The realities of submission - the oath (1/3)

Master,

I will report through e-mail to you for now. If it pleases you, I will place in Blog soonest after, without your name.

I am at the PC dressed in black hold-ups and quarter cup bra. Salmon coloured. Wear slippers when on stone floors, nothing when on carpet. Really redundant, as will be on all fours, a position that I love and hate. I have painted my face in war make-up, that is: obvious, black lines, large areas, striking colours (amber, blue, green) (ref. my ‘Day to Remember’,.www.vannavechian.com, under ‘Autobio’.) Want it to be theatrical.

Reading your mail called 'First session'. Make printed copy.

Crawl to kitchen on all fours. The floor is cold. As said I love and hate this position. It is truly humiliating. I am aware of my exposed rear and no less of my moving udders. I do feel like a dog, or rather a cow, as my udders are indeed large and swinging, unlike those of a bitch. I prepare the bowls with bread, in chunks, and water, for later.

I crawl up to the bedroom upstairs.

My friend the mirror. I kneel, knees apart, hands behind head. I watch myself. Having been naked routinely now around the house, in itself seeing my nude form is not a shock. The war paint, the stockings and quarter-bra change that. I am a slut and a whore. I focus on my vagina. I sense it twice, with my eyes and internally. These sensations feed upon each other. I get aroused.

Then I extend forward and place my forehead on the floor. My hands need to help. I am not a gymnast! Arms forward, like a nun prostrating for her god. I am thankful for losing sight of myself. Physically it is hard to sit still like this. I feel cramps coming, which I fight successfully.

My beloved 'O' is to act as the Bible. "I, Vanna Vechian, will obey my Master in all ways for as long as he chooses me to be his slave.
"He may do as he wishes with me.
"He may sell me, let his friends use me as he sees fit. I have no rights.
"This I solemnly swear on the book of 'O'."

I am glad!

Gladly I write the words SLAVE on both breast tops, each time followed by the oath.

I am embarrassed not to be able to find the specification of my 'level 3' punishment on my PC. Then I remember a generation of notes died on my PC when it crashed. I deserve punishment for not having backed-up enough. I do the following in the hope that this is at least equivalent to Level 3. I take 18 clothespins and place them, one by one, on my nipples and in four positions on each of my breasts around the nipples, an inch removed. That makes for ten. I am verging on tears already. Each fresh application is a bite, which numbs as time passes. Advancing, each new one is worse than the previous. Still two times four to go on each of my outer labia. I cry and whimper, hardly make it to the end. Tears at the end. I ruffle each set, only to yield more tears. I pray I have suffered enough, for my above crime and not having had enough time for Master. In a frenzy I remove all 18 pins. This is the true torture. The pain is overwhelming. I am shaking, jumping and beyond myself. I have not reached the soothing endorphin plateau.

My voice shakes initially when I take 'O' and read from it aloud. I read the scene where Sir S presents O to the Commander, where she wears the owl mask and is ordered to have her pubic hair removed.

My dog whip is ready and I take it with me to the bed. I lie down on my back, legs apart and drawn up. My genitalia are so exposed! Five times I hit my inner left thigh hard. I truly want to. I need to punish myself for having done the clothespins, for having done the previous whip lashes. I punish myself for punishing myself. That is the motive - I am not a good slave - and to the honour of my Master.