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A
note by shalava, the commissioner
In the stifling heat of
the Russian summer, Mistress has retired to a secluded
dacha nestling in the shady heart of an ancient forest
of silver birch. The endless woods are Her private
pleasure gardens; here and there Her slaves are strung
up, naked and helpless amongst the trees, awaiting the
sweet agony of Her touch. She strolls amongst them, so
Elegant, so Beautiful, clad only in the diaphanous silk
of Her delicate dress. Mid-summer ferns form a soft
carpet upon which She wanders amidst the dappled leaves.
It is my joy to be one of these slaves; and it is at
this moment my privilege to be the object of Her cruel
amusement. A sheen of sweat glistens over my hairless
body as i strain against the unyielding bondage of the
ropes that bind me kneeling and exposed before Her. A
silver chain around my neck bears the tag that
identifies me as Her property. Harsh clamps torture my
nipples and a leather gag muffles my blissful moans of
anguish. Mistress stands before me, abusing me with Her
bare feet. She turns my head towards Her with the bundle
of birch rods with which so soon She will thrash me. My
face is contorted by a mixture of fear and adoration, of
pain and desire, as i submit to the exquisite ecstasies
of Her torture. Gaspazha glows in the luminous heat. She
smiles exultantly at the suffering of Her slave and is
cooled by a nerve-tingling quiver of pleasure from my
torment. For She knows that this is the very instant
when Her slut has finally understood that he exists only
to provide Her with gratification and enjoyment. She
truly owns me; before it was just my body, but now my
soul is Hers, forever.
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