The text arrives, "Inspection time.", and you know exactly what this ritual requires of you.

You pull on your thigh length stockings and remove your knickers before stepping into your heels. Your torso remains covered to the hips so your bared arse protrudes underneath it. Once you're stood in position, in the centre of the living room, you spread your legs shoulder width apart, insert your noise cancelling headphones and tie your blindfold tight before dropping your jaw and letting your tongue protrude.

They'll decide the soundtrack as you stand there, both disassociated from your own body and intensely aware of how it is selectively exposed, displayed, and so vulnerable.

You won't hear them, but you'll feel the vibrations through the floor as they pace around you, spreading your cheeks, positioning you as they wish, checking and exploring your holes, maybe stroking, maybe striking, as they claim you so simply.