It was far too early when Miranda was woken by a buzzer. Exhausted from a day of deep-throating Miranda had been confined to a slave locker in the basement. It was cramped, stuffy, and just big enough to kneel in.
Gods know how I managed to get any sleep,
she thought.
A sexretary from Female Services was there to let the slaves out of their lockers, hose them down, and set them to work. This morning it was Tina, who studiously avoided Miranda's eyes.
Miranda was too tired to question the disgusting looking mulch presented as breakfast and wolfed it down like the rest of the slaves, she tried not to think of the fact she now had to eat from a bowl on the floor labelled "Suckslut". After that it was time for Miranda and the other slaves to get "dressed": heels, stockings, and leather cuffs for the wrists and ankles.
"Suckslut," said Tina, still avoiding eye contact, "you, Clitlicker, Cumguzzler, and Whorenimal will be on 7th in conference room 4, the finance team is in training and they'll need entertainment. Suckslut they've requested your usual chopstick bun, the rest of you cunts just braids, pigtails...anything they can grab. Oh, and plenty of eyeshadow. They complained yesterday about not seeing tears..."
As she made herself up Miranda winced at the irony of making herself "pretty" at the request of a bunch of rapists.
Once they were prepared their group waited their turn for the service elevator, a tight box with no buttons that detected slave collars and moved occupants where they were directed. Tense silence fell as the indicator inside quietly moved through the floors, moving inexorably to the 7th.
