kaylee was generously permitted to feature original artwork by Walter Girotto for this web set.
To see more of his wonderful art, please visit his gallery at: http://www.girotto.it

A girl was planning her Christmas... the first to be shared with the one who owns her. For months, she had looked for the perfect gift she could send him, flipping through catalogs, eyes always searching while she shopped in the stores. She weighed each option against each other, for to her, the best part of Christmas is giving. This man was so special to her, she just wanted to find a way to thank him for allowing her in his life.

As the season approached, the reality of her situation hit her. She had no money of her own to buy all the gifts she ached to, and everything he wanted, he would buy himself. Still, she racked her brain, trying to think of something to give... fighting the feeling of shame for not having anything to hand him on that day, when she is accustomed to giving generously to those she loves.

She considered cooking a special treat for him, but his safety was an issue then. She could dance for him, but he could command that at any time, how could she consider that an offering? She watched the days slipping quickly into the holiday season, her shame and fears of displeasing him grew more as the day approached.

The night before, she looked at her silks and adornments, wondering if she should put them on. She frowned, and pushed them aside, knowing if she did so, she would be hiding behind the wrappings, hoping it would make up for the lack of contents.

She pulled out a quill and paper, and carefully wrote him a letter, brushing aside tears as the words appeared.

Master, my owner, my life,

I am so afraid you will have no gift from me this year. I own nothing, have no money, and cannot buy you a gift. All I can offer you is what you already have, and that in itself is flawed, I'm afraid. I could clean for you, give you a massage, cook for you, and make you homemade gifts.... but those I could do on any occasion, that could never be considered a gift to you. Its what is expected of me in your life as a slave.

I should not feel shame in this, for I am a slave and you do not expect a gift from me. But I do, deep in my heart... for you are my world, and I cannot find anything to offer you to show you how grateful I am. I am deeply saddened by this.

All I can do is remind myself of what I strive to give to you each day, and make peace within my troubled heart.

You own me. My body is yours, for soothing comfort when needed, for your desire and amusement, to care for your belongings and home. From toes to lips, and everywhere in between... it is gloriously yours, to mark or adorn as you see fit. You teach me each day what it means to be a woman.

My mind is yours - all my words and thoughts belong to you. Each word I write is already yours before the ink dries. Each time you and I have a discussion, it is something else which you own with complete access.

My heart is yours. I have begged to be allowed to love you - it is my joy in life. How could I be this devoted to your life and not feel the deepest slave love? I have so much love inside me to give. Thank you for allowing me to lavish it in worship on you, unconditionally, without expectations... simply selfless love.

My soul is yours - surrounded by your strength, commanded by your will. I no longer exist as a separate entity. That intimacy, so precious to me, of not knowing where I stop and you start, so deeply ingrained within every aspect of life. It is *your* life we lead as one, a Master and his property.

I am your imp, your woman-child, your slut and pet... and so much more. I am everything you make me. But above all, I am surrendered, bound as deeply by my own emotions as I am by your will. My sun and moon revolve around you. You are my everything.

I kneel before you, flawed but real. I am yours, continually striving to improve and grow. I pray to continue finding joy in my service to you each day, and to make your life better for allowing me in it. It is my hope that I am reminded of this not only on Christmas, but each day of my service to you. I pray I grow gracefully into who I long to be, an extraordinary female who is everything you expect as your property."

She wipes the trail of wetness from her cheeks, and folds up the letter, sealing it with her tears. Clad only in his steel, she nestles down into the furs under the tree, her heart brimming with emotion.

Merry Christmas, Master.