Alarm Clock

A shrill ringing woke me up, my **** collar reminded me of the situation. A message appeared on the screen:

• Preparing breakfast for 9:00 a.m. Stay naked but clean in a submissive position. On time until countermanded. I saw a picture illustrating the position.

I saw the time: it was 6:00 a.m. They weren't planning on giving me anything.

I washed up and discovered the shower was cold. The icy water hit me like a slap, running in streams over my skin, making me shiver from my neck to my ankles.

I gritted my teeth to keep from moaning, knowing that the slightest sound would be captured by the camera. My fingers trembled as I tried to soap my body quickly, each movement calculated not to betray my discomfort. The fogged mirror reflected my pale figure, my shoulders hunched under the weight of humiliation.

A bowl of porridge had been set down while I slept; the camera was still on.

I sighed and began to lick the porridge, my tongue slowly scraping the bottom of the cold metal bowl. Each movement was methodical, calculated to avoid leaving a crumb, while avoiding dirtying my face or the floor.

The camera swiveled slightly with a mechanical hum, its black lens magnified like a merciless eye. A trickle of warm porridge dripped down my chin. I felt my mother's virtual gaze pressing down on me, her image frozen on the screen staring at me. My stomach twisted with shame as I finished licking the last trace of porridge, my tongue scraping against the metal with a small, wet smack.