My Workday Ends. His Duties Begin. – House Slave Service
My workday is over. His duties, however, are only just beginning.
After a long day, I return home, drop My belongings and settle comfortably into My armchair. A sharp whistle is all it takes for My house slave to appear. On all fours, naturally. He brings Me a glass of water, which I enjoy without even bothering to acknowledge his presence.
A proper servant shouldn't require constant instructions.
I slip out of My stilettos, snap My fingers, and he immediately understands that My tired feet deserve his attention. While he gets to work, I scroll through My messages, check My emails and enjoy a little peace and quiet. His existence is of absolutely no consequence to Me, provided he makes himself useful.
A riding crop rests within reach. Not because I intend to waste My evening correcting him, but because even the simplest duties ought to be performed properly.
Eventually, I require My nail file. Then My book. And, naturally, a comfortable footrest.
Unfortunately, the poor fellow seems to have forgotten that furniture is supposed to remain exactly where I put it. A brief correction is sufficient to remind him of his purpose.
I continue with My phone calls, casually resting My feet on him and stepping across him whenever it suits Me. His discomfort is hardly worth interrupting a conversation over.
Another snap of My fingers. My cigarettes, please. And a light.
Once again, he knows exactly what is expected of him.
Some women come home to a loving husband. I prefer a well-trained house slave who understands the considerable advantages of being useful, quiet and permanently at My disposal.
And when I decide to take My cigarette outside, he knows perfectly well that his duties are far from finished.