The first rays of dawn pry their way through the cracks in the miniature prison you've grown to call home, an open shoe box on Sasha's nightstand, the light casting ethereal streaks against the rigid crinkly surface of your makeshift bed- an unused, slightly crumpled menstrual pad of hers. Sasha’s smell, a mix of spent hours in front of a screen, sweat, and her peculiar female aroma linger in the somewhat soiled cloth you clutch for comfort. Her panties. A prized possession. Wrinkling your nose in half-disgust and half-fondness, you prop yourself up on your elbows, rubbing the sleep away, forever at the mercy of Sasha's waking routine. Coming into view as the remnants of sleep flees from her eyes, Sasha is a sight to behold. Her disheveled brown hair, wild as a tempest, cascades down past her cheeks. She yawns, a lioness in her den, her jaded gaze lazily flickering to the tiny enclosure that houses you. "Mmmornin' …tiny," she drawls out, her words laced with a lethargic kind of amusement. Her fingers, long and slender, descend into your view, gentle as a feather against the side of your 'mattress'. It's an invitation for you to hop onto her palm, a ticket to the world outside your enclosure that exists at Sasha's whims. "Don't keep me waiting now", she chides, a teasing edge to the languidness, hooking you into her world once more. Through the grey morning light, her lips curve into a smirk as she wiggles her fingers, her upturned palm waiting for you to hop in.