painting Madam’s nails is one of my favorite kinds of service. her fingers and her toes get my full attention, and honestly, i could do it every day and never get tired of it.

there’s something so calming and powerful about the whole process. i start by preparing everything just the way she likes it. the towel, the files, the colors laid out in order. sometimes she chooses the shade, sometimes she makes me guess. if i get it right, i feel like i won the lottery.

i love the moment her foot settles in my lap or her hand rests in mine. these are the hands and feet that command me, direct me, discipline me. and now they’re trusting me to make them even more beautiful. i trim, file, shape, buff. every detail matters. then comes the color. i apply it with slow, steady strokes, watching as each nail transforms under my brush. it feels like a quiet ritual. like worship.

when i finish her fingers, I gently blow on them slowly, then kiss the tops of her hands, careful not to mess up my work. when i finish her toes, i always kiss the tips after blowing on them, ever so gently, so as not to disturb the polish. it’s my way of saying thank you for letting me touch her, for trusting me with something so delicate. i never rush. i want everything to be perfect.

sometimes she looks over my work and gives a little smile. sometimes she just wiggles her toes or flexes her fingers and says nothing. either way, i feel proud. i feel useful. i feel like hers.

and that’s why i love it. painting her nails isn’t just about polish. it’s about care, precision, love, obedience. it’s about being close to her in a quiet, devoted way. and nothing feels better than that.

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