This was early in our relationship. We were doing “Master” training. The rule was that Arethusa didn’t have to call me “Master” every time she spoke to me. But if five utterances went by without her using the slavegirl’s polite form of address, then she’d get a spanking.
I’d insisted on “Master” partly because she’d said it sounded awkward, to her. Right, I thought, as Doms will.
So this was instant punishment, without any formality. Standing, arms folded in front of her so she wasn’t tempted to bring her hands back to protect her arse, getting soundly spanked.
She’d said, “Sorry, Master!” at least fifteen times before I stopped.
“Right,” I said. “Now go to my room. Take your clothes off and wait for me. Hands and knees, on the bed.”
“Yes, Master.” Arethusa shuffled off, bed-wards, panties still down.
It became natural, true and not at all awkward, very quickly.