Normally body writing would be various words of ownership or humilation, but today I had chosen something a little different. A list was written on your arm in a marker pen:
1. Prep Ass
2. Prep Dinner
3. Serve master
We are both aware that you could easily remember these without the note, but you embrace the list anyway, enjoying the clarity of the goals.
You had already signed up to your first goal, a lubed up plug sitting comfortably in your ass. In your desperation to impress, you had even forgon clothes and instead decided to dress yourself in nothing more than an apron.
You begin chopping up the ingredients for my meal, the apron doing little to stop your tits shaking as your arms repetitively rise and fall. You consider stealing a bit for yourself, but bruises that shine purple on your bare buttocks quickly remind you what happens when you challenge my ruleset.
Those bruises make you hold your ground and continue working on preparation. As you bend over to place the dish in the oven, you hear me come back in from my last meeting. “Food is being prepared” you shout, and you hear me come in behind you.