Domme-sticity

She knows I hate housework. It’s boring, repetitive, messy, hard work and it keeps on needing to be done, a never ending treadmill racing to keep up with dust, smears, clutter, stuff.

I asked her to help me be more diligent about my domestic duties – left to my own devices, I’m the worst kind of filthy slob, an overgrown teenager picking her way through unwashed mugs, discarded knickers and scraps of paper.

I should have factored in her sadistic side. Tasks, rewards and punishments; my mind didn’t go any further than that when I made the request. Oops, my bad.

So here I am, unclothed and chained by my collar to her wrist as she leads me around our home and stands over me while I perform my tasks.

It’s humiliating, uncomfortable and all kinds of hot.

“I could get used to this” she observes with amusement while I strain upwards to push cobwebs from ceiling corners with my feather duster without choking myself. Her hand slides down the tensed muscles of my back, and down further to rest on my quivering buttocks. I sweep diligently, jumping only slightly as she taps the jewelled end of the plug. I hear the smirk in her tone.

“You’re not working hard enough” she chides when I take a quick pause from stacking our shoes in the rack by the front door. It’s true. Her commanding presence is the only thing standing between this dreary task and my idle nature. I’ll do it for her because she’s doing it for me, and in doing so is clearly having much more fun than I.

“Tea break” she announces, once the bathroom is gleaming. In the kitchen, she releases me from the chain, settles herself at the table and leans back in her chair, legs crossed.

“I’m only letting you go so that you can reach the kettle” she informs me dryly. “Off you go. Make the tea”.

Tea made, I carry our mugs to the table, only be to be stopped short once I’ve set them down. A firm slap to the left buttock.

“Oh no pet, you’re not sitting here at the table with me! Not until you’ve completed your chores. If you want your tea, you can drink it down there on the floor.”

I sit. She hands me my mug carefully to avoid dripping the scalding hot liquid on me. Fierce, and sadistic she may be, but she’d never allow any harm to come to me. She likes to hurt me, but only on our agreed terms.

The tea is a welcome restorative.

I only have the washing-up to finish and I’m done. An unfamiliar housepride fills me, flowing from the neat corners and bright reflections of tidy clean surfaces.

I hate washing up. She knows it too, which is why she’s left it til last for maximum amusement at my expense. With her standing behind me, flicking at my naked rear with a damp tea towel, pulling my hair sharply every time I allow myself to become distracted; it’s a wonder I don’t break any of the glasses or plates – I’m quite relieved when I finish the last item; I didn’t want to disappoint her by making a mess of this.

“Good girl” and the warm approval in her voice is worth every minute of effort. “Time for your reward” she announces with a tug on my chain. “Upstairs. Bedroom.”. If I weren’t so tired from all this hard work, I’d scamper. I manage a reasonably enthusiastic pace nonetheless, and she settles me back on the double bed we share.

She takes the imposing strap-on harness from the bedside drawer and buckles it around herself, grinning at me. That’s my cue. I open my mouth wide and savour the smooth salted-caramel taste of the lube-coated dildo as she holds my head and slowly fucks my mouth with it. She’s watching me intently, enjoying my arousal, feeding her own.

She pulls out, cups my cheek in one warm hand.

“Turn over”

I’m starting to enjoy this ‘housework’ business