Chapter 18

Two things that were out of our usual routine the next morning. The first was that I overslept. It was after 10 when I woke up the next morning. I cannot remember the last time that had happened. The second thing was that Sylvia had already showered, put on her make-up, and dressed. Admitting it was in her slave tunic, so that took little time, but still she usually took plenty of time for shower, hair and make-up, especially on holidays.

She was standing at the foot of the bed in a at ease pose.

I swallowed my ‘Good morning, little one. Tell me did you sleep well?’ and instead I snapped at her, “Inspection!”

She clearly didn’t expect that, and it took a few seconds for her brain to tell her to spread her legs, place her hands behind her head and cast her eyes downward.

I got out of bed and took my time to pee. All things look better with an empty bladder. When I walked back into the room, I stood well within her personal space.

“How am I supposed to inspect you with your clothes on? Is that the...” I air-quoted, “perfect slave exhibition you wanted so much to display here? Or is that just for guests, little one?”

“No, Sir”, she whispered, clearly intimidated by my unusual behaviour. “Your slave is sorry, Sir. Is she allowed to do it now, Master?”

“No, wait until tomorrow. I have all the time in the world after I slept in.” I said, full of sarcasm. Perhaps I was grumpy after wasting half a day sleeping. Sylvia undressed, taking off her slave tunic and dropped it on the floor.

“What is so difficult today completing a simple instruction, little one? You remembered that you have to be naked for inspection, and still you’re not.” I said to her completely nude body. Her small titties were heaving from tension now.

“I took off all of my clothes, Sir.” She stated the obvious.

“And pray tell me, what is that on your face trying to cover up all the blue markings on your face all those nice people put there? Is that nude or an attempt to cover your body just like that flimsy thing you call a slave dress?”

“I’m sorry Sir, I put this make-up on my face so I wouldn’t embarrass you when I walk out in public like that.” Maybe she was referring to the penis that was drawn on her check pointing at her mouth sending a lot of little spots of blue semen to her lips.

“Don’t assume, little one. Leave the thinking to me. Get it off, pronto, while I take a shower.”

Taking off make-up doesn’t take as long as putting it on, but it was still more than enough time for me to take a quick shower and get dressed.

My beautiful wife stood there for the third time that day with her hands behind her head. I began with her hair and stopped almost immediately.

“What has got into you, little one today? If I didn’t know any better, I would assume you are asking to be flogged until your skin is like a well-done lobster. Why is that rubber band still in your hair? How am I supposed to inspect your hair if I can’t even get my fingers through it?”

Her long hair was something I gladly spent a lot of inspection time on. I love the feeling of all that luscious soft hair through my fingers, even after I have touched it thousands of times by now. I never get enough of it. The softness. The way I could manipulate her hair was truly impressive - folding it, parting it, and even using it to pull her head back.

She only looked down now. There is a limit to how many times you can apologise.

They had done a number on her face yesterday. I traced the letters ‘cum bucket’ on her forehead with my finger. I touched her lips and immediately she opened her mouth for me to inspect her teeth and tongue, pushing her tongue to her palate to show she had nothing to hide there.

“Shoulders back, tits forward, little one. You should be proud to present yourself to your Master, not make yourself as small as possible.” I spat.

“Good girl”, I said after her posture change and softly went with my hands over all over her female forms. After all these years, she still was the most beautiful woman to me. I must admit, sometimes I struggled to comprehend her. Why she would want to walk with the insults on her face was a mystery to me. I’m sure she put that make-up on masking that stuff on her face was more for my sake than hers. She knew all too well how I didn’t like to draw the attention to myself.

“Bend over, girl.” She arched her back to me, so I had a clear view of her pussy and ass. Her hands now resting on her knees to stand stable with the feet still shoulder-with apart.

“That’s my girl. Let’s see what is written here. ‘Shameless Slut’. That was a fair comment. ‘Fuckhole’ pointing at your asshole, little one. ‘Wet cunt’ is written on your thigh with an arrow up. Let’s check that, shall we?”

Without further ado, I rammed my index finger into her pussy. It was not super wet, but wet enough for entering her without her cringing.

“Another accurate comment. Get dressed, little one. Did you have breakfast yet?”

“No, Master.”

“Well, let’s see if they have a late breakfast or an early lunch, shall we?”

“There you are. Welcome, you must be hungry. You’re not the only ones late. We usually have a brunch at the Sundays after club nights. Some of our guests have already left. At seven, I’ve already waved Ilse off. Martin and Helga want to apologise to you for not saying their goodbyes, but they have some meeting today they had to attend.”