I hear the ring of the bell and shiver, beads of sweat forming above my lip. I know immediately that it is the special delivery my Master has told me to expect. I go nervously to the door and sign for the box, take it to my bedroom and place it on the bed. I stare nervously, fearful of what I will find within. I pour a glass of wine, my hands shake, and my breathing is rough. I cut the string and open it. Sweat trickles between my breasts as I feel that familiar wanton heat taking me over. Peering inside, I fold back the tissue wrapping and lift out the garments.
The first is a bra made of the softest black kid leather. It is more of a harness, as it would leave my large breasts completely exposed merely forming a platform to lift them, presented as if they were a gift. Attached to the centre of the bra is a long silvery chain, quite thick and rough. I read the instructions and put on the bra, placing the chain between my legs and attaching the other end to the loop in the bra. The chain is very tight and I can feel it rough and hard cutting between the cheeks of my bottom, into my already wet pussy, pressing on my clitoris.
As instructed, I then open the small bottle of liquid and rub my nipples with the fluid, until they are fully coated and shiny. Although cool to my fingers, this potion immediately creates an intense feeling of heat to my hardened nipples, which are soon tingling, and standing long, thick and very hard. I am immediately reminded of the nettles which my Master used to brush my breasts and nipples with at our last session together, before he attached the nipple clips and whipped them. I shiver, remembering the whipping and how I screamed in a glorious orgasmic release. He knew that I would be reminded of this. I smile, acknowledging his control over me.
Taking out the silk stockings, I carefully roll them over my long legs. The wide band of stretchy black lace clings to the tops of my thighs supporting the softness. I look over my shoulder to make sure that the seams are straight.
Next, the high-heeled sandals, which I carefully unwrap from their tissue paper. I fasten the leather straps, which wind up my legs, and look at myself in the mirror. I do not recognise the wanton image of the slut I see before me.
I reflect on how far I have come from that respectable and rather serious woman I used to be. I stroke the smooth skin above the band of my stockings, letting my fingers flutter lightly over the edge of my pussy lips, which are smooth, hairless and already swollen. I imagine the tip of my Master's cane exploring my soft skin before I hear the whistle and swish through the air as he whips the tops of my thighs. I am so excited now I can hardly breathe. Yet I know I must hurry. For I cannot keep my master waiting.
