Naked, Ella padded into their bathroom, splashed water on her face.
Without thinking about it, she grabbed the wide, plastic, bowl-shaped measuring cup from under the sink.
Ella exhaled as she squatted, getting this first task checked off.
This too, belonged to her Master.
Her first pee of the morning, always measured and recorded because she craved this level of submission and Zee thrived on this control.
He looked through the record at the end of the week and praised her or ordered her to drink more water the next week.
It was an act that fueled her submission and she didn’t even think about it too much as she set the bowl on the counter, took the clipboard that hung on the inside of the bathroom door and recorded the amount.
This was part of how she lived every day.
Then she emptied the bowl into the toilet, flushed, washed her hands and put the clipboard back on the door and made her way down the hallway to the vast living room.
Picking up the remote for her sound system, she choseviolins in B minorand strode over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and opened the vertical wooden blinds by pressing a button.
It was almost eleven and her body ached from the night before.
She started the coffee for Zee, flicked on the kettle for her tea, and set out plates on the sunlit breakfast nook at the back of the kitchen.
Humming along, Ella took down a mixing bowl, cracked eggs into it and gave them a quick whisk.
The kettle bubbled, and she poured herself tea before making her way down the hallway to the French doors leading to the indoor saltwater pool.
She flipped on the lights in the pool room and took her time checking the temperature of the room.
These tasks she performed by rote—small acts of submission, her devotion to her Master—enforcing the dynamic between them.
Each ritual was a reminder that she was seen, cherished and loved.
Once everything was ready, she went back upstairs.
Zee lay stretched out on his back, a sly smile curling at the edges of his lips, still half asleep.Glancing at the clock, she saw she had five minutes to spare.
The rule was simple though her stomach twists when she thought about it.
She had to finish the morning tasks by the time Zee’s alarm went off, and then she would properly wake him up.If not—her stomach clenched with a mix of embarrassment and arousal, her eyes flicking to the silver bowl on the nightstand...there were consequences to breaking protocol, to not obeying the rules.
“You either take my cum warm or you eat it cold, but you will service me every morning before my alarm goes off.”
Zee had implemented this routine after their daughters had moved out, though they always had a morning routine of some kind.
And what did she get out of these many protocols, this dynamic that she’d been living for over twenty years?Too much to name, but at the core of it?
Submission.
If Zee wasn’t dominant, wasn’t her Master, she’d be left with nowhere to give her submission to, and that was as much a part of her as her red hair and filled her soul as much as playing classical music did.
Having someone to pour her submission into gave her a deep sense of self.
A sense of being seen.
Loved for what she was and what she meant to him.
Zee saw her, cared for her and showed her he loved her, every day.
