A Day Without Barriers

 

“A Day Without Barriers”

It starts with a rule. Simple. Absolute. No panties. From the moment you open your eyes, you know what that means: every movement, every errand, every breath of wind against your skin is a quiet reminder of me. This isn’t a suggestion — it’s my command. It’s my way of weaving myself into every moment of your day before you even kneel at my feet.

As the hours pass, you become aware of how it changes you. The soft brush of fabric on bare skin, the whisper of air when you bend or reach, the heat that builds with every step. You can’t hide from it. You’re forced to sit in the anticipation I’ve designed for you. You’re forced to remember me. My absence becomes a touch you can’t escape.

While you go about your day, I know exactly what you’re feeling. I know how wet you’re getting without ever being touched. That’s the point. By the time you see me again, you’re not just wet — you’re ripe, marinated in obedience, dripping in readiness. This is my power over you without even lifting a finger.

I imagine you texting me little confessions throughout the day, each one a tiny offering: a snapshot of the heat between your thighs, a whispered update about how it feels to walk through the world bare under your clothes. You’re not doing it for yourself; you’re doing it for me, to please me, to prove you’re following my command.

When you finally come to me at the end of the day, you’re trembling. Your body is buzzing with hours of suppressed desire, your mind already in a haze of obedience. You’re not just showing up; you’re arriving as a gift, a living embodiment of my control. Your eyes lower, your lips part, and you wait for my next word.

I take my time with you. My fingers trace the outline of what’s been mine all day. My nails graze your skin; my breath ghosts over your neck. I smell the sweetness you’ve been holding for me, taste the readiness that’s been building hour by hour. The first touch is almost too much for you, and I smile because that’s exactly how I planned it.

Your only thought now is to please me. To let me devour what you’ve been saving. To surrender completely to the ritual I’ve created. Your wetness is no longer yours — it’s mine. Your trembling is my music. Your body becomes a feast I’ve been preparing all day with my command.

And when I finally take you, slow and deliberate, you understand: this isn’t just a rule. It’s a lifestyle of obedience, anticipation, and worship. The no-panty rule isn’t about fabric. It’s about making you live in a state of readiness, so that when you’re finally in front of me, you’re nothing but hunger, wetness, and devotion, waiting to be devoured by Anita Domme.