Dermatologist recommended facial cleansers

Then they suddenly disappeared, as if the earth had swallowed them. Her white satin dress flowed behind her in a long train, like silver, like moonlight; her hair flared like flames against the white fur of her jacket. Now she stood in front of me with her left hand firmly planted on her hips, in her right hand she held the whip. “Now play has come to an end between us,” she said with heartless coldness. You fool, I laugh at you and despise you; you who in your insane infatuation have given yourself as a plaything to _me_, the frivolous and capricious woman.

You are no longer the man dermatologist recommended facial cleansers I love, but _my slave_, at my mercy even unto life and death.

“First of all you shall have a taste of the whip in all seriousness, without having done anything to deserve it, so that you may understand what to expect, if you are awkward, disobedient, or refractory.” With a wild grace she rolled back her fur-lined sleeve, and struck me across the back. I winced, for the whip cut like a knife into my flesh. “Just wait, you will yet whine like a dog beneath dermatologist recommended facial cleansers my whip,” she threatened, and simultaneously began to strike me again. The blows fell quickly, in rapid succession, with terrific force upon my back, arms, and neck; I had to grit my teeth not to scream aloud. Now she struck me in the face, warm blood ran down, but she laughed, and continued her blows. “It really is a joy to have some one so completely in one’s power, and a man at that, who loves you—you do love me?—No—Oh! I’ll tear you to shreds yet, and with each blow my pleasure will grow. You will find no mercy in me!” Finally she seemed tired. She tossed the whip aside, stretched out on the ottoman, and rang. “Untie him!” As they loosened the rope, I fell to the floor like a lump of wood. The black women grinned, showing their white teeth. “dermatologist recommended facial cleansers Untie the rope around his feet.” They did it, but I was unable to rise. “Come dermatologist recommended facial cleansers over here, Gregor.” I approached the beautiful woman. Never did she seem more seductive to me than to-day in spite of all her cruelty and contempt. “Now kneel down, and kiss my foot.” She extended her foot beyond the hem of white satin, and I, the supersensual fool, pressed my lips upon it.

“Now, you won’t lay eyes on me for an entire month, Gregor,” she said seriously. “I want to become a stranger to you, so you will more easily adjust yourself to our new relationship. In the meantime you will work in the garden, and await my orders. Now, off with you, slave!” * * * * * A month has passed with monotonous regularity, heavy work, and a melancholy hunger, hunger for her, who is inflicting all these torments on me. I am under the gardener’s orders; I help him lop the trees and prune the hedges, transplant flowers, turn over the flower beds, sweep the gravel paths; I share his coarse food and his hard cot; I rise and go to bed with the chickens. Now and then I hear that our mistress is amusing herself, surrounded by admirers. Once I heard her gay laughter even down here in the garden. Was it the result of my present life, or was I so before? The month is drawing to a close—the day after to-morrow. What will she do with me now, or has she forgotten me, and left me to trim hedges and bind bouquets till my dying day? “The slave Gregor is herewith ordered to my personal service. Wanda Dunajew.” With a beating heart I draw aside the damask curtain on the following morning, and enter the bed-room of my divinity. “Is it you, Gregor?” she asks, while I kneel before the fire-place, building a fire. I dermatologist recommended facial cleansers cannot see her herself; she is invisible behind the curtains of the four-poster bed. “How late is it?” “Past nine o’clock.” “Breakfast.” I hasten to get it, and then kneel down with the tray beside her bed. “Here is breakfast, my mistress.” Wanda draws back the curtains, and curiously enough at the first glance when I see her among the pillows with loosened flowing hair, she seems an absolute stranger, a beautiful woman, but the beloved soft lines are gone. This face is hard and has an expression of weariness and satiety. Or is it simply that formerly my eye did not see this? She fixes her green eyes upon me, more with curiosity than with menace, perhaps even somewhat dermatologist recommended facial cleansers pityingly, and lazily pulls the dark sleeping fur on which she lies over the bared shoulder.