An Ordinary morning.
20:09 P.M. 23rd January 2009
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She was asleep, then awake; just like that.
There was bright sunlight shafting through a gap in the drapes; and she could see thousands of dust motes floating in its light.
She blinked, several times, in part to get the sleep out of her eyes, whilst assuring herself that she was in reality.
"It was absurd, to think that a dream can affect me like that," she mused aloud, pleased to hear her own voice, as it was a sign of normality.
She brushed her long dark hair away from broad, elegant shoulders and smiled.
"I need caffeine," she told herself, "and nicotine." She added, swinging her legs round and sitting on the edge of the bed. Celine Jenkins looked at the clock, and the smile left her face immediately.
"Eight o'clock, on a Saturday?"
`Aw, c'mon..." she thought, annoyed at the vagaries of the recent sleep pattern, or lack thereof.
Nearly a week of these early wakings.
When she had to work, that was okay, But on a Saturday, her day of rest?
That just wasn't on.
Celine stood.
Not quite eight and the heat already sufficiently warm to warrant her opening the window.
The heat would be oppressive later. Celine did not relish that at all; her cerise nightdress was already clinging to her undeniably womanly curves.
She stood, opening the small casement windows, put it on the latch at its widest and grinned, pulling the drapes shut once more.
There was already a fine sheen of perspiration, covering her flesh and, for a nanosecond; she nearly forgave the cigarette, in favour of a cold-shower.
But,' she told herself, that can wait.'
Severe nicotine depletion had taken place overnight and that had to be remedied.
As she washed her hands and face, Celine looked into the mirror, for long moments.
She looked at herself and smiled ruefully.
Time hadn't been as kind to her, as she would have liked.
There were a few more laughter lines than she found amusing and her black hair, which ended mid-back, showed the odd grey hair. Not many, but enough to annoy her.
But, she hardly needed the glasses, she occasionally wore and her pronounced cheek-bones, a remnant of her native-American heritage, had allowed her to age far better than some women of her age.
The only thing she didn't like, was her nose.
`Too big,' she thought, leaning forward a little, to peer into the mirror.
"Enough of this," she reminded herself, turning away from the visage of a woman in her middle-age, whom she preferred to see as little as possible.
Then she padded into the kitchen, barefoot, her only clothing the simple shift nightgown, that hardly suited her curves, yet was all she deemed necessary, as she had no-one to impress, of late.
She had stopped drinking coffee a while back, so a sugar-free Coke satisfied her need for caffeine, as he stood at the backdoor and lit her first cigarette of the day.
Exhaling the acrid blue-grey smoke, Celine debated her feeling of unease.
Then reality blurred, as a dragonfly whirred by the open door.
She looked at her cigarette, `The First of the day.'
As her head swirled, the brunette put her hand to the wall...
"I think it's back to bed-time," she muttered closing the door and returning to bed.
She was asleep, then awake; just like that.
There was bright sunlight shafting through a gap in the drapes; and she could see thousands of dust motes floating in its light.
She blinked, several times, in part to get the sleep out of her eyes, whilst assuring herself that she was in awake: and not still asleep and dreaming.
A phone was ringing, downstairs.
Now Celine was awake and wondering where she was.
She was in her bed, but the room seemed different, somehow.
Confused, she looked round the room, her eyes resting momentarily on the chair beneath the window, a rush seated 18th Century elm and beech chair, of the 18th Century. A set of handcuffs sat on the seat.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door.
"Come in?" Celine called out cautiously.
A tall, blonde-haired dazzling Asian beauty stepped into the room. It was Rachel; somehow she knew that.
"Where was that memory from?" She mused.
The Asian-doll wore a black lacy two- piece lacy vest and panties.
Rachel smiled demurely, offering her the phone.
"It's work," she informed Celine in a soft voice; and then slowly stripped of the black lingerie and removed overmatched panties, releasing a cut seven inches, already aroused and pointing upward.
Stepping back, Rachel blushed shyly and knelt by the side of the bed.
One hand on the Orientals head, Celine stroked the blonde hair absently, as she spoke on the phone, to her favourite client; a submissive named Henry.
"Mistress Celine, may I see you on Monday? Please?" the normally stern headmaster entreated of her.
"I'll have to check my schedule," she responded, as the Asian slowly eased back the duvet, to reveal the leather harness she wore, that emphasised her full beasts, heaving with her anticipation of the next moment.
Then pulling the duvet further down, Rachel looked at Celine, as if seeking her approval. She nodded.
"...ring me back tomorrow, I'll have an answer for you then," Celine said with a light smile, as soft delicate fingers ran over her left thigh.
Then the young Asian began placing butterfly kisses on the exposed flesh, eager to please Mistress Celine.
`Rachel is a delicate, sweet, feminine, loving sweetheart,' she thought, her memories returning slowly.