Bound in a spread-eagle position, she lies in an M-shaped posture, clad in fishnet tights. A tongue crawls across her body, first focusing on her feminine core. Then it retreats, teasing the surrounding areas, deliberately prolonging her torment. Waves of pleasure ebb and flow. Kissing her toenails, gently sucking each toe—these acts reflect the dominant's pride and care. Discipline isn't only about humiliation, shame, or punishment. Training isn't merely about severity. True connection lies in meeting her with tenderness, as an expression of love and complex emotions. The tongue glides from the arch of her foot up to her knee, softly caressing her inner thighs, stimulating her groin. It meticulously licks her clit. Finally, her swollen mound is touched, the vertical slit traced, her hardened bud teased. Her womb seems to drop. "Please let me cum," she pleads. "I'm coming," she reports, and Mi'u arches like a mermaid, convulsing repeatedly. "Good girl, very good," I whisper, cradling her head as I kiss her, and Mi'u blushes, tears welling in her eyes. (Mi'u is my real pet, owned, managed, and raised by me. We are genuine master and servant.)