 | |
|---|---|
Painting by Erica Chappuis |
|
| |
|---|---|
Painting by Erica Chappuis |
A day to remember
pre- |
|
07:30 |
|
|
07:45 |
Go to the kitchen, normal breakfast, naked and collared |
|
Put some butter on your breasts, to make them shining |
|
|
The kitchen is well shielded from any external views. I am used to being naked, anywhere in my house. The collar and the dangling chain make me self-conscious, however. Zen! I manage to counteract the self-consciousness by concentrating deeply on my actions themselves. I take the coffee tin, my espresso percolator and place three scoops of coffee in the container, screw the pot on and put it on the fire. I take a plate, cutlery and a coffee cup and saucer out of the cupboard and place them at my place on the table. I take four slices of bread, the toaster. I plug it in, insert two slices and press the toaster into action. I take the butter out of the refrigerator, the marmalade out of the cupboard. The two slices jump out, I put them on my plate and insert the other two slices. The percolator emits its gurgling sounds: the coffee is brewing. I fetch my cup, pour the coffee and take my seat. I am calm. I eat my breakfast calmly. I think only of my breakfast. When I am done, I wake up. My Master's order. I take a small scoop of butter on my knife and apply it to a breast. I scrape the knife across my skin and spread it as best as I can. I continue with the other. It is not easy to cover the skin of this fluid mass of tissue. I have to finish the job with my hands, massaging my tits, as he calls them. They look ripe now, ripe for eating. The butter makes them feel sticky, warm, insulated. It is strange to sit here at the o-so-familiar kitchen table and massage my breasts and feel my nipples harden. Then time is up. I have to move on and leave the breakfast table uncleared. |
|
08:15 |
Preparation of a sex-slave |
|
Go to you bathroom |
|
|
Remove the collar and the lead |
|
|
Have a cold shower |
|
|
Dry your body |
|
|
I go upstairs, dressed in my collar, with the leash dangling down. I feel dressed and only truly naked without the collar. I undress and turn the shower on. Cold. I never have cold showers. I profoundly hate them. Yet I step underneath the spray and die from cold. Why? Why? M. That is why. I vigorously wash my body and terminate the torture as soon as I can. Hence I vigorously dry my goosebumped body. That is better. |
|
|
Heavy make-up, a whore war-painting |
|
|
War-painting. I have been there, though by no means a whore. I have power-played behind a mask. Rarely in the morning, though. And it was a while. It is almost deja-vu to look in the mirror and see my former self. Stunning. I feel belligerent, like I used to. Dear Master, I will eat you raw. |
|
|
Sit and open your legs |
|
|
Shave your pussy and your sex |
|
|
This is no sacrifice. A shaved garden was my stock and trade. I currently rarely do shave. I am lazy. I keep my pubic hair trimmed, as short as one can with scissors. I like to be nude though, as nude as one can get. I trim my hair again and oil the skin. Nice. I apply hot water to the area, take my shaving brush, the soap and lather up. (This has never failed to arouse me, if slightly. This time I cannot afford to let go. I am on a mission.) Then I shave, in short deliberate strokes, taking care not to repeatedly shave the same area. I hate the irritation. I do aspire to perfection though. I leave not a hair. My mirror confirms: I am smooth and beautiful. |
|
|
I want a perfectly smooth naked sex-slave |
|
|
At your service, M. |
09:00 |
|
09:30 |
|
11:40 |
|
13:00 |
|
14:00 |
|
16:00 |
|
17:30 |
|
18:00 |
|
later |
|
20:00 |
|
20:30 |
|
22:00 |
|
Copyright by Vanna Vechian, 1999. Reproduction allowed only for personal use.
BACK TO VANNA's HOMEPAGE