Make her clean

You want to stretch out the **** of Aalia's growing arousal. And the best way to do that, according to your own rules, is to provide her with humiliating and degrading tasks. What better start than cleaning your floors on hands and knees.

You open the closet door and pull out a bucket and sponge. A bottle of floor cleaner. You ignore the mops and brooms, wonder absently why these supplies are so far from where they are needed most. "Follow me," you say.

You lead her back downstairs, to the kitchen, where you fill the bucket with water and a cap-full of cleaning solution. You drop the sponge inside. "Get started," you say.

In silence, she obeys. She dips the sponge, wrings it out, scrubs a portion of the floor, grimacing each time she has to scoot along the unforgiving tiles. Her knees must be getting sore. You watch her little bottom wiggle in what you assume is the confusing frustration of growing arousal. A product of your rules, though what she must think of her body’s betrayal you can only guess.

Curious at her lack of verbal response, you review a rule you wrote a few hours ago.

New rule: Women should address all older men as 'Master'.

Ah, you think. That should say, 'Women must address all older men as 'Master'.

You consider changing it, however, you're having too much fun convincing her to **** herself in subtler ways. You decide against the easy route and erase the rule instead.

While you’re reviewing old rules, you decide to add a new one.

Organization: My house

Old rule: I have a secret sex dungeon in the basement. It is filled with tools used both for pleasure and for pain.

You don’t notice any sudden changes. But the moment you wonder, where is my new dungeon? you know. You approach a door between the refrigerator and the main hallway. Opening it reveals boxed and canned foods, seasonings and spices. Dozens of other non-perishables fill the large pantry, organized neatly on shelves from floor to ceiling. You see several products you don’t recognize and remember that you have a cook that comes in to prepare your meals for you.

Every three days, aspiring young Chef Anabelle prepares those healthy dishes you found in the refrigerator. You smile, and marvel at the power of the book. Anabelle, if your memory serves correctly, is a beautiful blonde twenty-two year old. Another potential ****.

In the back of the pantry, a false wall opens to a steep stairwell. You already know what’s down there, but it's not time to take Aalia there just yet.

You walk to the dining table and pull a chair over to watch Aalia, still dutifully scrubbing your kitchen floor. She's struggling with her long hair. It spills over her shoulders and nearly into the suds every time Aalia stretches her arms out. You have just the thing to help her in a drawer near the microwave. You drop the rubber-band in front of her. "For your hair," you say, just as she's pushing her hair back again.

"Thank you," she whispers. You watch her rise onto just her knees, hands reaching behind her head to tame her thick black hair. The position lifts her small breasts up, just a little. Your cock twitches in response.

She takes awhile to finish the kitchen floor, when she's finally done, she looks at you questioningly. You simply stare back at her until she speaks. "What's next?"