His name was Ned, and he was more than she’d ever imagined; tall, older than her, handsome, polite yet strict, and he carried a certain aura. She held herself well, but it was clear from the first moment that they met each other who was in charge. They went on a couple of dates; on the second one she already found herself tending to him, performing little acts of service like pouring his drinks and helping him put his coat on. She felt like a servant around him, and it felt natural. But it couldn’t last forever like that.

“I already have a woman I’m seeing”, he told her the second night. “That position’s not available”.
They talked in his hotel room; he relaxed in a leather armchair, she stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with herself. She felt colour rushing to her cheeks. Ned chuckled, gesturing for her to come over. She did and, without being told to, sunk to the floor next to him. He placed his hand on top of her head, letting his fingers drum idly on her forehead.

“I wasn’t looking for that”, she said, not looking at him.

“Then what were you looking for?”

He grabbed her chin, forced her to look up at him. She forced the words out — vocalising them for the first time in her life.

“To be tiny”, she said.
“You know what it means”.
“It means I won’t be myself anymore”, she agreed. They’d discussed it many times.
“Then what will you be?”
“Anything you make me be”, she whispered. “Your subject, your dog, your rag, your maid, the dirt on the bottom of your shoe”.
“Yes”, he said, and she caught a glint in his eye. “Yes, I’ll take all of you away, like clothes you’ll no longer need. All you are, all you’ve ever been, reduced to dirt. I’ll want you to praise me every second of it. I want you to worship and adore every moment of being that dirt. Can you do that?”
She breathed heavily, thinking of everything she was about to give up and throw away just to live out her fantasy; thinking that this would be, effectively, the death of Sylvia. The birth of a bug. Femant.