My master and I have a standing date every Friday night at 8 p.m. sharp. I’m to arrive on time and head straight to the bathroom, where thick towels and rose-scented soap are always waiting. After I’ve cleaned myself thoroughly, I proceed to the dressing room, where my master will lay out my outfit for the evening — assuming he wants me to wear clothing, that is. If no lingerie has been left for me, I’m to walk naked to the playroom, where I kneel in the corner and wait.

A camera is discreetly tucked into the corner of the ceiling directly above where I am expected to kneel. This is how my master knows I’m ready for him. Sometimes he joins me right away, feeling as eager as I am to begin. But occasionally, he makes me wait for long stretches of time, reminding me who is in control.