“Emily,” Cynthia started up as they examined the food on the living room table. “What exactly is this?” Disgust rang through their tone. Emily whipped around to look at the ‘dish’ she had made – spaghetti that was barely cooked in the microwave with pepperoni slices and stale spinach stuffed on top. The ‘sauce’ Emily had chosen was salt – no pepper, adding another spice was too much work. Still, though, she couldn’t help but cower at the sound of her Mistress’ disapproval.
Emily had been depressed for months. More so than she ever had been. She’d been able to hide it well from Cynthia – the way she would make awful low-effort depression meals and shower twice a week. But once they moved in together two weeks ago, Emily could barely hide it. She swore on her grave that she’d take better care of herself for her Mistress. And yet, she couldn’t.
“Um… well, it’s spaghetti, Mistress,” Emily confessed. Cynthia was a renowned cook outside of their 24/7 total power exchange relationship, so Emily was hoping the fact she made food at all would be a pleasant surprise. Nope. It wasn’t good enough for Mistress.
“Spaghetti,” Cynthia echoed. “And tell me, toy, how exactly did you make it?”
Emily blushed. “Well, I put pepperoni, salt and spinach on it—”
“Yes, I can see. They’re all dreadfully uncooked. How did you make the pasta?” Cynthia’s voice became lower, more demanding and scolding.
The sub shrunk in her place. “I… microwaved it.”
Cynthia’s eyes almost popped out of their head in bewilderment. “You microwaved it? Plaything, you’re my property! I expect you to be better than this!” Despite how offensive that statement might have been to others, it made Emily’s heart tinge just a little with excitement. Being referred to as Cynthia’s property – being hers – was about the best thing in Emily’s life. And yet, she hated the fact she wasn’t good enough for her Mistress. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to cook. She couldn’t.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Mistress.”
“Before I deal out your punishment, I have to ask. Why are you making such atrocities?” Cynthia’s voice took on a more loving tone, a concerned one. “Back when we first started dating, cooking was your favorite thing to do. You cooked me a gorgeous, decadent red velvet cake for my birthday. What’s going on?”
Those statements hurt even more – being reminded about how Emily used to be. “I… I just can’t get the energy to cook anything. Everything just feels too hard.”
“If you spent at least a few hours a day away from that damn game you’ve gotten obsessed with finishing 100%, you’d have more time and energy to cook,” Cynthia noted. That wasn’t a false statement – just a harsh one. “Maybe you’d even have more time to shower, or do anything nice for yourself.”
“I… I know, Mistress,” Emily stammered. Aside from being in trouble with her master cook Domme, she felt humiliated. And not in the fun way. Emily’s depression had taken over her so much that the only thing she could do was sit at a computer, speedrunning a massive open-world game over and over again. It wasn’t even an MMO or a social game – it was just Emily playing by herself in her room. Cynthia was rich enough from their cooking business that Emily didn’t need to get a job, but it was the principle of the thing. “I’ve just been…”
Cynthia waited patiently, biting their lip. Emily could tell the urge to punish Emily was diminishing. “…depressed,” Emily finished. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Oh,” Cynthia sighed. “Oh, sweetheart.” Cynthia put down the inedible depression meal and walked up to their sub. Embracing Emily in a tight hug, Emily exhaled into her Mistress’ chest. She felt… okay. Safe, even. So why did she feel so sad, still? “I should have gathered something like that… I am so, so, so sorry, my plaything.”
Emily hummed into the hug, trying her hardest not to burst into tears. “It’s not your fault,” she murmured, hugging her Mistress back. “I should have… I should have told you. I’m sorry I hid anything at all from you, Mistress.”
“Don’t be, plaything,” Cynthia chided lightly. “I am not mad in the slightest – even about the microwaved spaghetti.” Emily laughed, tears wiped off of her face.
“But,” Cynthia’s voice took a more serious edge, pulling their sub away from them. There was a glint in their eyes, a disciplinary look. Was Emily still getting punished? Emily’s worries faded away as Cynthia continued speaking. “We are going to have to address your… lifestyle. I’m not going to expect you to build me a statue while you’re in this state, but I am expecting you to put in a little effort.”
Emily nodded, though her eyes showed that she still didn’t fully understand.
“My reasoning is twofold,” Cynthia started. “First reason being, there is no way that microwaved spaghetti and spending ten hours a day in front of a computer is helping. You’re going to shower at least every other day, you’re going to change clothes once a day, and you are going to make an actual meal three times a day.” Cynthia’s eyes narrowed with the last statement – they really did take cooking and food seriously.
Emily froze. Was she really going to be able to do that?
“My second reason being… you are my property. You belong to me. When you disrespect and destroy yourself like this, you are disrespecting and destroying my property. And you wouldn’t want to damage anything of mine, would you, plaything?”
She shook her head. “N-no, Mistress. I don’t want to do that.” She didn’t want to get punished for it, either. “But… I don’t know if I can do all of that. I barely feel like waking up as is.”
Cynthia clicked their tongue, looking down at their sub appreciatively. “Plaything, of course you’ll be able to do as you’re told.”
“Really?” Emily blinked, a hopeful glint returning to her eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard or tedious as she thought.
“Of course,” Cynthia chuckled. “Those are my orders, after all. And what is your mantra?”
Emily’s mind went into repeating mode, just like clockwork. “I must obey Mistress. Obedience is pleasure.”
“Exactly! Well done, plaything. So,” Cynthia clapped their hands together. “Where shall we start?”
They had decided to start the next day, taking a week for Emily to get herself together. She’d have seven days to prove to Cynthia that she was capable of taking care of their property. Emily was the kind of person who failed to keep at anything for more than a few days, so this was especially anxiety-provoking. She didn’t even want to imagine the potential punishment. Last time she had rightfully received punishment, she was left sore for days. Not that she didn’t love it, of course.
The first thing Cynthia had Emily work on was her personal hygiene. Emily bashfully admitted to showering being a merciless task for her. Cynthia, while offering their sympathy, continued reassuring Emily that she was going to have to every other day. Cynthia also decided that they wanted ‘proof’ of each time she did.
“I’m not going to have you lie to me and tell me you’ve showered when you just stood under the water,” Cynthia chided. “You’ll get a thorough inspection after each shower.”
Emily gulped when she heard that. Daily inspections were the hallmark of their dynamic. Emily was not good at standing still like Cynthia had demanded. Cynthia had physically scolded Emily with a gentle slap for even the slightest motion. That was with Emily’s enthusiastic consent, of course. It had been so long, and yet, Emily still couldn’t confidently stay still.
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed with Emily’s wordless defiance. “I see that look in your eyes. Are you saying no, plaything?”
Emily shook her head, anxiety rushing through her again.
“Do you think that’s a fitting routine?” Cynthia asked in a certain tone. They were asking for consent.
Emily nodded, of course. “Yes, Mistress. That sounds reasonable.”
“Good,” Cynthia smiled as she sent Emily into the bathroom and shut the door. Emily stared at the shower – she had a father fancy one thankfully, thanks to Cynthia’s job. Getting in was the worst part. But, well, it was an order now, so obviously she had to. Not just for herself – she wanted to make her Mistress happy. To serve them. To please them.
Emily slowly undressed, looking at herself in the shower. She tried not to disparage her body, but it was a bit hard not to. She threw a towel above the curtain, turned on the water as hot as she could handle, and stepped in. The water almost stung her, but she got used to it. Emily grabbed the shampoo, putting a generous amount in her hand and rubbing it through her hair. Her hair was so oily. Emily had to actually scrub and lather her hair to get all of it out – a task previously too arduous. Luckily, she got enough out, and the smell was pleasant to keep going.
Next, she grabbed a new sponge, put some soap on it and rubbed it all over her. She used to only do a light rub, but now she really got every inch of her. While it felt soothing, Emily cursed herself for having to do this more than two times a week. At least she’d smell nice.
As Emily stepped out of the shower, she dried herself off. Looking in the mirror again, she found her instant reaction was not to insult herself (that was her Mistress’s job, after all). She instead took a moment to admire how much better she felt. Despite her initial hesitation, Cynthia was right – this helped. A lot.
She put a loose bathrobe on with some slippers. Stepping out of the shower, she saw Cynthia waiting there – as if they were waiting for her to finish.
“How does that feel, my plaything?”
Emily blushed. Thankfully it was hidden by her still-red skin. “G-good, Mistress. I feel better.”
“Very good,” Cynthia chuckled. “Let’s get your inspection under way, then.”
The inspection sure happened. It was much more nerve wracking than the others, which was a lot already. Cynthia had to scold Emily for flinching or apologizing at least five times. Emily loved it, of course – she loved the way her Mistress looked at her like a statute, an object, her property as she partially undid Emily’s bathrobe. They inspected Emily for any disobedience, making sure she washed both her body and her hair. And then they pulled back, pleased.
“Well done, plaything,” Cynthia cooed as they ran their hands down Emily’s flushed cheeks. “I knew you could do it. You’re so obedient, and gorgeous, and lovely. I’m truly blessed to have you in my life.”
Emily murmured gratefully, “me too, Mistress.”
“The next thing you’re going to do is relearn how to cook a proper meal.”
Emily stared at the ingredients and cooking supplies. Cynthia had laid their top quality items on the table, ranging from knives to cutting boards to more obscure tools. Where the hell would Cynthia get scissors to cut green onions specifically? “You won’t need to use all of them,” Cynthia reassured. “You’ll just have to make three basic meals a day.”
“Um… Mistress…” Emily piped up nervously. “Do heating up frozen meals count?”
Cynthia glared at Emily. She was fully expecting them to say no. “You may pick three meals to have one over the next week. Three in the entire week.”
Emily nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Now, I’m going to teach you how to cook a very simple – and versatile – breakfast option. Breakfast sandwiches,” Cynthia motioned their hands to a loaf of whole wheat seeded bread, an avocado, spinach, and a variety of cheeses. “Now, you’re going to be able to pick whatever ingredients you want, but let’s start with this. The bread gives you healthy carbs, the avocado is healthy fats, the egg is protein, and the spinach is your vegetable. The cheese gives it flavor. Do you understand?”
Emily nodded sheepishly. She did understand; this kind of recipe wouldn’t take too much out of her to make.
Cynthia walked Emily through each and every step, including heating up the stove and slicing some butter on top of it. Emily’s Mistress was a goddess at cooking eggs. After all, she had to study it intensely in culinary school. Emily wasn’t nearly as good, but she preferred the runny, slightly undercooked eggs. Cynthia bit their lip, clearly trying their hardest not to quip back. Emily made the egg with relative ease, put a slice of cheese on the other piece of toast with the sliced avocado. She assembled it together, and…
“Voila! There you go,” Cynthia praised. “A beautiful, healthy, filling egg sandwich. That you can now eat yourself!”
Emily began to tear up. “Th-thank you, Mistress… it’s been a while since I’ve had a proper meal…”
“Plaything, trust me,” Cynthia scratched the bottom of Emily’s chin lightly. “If I could spend all my life cooking for you, I would. But you have to take care of yourself. You have to take care of my property. Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Emily wiped away the tears.
“And to be clear,” Cynthia’s eyes narrowed again. “I will be evaluating your cooking progress at the end of the week. You will be cooking both of us dinner.”
“Um…” Emily gulped.
Cynthia’s light chin scratches turned into a light slap, only to jolt Emily out of her thoughts. “That’s ‘yes, Mistress’, plaything. Don’t worry, I’m not going to judge you like I judge my crew.”
Emily nodded vigorously, not wanting to keep Mistress waiting more. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Wonderful,” Cynthia grinned. “Now, let’s focus on lunch, and dinner. I think you’ll like this ‘clear the kitchen’ pasta salad recipe I learned in cooking school.”
“Stupid body,” Emily looked at herself in the mirror afterwards. Her body was so skinny – not from working out or eating well, of course. She had barely eaten anything substantial in weeks. Her nice muscles had diminished and she felt so… fragile. “Stupid, dumb body!”
Emily teared up as she stared in the mirror. She hadn’t had any body-related confidence issues in years. But realizing how little she took care of herself – and how much her body paid the price for it… it hurt. It hurt a lot. She tried her hardest not to be self-defeatist about it; surely, her body would perk up a little after a few months of this. But could she even do a few months? She could barely think about the next week.
Emily turned around, continuing to examine herself. She hated every angle. Cynthia would often take pictures of her during scenes, and Emily would ask not to see them. She hated seeing physical reminders of her depression.
“I look so bad,” Emily murmured under her breath. “Why in the world would Mistress want to have me with… this…”
“What was that, plaything?” The sound of Cynthia’s voice almost made Emily jump out of her skin. How long had Mistress been standing there for? While she was disparaging herself, too – Cynthia’s property.
“Oh, n-nothing,” Emily lied.
“Plaything,” Cynthia narrowed their eyes. “You’re being tested this week. You should know better than to keep secrets from me, and lie to me. I don’t need to fail you already… do I?”
Emily shook her head wildly. “N-no, not at all!”
Emily looked down at her body again. She sighed and began to talk – hiding anything from Mistress wasn’t an option. “I just… don’t like how my body looks these days. It feels… not… right.”
Cynthia hummed in understanding. “What are some of the things you’re saying about yourself?”
She flushed. How was she going to look her Mistress in the eye – as she’d been trained to do – and tell them all the terrible things she was saying about their property? “Well…” she started, biting her lips. “I don’t like… how skinny my body is. Or, how it looks in… in general.” Cynthia continued to listen, crossing their arms and staring at Emily intensely. “I look like all skin and bones. And I was just thinking…” She almost couldn’t finish the sentence. How could she disrespect herself so much? “…why you’d even bother with someone like me.”
Cynthia didn’t say anything for a long time. Eventually, they acted – Cynthia pulled Emily into a tight hug, rubbing her newly washed hair in comfort. It was not an expected reaction – but a welcome one, to Emily.
“You’re not…” Emily murmured. “Mad I said these things about myself?”
“No,” Cynthia sighed, “not in the slightest. I’m only sad because I don’t like seeing my property so down on herself. I’m not mad. I’m not even disappointed. I just want to help.”
“Oh…” Emily looked down at the ground. She almost couldn’t believe her Mistress was being so… forgiving. But she loved that. She loved them, and their compassion even in times of punishment and cruelty.
Cynthia released Emily from the embrace, their face taking a darker look. “But, my dear plaything – you are still disrespecting my property. I’m going to make sure you don’t do that again.”
“Huh—” Before Emily could ask anymore questions, Cynthia grabbed her arms and tossed her onto the bed. Emily fell into subspace, stammering and verbally key-smashing. Cynthia towered over her, arms crossed with an even crosser look on her face. “W-what’s going on, M-Mistress? Didn’t you say you weren’t…”
“Mad? No, dear plaything. I’m not mad. But you’re still in need of some discipline.” Cynthia’s body whipped around, moving. Emily looked up to find them rummaging through what they referred to as the ‘drawer of terrible things’. From the top drawer, they pulled out a heart-shaped flogger. Despite its small, rubbery appearance, it was one of the more painful impact toys in their possession. Cynthia hummed to themself as they grabbed another toy, a cane Emily loved – and hated – to get hit with. It was the most stingy object in the drawer. Cynthia walked back over, scowling down at Emily.
“Head on the pillow, dear. You know the rules.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Emily murmured, placing her head on the plush pillow. That was protocol. Emily wasn’t allowed to look up or see when she was being punished.
“You’re going to repeat three things you don’t like about yourself to me, plaything. Every time you do, I’m going to beat that thought the hell out of your mind.”
Emily paled, stammering into the pillow underneath her face. “U-um… Y-yes, Mistress. If that’s what you’d like.”
“It is,” Cynthia smirked. “Now. First wrong statement, go.”
“Um…” Emily blushed. Suddenly, now that she was trying to think of something, it was that much harder. “My… my body is all skin and bones. There’s no substance on it.”
SMACK! Emily wasn’t expecting the heart-shaped flogger to hit her so sharply. She let out a loud yelp into the pillow, the plush fabric silencing her. The thud of the flogger stuck with her, searing a red spot on her ass.
“Again,” Cynthia ordered.
“My body,” Emily whimpered. She didn’t want to say it, knowing what was coming next. And yet, she had to obey. Obedience was pleasure, right? “My body is all skin and bones. There’s n-no substance on—”
SMACK! On the same ass cheek, in the same spot, the cane came down like lightning. Emily didn’t even have to finish before yet another hard caning came onto her ass. Emily expected it would have hurt less, had it been the same flogger. The element of surprise hurt even more than the caning; which was saying a lot. Emily teared up, her tears staining the pillowcase. Her ass stung so much. She shivered.
Cynthia’s hand moved up to Emily’s hair, petting it softly. The genuine show of affection was welcome after the rough caning. “Be honest with me, Emily. Can you say that kind of thing about yourself again?”
Emily shook her head. “N-no, Mistress.”
“Good. Because it’s wrong. You are a gorgeous specimen – sure, your body is a little lanky right now, but you are not gross or disgusting for that. No matter what kind of body you have, you are mine. Mine. Your body will grow more full once I teach you to eat actual food. Your body is not all skin and bones – it is muscle, love, life, and obedience. And you know you should never lie to your Mistress. See?” Cynthia’s hand gently stroked the bruise, chuckling softly as they did. “If you disrespect my property, you disobey my orders. And this is what happens when you do.”
Cynthia laughed again, much more cruelly. Emily whimpered under the caning as Cynthia sighed, “that wasn’t for anything in particular. I just felt like doing that.”
Emily sobbed lightly. In a good way. She loved every second of this. Despite the tears she shed, and the way her body racked with pain… she wouldn’t want this done any other way.
“Now,” Cynthia seethed. “Next false statement.”
She paled. “Y-you want me to keep going, Mistress?”
“Of course. I said three negative statements about yourself. The punishment will be the same, until you understand never to do this again.” Their eyes narrowed, even though Emily couldn’t see it. “You’re not questioning me, are you, plaything?”
“N-no, never, Mistress.”
“Good. Next. False. Statement.”
“I…” Emily was already struggling to think of another. What other mean, cruel things could she say about herself? She was demeaning herself for her Mistress, to… make Mistress angry. “I… I’m a burden on you.”
“You are?” Cynthia growled. “Explain.”
Emily briefly fell silent, before picking her words back up. “I… I’m always so slow, and needy. I can’t do anything right on my own, I always need you to help me. Even you’ll get sick of me too, the way you always have to coddle me and… even all this, it’s such an inconvenience to you.”
Silence. And then another smack! Emily cried out, once again not expecting it. The heart shaped flogger hit her right cheek, and the cane hit her left cheek.
“Idiot.” Cynthia grabbed a fistful of Emily’s hair in playful fury. “I am making you do this. This is my decision. Now you’re disrespecting yourself and questioning my decisions! I am doing all of this because I. Care. About. You. I care about my property, my plaything, my partner. I love you so, so much, my precious plaything. How could someone as lovely as you ever be a burden on me?”
Emily couldn’t help but chuckle a little through the tears, under the admiration.
“I… don’t know,” she sighed in relief. “T-thank you, Mistress. I… I love you too.”
“I know, plaything, I know.”
Emily felt another sudden smack and whip of the flogger and cane. And then again, one of each, again and again and again. She lost count. Her ass cheeks were red and blue. Happy and pained tears streamed down her eyes.
Emily blinked. She tried to think. What was…
“Don’t keep me waiting, plaything.”
“I-I’m not, Mistress!” Emily stammered. “I just… I can’t think of a-a third statement.”
Cynthia’s eyes grew suspicious. Once again, not that Emily could see. “You can’t? And you’re telling the truth?”
“Yes, Mistress,” she responded like clockwork. Ow, the sting stuck with her. “O-Of course, Mistress.”
“Well, then,” Cynthia’s body shifted as they put away the toys. “Wonderful. You’re so good for me, plaything. You may turn around.”
Emily managed to turn her body around, looking at her Mistress’ face with teary, bright eyes. “I’m… not in trouble for not thinking of a third statement?”
“Of course not, dear,” Cynthia chuckled lightly. “And if you do think of one, well… I think now you’ll know what will happen.”
Emily paled. Cynthia laughed as she did.
“Now, I’m going to make it easier for you to think good thoughts about yourself,” they spoke. They pulled from their pocket a golden pocket watch. It was one that Emily had grown quite familiar with. “You remember your drop trigger, yes?”
Emily nodded, already feeling trancey just thinking of it.
“Good,” Cynthia inhaled. “Drop for your Mistress.”
And Emily did.
"Now, my loyal plaything," Cynthia's voice started in that soothing, loving whisper that Emily so loved. "I want you to think about the past few things you've said about yourself, and banish them to the back of your mind. Spend some time thinking about how... when you did say those things about yourself, your body felt immense pain for it. And you don't want to be in pain. I don't want to have to hurt my property to get her to comply, now do I?"
Emily murmured nonsense and shook her head.
"Oh, of course not. Your brain won't associate saying bad things about yourself with any sense of honesty or humor. It won't feel great to you. And I'll be happy to reinforce that whenever you need me to. But... what about saying good -- truthful -- things about yourself? What do you think that would feel like?"
Before Emily could actually answer, Cynthia spoke over their plaything. "It will feel good, Emily. Whenever you think or say good things about yourself, it will feel good. Pleasure. Bliss. Happiness. In whatever form you desire it in -- that is what you will feel. For example... if you were to comment on how gorgeous your body is, and you want to feel cozy in that particular moment, you will feel as if you were near a fireplace wrapped in soft blankets. Similarly, if you comment on how worthy you are of my ownership, you will feel a rush of arousal. Begging, pleading, need, pleasure. These will be things you feel when you speak compassionately about yourself. Do you understand?"
She nodded. As if she was made to. Except... no. She wanted that. She wanted to associate self-love with pleasure. Cynthia always knew exactly what Emily needed.
"Good. I love you so much, plaything." Cynthia kissed Emily's cheek, and Emily giggled. "I'm going to bring you back up, now, with these suggestions intact until I remove them from your mind."
Cynthia counted Emily up, snapping their fingers three times at 'five, and awake.' Emily rubbed her eyes, curling up next to Cynthia. Cynthia scratched Emily's cheek, and then her chin, looking at their obedient property with love.
"How do you feel?" They asked, as if they didn't know the answer.
"Goooood," Emily yawned. "Th... thank you, Mistress."
"Of course, plaything. I wanted this," they grinned. "Now, for why I'm here in the first place, I went out... shopping, briefly."
Emily blinked, now sitting up fully. "Shopping? For what, Mistress?"
Cynthia grinned, stepping out of the room momentarily. They came back in, wheeling over a few bags of... clothes. Most of which Emily loved, and were new and expensive and fun. Emily briefly noted how wonderful it was to have a Mistress with so much funds.
"Don't think I haven't noticed you staying in the same gross outfit for three days at a time," Cynthia lightly scolded. "So, you will be changing in front of me once a day. Starting now, get up."
“Y...yes, Mistress." Emily steadily rose to her feet, looking through the bags upon bags.
"Oh, and," Cynthia grinned. "Be sure to put on a show for me, won't you, plaything?"
Somehow, by some way, Emily got through the week. She obediently followed each and every one of Cynthia's new commands. No matter how challenging or difficult they were, Emily was obedient above all else. Sure enough, just as Cynthia predicted... after a few days, Emily felt like an entirely new person. She smiled more, she cooked incredible meals as she used to, and she even was able to limit her time at the computer. Her life was full of meaning. Not just a meaning of service, but a meaning of life and self-love.
Emily stood in the kitchen for nearly three hours, preparing a lasagna for Cynthia to come home to. It was complete with freshly made biscuits, and a bottle of Cynthia's favorite wine. She even lit up some candles at the table, making it as tidy and neat as possible. Her Mistress deserved nothing less, after all of their help.
Emily was so lucky. And her Mistress would feel lucky coming home, too!
Sure enough, her Mistress came back as if right on cue. Emily greeted them as normal – Cynthia, of course, did not skip out on Emily’s evening inspection. They commented on how lovely their outfit was – a simple white and blue dress with a pearl necklace and baby blue flats. Emily sat Cynthia down, sitting down next to them. Cynthia ‘offered’ a glass of wine sternly, reminding Emily she was not being forced but encouraged. Emily took the wine, feeling light and breezy as she sipped it, waiting for Mistress’ evaluation.
“Well,” Cynthia put down the glass of wine after finishing their plate of lasagna. “I’m quite impressed. You’ve gone from ‘microwaved spaghetti’ to ‘personal chef’, not to mention how much more put together… and happy, you look.”
Emily giggled. “It’s… all thanks to you, Mistress.”
“It is?” Cynthia narrowed their eyes. “No, plaything. I only pushed a few buttons of yours. You did all of this. You obeyed me, but more importantly, you took care of yourself. I am so, so proud of you.”
She blushed under the admiration. “I… I love you, Mistress.”
“As do I,” they spoke as a smirk crossed their lips. “And as long as you keep this up, I won’t ever have to punish you for not doing so again. Understood?”
Emily paled slightly, only briefly thinking of Cynthia’s brutal punishments. What happened earlier that week didn’t even come close to their cruelest. “Y-yes, Mistress.”
“Fantastic.” Cynthia put their utensils down and clapped their hands. “Now, I have a pint of ice cream and Netflix. Shall we?”
Emily nodded enthusiastically, forever thankful for where her life stood.