A Day From B’s Diary
It’s tough being me.
3pm: I wake bright and early and greet the new day with enthusiasm. I stretch lazily, made almost seasick by the extravagently rippling undulations of my impressive muscles, and slip into my comfortable leather mask and trousers which belle has already buffed to a fine sheen with her long auburn hair. I then take my usual morning areobic exercise by spanking belle briskly for at least 20 minutes. I feel somewhat refreshed by this and quite ready to start the day. Belle on the other hand mutters darkly about her sore bottom and questions why I don’t jog for exercise like any normal Master. Still, I expect she realises how uniquely blessed she is to have someone as wise and wonderful as myself over-seeing her moral welfare …
5pm.Veronica, our live-in waitress and general dogsbody, brings my breakfast shortly afterwards. Nothing elaborate, you understand, because I have a hard day ahead of me. I make do with a spartan repast of lightly smoked bacon, shirred eggs, and devilled kidneys accompanied by a brace of lavishly buttered English muffins and a large dish of coffee garnished with a healthy slug of Napoleon brandy. Refreshed, I call the staff together to give instructions for the evening. Veronica makes a list of my gems of wisdom in her incomprehensible scrawl. No wonder she never gets a customers order right. Belle meanwhile has dressed demurely in her favourite black leather boots because we expect a party of Southern Baptists later in the day, and we all know what *they’re* like. She has her favourite whip at the ready in case any of the reverend gentlemen get out of hand, as they so often do.
6pm : I don my rather fetching chefs hat (specially designed for me by Versace) and get ready to tantalise the taste buds of our loyal customers. I could of course hire a cook but dare I entrust the creation of gastronomic masterpieces to a spotty underling and risk the reputation of the BDSM Cafe ? Of course not ! Incidentally why is it, I wonder, that all of the worlds great chefs are men ? You know, just taking a moment here to contemplate the vicissitudes of life, it’s a bit much that we chaps have to bear the burden of excelling at so many things ..<sigh>..Women are all right in their place but for anything requiring real creativity or flair .. well .. need I say more ? Now let me see.. todays special can be something fruity in whipped cream I think.
11pm : We’re finally nearing the end of the evenings rush at the Cafe. We have candles on the tables, you know, to create an intimate atmosphere but some silly old tranny set his beard on fire with one and we had to put him out with a fire extinguisher. High heels and a beard. I ask you ! Then one of the Southern Baptists choked on a cumberland sausage while telling a dirty joke (at least I think thats what he choked on) and another got a plate of soup in his lap when he tried to take liberties with belle. She is not, as she will tell you herself, a liberty belle ( that was just my little joke. No ? Oh well .. please yourself ). Veronica succeeded in getting nearly every order wrong again. I think we’ll need to review her performance with her when we close tonight. Belle is very good at dealing with staff so I think I might leave tonights discipline to her. The great and glorious Masters hand should be held in reserve to deliver moments of great joy or great sorrow. Don’t you think ?.
11.30pm.We discuss Veronica’s performance with her and ignore her pathetic excuses. I waver between a formal reprimand as outlined by employment law and a good flogging, but decide on the latter on the grounds that I quite like seeing pretty girls being flogged. To her credit, Veronica takes careful notes in between screams as belle outlines her mistakes to her while administering a sound thrashing. I watch and offer encouraging advice, pointing out to belle any bits she might have missed. I whimsically suggest another 20 lashes as a kind of performance-related bonus, which draws venomous glares from Veronica. When her pert bottom is glowing a uniform crimson belle allows her to get up and, always the gentleman, I offer a seat to the tearful girl. For some reason best known to herself she just doesn’t want to sit down and glares at me ! Young girls these days have no manners !
12 Midnight : The hurly-burly of the day is finally over at last. Veronica is tucked up in her attic bedroom with a glass of milk and an improving text. She’ll be up at the crack of dawn again cooking and scrubbing. She’s a good little scrubber. I allow myself to relax in front of the crackling log fire in my Laz-E-Master reclining chair, sipping a glass of fine old brandy and nibbling at a sliver of beluga caviar on toast. Belle starts to walk towards the stairs and then stops just long enough to give me the kind of come-hither look that would produce multiple orgasms in a monastry. I notice that she’s trailing the soft leather thongs of a whip provocatively over her bare bottom, which is still showing the faint marks of last nights whipping.That girl is insatiable !. Dabbing at my lips gently with the silky panties I confiscated from Veronica before her flogging, I sigh and rise nimbly to my feet. Ho hum… some days its really tough being me….a Masters work is never done, you know…..
These great drawings were done for us by the very talented Fritz, to whom we owe thanks for making us look as nature intended before she realised the material she had to work with.
