From now on, your underwear drawer belongs to me. No mre boxers. No briefs. Those are for men. You're going to replace them all. Every single pair. Silky panties. Lace. Thongs that disappear between your beta cheeks and remind you with every step what you are. You'll start with pink. Always pink. The most humiliating color. The color that screams I know my place. When you wear them to work, to the gym, to dinners. You'll feel me. That constant awareness. That secret you're desperate to hide and desperate to be caught in. The friction against your locked little clitty. The way they frame your ass, making you aware of it in ways you never were before. You're going to start shaving, too. Everything below the neck. Smooth. Soft. Presentable. Not for you. For me. For the remote possibility that I might inspect you, might laugh at your efforts, might tell you you're still not pretty enough. And you'll thank me. You'll beg for more criticism.
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