The Cellar Slave – Water Is a Privilege
Oh, look. My little cellar slave is still here. How delightful. Almost forgotten about him, to be perfectly honest.
Today, I've decided to pay him a visit. And since I'm feeling exceptionally generous, I've even brought him something to drink. Surely he didn't expect me to serve him a refreshing glass of water?
How presumptuous.
Dressed in my elegant black blouse, fitted riding breeches and commanding leather riding boots, I observe my rather unimpressive little servant with the same detached amusement I reserve for anything that fails to meet my standards.
A heavy chain, strict instructions and my riding crop establish the atmosphere. I turn a simple task into an elaborate lesson in obedience, deliberately muddying my boots and demanding that he restore them to my satisfaction.
Naturally, his efforts are never quite good enough.
I remain perfectly composed, occasionally amused, and entirely unimpressed by his performance. After all, maintaining standards is exhausting enough without having to explain them to every incompetent creature in my service.
Some men dream of serving a Mistress. Very few seem to understand how little glamour there is in being at the bottom of her priorities.
Welcome to my Institute of Discipline....









