"It's beautiful," she breathes.
"It's functional. Beauty is secondary." I settle into a chair positioned to overlook the bath. "Undress."
She jerks back like I've slapped her. "What?"
"You heard me. Undress. You wanted to bathe—bathe."
"Not with you watching!"
"Property has no privacy." The words are matter-of-fact, carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "I own you, Elise. Every inch of skin you're about to reveal belongs to me. Why would I look away from my own possessions?"
"I'm not property?—"
"You ate off the floor beside my chair five minutes ago. What would you call that?" I lean back in my chair, making it clear I'm settling in for the duration. "Now undress, or go back to being filthy. Your choice."
She stands there trembling—with rage, embarrassment, need. The internal war plays out across her features as she weighs her options. But we both know she has no real choice. The discomfort of being watched is nothing compared to the torment of staying in her current state.
Slowly, her shaking hands move to the laces of her dress.
"Good girl," I say softly, and watch her shiver at the praise.
She strips with agonizing slowness, clearly hoping I'll change my mind and look away. Each piece of filthy clothing reveals skin that's pale and soft beneath the grime, curves that are more delicate than I expected. She's lost weight during her time here—not dangerously so, but enough to make her appear more fragile.
When she's finally naked, she tries to cover herself with her hands, but there's no hiding from the crystalline walls that reflect her from every angle. She can see herself just as clearly as I can see her—multiple reflections of her nudity stretching into infinity.
"Into the water," I command.
She moves quickly, desperate to sink into the concealing steam. The moment she settles into the magically heated water, her expression changes. Relief floods her features as the perfect temperature soothes skin made raw by accumulated grime.
"Oh," she gasps, and the sound is pure pleasure. "It's perfect."
"Magic maintains the ideal temperature for bathing. No risk of being scalded or chilled." I watch her sink deeper into the water, noting how her body relaxes for the first time in days. "There are soaps and oils on the shelf beside you. Use them."
She reaches for bottles filled with luxurious bathing preparations—oils that will soften her skin, soaps that will restore the natural fragrance I remember from before her rebellion. The first time she works lather through her greasy hair, she makes a sound of pure relief.
"Better?" I ask.
"Yes." The admission comes without resistance now. She's too grateful for the hot water and cleansing supplies to maintain her defensive posture.
I watch her wash methodically, noting how she lingers over areas that must have been particularly uncomfortable. The ritual of cleansing becomes almost meditative—she's not performing for my benefit, she's genuinely cleaning herself for the first time in days.
But I'd be lying if I said the view wasn't affecting me.
She's beautiful like this—pale skin flushed pink from the heat, water streaming over curves that are more delicate than her sharp tongue would suggest. When she arches her back to wash her hair, the movement presses her breasts together, and I have to shift in my chair to accommodate my body's immediate response.
Mine. The thought pulses through me with primitive satisfaction. Every inch of skin being revealed by warm waterand soap belongs to me. Every soft curve, every vulnerable hollow—all of it purchased with her father's debt and legally transferred into my possession.
The alpha in me purrs with approval as her natural scent begins to emerge again—roses and female warmth without the overlay of dirt and smoke. Clean omega scent, growing stronger as she scrubs away the filth of her rebellion. Even her hair starts to regain its lustrous auburn color as she works soap through the tangles, the firelight catching in the wet strands.
My cocks throb with interest, both of them hardening as I take in the sight of her naked form, and I don't bother hiding my arousal. Why should I? She's mine to look at, mine to want, mine to eventually claim completely when the time is right.
When she glances up from washing her arms, her eyes briefly drop to my lap before jerking back to my face. Her cheeks flush deeper than the heat of the water can account for, and I watch with satisfaction as she registers exactly how her nudity is affecting me.
"Why didn't you force me to bathe earlier?" she asks suddenly, her voice slightly breathless as she tries to pretend she didn't just notice my very obvious arousal.
"Because forced cleanliness teaches nothing. You needed to choose it yourself, understand that maintaining proper hygiene is part of your responsibilities here." I lean forward slightly. "Tell me, do you feel better now?"
"Yes," she admits reluctantly.
