecca was pretty lit as she sneered up at me, shaking her head and chuckling.

“Look at you in your little maid’s dress, Chrissie. Do you like being our little sissy maid?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. T-thank you.”

“You should probably thank Mr. Martin, too, Chrissie.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

Karl sucked his teeth. “No problem. It’s good to have a little sissy around.”

Rebecca twirled her finger. “Dance for us in your little dress, Chrissie.”

“Um … uh, d-dance?”

“Yes, dance.” My Princess fiddled with her cellphone for a second before it started blasting the song “I’m Every Woman,” prompting Karl to spit out his beer.

Rebecca clapped. “Go, Chrissie, do a little dance for us.”

I felt like a goddamn fool as I swayed back and forth to the beat.

Rebecca shook her head. “Come on, Chrissie, get into it. Be our little ballerina.”

Karl added: “You got to do better than that if you think you’re gonna get to listen to us in the bedroom tonight, now.”

That spurred me into action, and I started bumping and grinding like a coked-up stripper while my stoned masters sat on the couch dying, laughing. When the song was over, Karl said “good sissy,” and then stood and lifted Rebecca by the hand. “Come on to the bedroom, Chrissie, and I’ll give you your little reward.”

My heart pounded as I followed my masters to their love nest. I stood nearby focusing on the carpet while they both undressed. As Rebecca slipped into bed, I watched Karl pluck his boxers from the floor.

“Chrissie, I know you done bought us the new cars and all, and that’s all good,” my master slurred. “But if you’re gonna be our slave, we can’t have you getting spoiled now, can we?”

“Uh, n-no, sir.”

“No, we can’t. So, tonight it’s still listening only.” He pressed his boxer shorts onto the wall. “Come on, Chrissie. You know what to do; hands on your head.”

As I moved to obey, I heard a peal of feminine laughter behind me.

“OMG, Karl, you are SO MEAN. Poor Chrissie; I know you don’t want to have to smell that pig’s dirty underwear. I’m sorry he’s such an asshole all the time.”

She sounded drunk and bemused, not sorry. But with my nose pressed against her husband’s boxers, I replied, “It’s okay, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl patted me on the head. “Little Chrissie likes my dirty drawers, don’t you, Chrissie?”

“Of course, sir.”

“See?” He smacked me in the ass, making me jump. “Now, stay there till I tell you to move, sissy.”

“Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Why I’d thanked him, I had no idea, but I had a lot of time to think about it, because after the sounds of my masters making love sent me into a submissive blackness for about a half-hour, the bedsprings eventually calmed down and were followed by snores.

Rebecca and Karl had gone to sleep. My big dilemma was whether to move or to obey the last order my master had given me, which was to stay put until told otherwise.

Of course, being a sissy slave, I decided to obey. I did lower my arms from time to time to give my aching shoulders a rest, and once in a while I’d stretch my neck while pressing Karl’s boxers to the wall with my hand.

Otherwise, though, I held my position like a good slave all night long. I knew it would’ve been perfectly fine had I just slipped out of the bedroom after my masters crashed. Karl was so drunk, there was no way he’d have remembered what he’d ordered me to do. And Rebecca wouldn’t have cared.

But where was the fun in being rational? Yes, I was martyring myself — because that’s what sissy slaves do.

It was more than that, though. As hour after hour passed, I became overwhelmed by a deep desire to make my masters’ world as perfect for them as humanly possible. I wanted them to wake up, see me standing there, and realize that I would do anything, go to any lengths and suffer any hardship or indignity just to make them happy.

I stood in the dark bedroom with my hands on my head, pressing Karl’s underwear against the wall with my nose, finally admitting it to myself:

I loved Rebecca. I loved Karl. I loved them.

Like a stray kitten who’d been rescued from a shelter, I felt I owed my very existence to my benevolent masters.

That feeling both thrilled me to death and scared the living shit out of me.