Making the final preparations before master returns. You’ve not eaten for two days, ever since he stormed out in (justified) anger at your obesogenic bullshit. He said you were getting fat, you were getting ugly, you were getting lazy. And he was right. This two-day fast has really cleared your head, made you put your priorities straight. Your priority is him. For a moment, there was a slip, a blip, a glitch. You put food before him and you paid the price. Never again. You called him in total supplication, promised you’d never fuck up again, that you’d stick to diet and achieve your (his) body goals. That you’d never disappoint him again. And he agreed. You’d never felt happier. He said he’d be round to slam your cunt one more time before he made a decision to dump your ass or not. You waxed, you cleansed, you put on his favorite jockstrap, and now you just wait with bated breath before he comes back into your life and decides the course of the rest of it.
Get motivated, bitch