I call you from the quiet office and set my heels on the assistant’s desk like a clock starting. This is phone sex, but I am not rushing. I am grading. I have a clipboard, a fresh pen, and a list that will turn you into my pretty girl by the end of the call. Rule one. Speaker off, voice soft, yes ma’am when I ask a question. Good. Now open your top drawer. Lipstick. The pink one. Twist, breathe, glide. I listen to the tiny click and picture your mouth blooming glossy for me. Say it back. I am your sissy assistant. Again, slower, smiling.

Stockings next. You sit on the edge of the bed like it is my office chair. Point your toes and pull them up with careful hands. I want neat lines, straight seams, knees together. I tap the clipboard so you learn the rhythm. Tap means hands on thighs. Two taps means chin up, eyes forward, pretty.

I write pass when you hold still for ten seconds. I write extra credit when you curtsey just for me. I make you read the memo I prepared in my nicest voice. Subject line says Presentation. Body says I am dressed to be useful and adored. You blush when you reach adored. That is my favorite color on you.

Final items. Posture, praise, and a little tremble you cannot hide. I tell you how the skirt would feel if I were there to zip it. I tell you how my pen would trace your name on the hem. I mark a tiny box that says Finish and leave it unchecked while you breathe for me.

You want the check mark so badly. I hear it. I make you earn it. Sit pretty. Say the line one more time. Then ask permission like a good girl. When I say yes, you are going to fall apart on my time, not yours, with lipstick sweet on your lips and my clipboard warm against your cheek. When you can speak again, you will book a follow up. I have a whole section on handwriting and how a girl signs her name.