I’m not satisfied, She said (which made sense, because She wasn’t easily satisfied to begin with), you will write 500 lines saying:
It is the best of times, it is the worst of times,
(depending which side of the whip you’re on)
it is the age of Female wisdom,
it is the age of male foolishness.
I was exited and set off to work with a boner in my pants. Good old gullible me. Reality set in after the first page: this was going to be a monumentally boring task. My hand hurt like the Dickens, because I held the pen too tightly. The handwriting slanted from from upper- to lowercase and from to left to right, like a drunk on a bike. It was a monstrous task and it took forever. In the end I handed Her a stack of papers (written in blood, sweat and tears). She hardly even looked at them, but gave them to one of Her slaves instead.
Go through it with a fine-tooth comb, She ordered, and find everything that is incorrect. You will be rewarded for each mistake you find.
She looked at me with a sadistic smile. The next time I will not be so nice, slave.
Thank You Mistress, I whispered, for teaching me a lesson.
I meant every word of it, because this simple and tedious task turned out to be a most effective punishment. She could double, triple, quadruple the amount of lines in a heartbeat. And that knowledge humbled me in a way I never imagined.