24/7

The girl awakened with a shudder, scared by the noise of the footsteps in the hall leading to her room. Her body moved automatically, driven by the habit to a stern discipline: even before properly focussing the walls around her, she had risen up from the wooden bunk she slept on, and now she was already setting on it her blanket, folded to perfection.
The footsteps stopped before the door. The sound of the keyring being removed from the belt it hanged from accompanied her as she kneeled on the floor: the chain which joined her metal collar to the bolt in the wall caressed her naked back and bottom as she did so, making her moan for the coldness of the iron and for the way it rubbed the marks still fresh from last night's whipping. On the first turn of the lock she had the care of checking the bowls in the corner: they were exactly in their place, devoutly emptied.

The second turn gave her the time to set her forehead on the floor and cross her arms behind her back, as she had been taught to. When the door opened, the simple fact of not being hit by the Mistress' crop confirmed her that she had behaved perfectly. She felt full of achievement in having finally become a good slave, which was immediately erased by the thought that being perfect was simply her duty: there was nothing to be delighted about.

The gloved hand of her Lady opened without exhitation the lock joining chain and collar: the black leather of her tall boots, with its intoxicating scent, squeaked lightly as She raised again, giving the submissive a little fetishistic shiver. Lady Sonia's voice shook her from that exquisite pleasure: "Move it, bitch: to the kitchen to prepare my breakfast, then I want you clean and groomed in the torture chamber. Today I got up with a wish to see you really cry..."

The girl crawled on all fours rapidly but sensuously as she had been educated to move towards the first task of another day of slavery. A few minutes later, as she squeezed the oranges for the Mistress's juice, a quick glance through the rain-streaked window revealed a distant bus stop sieged by those going to work. She washed the juice drops off her hands, resisting the temptation to lick them from the fingers as she used to do before entering service: she knew well that her first drink of the day would be different indeed. She carefully set up the tray for the lady, adding on it a calligraphed note in which she confessed her fault: "7, 31 a.m. - Your slave raised its head without permission and looked beyond the walls of Your house". As she trotted to the bedroom, she asked herself what extra punishment she had already earned. Last time, for such an impudence she had to wear that afwul postural thing for a whole day... so today it would rightly go worse than that.

Knocking gracefully and humbly on the door of her absolute owner, she thought back to the people squeezed under the bus stop roof. She wouldn't change her life with theirs for no thing in the world.

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