“You’re late again, slave,” I tell you, my voice stern as I glance at the clock on the wall. You’re naked except for the leather collar around your neck, and I can see your nipples harden under my gaze. You’re standing in the kitchen, and the smell of bacon frying fills the air.

I walk over to you, my footsteps echoing on the tile floor. I reach out and grab a handful of your hair, pulling your head back so you’re looking up at me. “I told you to be here at 9 am, and it’s already 9:15. What do you have to say for yourself?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous.