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I walk through the door expecting to see our place covered in Christmas decorations for the party tonight, and instead I find Ziva lounging around like she hasn’t ignored the entire chore wheel for the third time this month. She picked the job herself. She promised she’d handle it. And last time she blew it off, I warned her exactly what would happen. Today she finally gets the beatdown she earned. I grab her by the arm, drag her into the center of the room, and start working her over with the punishment she’s been avoiding. My fists land hard against her belly, knocking the breath out of her as she bends forward. I follow with sharp jabs to her chest, tit busting her until she’s gasping and clutching at herself. Each impact makes her understand exactly how serious I am about her laziness and the way she tests my patience. I flip her around and deliver a deep crotch bust that drops her to her knees, and she whimpers while I stand over her, reminding her she brought this on herself. I pull her underwear up into a harsh wedgie that makes her yelp, arching her back and kicking her legs as I pull tighter. A slap across her face snaps her attention back to me, and a firm knee between her thighs makes her fold again. By the time I’m done, Ziva is a trembling mess on the floor, completely aware that this was her final warning. I plant my foot on her stomach in a victory pose, towering over her while she looks up at me with wide eyes. This is why you listen to me the first time. This is why you take your chores seriously. And this is why I’m always the boss. How hard do I have to deliver my final blow to Ziva?!