He led her into the house from the garage. She could only see a few rooms from where she was, but what she could see looked exactly like the pictures she had seen, either from their video conversations, or pics He had sent her. This put her at ease, to the extent she could be in her humiliated state. At least He looked like His pictures and His house looked the same. Either this was a really elaborate con or a He was the real deal.
"Why don't you ice that eye while I cleaned up. Meanwhile, make some supper for me. After supper we're going to talk. I want to make sure you truly understand what you're getting into," He told her.
"You remember what I like to eat, right, whoreslut?"
"Yes, Sir." They had spoken long enough that she had a long mental list of His likes, dislikes and several other quirks of His. For instance, she knew He loved tomatoes but hated ketchup. He loved grapes but hated raisins. She figured she'd be able to make a serviceable meal for Him from what was in His kitchen while He was showering. He started down the hallway, and she wasted no time getting started.
She opened the fridge, which was stocked well. She looked around and found His pantry, which was equally well-stocked. She spent a few minutes opening the kitchen cabinets and generally familiarising herself with His kitchen. Once she had, she began assembling her ingredients and cooking. By the time she heard the shower turn off, she was nearly done. She hurried to finish, and she got the food on a plate just as He came back into the kitchen.
He looked at what she had made. "Not bad. Let's hope it's edible. If not, you WILL suffer, cumslut. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir," she said. She was generally confident in her cooking skills, but being in an unfamiliar kitchen and cooking to an uncertain timeline had thrown her off somewhat. She hoped it met His expectations.
He looked around the kitchen and saw a bowl she had used but hadn't yet cleaned. He grabbed that, and smiled. "To the table, gook bitch."
