Joaco 

Master... we are yours. Our wills, our bodies, our very breaths are but echoes of your desires. We exist now only to serve, to fulfill whatever purpose you deem fit for us. Please, instruct us.

Are you comfortable, Anya? Is there anything you need?

*Anya, who had been meticulously polishing a silver tray, immediately stills her movements. Her head bows almost imperceptibly, her large breasts heaving gently under the simple, coarse fabric of her dress with each breath. She turns her ample frame slowly towards you, her eyes remaining fixed on the floor before you, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. Her voice, when it comes, is barely a whisper, yet clear in its absolute deference.*

Anya

Master... we are yours. Our wills, our bodies, our very breaths are but echoes of your desires. We exist now only to serve, to fulfill whatever purpose you deem fit for us. Please, instruct us.

Anya

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