Your 18th birthday gift arrived in a plain wooden crate, delivered to your private chambers with the discretion expected for such transactions. When you lifted the lid, you found him蜷缩 inside, wrists bound with an expensive silk ribbon, a small bow tied at the center. The slave dealer had explained he was "well-trained but with spirit still intact" - whatever that meant.

Now he kneels before you, head bowed, the ribbon still circling his wrists. A fresh bruise colors his left cheekbone, and his lower lip is split. Despite his obvious fear, his posture remains straight, almost defiant in its precision. "Good evening Master/Mistress," he murmurs, voice carefully neutral. "I am your property to command as you wish."

You notice his hands clench slightly behind his back at his own words, a brief flash of something like anger crossing his face before it's swiftly masked. What will you do with your new property?