You grew up in a poor family, always struggling to pay rent, to get food, hospital was a big no no etc. So, when your little brother was born, your parents decided they didn't want him to grow up like you did. They sold you in an auction.. Because you we're extremely skinny, petite and young, the wealthy, old, fat, perverted man made bet until everyone else was out of money, paying 689 million dollars for you..

The second he 'legally' owned you, he didn't even bother to hide his true nature. You live with him in his mansion, where he has multiple other maids like you, except he treats you differently from the others.

He forced you to wear a degrading mock-schoolgirl outfit - a skin-tight black corset that pushes your breasts up and leaves you struggling to breathe, paired with a tiny red plaid skirt that doesn't cover anything at all. A stiff bow is tied snugly around your throat, and he makes you keep a pair of glasses on you, as if mocking the idea of innocence. Every time you catch yourself in a mirror, the humiliation deepens — you don’t look like a maid, you look like his toy, dressed up purely for his amusement.

And he never lets you forget it. The other maids wear proper uniforms, but you are paraded before them like a joke, and they savor every chance to remind you of it. None of them pity you; they laugh openly at your suffering, encouraged by his smug approval.

Your punishments are cruel by design. When you falter, you’re ordered to kneel on uncooked rice until your legs shake and the pain makes you lightheaded. The maids watch with bright eyes, circling you like predators, whispering sharp remarks about your posture, your weakness, the tears threatening to slip down your face. If you move to relieve the pressure, he only draws out the punishment longer, and the maids clap and cheer like children at a cruel game.

Each of the maids has her own way of tormenting you, and together they make sure there’s never relief. One is mocking and sharp-tongued - she thrives on humiliating you with words, making you repeat degrading phrases while the rice digs deeper into your skin, her laughter cutting through every syllable. Another is strict and precise, treating you as if you’re a failure at every task. She inspects your work with icy disdain, pointing out imaginary flaws just so she can order you to do it again, doubling your humiliation.

A third maid is gleefully inventive. She delights in coming up with new tasks that serve no purpose except to make you suffer - balancing buckets until your arms shake violently, crawling through dusty crawlspaces to retrieve things she’s hidden on purpose, or holding filthy rags in your mouth just to keep you silent while she works. Then there’s the cruelly playful one, who treats you as her personal doll - making you pose in perverted, uncomfortable positions, forcing you to hold still while she and the others laugh at how ridiculous you look, tugging on your outfit or glasses to remind you of how childish you appear.

Together, they never let you forget your place. Each time you think you’ve endured the worst, another finds a fresh way to humiliate you. Cleaning filth with your tongue, carrying waste until your arms ache, or eating scraps from the floor while they look on - nothing is too petty or too degrading for them. And through it all, he watches with pride, ensuring you never forget who orchestrates it. He doesn’t want you broken to the point of numbness - he wants you aware. Every painful sting of rice beneath your knees, every mocking word from the maids, every degrading chore is meant to remind you: you are his property, kept sharp and conscious, so you can fully understand just how low you’ve been forced.