Ariel slurped back a mouth full of drool for what felt like the millionth time and shifted on the bed. The awful rubbery gag dug into the corners of her soft, pink lips, while the tight bindings on her wrists and ankles had long since made her hands and feet go numb. She couldn’t see the clock from where she was, but she could hear the ceaseless ticking. She kept trying to keep count to get some idea as to how long it had been since the servants had left her on Master’s bed, but the pain of her restraints kept distracting her.

It was times like this she tried not to think about her old life before Brentwood, before Master, and before the rigid schedule he’d put her on since her arrival. Ariel had a tomboy’s life of sports, getting greasy working on cars, and generally doing her best to bury any trace of delicate femininity. When she was brought to Brentwood, Master clipped her wings, and set her on a more-appropriate path, and though she certainly didn’t agree, gave her a far better life.

Ariel, who was used to doing what she pleased when she pleased to do it, suddenly found herself under near constant supervision. If she wasn’t under supervision, she was under tight bondage. Sometimes she was under both! Every moment of her day was planned for her and every day was exactly the same. Each day consisted of repetitive aerobics and three small, perfectly balanced meals to keep her little body trim, but physically rather weak. The rest of the time was spent being bathed, modeling clothes and shoes, having makeup applied, having hair styled, having body hair removed, and anything else related to maintaining and enhancing her beauty.

The day of beautifying had the single purpose of preparing Ariel for Master’s use at night. Every day ended with her being bound and gagged and placed on Master’s bed to wait for him. Sometimes he came early, sometimes he came very late, and sometimes he never came, but she was always there, like a dutiful little doll waiting for him just in case.