On Sunday, I was going to spend the day at the Master's estate. It was time to harvest the beets, and there I was, with my back bent, in the sun, wearing a dog collar around my neck, in sports pants and shoes. I suppose He likes to see me like that when He puts me to work.

I didn't fear anything when I received the slight cramp from the electrified velcro that surrounded my testicles and which the Master activated remotely when He needed me in the house. It was normal; sometimes He would ask me for a cold beer from the fridge, other times for coffee, and other times to fuck me... When I arrived, His voice boomed from the kitchen, and it didn't sound good.

I knelt before Him as He opened the trash.

"What can I do for you, Master?"

"Look at the trash can, what do you see?"

"Organic waste, Sir."

"You speak so finely, slave." With His hand, He plunged my face into the trash. "And in the organic waste, don't you see something yellow and abnormal?"

"Yes, Master, a banana peel!"

"Pick it up with your mouth and leave it on the floor!" Diligently, I picked up the trash, got on all fours, and left it on the floor. "What is a banana peel doing in the trash, you piece of shit? Because only you and I are here, and I haven't eaten any banana, so someone here has taken a liberty they don't have, huh?" And with His foot, He brought my head closer to the banana peel. He had caught me, and silence implies consent, which is what I was doing. "Eat it!" I brought my snout closer and, as best I could, started chewing on the peel, which was mixed with coffee grounds and leftover sauce from the previous day's dinner. The worst part was swallowing the upper stem, but I had to do it, urged by my owner to finish. "You piece of shit, I don't want to repeat that you can't make any decisions on your own; if you want a banana, you'll beg me, do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"No, I don't think you've understood." He exclaimed, holding the dog chain attached to my collar. "Let's go!"

I followed Him on all fours, although I knew what was waiting for me; I only doubted whether it would be 20, 30, or 50 lashes. Better that than the whip on my testicles, I thought, as He tied my hands and spread my feet with a piece of wood.