pre-

07:30

07:45

09:00

Going down

When you are shaved, take your material, go to the cellar/basement

Stay totally naked, just high stilettos

Put the collar, the lead and the padlock.

With my highest heels, with the leggy posture heels invoke, I feel open and exposed. My breasts and belly forward, I am up for grabs. Carefully I descend the stairs to my cool cellar. Cool, not cold. Thankfully, it has been warm over the past few days, though it is raining currently. A late warm summery shower. Now the work starts. The above was a pleasant preparation. I have not thought of M very much during the last hour or so. Yes, I did when I woke up tied to the bed; yes, when I took a cold shower. That will change now. The day will be trying. And I will think of M, who will preside over the rest of this day. M will preside, but I will perform his scenario not for him as my Master; it will be me with (against) my body. I look forward to the tests I love to hate with trepidation.

The work will start with an exercise with nipple clamps. I had once read a great story about them (Blue Light by Voxana) and had shuddered and enjoyed it. I kept thinking about the idea, but had not actually seen clamps 'in the flesh', let alone tried them. I was in the city the other day and saw them by accident in a shop window. Standing there, I felt compelled to buy and try them. The set consists of two adjustable little vices, combined by a chain. At the centre of this chain is a big link. At this link, one can suspend little weights ranging from 1/10 to 1 kilo (approx. 2 pounds - quite a lot). I felt I was not going to drastically change my life style! Research was my game! Clamping is a painful process, even at less than maximal compression and at low or no weight. As that story describes, if I remember it well, the pain comes on in a second or so, then retreats very slowly to some plateau. Sometimes I could fool myself and think there was no pain. But the merest touch or, with weights, the merest movement reminded me. Of course, the distortion of the breasts from the weights is awkward. Removing the clamps initially produced instant relief. Then a phase of 'negative pain' set in. Beyond ten minutes later, the nipples were merely sensitive, as they still were almost a day later. I thought I would not get addicted and that it was merely an interesting experience. Yet I didn't stop thinking about my clamps adventure. I made the mistake to confess of my experience to M, who promptly introduced them in my scenario.

Put the clamps on your nipples, start with 200 gr.

The clamps are the worst. The pain is intense and, though it recedes, it becomes sour and mean as it does so. I clench my fists, and close my eyes and cry, and rave, before can even bring myself to apply the 200 g weight at the centre of the chain. The pain! I scream. I nearly faint.

Take a large felt-tp pen

Write "Slave inside" on each of your tits

I am a slave. I write the truth. My hand shakes as I do so.

Put another 200 gr. On the clamps

To go from horror to horror. How can bad pain become worse? Yet I swear. It can.

Write "Sex-Slave" on your shaved pussy

Yes, Master. I write the words.

Put another 100 gr. On the clamps

Write the letters (very large) "F" and "M" on your ass

'F' and 'M' in his honour. A second meaning occurs to me: Fuck Me for doing this to myself.

Put another 100 gr. On the clamps

Tears allowed

I do not have to fake the tears. My body shakes slightly as I cry. My breasts and their weights with it. Every sob reminds me of my condition and reiterates the pain. A viciously vicious circle. This makes the crying uncontrollable. I cry until there is not a tear left in me.

09:20

Go back to the lounge

I am now a very sad looking, sad individual. Entirely of my own doing. I go to my full length mirror upstairs in the lounge. I drag these weights along. Oh, if only I were bare footed, allowing me to walk smoothly on the stairway. If only I were not so weakened by the pain. The weights bounce around. I grip the railing and after an eternity overcome the 15 steps upstairs.

I reach the mirror. Here is a sad looking individual indeed. It is not me; it cannot be. My face. The proud war make-up has been washed and rubbed over half my face, as if I have just come from a coal mine. My shoulders droop. My breasts. They are not ripe and round, but torn down and towards each other, as a result of the ridiculous weights. The words 'slave inside' and 'sex slave' are upside down, but I know what they say. They say that I am a fool and deserve no better than being kicked around at will by M, if I am able to do this entirely of my own accord.

Remove the weights and the clamps

I stand here for five minutes, looking at myself, this loathsome creature. Then my good mind crawls out of this mess and I see my hands pick the set of weights up and slowly remove them from the chain. My breasts resume their normal shape. The hands take hold of the first clamp and, as I scream, let go. My nipple is ultra-sensitive. Yet I have to continue. I bite my teeth, screw the vice back and remove the clamp. And the second. My nipples are on fire. This is not the relief I hoped for.

Have a breath, drink fresh water

I breathe deeply several times, while looking at myself in the mirror. My mind is master again. The pain ever so slowly recedes. I drink some water and reinforce myself. My sober mind says: I have won.

09:30

11:40

13:00

14:00

16:00

17:30

18:00

later

20:00

20:30

22:00