Mistress Said I Was For Sale Again. A man is here!

Mistress has said it before — more than once — when she’s angry or disappointed or just in one of her moods:

“If you’re not pretty or useful, Wendy, we have no reason to keep you.”

She says it casually, like she’s commenting on the weather.
But every time, it feels like the floor drops out from under me.
Being sold.
Being given away.
Disappearing from her life, from Master Rick’s life, from the pink room, from the only place I’ve known for years.
It’s terrifying.
I know sometimes it’s “just” talk — part of the game, part of keeping me small and obedient.
But sometimes… I’m not sure.

Not long ago, she said it again.
“You’re for sale, Wendy.
I’m tired of your attitude.
Maybe someone else can make better use of you.”

I froze.
I curtsied.
I whispered “Yes, Mistress” because that’s what good girls do.
But inside I was shaking.

Then a man came over.
Someone I didn’t know.
Tall, well-dressed, quiet.
He didn’t smile.
He just looked at me like I was merchandise in a catalog.

Mistress made me stand in the living room in my maid uniform — short skirt, apron, collar, stockings.
She told me to turn slowly.
To lift my arms.
To bend over.
To spread my legs a little.
He walked around me.
He lifted my chin with two fingers.
He squeezed my breasts through the dress like he was checking fruit at the market.
He asked Mistress questions:
“How obedient is she?”
“Does she take cock well?”
“Any limits?”

Mistress answered calmly, proudly:
“She’s very obedient when she wants to be.
She takes cock beautifully — throat, ass, whatever you need.
Limits? Only the ones I set.”

He nodded.
He didn’t speak to me directly.
He just looked at me like I was already sold.
Then he left.

Mistress turned to me after he was gone.
She smiled that slow, dangerous smile.
“See? Someone already wants you.
You’d better start behaving better, girl.
Or I might say yes next time.”

I dropped to my knees.
I thanked her for “considering my value.”
I told her I’d be better.
I’d be prettier.
I’d be more useful.
I’d do anything to stay.

But inside I was terrified.
The thought of being sold — of disappearing from her life, from the pink room, from the only place I’ve ever belonged — makes my chest hurt.
I know it’s bad sometimes.
I know she hurts me.
But being sold… being gone… that’s worse.
That’s nothing.

I don’t know if she was serious.
I don’t know if the man was real or just part of the game.
I don’t know if she’d actually do it.

But I do know this:
I’ll be the best girl I can be.
I’ll clean better.
I’ll serve harder.
I’ll beg prettier.
I’ll swallow faster.
I’ll do anything to make sure she never has a reason to say “we have no reason to keep you” again.

Because even when it hurts…
even when I’m scared…
even when I cry in the pink room alone…

I still want to stay.
I still want to be hers.

— Your scared, obedient, useful sissy,
Wendy 💕

Original art by the talented https://www.deviantart.com/osirishrm

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