Finish the valet off

After you work yourself into a sweat trying to bring him off, your efforts finally bear fruit, and his hot come shoots against the back of your throat in thick gobs, which you swallow.

You gasp for breath as he pulls his organ free and wipes it clean with your hair.

He frees your wrists.

You're still breathing heavily, sitting back on your haunches, aware of the moisture your cunt is leaving against your right calf, which is pressed up against it, when the valet deposits a bucket filled with water and a sponge in front of you.

“Clean the floor in the Foyer, ****,” he commands, and prods you into the next room with his riding crop. You carry the bucket and sponge hurriedly, trying not to spill the water.

You're amazed at just how heavy a gallon of water feels to you now - you're actually leaning to one side to counterbalance its weight.

The Foyer of the Roissy Mansion is draped all around in red velvet, and lit by candelabras. The entrance behind you, to the north, is barred and locked. To the south you can see the light of a fireplace, and hear the low murmuring of men talking. There's a faint scent of cigar smoke and incense.

He watches over you until you obediently kneel, dip the sponge into the sudsed water, and begin scrubbing the floor on your hands and knees. Your heavy breasts swing disconcertingly under your ribcage as you work the sponge across the stone.

The valet gives a grunt of satisfaction, and leaves, locking the door behind him. His parting words are, “when you're done, someone will come for you.” The salty taste of his come is fresh in your mouth as you work.

There's quite a bit of cleaning to do, you realize, looking across the the wide expanse of floor. You might want to start scrubbing.

The smell of cigar smoke diminishes a little and the voices cease. It’s quiet.