"What's wrong, babe, don't like the new outfit?" At this she lets out a furious mmmmph into the gag, bucks and twists against the unforgiving straps, as if I hadn't spent all that money to make sure nobody short of superwoman would be able to get out. I take another sip of tea.
"Well, better get used to it, babe. Here's a cloth. The floors don't clean themselves around here, you know?" She doesn't understand, even after I clip an old, stained rag to her gag, letting her inhale its fumes with each breath. She cannot imagine I would make it so demeaning for her. Poor girl. Time to teach her. I press a button.
The gagged, wounded, animal yelp which comes from behind the rag is delicious. I press the button again. Soon enough, she gets to wiping the hard-wood floors with her rag, looking like a glossy brocade worm, and it is made known to her that if a single spot is missed, there will be consequences.
Another sip of tea, another piece of bean cake. With the heating on, all the rooms are nice and warm. It must be boiling for her in the suit, poor girl. My footrest mmmphs in frustration as I prod it in the sides. Perhaps it is time for a walk. I turn on the surveillance AI, max out the punishments for rebellious behaviour, then take my coat from the stand, tickling it in the armpit to hear its furious mmmphs before setting off.
It's a cool autumn day, so I won't take the dog along: it likes it nice and warm, leashed to the treadmill by the fireplace, whimpering when the lead goes taut.
I pass her again on the way out, furiously wiping the corridor with her gag, sweat streaming down her forehead. I press the button again, just for fun, and step out into the fine autumn evening.
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