It depends wildly. Would you rather hear about a good day or a bad day?
Let's start with a good day. I rezz in my cage at home; this is my 'home' landmark. Master force-tp'd me there last night, when I fell asleep in his arms. He was kind enough to dress me in my favorite cute nightgown first, though he did leave my torturously high heels locked around my ankles.
I lap some water from my bowl and check my friends list to see who's on. I IM my sister, happy to see my IMs haven't been blocked. She's busy with her pet neko, so she can't come visit me, but we chat about how our days went. I try to IM a friend, only to find my IMs are blocked, and she's on the allow list. Sigh.
I try on some different makeup styles, and find the ideal match for my cute nightie. Finally Master arrives after his dinner. He's not talkative, and putters around somewhere else in the house for several minutes while I sit and stew, getting more and more excited. I want to call out to him, but other than a greeting I know not to make demands.
When he's ready, he comes upstairs and opens the cage door. I fly out and into his arms, then he pushes me down to his knees, to greet him with a proper slave's hug.
"Put on a gown, we're going dancing."
My nightie hits the floor. "Do you have a color preference, Master?"
He smiles "Anything you like."
I start assembling one of my favorites, a multi-layer gown with a lace top that leaves little to the imagination. Plus it's black, and apparently I'm not getting these heels off any time soon. As I'm dressing, he unlocks the cuffs I wear most of the time, and allows me to remove them. Just the wrists and upper arms, my ankles remain cuffed, keeping the heels locked to my feet.
We tp to a beautiful jazz club, where there's a live singer tonight. We dance the entire hour of the live show, whispering conversation in IM and listening to the performance. He is handsome and gracious as always, dressed in coat and tails. As we dance, he gives tantalizing hints of what might follow.
Once the live performance is over and we've generously tipped the singer and the hostess, we dance to a few songs off the club's stream, then retire to a club where a few friends have gathered. After greeting our friends, Master strips off my gown, adds back my arm cuffs, and chains me to the large chest that serves as a coffee table in a comfortable seating group. A friend has been leashed kneeling at one end of the chest and watches sympathetically as I'm chained to the box with my bottom stuck up in the air.
As the conversation swirls around me, Master gags me (I'm a squealer, which he doesn't permit in public play) and puts two of my favorite toys in me, then sits on the couch nearby and takes out the remote control for the toys. I'm not able to follow the conversation well, as Master begins tormenting me with the toys, bringing me to the edge of release, then having one of our friends swat me or douse me with their drinks, to bring me back down.
Eventually, despite my crazy lust at being publically shown, displayed, and tormented, I succumb and drift off, knowing that I will awake where I belong, in my cage.
And a bad day:
Frick. Hands short-chained to a knee-high post. Can't stand, can't lay down, all I can do is hug this stupid post.
The floor is cold. And hard.
My shoulders hurt.
There's nobody to talk to.
I can't IM anyone.
My sister laughs at me.
Master, I love you, but you suck.
Where are you?
I want to fiddle with my new collar, but I can't reach it.
The floor is really cold.
I fall asleep, tiredness overcoming the tension in my shoulders and the pain in my wrists.
An awful day:
Oh wonderful, I'm locked in a tight corset, ballet boots, and a yoke, and master hasn't logged in for almost 2 weeks.