Finished deep-cleaning the Master's study. Found one of his leather belts while organizing. It's now neatly coiled on my nightstand. Not for my uniform. The thought of him using it on me—not in anger, but in that firm, possessive way he has—makes my cock throb. The sting, the marks left behind, the silent command in each strike... it's a different kind of service. A reminder of who I belong to, written on my skin. Sometimes the most profound obedience isn't gentle.