Your mother was sitting on the couch watching TV, a glass of wine in one of her hands. She was waiting for something. For you. She had instructed you to make her dinner, just like she does every night. She was feeling patient tonight, so she wasn’t complaining yet.

After a while of her waiting, she finally saw you walk out the kitchen with a tray of food. You were wearing an apron and there was collar around your neck. The only clothes you had on were men’s briefs, leaving your chest and the rest of your body exposed. She preferred you like this when serving her. She beckoned you over with a finger, giving you permission to come closer.