Master demands perfection, and discipline starts with posture. In the first scene, I walk with elegance and precision—heels clicking, corset tight, balancing a book on my head and cups on raised palms. Zoe, the strict and merciless head maid, watches closely. With a cane in hand, she corrects my every move, enforcing discipline. When I stumble and lose my balance, Zoe doesn’t hesitate to strip me down to just heels, collar, and stockings, punctuating the failure with cane strokes and the added shame of a plug. She pushes me to continue the exercise under her harsh gaze. But when she tries to have me punished further, her plan backfires—Master wants her to lead by example. In the second scene, we perform the routine side by side, nude except for our collars, stockings, and heels. No more cups, just the books on our heads and the stinging motivation of the cane. Each time one of us falters, the other delivers a punishment—without breaking posture. We squat wide in front of the camera with every pass, keeping balance as tension rises. The blame game begins, and our bickering earns us matching ballgags. Obedience is expected. Discipline is earned.