I have bought real silk stockings for the occasion. How soft - as I roll them out! I look at my shape in the mirror. They beautify my legs, which are crowned by my naked mound. Ravishing legs, like those of a virgin bride; a knowing virgin, however, who is ready for the proceedings (like I, the virgin slave, am for the final tests of my Master.)

My evening dress. Green velvet; deep green. An evening dress with a past. I bought it in a bold mood several years ago, when I went with my partner to a reunion with my old girlfriends and their partners. My old girlfriends of my wild days before my partner came along and put me back on the Right & Respectable Track. It was first and last worn then, to my partner's dismay (so he stated) and my girlfriends delight (and I imagine their partners'.) Cleavage, legs and, no less important, my back were visible, if they ever were. My dear partner knows little about my past (exhibition, teasing) and is not given to sharing me. I insisted, that time, and was there -radiant- for all to see.

I have obtained a length of industrial iron chain of medium weight. I have cut it in several short lengths: five for each of my ankles, three longer lengths for my neck. Having to be chained, I want to feel it. With a pair of pliers I fix five around my left ankle and five around my right, semi-tight. They rattle as I walk. (I have to be careful for my stockings!) The three remaining I fit around my neck in the same way, a padlock around them. The chains are semi-irreversibly fixed now and sufficiently heavy for me not to forget about them and what they represent.

I am ready to step into my heels. These are purposely bought. I love heels when they suit the occasion. The ones I owned were no higher than 3". I have, naturally, given the way I am, opted for 5" heels - the highest I could find. I have practised and manage well, but I am blissfully aware that I don't have miles to cover.

No witnesses. (Master, behold your loyal subject!) I look at myself in the mirror. The older, more interesting sister of that woman of several years back. Still attractive.

My breasts are largely visible. The marks from the clothespins stand out against my skin, pale against the dark green dress. The symmetry shows they are no accident. The grazes on my chest are shocking, frankly. What has this woman of the world done to be so afflicted? Master, I am proud of them. See, I smile in spite - or because - of them.

The split of my dress extends to above the end of my stockings, showing my bare thighs above the virgin white silk. The excessive heels naturally affect my posture: pronounced buttocks, curved back, prominent bosom.

Soft music: slow Argentinean tangos. Champagne, of course, and water.

I light a candle and switch off the electric light. The candle stand takes five candles. I light them all and set the stand in front of the large mirror. (I see my legs, part of my naked thigh, my cleavage in passing - Master, please be watching!) The glow in the room is evocative, mysterious.