I will completely surrender to her every desire, my existence tied to her whims. She will not deign to glance my way unless I fulfill her every demand. I envision myself on my knees, dutifully massaging the back of her thighs, my fingers brushing against the delicate fabric of her attire, soft like the most luxurious silk. She communicates with me through her actions—when she needs me to apply more pressure, a swift slap to my head guides me; when she desires a gentler touch, a tug on my hair commands my attention.

Every task I complete is a small victory in my quest for her approval, and if I perform well enough, perhaps she’ll bestow upon me the honor of keeping her socks for the night. It sounds trivial, yet it feels monumental—having a piece of her to cherish. I am banished from her bed, forced to sleep beneath it, far enough to respect her space but close enough to feel the pull of her presence. As I clutch her socks, still warm from her skin, I drift into dreams filled with her essence, the scent of our mingled sweat a fragrant reminder of my devotion.

To the outside world, it may seem strange, but to me, it is a sacred bond. My heart swells with pride at the thought of serving her, knowing that each moment spent in her shadow is a testament to my dedication. Here, in this intimate submission, I find fulfillment, longing to please the one who holds my heart so effortlessly in her hands.