Marc swam and swam, pushing his body to the limit as Gloria effortlessly swam behind him, mouth open, waiting to catch him at any moment. He'd tried to keep track of how much time remained in his head, but between the effort of swimming and fear of being breakfast for his new mistress, he lost count frequently. He thought at least 40 mins had passed so far but he couldn't be sure. His arms and legs hurt so much that Marc was positive they'd fall off before the hour was done.
Despite his best efforts, he was slowly losing ground as the jets pushed him back further and further. With a jolt of terror, Marc felt Gloria's hot breath on his feet. He didn't dare look back, but he knew she was right on top of him. The fear gave him a surge of strength and he used it to swim as hard as he could. He prayed to whatever merciful god there was that he wouldn't lose a foot.
DING!
The timer rang. The jets stopped flowing. Without the current Marc managed to make it another few inches forward. That was just enough distance he needed, as Gloria chomped her jaws down behind him, missing his toes by a hairsbreadth. Marc kept swimming until he hit the end of the pool, and hung off the edge, panting heavily. Gloria stood up in the pool.
"Disappointing," she said. "If I'd been going at my usual rate, you'd be dead. Here's hoping you can get faster in time for tonight's swim. Now dry yourself off and prepare me breakfast. There's instructions for you in the kitchen. I expect the meal to be carried out to perfection within the hour."
Gloria got out of the pool and wrapped a towel around herself. She didn't spare Marc a second glance as she left.
"Crazy monster," Marc mumbled to himself, as quietly as possible.
Despite knowing the danger of messing up, Marc wasn't worried too much about cooking, even for an unappeasable connoisseur like the Glamor Gator. A little time in the ASL had been all Marc needed to realize the importance of keeping the fighters well fed. After finding out how many servants got wolfed down for preparing lousy meals, Marc got really good at cooking, really fast. The biggest problem was the time it took to make the massive portions.
Gloria was sitting at her dining room table, wearing a new black dress. Marc brought out the breakfast in waves, each time carrying them on a silver platter so heavy he could've broken his back underneath it. He laid out an omlette, bacon, sausage links, French toast, waffles with whipped cream, crepes, and hashbrowns. When he was done, he stood silently while Gloria sampled what he made.
She tasted a bite of the omlette and she arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Perhaps you're not completely useless, after all."
Marc decided to take that as a compliment. "Thanks Gloria," he said.
The gator's tail reached out and smacked him across the face, knocking him to his knees.
"It's still "Mistress", Slave," she said coolly, sipping her glass of iced orange juice. "If a single compliment is all it takes for you to forget your place, I'll let you go without."
"I hope somebody turns you into a handbag someday," Marc thought.
Gloria continued her meal and Marc kept his mouth shut as she daintily picked at the food he prepared. Despite how ladylike she acted while eating, she still devoured the entire thing in little under fifteen minutes. When she was done, she patted her lips with a napkin and got up from her chair.
"Come along, Slave," she said. "The ASL is holding a press-conference to create hype for my match tomorrow evening."
"Survival?" Marc asked. Gloria narrowed her eyes, hearing the excitement in his voice. "I mean, I just don't want you in danger," he said quickly.
Though Marc was sure she hadn't bought it, for whatever reason the Glamor Gator seemed ready to let his slip go. Maybe she was full from breakfast.
"It's a regular match," she said. "I won't lower myself to messily scarfing someone down in front of a roaring crowd. It's hardly ladylike."
"Then why does the ASL recruit ladies?" Marc thought.
"Who are you fighting?" he asked.
Gloria opened her mouth and responded...
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