I

I am not tall, I am only one hundred and seventy centimeters, but, as Svetka puts it, - and I don’t want to object to her - in my seventy (understandably - without legs) centimeters "there were so many charms that half would be enough to conquer half the world of men. " On the legs, the conversation is special and pleasant, hopefully, not only for me, but also for that half of the men Sveta speaks about. My legs are not only a means of transportation, but also the subject of my mountain-reach. Their sources, of course, are not in the vicinity of the ears, as is often heard from people prone to hyperbole, but where they should be, and they flow down in soft, smooth curves, as if gradually evaporating along the long path to the ground. It is crowned by a miracle of nature (may men not reproach me of indiscretion, because I know what I am talking about!) An elegant foot of size thirty-eight with thin long fingers laid in a neat row.

So you will be carried away, and you will tell about wonderful fingers with pink polished nails, and there will be no time for everything else. However, I have enough time, although I never hurry: there is no place to hurry. I’m getting to work where Svetka and I as programmers are trying to realize my right to work, in fifteen minutes. And no one is waiting for me at home. Even though I'm already married for the fourth year, hardly half of this time my beloved husband was on the shore. He has such a job: some "learn to fly planes", others - ice prick icebreakers. I somehow got used to doing everything myself. Even it was necessary to transport things from the hostel where I lived after the institute to the house left by my parents Alexey and his younger brother. Alexei, then, straight from the wedding table, like the Count of Monte Cristo, was torn off and sent to rescue a ship “from ice captivity,” as local newspapers later wrote. So Victor and I live in an old parental home in a state of expectation. I'm waiting for my husband, and he is my brother. At first I was alone at all, Victor returned from the Army six months ago.

Together, of course, it is easier to live and wait. How similar they are! ... Looking at Victor, I always remember Alexey. I noticed that Victor, too, as if in thought, often stops his eyes on me, and at first thought that he also remembers someone at that moment, but later some observations allowed me to draw other conclusions. Oh, it was the little things: the drawer in the closet was not fully pushed in, where my underwear was folded in a neat stack, where did the lost stocking remain, while I had never lost my chair in my room. It is clear that in my absence he visited my corner. You don't have to be very insightful to guess with what purpose he was looking at my underwear.

Then I began to think about his place in my life. Sad as we live, monotonous.

"Can you somehow brighten up your loneliness?" - I asked myself. - There must be a way to tickle your nerves, have fun, without in any way offending my love for my husband. After all, I do not turn away from the TV screen when I see frank scenes, but on the contrary, I get so carried away that I begin to imagine myself in the place of some of the heroines. And dreams, and even some actions that I indulge in, lying in a bed that is not shared with anyone? ... And I don’t consider it a betrayal at all: so - petty pranks, the costs of long loneliness. Why, in the absence of her husband, not to use the petty services of his brother, which he, of course, will be delighted with? In the end, it is silly to put high feelings in dependence on the design of the vibrator: ".

I stealthily watched Victor, and very soon discovered what I was expecting. On Saturday, as usual, I left the house to walk through the shops. The plan was simple and banal, because everything wise had already been invented before us: I “forgot” the money and after a while returned.No, I was not amazed by the picture that I witnessed by slowly opening the door to my room; something like I expected to see. The fact is that, somehow, in the absence of Viktors, out of ordinary curiosity, I examined his room and found in the drawer of the table: - you would never guess - a whip, yes, a wicker made of thinly cut straps. Then I was amazed at the discovery, but now everything has become so transparent:

Yes, so what did I see when I looked into my room? Victor was on his knees and respectfully kissed the old b-socks left by me in front of the chair, in which I walk around the house; he kissed slowly: now one, then the other, repeating with a feeling of deep reverence: "Mrs. Left: Mrs. Right!". Frankly, this picture of the worship of my things did not jar me at all; on the contrary, I was filled with quite understandable respect. My self-love could not flatter such subservience. Yes, his feelings were accessible to my understanding. Not wanting to interrupt this rite, little by little, I tiptoed out of the house. Now everything became clear to me: and the fact that Victor rarely looked up at me, at best, they stopped at the level of my knees; and the fact that he avoided calling me by his name in every way — he could not say “you” to me, or simply call me “Olga”; and the fact that such a healthy and nice guy, having come from the Army, for six months did not get a handicap.

Intuitively, I felt that I was still not fully prepared for the role in which Victor saw me, although it was obvious that only in this way could he remain loyal to his husband, have a good time having fun in his absence, and bear the joy of life to his brother . It seems that this is called “eat fish and sheep are intact,” however, I am not talking about that at all.

For the next week I was carefully preparing for the next Saturday, on which I laid certain hopes. I wanted everything according to the rules. I took in the library and very carefully read "Venus in Furs" L. Masoch. At the same time I diligently dealt with the essay "Oath of the Lady". I will not hide, this epistolary creativity has amused me a lot. I was pleased to know that my future slave still does not realize what? I cook for him. From this consciousness, the breath sank sweetly and quickened. Coming up with delicate phrases appropriate to the occasion, I was inspired by the memories of the spied scene of the slave worship of my slippers, the scene that gave me occasional pleasure.

But I wanted something completely different - the pleasures of not accidental, but those that I assembled. And I had to get it when it wanted me, and not a fan of my worn sandals. With great responsibility, I approached the preparation of my future pleasures.

To begin with, I began to close my door with a key in order to prevent the future slave from having the opportunity to freely indulge in fetishism. Only I can, at my own discretion, allow or forbid him the satisfaction of his passions with the help of my toilet articles. For the realization of my insidious plans, a servant was needed prepared, seasoned, like wine, languishing from forced abstinence, and therefore ready to bring all my life to my feet without a trace. I have such a character: I need everything, or nothing, but everything is better. And it should immediately show who depends on whom.

Understandably, I doubled my attention to my appearance. About the fact that all my movement of the arms and legs in his presence was frankly directed at him, I don’t even want to say anything. In a word, I took it easy to prepare everything in a week. All subsequent events showed that my energy and time were not wasted.

On the long-awaited Saturday, I repeated my simple maneuver with “forgotten” money. It was no accident that I left my unpretentious sandals, co-standing from a low platform and three transverse straps, near the armchair itself, and the door to my room ajar.For such a solemn moment, I put on everything new: black fishnet stockings with a belt instead of the usual pantyhose, pale pink lace panties, black nylon bust-galter, tight-fitting ...