Charlotte closed the door to the Jeep and crunched across the gravel driveway to the red door set into the side of the building. She pushed on it, tentatively, and it swung open. Smiling, she walked inside and began her routine. The contents of her small backpack were laid out neatly on the metal table and, after the few moments it took her to undress, her clothing followed.
The shower was, as always, freezing. She'd learned early on to fill the bucket for actual washing and use the shower itself for wetting and rinsing only. Her hands moved the wash-rag over her body, carefully scrubbing every inch of exposed skin. As the smooth, hairless skin between her thighs attested, she'd bathed, and shaved, before making the trip out. But the ritual cleansing was important, both as a token of her willing obedience and as a way to put herself in the correct frame of mind.
When Charlotte was finished washing, she scrubbed down the area, using the rags in the hamper to ensure it was at least as clean as she had found it. Only when she was satisfied that this was the case did she squat down and put her hair into the tightest pony-tail she could. It was harder than it sounded, as she had discovered to her misfortune. Her master could be very meticulous, and a single loose strand of hair had been her downfall more than once. The lack of a mirror complicated the task and made it impossible for her to know if she had done an acceptable job. It was a trick, and he had explained it as such when she asked, but it was still effective; she always began every session in a state of uncertainty, hoping for his approval.
The thought brought a smile to her face as she finished and padded over to the corner of the room where her collar and chain hung. The soft leather collar fastened easily about her throat, fingers dancing over the buckle with the ease of long practice. Its presence was both comforting and exciting and the weight of the long chain that hung from it was exciting and ominous. She walked across to the blue door and settled herself comfortably on her haunches, bent legs beneath her body on the stone floor. It was futile to try and get comfortable, but she tried anyway before ringing the bell next to the door.
Gathering the chain into her hands she extended her bent arms in front of her and wondered how long she would have to wait this time.
Not long, it turned out. No more than a few minutes and certainly nothing like the half day she'd once endured. The door opened and she smiled into the light and the dark form hidden in the brightness.
"Good afternoon, Master."
"Hello, Charlotte. How are you today?" he replied cheerfully.
"That depends on how pleased you are, Master," she said.
"Am I going to be pleased?" he asked as he walked past her to the table.
"I believe you will be very pleased with my academic progress, Master. But I'm less certain about my success with the pony-tail."
"Mmmmm," he said, that neutral sound which he used to fill up empty spaces in conversation.
She could not see him, but she knew he was examining her progress report. Once again she reflected upon the gap between perception and reality. Her teachers knew that her scholarship depended upon her maintaining excellent grades and were more than happy to fill out the weekly forms which documented her progress. They didn't know that unsatisfactory progress was met with corporal correction.
"These are all excellent reports, Charlotte. Some of your best in fact. Good girl."
She beamed at that, basking in the warm glow of his approval. "Thank you, Master. I try very hard to not be found wanting."
"One hair," he announced.
She winced. One hair was the worst; so close to perfect and yet... He took the chain out her hands and she lowered them to the ground, following them with her head. She lifted her bare ass high into the air and waited, and silently cursed. Two hairs or more meant a session with the flogger, but one hair... She yelped as the chain impacted her raised flesh. One hair meant a single stroke with the chain and a welt she'd feel all weekend.
"Th-thank you for your correction, Master," she said, swallowing hard and willing herself to relax and let the pain go.
"Come," he ordered, tugging once on the chain as walked into the courtyard. She raised herself to hands and knees and followed after as best she could. He led her through the courtyard and into the living room where a snap of the fingers and an extended hand pointed to the dog pillow that she was allowed to lie on.
"On your back, legs spread," he instructed mildly as he sat down in his chair.
She crawled onto the pillow and turned around so that she was sitting with her head away from him. She spread her legs and drew her knees back towards her chest without covering her breasts. She reclined on her elbows so that she could face him. The position could get uncomfortable, but it was very revealing. Charlotte still recalled with excitement the first time he'd shown her a picture of herself taken from his perspective; it was almost grotesquely wanton and left nothing of her flesh to the imagination. He'd explained how exciting he found the position and Charlotte had never again complained about it, no matter how uncomfortable it sometimes became.
"Your progress reports indicate you've been doing very well academically, Charlotte. How have you been otherwise?"
"I've been very well, Master. With the weather warming up I've found my exercise much less of a chore. I've been doing more running, which has been difficult after a winter of mostly riding the indoor bike and treadmill, but I'm improving faster than I did after last winter. I was offered a team-leader position at work, but I turned it down because it meant working more hours and I felt I needed that time for my studies," she said brightly.
"You didn't feel you needed the extra money?" he asked cheerfully.
"No, Master. The extra money would only be useful for things that would take even more time away from my studies. I'm doing well with the money I have already. I explained to Mr. Shapiro that I was only turning the position down for those reasons and he seemed to understand." She watched as his eyes examined her, slowly covering every exposed inch of her flesh; a slight tremor of excitement rippled her thighs.
"And your social life?" he pursued.
"I really have been focused on my studies, Master, and I find I do my best work early in the morning. Accordingly I haven't really been going out at night. Since I last spoke with you I've had five boys ask me out. One of them asked me three times."
"Were you attracted to any of them?"
"Adam," she said in a matter of fact tone of voice. The tone was carefully cultivated because she still wasn't entirely comfortable with this aspect of their relationship. He had explained that he expected her to be interested in other men, that they would deal with such things when it became necessary, but she didn't want other men and the very idea of being attracted to another man felt disloyal. "He was very nice and I enjoyed the way he politely pursued me. I think he'd be a good friend, but he'd always be interested in me sexually and that would cause problems with the friendship."
"You're still nervous about this," he observed.
