Mistress' Personal Bath Slave
I spend hours preparing a bath for you. The bathroom is scrubbed to gleaming perfection. Candles are placed strategically around the room. Your favorite soaps and scents are laid at the edge of the tub. A CD of Vivaldi plays in the background.
I draw the water to the exact temperature you like, testing it with thermometer so there are no mistakes.
I strip, kneel on the cold tile, and call out to you that your bath is prepared. Those are the only words I'll utter that night as any gratuitous talk will spoil the mood.
You enter, disrobe, and sink into the tub.
I remain kneeling, shivering in the cold, while you languish for an hour in comfort. Periodically you command me to add hot water or to hand you a wash cloth or soap. I'm like another fixture in the bathroom, there for your use and convenience, but nothing else.
Finally, you're done, and ready to leave the tub. You rise from the water and pat yourself dry with a luxurious towel, and I hand you your robe. You step onto the tile, feet still wet, and I'm allowed to dry your feet. I take my time, as it's the only contact I'm allowed with your flesh.
You leave the room to climb into bed and drift off to sweet dreams, your body completely relaxed from the heat of the water.
Only then may I seek relief from the cold air of the bathroom. I climb into the now lukewarm, gray water. I sink down just to the level of my nose, smelling the scents you've left behind. I lie there until the water becomes too icy for me to remain.
I emerge, and drain the tub. I clean it again so that it will be ready for your use the next day. The candles are blown out and the room returned to order.
I dress and prepare to leave. I pause briefly by your door. I think I can hear you breathing, and I imagine your form wrapped in soft linen, but it's too dark to see inside. My heart races at the thought of sneaking into the room to curl up on the floor by your bed, and I'm electrified by the thought of remaining close to your splendor.
But I dare not, fearing to provoke your wrath by having executed any act not expressly permitted by you.
I exit the apartment silently, so as to not disturb your sleep.
On the long subway ride home, I smell my own skin, which carries traces of your bath water. I breathe deeply and ride home in a half-sleep, delicious dreams and recollections passing through my consciousness.