I'm laying in my bedroom, completely encased in the softest pink sheets and blankets. My hair tightly wrapped in curlers rests gently on my soft Disney princess pillowcase. Slowly my door creeps open but I keep my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. "Mandy..." he gently calls out. "Mandy..." he repeats a little louder. My smile at the sound of his voice betrays me.
"You faker," he teases. "Give me a kiss, I have to go to the studio for awhile." I look at him, standing above me, his eyes full of caring and love for his little girl. He's four inches taller than me and at thirty-three he's ten years my senior. I feel so small compared to him. Tenderly he cups my chin in his hand, leaning down underneath the pink chiffon bed canopy, he makes our lips meet. I can feel my girly parts rumble underneath my covers.
"I'll be back around 3:00 my little princess, be good."
I'm sad to see him leave but I know he'll be thinking about his little treasure waiting for him when he gets home. After I hear the door to the apartment open and close, I toss back my covers and prepare to begin my day. I look down at the beautiful white night gown I'm wearing. Through the transparent material I can see my perfectly smooth and hairless body and the cream white satin panties my Prince slid up my legs the night before. I can't help but wiggle my butt on the bed to hear the fabric rustle against itself.
In a few minutes, I'm making my way groggily down the hallway towards the bathroom. Now standing, my nightie only falls low enough to cover up half of my panties and my satin wrapped bum hangs out in the cold. After a hot shower I wrap my pink fluffy towel around myself in the most feminine way possible and begin the slow process of removing my hair from the curlers. I feel so free once my hair has been released from its plastic prison. I bounce once to watch my curls playfully move.
After applying light make up and my favorite shade of pink lip gloss, I return to my princess paradise. Now wide awake; I can truly appreciate my room. One corner rests my pile of stuffed animal friends, a few favorites sit around a small table. Waiting anxiously for afternoon tea. As I move towards my closet, I walk pass Barbie's beautiful four-bedroom playhouse. I can't help but giggle to myself as I spy Ken wearing a strapless red dress on the porch.
My closet is the symbol of my new life as a little girl. My life has changed so much from living in my parents' basement and hiding a few pairs of panties in the false bottom of my dresser. Now I stand before a pair of freshly painted white closet doors with graceful pink ballerinas stenciled on the sides. I already know what's inside, but I can't help but let out a slight gasp as the doors slide open. This happens every time I see my new wardrobe in full. Flipping through the dresses, I pull out a classic French maids uniform with a matching pristine white apron.
Laying it carefully on my bed, my attention shifts to my dresser. The top drawer is a sea of satin, silk and lace. I pull out a modest pair of pink cotton panties with a simple red rose embroidered on the front. I remember that he's been encouraging me to wear training bras lately so I dutifully pull out a matching bra from the same drawer.
Once dressed, I get to work. His pants, shirt and underwear are still in a heap in the living room where we stripped them off the night before. His breakfast dishes need attending as well. I happily scrub, tidy, and dust all the while floating around the apartment in my submissive uniform. I smile imaging how happy he'll be as I finish ironing his last load of clothes. I'm here to make his life easier.
The last thing I do is polish a strange looking metal contraption in the corner of the living room. The contraption looks like a six-foot tall, lowercase letter "t". On it's base is a circular metal disk which provides stability for the device. Several pieces of leather are strategically placed on the metal framework. After my careful maintenance, the leather appears brand new. Finally, when the apartment is spotless, I settle down to watch What Not to Wear on TLC and to paint my nails a light shade of pink I know he'll love.
When 2:00 rolls around, I know it's time for me to get ready for his arrival home. I reapply my make up, making sure to fix any smudges that happened while I was cleaning. Slipping out of my maids uniform I stand in front of my closet, one hand on my cotton pantied hips and another hanging between my lips. As if the position of my hands will somehow help the decision making process. Eureka! I pull out a very special dress. It is the first dress he purchased for me back when we only knew each other virtually. Every day I would get a new picture and a new angle of the dress. One to show off the puffed sleeves, another to show the row of red bows that ran down the front, another up the skirt showing the puffy built-in petticoat underneath.
I pull my cotton panties down my legs and slip into a more appropriate pair that will match the dress better. The word "Princess" is beautifully stitched into the front in pink thread. The three rows of ruffles on the bum are only barely covered by the short childish dress.
I walk back into the living room and I move towards the freshly cleaned metal device. I glance at the clock, 2:50. I haven't much time!
I step onto the cold metal circle at the bottom, sending a shiver through my bare feet into the rest of my body. I begin the process of tethering myself into position with the leather straps. I pull the cuff tight around my left ankle. Click! And around the right ankle. Click! Each strap is secured in place by a small padlock. Each lock polished nickle with a pink heart in the center. The only way to remove these locks is a small silver key that rests comfortably in my Prince's pocket at all times. With each clicking lock, I put myself further under his control.
Around my waist, I pull another strap and lock it into place. I breath deeply, the next is always the most unnerving. I wrap the leather around my neck, not tight enough to be dangerous but tight enough to prevent my movement. Click! The last part I can lock in is my left arm. My right will hang limply to the side until he gets home.
And then I wait. Waiting, I try to channel my inner doll, my inner mannequin, my inner object. I am no longer a person, I am a decoration in his living room. I stare at the front door, motionless, my face a blank slate free of emotion. I can no longer look at the clock so the soreness of my body is my only indication of passing time.
With the lack of stimulus I am hypersensitive. I can feel the pressure from each of the leather straps against my skin, I can feel my posture being held upright by the straight metal pole. I can feel every time my heart beats.
Suddenly, I hear something! Footfalls outside the door, a key being inserted into the lock, tumblers falling into place. "You are your Prince's doll Mandy, you cannot move a muscle." I tell myself. But the moment I see his eyes take in all that I have become for him and I see the happiness and pleasure behind those shining eyes; my smile betrays me for a second time that day.
