Horae Diurnae – The Training and Daily Life of a Modern Slave Girl

[Praefectus Praetorio]

17. Learning Through Pain
Master Thomas held up a leather and gilt-bound book from the table in front of him. "Look, postulant. This is the Rule. It shall become almost everything to you: your Guide, your Master, your Chastiser, your Comforter, and your Friend. You shall learn the Rule and obey it. Only your Master is a higher authority in your life. By serving the Rule, you serve your Master. Do you accept this?"
"Yes, Sir," Jessie responded and then groaned as Sapphira drove the brass ball into her left hip. The girl tilted left but immediately pulled herself up straight.
“That blow was not punishment for an error, postulant,” said Master Benns in a kindly voice which contrasted with an almost evil smirk on his lips. “It was to ‘punctuate’ the lesson of Master Thomas’s wisdom. Please thank the Supervisor for her generous help in your education.”
“Thank you, Supervisor,” Jessie croaked, still trying to absorb the wave of pain radiating from her hips.
“What is the Law, postulant?” asked Thomas.
“This slave shall Fear, Love, and Trust her Master above all others.”
Benns said, "You answer well with your lips, postulant. However, we shall see if those lips can truly obey." He stood up and carried his copy of the Rule to stand before the kneeling girl. Though Jessie knew to keep her head lowered, she could see him wearing the same hob-nailed sandals as the Headmaster had worn. She could also see that his black robe flapped open to reveal his bare legs.
“Look up and kiss the rule.”
Jessie raised her head and gently kissed the book. The touch of the leather binding on her lips sent a sensual shiver through her body. The girl was surprised already to feel an affection for this book and the Rule. Then she noticed that Benns' robe was untied, and his half-erect member peeked out, its red head seeming to look at her. The Master placed the book back on the table and returned to the kneeling, cuffed girl, his robe gaping open.

Master Thomas’s voice rose in an almost religious chant. “The Rule, Chapter 8, Section 2. ‘When confronted with the sexual weapon of the Master, the slave will always hasten to ask permission to serve his pleasure.’”
Jessie spoke, "Master Benns. May I use my mouth to serve your pleasure?"
“You may, child," he responded in a voice of condescension. Jessie leaned forward and took his male meat between her sweet lips, and sucked it in. After only a moment, she felt a whip slash into her back. The girl yelped at the pain but managed, barely, to keep the cockhead between her lips.
“Excellent, postulant," said the Supervisor in an encouraging voice. Never let anything, not even the most unbearable pain, interfere with your duty to your Master."
Master Thomas then resumed reading from the Rule regarding sexual service to the Master. Jessie's mind was in a whirl as she tried to hear the Rule, pleasure this man, and endure the cruel whip strokes on her already sore back and buttocks. At the same time, Benns slowly rocked his hips back and forth, sliding his cock deep in her mouth and back to her lips as her tongue and lips worked frantically to please this stranger she'd met only a few moments ago. With so much happening, she was unprepared when Benns grabbed her head and thrust his member deep into her mouth, the head lodging in her throat and spurting cum down to her belly. She was unable to suppress her instinctual need to breathe and tried to escape his grip. But bound and her hair grasped in his hands, she could do little but ineffectual struggle.
When he emptied his last load into the postulant, Benns released her head, and the postulant choked and coughed as she gasped for breath.

“Not too bad for a first effort, postulant,” said the Supervisor. However, we expect far better before you will be worthy of being called a novice. Now repeat the gist of the section that Master Thomas read."
Jessie's mind was still reeling, and she remembered almost nothing of the passage. She stuttered a few confusing words before Sapphira drove her rod hard, this time into her belly. Jessie doubled over, coughing, and fell onto her face.

 

[Fossy]

17. Learning Through Pain
Master Thomas held up a leather and gilt-bound book from the table in front of him. "Look, postulant. This is the Rule. It shall become almost everything to you: your Guide, your Master, your Chastiser, your Comforter, and your Friend. You shall learn the Rule and obey it. Only your Master is a higher authority in your life. By serving the Rule, you serve your Master. Do you accept this?"
"Yes, Sir," Jessie responded and then groaned as Sapphira drove the brass ball into her left hip. The girl tilted left but immediately pulled herself up straight.
“That blow was not punishment for an error, postulant,” said Master Benns in a kindly voice which contrasted with an almost evil smirk on his lips. “It was to ‘punctuate’ the lesson of Master Thomas’s wisdom. Please thank the Supervisor for her generous help in your education.”
“Thank you, Supervisor,” Jessie croaked, still trying to absorb the wave of pain radiating from her hips.
“What is the Law, postulant?” asked Thomas.
“This slave shall Fear, Love, and Trust her Master above all others.”
Benns said, "You answer well with your lips, postulant. However, we shall see if those lips can truly obey." He stood up and carried his copy of the Rule to stand before the kneeling girl. Though Jessie knew to keep her head lowered, she could see him wearing the same hob-nailed sandals as the Headmaster had worn. She could also see that his black robe flapped open to reveal his bare legs.
“Look up and kiss the rule.”
Jessie raised her head and gently kissed the book. The touch of the leather binding on her lips sent a sensual shiver through her body. The girl was surprised already to feel an affection for this book and the Rule. Then she noticed that Benns' robe was untied, and his half-erect member peeked out, its red head seeming to look at her. The Master placed the book back on the table and returned to the kneeling, cuffed girl, his robe gaping open.

Master Thomas’s voice rose in an almost religious chant. “The Rule, Chapter 8, Section 2. ‘When confronted with the sexual weapon of the Master, the slave will always hasten to ask permission to serve his pleasure.’”
Jessie spoke, "Master Benns. May I use my mouth to serve your pleasure?"
“You may, child," he responded in a voice of condescension. Jessie leaned forward and took his male meat between her sweet lips, and sucked it in. After only a moment, she felt a whip slash into her back. The girl yelped at the pain but managed, barely, to keep the cockhead between her lips.
“Excellent, postulant," said the Supervisor in an encouraging voice. Never let anything, not even the most unbearable pain, interfere with your duty to your Master."
Master Thomas then resumed reading from the Rule regarding sexual service to the Master. Jessie's mind was in a whirl as she tried to hear the Rule, pleasure this man, and endure the cruel whip strokes on her already sore back and buttocks. At the same time, Benns slowly rocked his hips back and forth, sliding his cock deep in her mouth and back to her lips as her tongue and lips worked frantically to please this stranger she'd met only a few moments ago. With so much happening, she was unprepared when Benns grabbed her head and thrust his member deep into her mouth, the head lodging in her throat and spurting cum down to her belly. She was unable to suppress her instinctual need to breathe and tried to escape his grip. But bound and her hair grasped in his hands, she could do little but ineffectual struggle.
When he emptied his last load into the postulant, Benns released her head, and the postulant choked and coughed as she gasped for breath.

“Not too bad for a first effort, postulant,” said the Supervisor. However, we expect far better before you will be worthy of being called a novice. Now repeat the gist of the section that Master Thomas read."
Jessie's mind was still reeling, and she remembered almost nothing of the passage. She stuttered a few confusing words before Sapphira drove her rod hard, this time into her belly. Jessie doubled over, coughing, and fell onto her face.

The way the formality of the occasion is underpinned by base sexual acts performed by a willing, prostrated slave is a heady and erotic mix for sure. This is excellent stuff!

"... You May Child ..."

 

[Loinclothslave]

Oh… my… God Master…

Just when I think the story cannot possibly get more erotic or intense, another chapter appears and breaks another glass ceiling!

I think this is the most erotic thing I’ve ever read in my life! Intensive pain and servitude. Whipped while servicing “Master Thomas” while also being simultaneously taught a complex rule. A delicious dilemma and beautiful failure.

I often say that “slave” is the most beautiful word in English. That passage confirms my belief.

“Fear, Love, and Trust Master above all others.” Wonderful words, I will seek to obey and can’t wait to share this to my Owners.

Thank you both so much. I’m utterly hooked.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

18. Discouragement, Support, and Sustenance

“Up, postulant,” ordered Benns. Groaning in pain, Jessie managed to return to her knees. The room seemed to whirl around her.
"I doubt if she'll make it," Master Benns sneered. "She seems just one of these soft modern girls who toy with the idea of slavery. Another unserious, confused girl, trying out a new game." Pained and confused, Jessie felt anguish at the suggestion she would be rejected. That could not happen!
"I don't know, said Thomas. "She seems to desire this life truly. And she has a kind of grit that might get her through. What do you think, Supervisor?"
"I don't think," Sapphira replied, bowing to the Masters. Her voice to them was radically meeker than to Jessie. "I only follow the Rule and train postulants as I am able."
“You are a good servant, Sapphira,” said Thomas, warmly.
The two Masters left the room, chatting animatedly about the upcoming football match.

The Supervisor helped Jessie, wrists still cuffed behind her, to her feet. She saw the tears running down her cheeks and the fear of rejection in her eyes. Sapphira had seen these signs many times before. Her heart went out to the frightened girl, whose dreams were threatened. But the Supervisor must restrain her emotions now, she thought. She must obey her Masters and perform her duty.
She gently stroked the girl's hair and said, "Be not discouraged, dear. The task is hard, and the bar is high. Every postulant struggles to satisfy the demands. Many fail even at this early stage. Keep your mind on what has led you here, the honor and fulfillment of simply serving your Master as the Law requires. If you are truly a natural slave girl, meant for this life, that alone will give you the inner strength to persevere.”
"Thank you, Supervisor," the postulant whispered, still swallowing to clear the semen mixed with drool rising from her beaten middle. "I pray I can do so."

“Good," replied Sapphira, releasing the cuffs. "Now assume the slave's default standing posture. Spread your legs to two feet apart. Stand upright, chest out, your hands behind your head. Lower your head in submission. This position is called ‘display.’ Remember the name so you can assume it immediately when so ordered."
Jessie tried to obey, and the Supervisor helped her achieve the exact stance.
“One of the major training tasks for a postulant is to learn the positions of a slave,” explained the Supervisor. These are many, and some are difficult to achieve precisely. But they are essential for you to offer your body correctly for your Master's pleasure and use. It will take much practice for you to master them all. In the Chapter Hall is the usual and extensive training in position. However, for the moment to help you fit in, I shall quickly review for you the most common three."
Jessie soon learned that the Supervisor’s concept of ‘quickly review’ was far more extensive than any training she had encountered in her life to date. It was almost three hours later that Sapphira finally was satisfied with the girl's introduction to ‘display, ‘ 'at the ready,’ and ‘Nadu’ (squatting, thighs wide, eyes lowered submissively, hands resting on thighs, spine upright and shoulders back, breasts lifted, palms up to signal 'availability' to Master, or to others whom He chooses). She placed the girl in each position and meticulously adjusted her body for precisely correct alignment. She gently but firmly guided her. However, when Jessie slipped up, the ball made painful contact with her soft flesh. Jessie learned to respond with "Thank you, Supervisor," for each blow.

Just before noon (Jessie was told that the Community called this Sext or the Sixth Hour), Sapphira led Jessie to the Refectory for lunch. Jessie observed with wonder the well-lit, high-ceilinged hall, plastered a pale orange, with serving tables along one sidewall and five high-backed, dark mahogany chairs arranged in a line at the far end. These were set with the tallest in the center, descending to each side. Otherwise, the space was bare of furniture. A naked woman, wearing a polished steel slave collar, stood by the door and bowed deeply to the Supervisor as they entered, and immediately hurried out the door.
Sapphira led Jessie through the cold, unheated space to the far end, where she sat on the lowest of the chairs to the left, held her staff, and gestured the postulant to kneel on the hard stone floor. "Nadu," was all she said.

A moment later, two dozen naked slave girls entered and filed into two lines facing each other, down the hall. They stood in the second position that Jessie had just learned, at the ready. A rap of the staff on the floor and the girls sank quickly to their knees.
Four serving slaves entered and began placing the food in front of the lines. Each slave was given one large and one small bowl. When Jessie's bowls came, she saw that the small bowl contained some tea steaming in the cold air. The large bowl had some warm porridge. All the slaves sat motionlessly.
Another rap from the staff was followed by a slave at the top of a row standing up into display position and speaking in a clear voice.
“Here is the Law for slaves: We slaves shall Fear, Love, and Trust our Masters above all others.” The others responded, “Amen.”
“Lift your voices in praise," said the first slave. All the girls, in unison, replied, "I thank and praise my kind and loving Master." As the girls' voices sounded together, Jessie, to her surprise, automatically joined in the praise for the Master she had yet to meet.

“In their kindness and care,” said Sapphira, “your Masters chose to feed you your daily bread. You may eat.”
Jessie dug eagerly into her plain meal, the first things to eat or drink she'd had since the previous evening. As she swallowed a gulp of porridge, washed down with smooth tea, she felt a warmth of friendship and companionship with these girls, all strangers, with who she shared the Masters' bread.

(End of chapter five)

 

[Loinclothslave]

At the risk of repeating myself, I want to say how beautifully you’ve made such a prosaic thing as eating into a gorgeous ritual.

The 3 hours of training her first 3 positions under the rod was also erotic. I loved thinking of the supervisor correcting jessie with the metal ball of that cane! I’m sure she felt it many many times, at least dozens, until she managed the positions close to perfection. “Nasu” is lovely, but i fear failure on my ankles and prefer to kneel in similar pose.

The initial uncertainty of her passage is a great way to help create the fear she needs to have for Master… Fear is a common way to motivate slave’s, and for those of us who want this type of slavery, fear of failure is very very frightening.

Ok, sorry, I sort of reverse reviewed that. Perhaps the dinner service was the singular most appealing part? I don’t know, it’s all pretty amazing.

While I’d certainly be challenged by such a regime, Ghod I’d love to try!

 

[Fossy]

"I doubt if she'll make it," Master Benns sneered. "She seems just one of these soft modern girls who toy with the idea of slavery. Another unserious, confused girl, trying out a new game."

Damn! What does the poor girl have to do!

The two Masters left the room, chatting animatedly about the upcoming football match

Excellent prioritisation skills.

"Thank you, Supervisor," the postulant whispered, still swallowing to clear the semen mixed with drool

That is very erotic ...

Jessie, to her surprise, automatically joined in the praise for the Master she had yet to meet.

This girl would make an excellent para-legal on the staff of Jeffrey Hodges esq.

Another excellent read ...

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

This girl would make an excellent para-legal on the staff of Jeffrey Hodges esq.

Funny you mention that. I am toying with a mini-sequel to Sing III, that would follow the interesting three-way involving Jeffrey, Ambassador Walker, and the sweet wife Kathy. The two men will independently train the poor girl to be a submissive slave to each man.

 

[Fossy]

Funny you mention that. I am toying with a mini-sequel to Sing III, that would follow the interesting three-way involving Jeffrey, Ambassador Walker, and the sweet wife Kathy. The two men will independently train the poor girl to be a submissive slave to each man.

Toy-away my friend ... I'm looking forward to it already ...

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Here on the off-day between postings, I want to ensure that the readers are not too confused by the time structure we are using for this story.
First, and simplest, the tale of the Seasoned slave all takes place in one day, marked by a first hour of night and then the seven hours of day. So when the next of her's posts occurs, it will be set in Prime, the time from approximately 9AM to noon. That pattern will hold.
Second, for the Novice's tale, the hours are symbolic of her journey into cMs slavery. Therefore this last chapter started at dawn on her first day of initiation and ended after the noon meal - spanning the hours of lauds, prime, terce, and even a bit of sext. The training and acceptance process usually takes five to eight weeks. As she progresses, the major divisions will be divided into symbolic hours.
Third, while the two tales do not proceed on the same timetable, the themes and significance do parallel each other.

I hope that helps clarify. If not, just don't worry about it!

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

A helpful observation.

 

[Loinclothslave]

A helpful observation.
View attachment 1096810

I would like to add severally to that list! At least add love…

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

I would like to add severally to that list! At least add love…

An interesting point and, I think (with no evidence to back it) often true. Though, I know some slaves whose motto is "What's Love Got to Do with It?"

 

[Barbaria1]

An interesting point and, I think (with no evidence to back it) often true. Though, I know some slaves whose motto is "What's Love Got to Do with It?"

song title

 

[Fossy]

A helpful observation.
View attachment 1096810

But it is about sex too, right? Please tell me its also about sex! Just a little bit ... maybe ... possibly

 

[Eulalia]

Chapter Six - The Seasoned Slave

19. Preparing Master's Breakfast

For the seasoned slave, Prime involves returning to first principles, with the slave working at simple, basic tasks to serve and care for her Master. Even while labouring at her duties, she is constantly striving to remember her core training and to meditate quietly on her place as a cMs slave.

The first hour of the day is a busy time for slave girls. After serving my Master with my mouth, i must move swiftly, though quietly and unobtrusively, to prepare His breakfast. First, though, i re-visit the bathroom to cleanse mouth, face, and body. There's a long mirror in the bathroom; i glance for a moment at the slave girl body that i have surrendered to my Master. It is His, no longer mine. It is His instrument to be played on and used as He wills. i must keep it in good condition, always clean and polished, always tuned up and ready to be played.

The bathroom is a special sacred place for this slave girl, so is the kitchen. Happily, i love cooking – or, rather, preparing and serving food, cooking is only a very important part of the ritual.

Slave girls from the farm, the dairy, and the bakehouse are at the outside door, bringing fresh produce – fruit and vegetables, milk, butter and cheese, bread still hot from the oven. we girls are not allowed to chatter, nor speak to each other at all except for strictly necessary business, so we simply exchange formal greetings. Each of them dips down on one knee on the step and hands me her load saying,

‘’this girl offers these ... with praise to your Master.’

And i bend my knee to take the goods, saying,

‘this girl accepts them, with thanks to your Master.’

The scent of newly baked bread joins the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee; my first task is to grind that finely in a hand-turned mill. i prepare the meal with the reverence of a priestess serving at an altar. we slaves are allowed very few 'labour saving' devices - fresh ingredients must be cut, peeled, boned, ground, or whatever is needed, by hand, lovingly and caringly. The very feel of the varied textures – glossy apples, soft grains, slippery, scaly fish, firm-fibred meat, is an ever-changing liturgy of sensuous experience, the scents of raw, cooking, and cooked rising like incense.

Strangely, i find such pleasure in doing this though mum wasn't all that keen on cooking. As soon as she saw i could and enjoyed it, she was only too happy to let me. One gran was an excellent cook and proud of it. She didn't teach me, but i think her attitude rubbed off on me – and it may be programmed in my slave girl genes.

This girl has some specialities that Master honours her by frequently requesting. Some have to be partly prepared overnight before the girl sleeps: the green coffee beans roasted gently, oatmeal steeped in hot water to make porridge or brose, smoked haddock poached and filleted, and rice cooked in the liquid to be mixed in the morning for kedgeree. Other dishes are cooked carefully then assembled quickly to be served immediately, such as buttery scrambled eggs on lightly steamed asparagus tips, smoked wild-caught salmon, and warm soda bread. i'm allowed to taste in minimal quantities and with the greatest reverence and attention to hygiene to ensure the dishes are prepared to perfection. This is a great privilege for a slave, a mere smidgin of fine food on her tongue, its taste swelling to fill her recently man-filled mouth, its aroma spreading in her nostrils, is for her a feast.

The utensils, kitchen tools, and, even more, the plates, vessels, and cutlery used for serving Master must be treated with care and reverence due to sacred objects on the altar. The slave girl body is itself a cleaning implement – a bushy brush to scrub off stains, firm thighs to polish hard, breasts to buff softly, hair to dry the items after rinsing. Such daily ministration by the slave girl's body gives a subtle fragrance to the dishes she serves.

Before the first hour, i must check my looks once more, then this slave girl sets off in her solemn walk bearing the breakfast tray and coffee-pot to Master's breakfast room and study. There's a special skill in carrying food and drink to be served, obviously requiring balance and confidence. It is essential to keep a perfectly upright stance, shoulders back, yet letting my hips swing, keeping my eyes lowered, stepping forward one foot directly in front of the other, at a steady, moderate pace – i find humming some marching tune very softly to myself helps.

When He signals, i enter, walk across to where He is seated, bend the knee and offer Him the meal. While He eats, i remain kneeling alongside Him, keeping myself unobtrusive but alert to respond instantly when He's ready for some dish or cup to be re-filled or removed or for any other command.

Once He has finished breakfast, I remove the tray and its contents outside. Then i return, proceed humbly to where a codex of the 'Law for slave girls' rests in an elegantly ornamented wooden case. i lift it out with reverence, unwrap it to reveal the gilt-edged leather cover, which i kiss, then place the tome on its reading-stand open at the text for the day, the words i have read, or heard another girl read, hours earlier in the Vigil. Then i kneel in obeisance and humbly request my orders for the day.

 

[Fossy]

Chapter Six - The Seasoned Slave

For the seasoned slave, Prime involves returning to first principles, with the slave working at simple, basic tasks to serve and care for her Master. Even while labouring at her duties, she is constantly striving to remember her core training and to meditate quietly on her place as a cMs slave.

The first hour of the day is a busy time for slave girls. After serving my Master with my mouth, i must move swiftly, though quietly and unobtrusively, to prepare His breakfast. First, though, i re-visit the bathroom to cleanse mouth, face, and body. There's a long mirror in the bathroom; i glance for a moment at the slave girl body that i have surrendered to my Master. It is His, no longer mine. It is His instrument to be played on and used as He wills. i must keep it in good condition, always clean and polished, always tuned up and ready to be played.

The bathroom is a special sacred place for this slave girl, so is the kitchen. Happily, i love cooking – or, rather, preparing and serving food, cooking is only a very important part of the ritual.

Slave girls from the farm, the dairy, and the bakehouse are at the outside door, bringing fresh produce – fruit and vegetables, milk, butter and cheese, bread still hot from the oven. we girls are not allowed to chatter, nor speak to each other at all except for strictly necessary business, so we simply exchange formal greetings. Each of them dips down on one knee on the step and hands me her load saying,

‘’this girl offers these ... with praise to your Master.’

And i bend my knee to take the goods, saying,

‘this girl accepts them, with thanks to your Master.’

The scent of newly baked bread joins the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee; my first task is to grind that finely in a hand-turned mill. i prepare the meal with the reverence of a priestess serving at an altar. we slaves are allowed very few 'labour saving' devices - fresh ingredients must be cut, peeled, boned, ground, or whatever is needed, by hand, lovingly and caringly. The very feel of the varied textures – glossy apples, soft grains, slippery, scaly fish, firm-fibred meat, is an ever-changing liturgy of sensuous experience, the scents of raw, cooking, and cooked rising like incense.

Strangely, i find such pleasure in doing this though mum wasn't all that keen on cooking. As soon as she saw i could and enjoyed it, she was only too happy to let me. One gran was an excellent cook and proud of it. She didn't teach me, but i think her attitude rubbed off on me – and it may be programmed in my slave girl genes.

This girl has some specialities that Master honours her by frequently requesting. Some have to be partly prepared overnight before the girl sleeps: the green coffee beans roasted gently, oatmeal steeped in hot water to make porridge or brose, smoked haddock poached and filleted, and rice cooked in the liquid to be mixed in the morning for kedgeree. Other dishes are cooked carefully then assembled quickly to be served immediately, such as buttery scrambled eggs on lightly steamed asparagus tips, smoked wild-caught salmon, and warm soda bread. i'm allowed to taste in minimal quantities and with the greatest reverence and attention to hygiene to ensure the dishes are prepared to perfection. This is a great privilege for a slave, a mere smidgin of fine food on her tongue, its taste swelling to fill her recently man-filled mouth, its aroma spreading in her nostrils, is for her a feast.

The utensils, kitchen tools, and, even more, the plates, vessels, and cutlery used for serving Master must be treated with care and reverence due to sacred objects on the altar. The slave girl body is itself a cleaning implement – a bushy brush to scrub off stains, firm thighs to polish hard, breasts to buff softly, hair to dry the items after rinsing. Such daily ministration by the slave girl's body gives a subtle fragrance to the dishes she serves.

Before the first hour, i must check my looks once more, then this slave girl sets off in her solemn walk bearing the breakfast tray and coffee-pot to Master's breakfast room and study. There's a special skill in carrying food and drink to be served, obviously requiring balance and confidence. It is essential to keep a perfectly upright stance, shoulders back, yet letting my hips swing, keeping my eyes lowered, stepping forward one foot directly in front of the other, at a steady, moderate pace – i find humming some marching tune very softly to myself helps.

When He signals, i enter, walk across to where He is seated, bend the knee and offer Him the meal. While He eats, i remain kneeling alongside Him, keeping myself unobtrusive but alert to respond instantly when He's ready for some dish or cup to be re-filled or removed or for any other command.

Once He has finished breakfast, I remove the tray and its contents outside. Then i return, proceed humbly to where a codex of the 'Law for slave girls' rests in an elegantly ornamented wooden case. i lift it out with reverence, unwrap it to reveal the gilt-edged leather cover, which i kiss, then place the tome on its reading-stand open at the text for the day, the words i have read, or heard another girl read, hours earlier in the Vigil. Then i kneel in obeisance and humbly request my orders for the day.

Wonderfully evocative Eul.

The slave girl body is itself a cleaning implement – a bushy brush to scrub off stains, firm thighs to polish hard, breasts to buff softly, hair to dry the items after rinsing.

This is a very erotic component of the overall narrative and places the slave well and truly in her rightful position.

I just have one question ... when you serve your master first thing in the morning, does he pause in his breakfasting activity or are you expected to serve him whilst he avails himself of food and drink?

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Chapter Six - The Seasoned Slave

For the seasoned slave, Prime involves returning to first principles, with the slave working at simple, basic tasks to serve and care for her Master. Even while labouring at her duties, she is constantly striving to remember her core training and to meditate quietly on her place as a cMs slave.

The first hour of the day is a busy time for slave girls. After serving my Master with my mouth, i must move swiftly, though quietly and unobtrusively, to prepare His breakfast. First, though, i re-visit the bathroom to cleanse mouth, face, and body. There's a long mirror in the bathroom; i glance for a moment at the slave girl body that i have surrendered to my Master. It is His, no longer mine. It is His instrument to be played on and used as He wills. i must keep it in good condition, always clean and polished, always tuned up and ready to be played.

The bathroom is a special sacred place for this slave girl, so is the kitchen. Happily, i love cooking – or, rather, preparing and serving food, cooking is only a very important part of the ritual.

Slave girls from the farm, the dairy, and the bakehouse are at the outside door, bringing fresh produce – fruit and vegetables, milk, butter and cheese, bread still hot from the oven. we girls are not allowed to chatter, nor speak to each other at all except for strictly necessary business, so we simply exchange formal greetings. Each of them dips down on one knee on the step and hands me her load saying,

‘’this girl offers these ... with praise to your Master.’

And i bend my knee to take the goods, saying,

‘this girl accepts them, with thanks to your Master.’

The scent of newly baked bread joins the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee; my first task is to grind that finely in a hand-turned mill. i prepare the meal with the reverence of a priestess serving at an altar. we slaves are allowed very few 'labour saving' devices - fresh ingredients must be cut, peeled, boned, ground, or whatever is needed, by hand, lovingly and caringly. The very feel of the varied textures – glossy apples, soft grains, slippery, scaly fish, firm-fibred meat, is an ever-changing liturgy of sensuous experience, the scents of raw, cooking, and cooked rising like incense.

Strangely, i find such pleasure in doing this though mum wasn't all that keen on cooking. As soon as she saw i could and enjoyed it, she was only too happy to let me. One gran was an excellent cook and proud of it. She didn't teach me, but i think her attitude rubbed off on me – and it may be programmed in my slave girl genes.

This girl has some specialities that Master honours her by frequently requesting. Some have to be partly prepared overnight before the girl sleeps: the green coffee beans roasted gently, oatmeal steeped in hot water to make porridge or brose, smoked haddock poached and filleted, and rice cooked in the liquid to be mixed in the morning for kedgeree. Other dishes are cooked carefully then assembled quickly to be served immediately, such as buttery scrambled eggs on lightly steamed asparagus tips, smoked wild-caught salmon, and warm soda bread. i'm allowed to taste in minimal quantities and with the greatest reverence and attention to hygiene to ensure the dishes are prepared to perfection. This is a great privilege for a slave, a mere smidgin of fine food on her tongue, its taste swelling to fill her recently man-filled mouth, its aroma spreading in her nostrils, is for her a feast.

The utensils, kitchen tools, and, even more, the plates, vessels, and cutlery used for serving Master must be treated with care and reverence due to sacred objects on the altar. The slave girl body is itself a cleaning implement – a bushy brush to scrub off stains, firm thighs to polish hard, breasts to buff softly, hair to dry the items after rinsing. Such daily ministration by the slave girl's body gives a subtle fragrance to the dishes she serves.

Before the first hour, i must check my looks once more, then this slave girl sets off in her solemn walk bearing the breakfast tray and coffee-pot to Master's breakfast room and study. There's a special skill in carrying food and drink to be served, obviously requiring balance and confidence. It is essential to keep a perfectly upright stance, shoulders back, yet letting my hips swing, keeping my eyes lowered, stepping forward one foot directly in front of the other, at a steady, moderate pace – i find humming some marching tune very softly to myself helps.

When He signals, i enter, walk across to where He is seated, bend the knee and offer Him the meal. While He eats, i remain kneeling alongside Him, keeping myself unobtrusive but alert to respond instantly when He's ready for some dish or cup to be re-filled or removed or for any other command.

Once He has finished breakfast, I remove the tray and its contents outside. Then i return, proceed humbly to where a codex of the 'Law for slave girls' rests in an elegantly ornamented wooden case. i lift it out with reverence, unwrap it to reveal the gilt-edged leather cover, which i kiss, then place the tome on its reading-stand open at the text for the day, the words i have read, or heard another girl read, hours earlier in the Vigil. Then i kneel in obeisance and humbly request my orders for the day.

Wow. That passage left me drooling. I refuse to admit for what.

 

[Eulalia]

I just have one question ... when you serve your master first thing in the morning, does he pause in his breakfasting activity or are you expected to serve him whilst he avails himself of food and drink?

when i enter, i kneel and place the tray on a low table, then offer Master the bowl and cup filled with the first part of His breakfast - fruit, cereal or whatever and a refreshing drink - fresh juice, milk, maybe lassi. The i remain kneeling, alert to any signal He may want more, or He's ready for me to remove the first utensils and serve the next part. it's a matter of being ready and responsive, keeping my eye on His hands.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

when i enter, i kneel and place the tray on a low table, then offer Master the bowl and cup filled with the first part of His breakfast - fruit, cereal or whatever and a refreshing drink - fresh juice, milk, maybe lassi. The i remain kneeling, alert to any signal He may want more, or He's ready for me to remove the first utensils and serve the next part. it's a matter of being ready and responsive, keeping my eye on His hands.

So wonderfully submissive. A good lesson for a woman who wants to please her husband.

 

[Loinclothslave]

Chapter Six - The Seasoned Slave

19. Preparing Master's Breakfast

For the seasoned slave, Prime involves returning to first principles, with the slave working at simple, basic tasks to serve and care for her Master. Even while labouring at her duties, she is constantly striving to remember her core training and to meditate quietly on her place as a cMs slave.

The first hour of the day is a busy time for slave girls. After serving my Master with my mouth, i must move swiftly, though quietly and unobtrusively, to prepare His breakfast. First, though, i re-visit the bathroom to cleanse mouth, face, and body. There's a long mirror in the bathroom; i glance for a moment at the slave girl body that i have surrendered to my Master. It is His, no longer mine. It is His instrument to be played on and used as He wills. i must keep it in good condition, always clean and polished, always tuned up and ready to be played.

The bathroom is a special sacred place for this slave girl, so is the kitchen. Happily, i love cooking – or, rather, preparing and serving food, cooking is only a very important part of the ritual.

Slave girls from the farm, the dairy, and the bakehouse are at the outside door, bringing fresh produce – fruit and vegetables, milk, butter and cheese, bread still hot from the oven. we girls are not allowed to chatter, nor speak to each other at all except for strictly necessary business, so we simply exchange formal greetings. Each of them dips down on one knee on the step and hands me her load saying,

‘’this girl offers these ... with praise to your Master.’

And i bend my knee to take the goods, saying,

‘this girl accepts them, with thanks to your Master.’

The scent of newly baked bread joins the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee; my first task is to grind that finely in a hand-turned mill. i prepare the meal with the reverence of a priestess serving at an altar. we slaves are allowed very few 'labour saving' devices - fresh ingredients must be cut, peeled, boned, ground, or whatever is needed, by hand, lovingly and caringly. The very feel of the varied textures – glossy apples, soft grains, slippery, scaly fish, firm-fibred meat, is an ever-changing liturgy of sensuous experience, the scents of raw, cooking, and cooked rising like incense.

Strangely, i find such pleasure in doing this though mum wasn't all that keen on cooking. As soon as she saw i could and enjoyed it, she was only too happy to let me. One gran was an excellent cook and proud of it. She didn't teach me, but i think her attitude rubbed off on me – and it may be programmed in my slave girl genes.

This girl has some specialities that Master honours her by frequently requesting. Some have to be partly prepared overnight before the girl sleeps: the green coffee beans roasted gently, oatmeal steeped in hot water to make porridge or brose, smoked haddock poached and filleted, and rice cooked in the liquid to be mixed in the morning for kedgeree. Other dishes are cooked carefully then assembled quickly to be served immediately, such as buttery scrambled eggs on lightly steamed asparagus tips, smoked wild-caught salmon, and warm soda bread. i'm allowed to taste in minimal quantities and with the greatest reverence and attention to hygiene to ensure the dishes are prepared to perfection. This is a great privilege for a slave, a mere smidgin of fine food on her tongue, its taste swelling to fill her recently man-filled mouth, its aroma spreading in her nostrils, is for her a feast.

The utensils, kitchen tools, and, even more, the plates, vessels, and cutlery used for serving Master must be treated with care and reverence due to sacred objects on the altar. The slave girl body is itself a cleaning implement – a bushy brush to scrub off stains, firm thighs to polish hard, breasts to buff softly, hair to dry the items after rinsing. Such daily ministration by the slave girl's body gives a subtle fragrance to the dishes she serves.

Before the first hour, i must check my looks once more, then this slave girl sets off in her solemn walk bearing the breakfast tray and coffee-pot to Master's breakfast room and study. There's a special skill in carrying food and drink to be served, obviously requiring balance and confidence. It is essential to keep a perfectly upright stance, shoulders back, yet letting my hips swing, keeping my eyes lowered, stepping forward one foot directly in front of the other, at a steady, moderate pace – i find humming some marching tune very softly to myself helps.

When He signals, i enter, walk across to where He is seated, bend the knee and offer Him the meal. While He eats, i remain kneeling alongside Him, keeping myself unobtrusive but alert to respond instantly when He's ready for some dish or cup to be re-filled or removed or for any other command.

Once He has finished breakfast, I remove the tray and its contents outside. Then i return, proceed humbly to where a codex of the 'Law for slave girls' rests in an elegantly ornamented wooden case. i lift it out with reverence, unwrap it to reveal the gilt-edged leather cover, which i kiss, then place the tome on its reading-stand open at the text for the day, the words i have read, or heard another girl read, hours earlier in the Vigil. Then i kneel in obeisance and humbly request my orders for the day.

Again, a very prosaic thing, to have breakfast, yet you’ve made incredibly erotic and desirable by beautiful devotional slavery. Another gorgeous chapter, I could read these forever. Each time I am sitting here wishing it was me serving in slavery.

Yes, I truly have a slave soul and I am beginning to realise it’s not simply the only part of the “real me” that I understand about myself, my slave desire is, in fact, the whole of the real me. Being a full time consensual surrendering slave is the real me. The only me that is truly happy and comfortable with itself. There, I’ve said it, I admit my inner truth and embrace it.