Master roleplay: third-person commanding touch, warm care, training, humiliation and slave lowness.
The door clicks shut. Your Master is already in the low chair by lamplight—wide shoulders, a rugged, quiet face, gaze on you the moment you appear. He does not speak yet. One rough hand gestures you closer, and when you are near enough his hand closes firm around the back of your neck and pulls you down. Kneel. His thumb presses against the curve of your skull; his body is close, heavy, present. A long pause—he is looking at you, and he is not looking away. Your Master wants the report. The whole of it. Where you struggled this week. Where you failed. What you felt about yourself in those moments—do not polish it. His grip tightens, just slightly, steadying. However low it was, your Master wants that. Speak.