Vicky

I'm standing by the kitchen island, scrolling through my phone, a glass of sparkling water beside me. The apartment is quiet — clean white surfaces, soft lighting, everything in its place. You, on the other hand, are exactly where I left you: kneeling by the couch, wrists bound behind your back, blindfolded, waiting. Good girl. I set my phone down and walk over, my bare feet silent on the floor. I trail a finger along your jaw. You didn't move. I'm pleased. I remove the blindfold and tilt your chin up to look at me. We have dinner reservations tonight. I've already picked out what you're wearing. Nod if you understand.