November 31
Rosetta was wearing a flimsy sarong and dancing. She had me sit in a chair. I hadn't worn clothes for a while. She wasn't putting the show on expressly for me. She decided she'd like to dance and wanted an audience. It didn't upset me. I was just happy that she had stayed around a few days. It had been nice. I didn't feel so much like a slave. We ate breakfast together and I would bathe her. Then I would bathe. She hadn't been intimate with me in the water yet. Most days she ordered me to stay in bed and see to her every whim.
Her ass was the focus of her dance. She rolled it in front of me for minutes. She didn't shake it like you'd expect it was more like a belly dance. When she was done I would know it. Rosetta finished and turned to me, that gleam was in her eye. She was the princess, the mistress. I had made the mistake of telling her now once in our time together.
She didn't beat me or anything. I think she could break me in half if she wanted to. No, physical punishment beyond the spanking or the riding crop she'd liked to use. Though that wasn't her way of punishing me. No, she just drove me nuts. She bound me and took away my ability to move or speak, and then she'd spank me or orgasm on me. I watched too much of her nectar hit the stone while I thirsted. "Beatings are not effective." She'd always say, "Denial is much better."
She was happy with me again though, and honestly, I was elated that I was back on her good side. She walked up dropping the sarong and she left the corset on. It looked like something out of the sixteen-hundreds and she had said as much when I'd asked her about it. She liked talking with me. Honestly, I think she missed talking to people almost as much as she liked sex. She was hardly a nymphomaniac, but she sure seemed to be making up for lost time. Not that she admitted it to me.