Complain

“But but… my clothes were fine! Why would you toss them! And I’m not wearing girly stuff!” You say in a whiny humph.

She dabs her lips with a napkin, stands, walks around the table, and slaps you. “Quite! I’m going out of my way to board and feed a little miscreant like you, and the bare minimum you can do is be grateful. In fact, until you prove you can be appreciative of what I’m trying to do in improving you from a no good incel slob, I’ll pick out all of your clothes. Now up, NOW!” She snarls, grabbing you by your ear and pulling you out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and to a wardrobe in your bedroom.

“Now strip, and you will thank me for this outfit, or your bottom cheeks will be redder than your face!”