No grace period.

Leaning against the doorframe, I managed to sit up fully and head toward my shower, under the gaze of the camera, which moved so as not to miss anything of my condition. It was an achievement that I managed to get under the shower, which gave me strength again.

The scalding water hit my skin like a new punishment, dripping over the inflamed welts and making every aching muscle groan. I bit my lip to stifle a scream, my trembling fingers sliding over the rough soap it had left behind—a cheap block that smelled of disinfectant and scraped my raw flesh.

But little by little, the pain faded. I lost track of time when my sister's voice rang out; she was still nearby.

• You have half an hour left. I'll be happy to punish you if you're not in a submissive position in the living room by the specified time. Last warning.

My sister's words smacked against my back like a slap. I gritted my teeth, feeling the scalding water turn to icy needles when she suddenly adjusted the thermostat from outside—one last little game. My fingers clutched the cracked tiles as a violent shiver ran down my spine, my nipples hardened by the thermal shock rubbing cruelly against the abrasive soap.

Finally, I rushed to the rough towel, which, despite my grimaces, finished drying me. I was going to the bowl to eat when my sister ordered me,

• On your knees and with your tongue, no hands.

My sister's voice cracked like a whip, and I immediately collapsed on the icy tiles, my knees hitting the floor with a dull thud that resonated in my bones. The metal bowl, placed on the floor, gleamed in the harsh light. Its contents were a warm, gray porridge, smelling of salt and grease.

I've added vitamins; they're not good, but they'll give you strength for what's next, she said. Hurry up; you have 20 minutes to eat and dress in your maid's outfit, with the chains on your feet.

I dipped my head toward the bowl, my tongue scraping against the cold metal as the bland porridge clung to the roof of my mouth. Each sip was a humiliation, each movement of my tongue a reminder of my submission. The chains around my ankles rattled with every tremor of my legs, their weight already a portent of the trials to come.

"Nineteen minutes," she murmured, tapping her watch, the click of her nails against the dial piercing me like a warning.

When I finished, she said to me, laughing, miming her watch breaking down.

• Oh, you're going to laugh, my watch is broken. You might already be late, seeing as you still have to get dressed and walk to the living room in ankle chains.

My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped animal as I dragged myself toward the pile of clothes discarded in the corner. I put the ankle chains on, hampering my steps, every inch gained stripped from my dignity. The black lace maid's outfit was too short, and an apron clung to my skin, still burning from the shower, when I hastily put it on.

As I hurried toward the basement stairs despite my restraints, she tripped me again, sending me to the floor.

• Learn to stay in your place, you're behind me, she said, giggling as she went upstairs.

I stood up trembling, my palms grazed from the fall down the rough steps. The chain between my ankles rattled like a mocking laugh as I crawled on my knees to the bottom step. Her silhouette was waiting for me at the top, silhouetted against the harsh light of the hallway, one foot beating time against the wooden floor.

• Oh yes, ten minutes late, you'll feel it go by, she pointed to a clock on the wall,

I finally made it to the living room and got into a submissive position.