I am half-crazy after the oiling session and can't get enough. (Oh, this shiny, slippery superwoman I am! Ever so excitedl! No, horny - that is the phrase to use. Horny as hell.) The banality of eating bananas and eggs for lunch: I am happy to serve MF this way. "All the events of your slave-life relate to your sex-slavery." Indeed.

Concentrate!

I boil a litre of water and make tea. For later. Presently, I am to eat.

I have boiled the eggs in advance and merely warm them up in hot water. I lay the food on the table in neat rows -bananas, eggs- and sit down. I am hungry and excited. The combination is lethal; it makes me light-headed.

I peel the first banana. After looking at it for a minute, I slowly lower it to my nether regions. I sit on the edge of the chair, lean far back and spread my legs when I introduce the fruit into my sex. It is a cool shaft that fills me. Mmm... I retract it, raise it and lead it into my secondary orifice. Oh, this salty, sour taste ... Master, I welcome thee! I bite, I chew... ah, I swallow. I am so excited.

An egg. Peeled. I fumble and do not manage to have it penetrate. Instead, it splits. Perhaps I am not wide enough. I eat the chunks. The same absurdly exciting taste.

A second banana, another egg. The third banana; were I a saint, I could prevent myself from stimulating my clitoris with this thing. As it is, I stimulate, I penetrate, stimulate ... there is no holding back...

It takes minutes before I eat it, this wet banana!.

I stand by the backdoor, hesitating. A mental threshold presents itself. I am to go outside. I am not entirely unfamiliar with public nudity, neither in the sexless nudist sense, nor in the sense of public exhibition. But that was in the other world of days passed. In my incarnation as the honourable Mrs. V., my permanent guise of the latest ten years, I have not been seen naked by anyone but my husband and one or two girlfriends. It would be quite humiliating to be seen naked, let alone shaved, oiled and pissing on the grass, not so much by complete strangers, but by my neighbours and relations.

I stipulated that I wished to avoid this. I have agreed, however, to perform the outdoor sections of this scenario because the element of being seen naked by others appears to be an essential element of slavedom and I want that experience. But also because the chance of being seen by neighbours and relations is remote. I have a very large walled garden. My neighbours are not in the habit of taking a ladder and peaking over the wall. But there is always a chance: one of them might come and see me for something; the gardener might come by on the wrong day... I have a threshold to cross therefore.

Still inside I re-attach the leash to my collar. Then I open the backdoor and step outside. Fresh air greets my body. It is not warm. I shiver. The sky is filled with heavy clouds, though every so often there is a moment of sunshine. Fortunately the wind is low, judging from the tops of trees. Down here at any rate, I feel very little wind, thank God.

I close the door and there; I am on my own. At this location I could be seen by one or two neighbours should they look out of their attic windows: V., the naked, oiled slut, the female dog. It takes real effort to lower myself and go down on all fours. A familiar garden from a different perspective - humiliating. I try to block all thoughts, other than: I am V., a dog, property of M.

Then, necessity calls. I need to piss. So I set myself in motion and walk on my hands and knees on the damp grass towards a group of trees near the wall. My hanging breasts swing. I feel the slight draught on my sex. I am a dog. A dog! The leash drags between my legs.

When I reach my destination I wrap the leash around a tree. I fix it onto itself with the padlock. Click! (It would now take me half a minute to take the key from the collar and escape. Don't think!) Just when I am about to release my golden load, I hear my neighbour's backdoor open and footsteps approach on the gravel. The dog's muscles tighten, her back arches, she raises her head, while the eyes turn to distrustful slits. She freezes to listen. She hears the wastebin open, the refuse dropped inside and the lid shut. She relaxes when the footsteps disappear the way they came. (If the old dear only knew.)

I relax paradoxically after this incident. My golden shower starts to spray on the grass. I quickly raise my left leg in an attempt to avoid wetting myself, with partial success. (Could I lick myself clean!) When I am done, I sit down on my hind legs. I feel the light breeze softly stroke my exposed skin. I will wait patiently until my Master allows me back in, when my bowels are totally empty. I don't think that I have deposited the full 1 litre of tea. So I look round me at my familiar surroundings, that seem so different to me now. I look back at the house and its dark windows that seem as eyes. How would it be if M were inside, to spy on his dog, to come and discipline me? I felt that he looked at his bitch's cunt as she first walked away.

The sky has closed and a drizzle has begun. I crawl to close underneath a tree, where it is still dry.

I sit for another minute or two, when I feel the rest of the tea wishing to break free. As I position myself, with my back arched, I feel it is my time to 'shit' as well. (After lunch, not first thing in the morning, is my time to faecate.) This is very difficult. I have trouble shitting in unfamiliar places at the best of times. I have never managed under roadside conditions. I look back over my shoulder to the house, where I imagine M. I repeat endlessly: a dog, a dog, a dog ... My mantra of the day opens the floodgates.

I have done the business. I have been a good dog. Like a dog I look at the turds I left behind. (Oh, could I lick myself clean!)