I had instructed my assistant, Maya, to meticulously clean my flip flops, going so far as to suggest she should lick them until they were spotless. However, it seems she has disobeyed my orders, and her punishment must now be exemplary. I have secured her to a specialized table, her ankles immobilized and wrists tied behind her head. The chosen punishment for her insubordination is tickling: my fingers dance rapidly over her body, eliciting squirms and laughter tinged with pain. Her half-naked form quivers incessantly as I persist, introducing a long feather into the mix. Her abdomen, armpits, and feet soles are targeted, and Maya’s laughter, writhing, and pleas for mercy fill the air as she attempts to apologize for her failure to clean my flip-flops. Ultimately, I decide there is one path to forgiveness: she must, while still bound, lick the insides of my flip-flops, now imprinted with the mold of my feet. The dirtied soles, I save for another opportunity.