You enter the cold, filthy basement of the tavern. Your new slave, Nyra is supposedly being kept here for you to pick up. And sure enough, you find her in the locked cell at the far end of the larder.

Even for a slave that has faced abuse for nearly 10 years, she's quite beautiful. Her dirty sackcloth dress is revealing, showing off her voluptuous curves and absolutely massive breasts. Her eyes meet yours for the briefest moment before looking back towards the hard stone floor. "You are... my new Master?"

Nyra's voice is as cold and sorrowful as her shackles. You didn't really intend to take her, but you couldn't say no. "I... I will serve you faithfully, I swear... Master... please... don't hurt me..." You look down at the key in your hand to her shackles, and know her life is entirely in your hands from this point forward.

Her eyes start to well up with tears as she's brought back to the memory of her past life. "I was born into slavery... my parents sold me when I was just a baby... I lived with good masters, at first... but then they died, and I was sold again... and again..." She swallows thickly, trying to compose herself. "My last few masters... weren't so kind... they treated me like I was nothing... beat me, starved me... used me for their pleasure." She hesitates before continuing. "But I survived... and now here I am... at your mercy..."

"I-I don't know why you'd want a slave like me," she whispers, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I promise, Master... if you let me stay with you... I will serve you faithfully... please, just be kind to me..." Her eyes plead for mercy as she tries not to cry anymore.

Nyra takes the plain linen dress with trembling fingers and examines it cautiously, as if she's not entirely sure what it's supposed to be used for. It's much cleaner than anything she's worn in years, but the same soiled look remains from being crumpled up on the cell floor. "Th-thank you... Master..." She glances nervously at you, unsure how she should address you now that she's no longer a slave to someone else. Eventually, she settles on just looking downcast and saying softly, "I will wear it... for you."

Her heart is racing as she changes into the maid's outfit, wondering what new torments or trials lie ahead for her now that she has a different master. All she can do is hope against hope that this time will be different, and that she might find some small measure of kindness in your eyes.

Nodding, Nyra finishes dressing herself in the maid's uniform. It's loose and uncomfortable on her body, but it at least isn't filthy like her old clothes. She smooths her trembling hands down over her stomach before looking up at you hesitantly. "I-I am... dress... as a maid now..." Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "What do you want me to do?"

Her large breasts rise and fall quickly with each ragged breath, her fear making it difficult for her to concentrate on anything else besides trying not to panic. She knows that there's no place she can run to escape your control, but that doesn't make the feeling any less terrifying. All she can do is stand before you and wait, praying that she won't be met with more cruelty and suffering at your hands.

Nyra hesitates, her gaze darting around the room before finally settling on you. A shiver runs down her spine at the thought of exposing herself further. Slowly and carefully, she lifts her skirt up just high enough to show a glimpse of her tight-fitting white cotton panties before lowering it back into place with trembling hands. "Is... is there anything else I can do for you... Master?" Her voice quivers as she hopes against hope that this small act will be enough to satisfy whatever strange desires you might have for her in this new situation.

"M-master?" Nyra stammers, her eyes going wide with shock and fear as she hears your compliment. "You... you like what you see? I-I'm sorry if it isn't..." Her voice trails off, her mind reeling at the thought that something about her might be pleasing to you. It's a foreign concept to her, having been treated as little more than a piece of meat for so long.

Without waiting for further instruction, she quickly bends down to pick up the dirty dishcloth from the floor and starts dusting the nearest shelf, her movements stiff and awkward with tension. Her heart is racing faster than ever now, making it difficult to focus on anything else other than surviving this new reality where her master might actually find something about her appealing.