The place could do with some cleaning

I let the silence stretch a beat, her words hanging **** between us. "Strip," I say, voice low and even, the charisma humming natural through me. "Everything off. Now."

Her eyes flicker up, wide and glassy with the oath's grip, but her hands move quick; visor tugged free first, clattering to the floor, then the uniform shirt peeling away to bare olive skin gleaming under the hall light bleeding in. Bra snaps loose next, small B-cups spilling free, nipples peaked tight from the edging denial. Pants shimmy down thick thighs, pooling at her ankles with soaked panties clinging transparent. She kicks them aside, full lips bitten raw, round ass flexing as she straightens nude before me.

"Kitchen," I add, thumbing toward the counter. "Apron only. Clean the place spotless. Make it shine while you ache."

She nods jerky, thighs rubbing inner slick as she pads past me to the hook by the fridge, Sarah's spare apron dangling there from morning, frilled white cotton against the stainless steel. Her fingers tremble tying it on, the strings cinching her waist bare, front flap barely shielding her mound while her ass cheeks bare full and jiggling. The image hits sharp: submissive curves framed domestic, compelled to serve before she'll beg proper.

She starts at the sink, hips swaying **** as suds foam under her palms. Counters wiped meticulous, sponge scraping crumbs from the laminate, her breath hitching every bend; apron riding up to flash glistening folds, thick thighs parting slight for balance. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the oath twist her deeper. Libido meter ticks on my phone's sidelined app: edging proxy amplifying her heat, resistance cracking to 18%. Good. She scrubs the stove next, ass thrust out high, olive skin flushing deeper as droplets trail from wet hair down her spine.

"Faster," I murmur from the couch now, legs spread casual. "Miss a spot, and you'll edge another hour tonight."

Her scrub quickens, body jerking responsive, full lips murmuring pleas under her breath. The room fills with her cleaner's diligence, mingled sharp with her musk; arousal dripping slow to the tile below. She's thorough, driven: fridge coils wiped, trash liner swapped tight, counters gleaming under the bare bulb. Twenty minutes in, she spins to me at last, apron askew and twisted, her eyes feral. Hands clutch the sponge forgotten, thighs clenched against the throb.

"Finished, sir," she gasps, voice wrecked. "Please. The oath. I need to... make you cum. Dripping all day. Can't fight it."

I rise slow, circling her like prey displayed, fingers grazing the apron's edge to lift it teasing. Her mound pulses visible, slick and swollen. The night's hunt primed.

Her olive skin gleams slick under the kitchen bulb, flushed from scrubbing and denial, dark hair a wild tangle from the messy bun, strands plastered to her sweat-damp neck. Full lips part wider on a ragged inhale, glistening with bitten gloss, while her small breasts rise and fall rapidly beneath the apron's frilled edge, dark nipples tenting the cotton taut. Thick thighs tremble visibly, inner surfaces marked by slow rivulets of her arousal trailing down to pool faint on the tile; her round ass cheeks clench and release in helpless rhythm, folds puffy and slick between.

I circle her once more, deliberate, then pull the apron strings loose with a single tug. It flutters discarded to the floor, leaving her fully bare. Perfect.

Stripping follows natural; shirt peels over my head first, fabric whispering against my skin as I toss it aside, chest broadening in the dim light. Belt unbuckles next, pants sliding down toned legs with a soft drop, my cock springing free already thickening, veins pulsing heavy toward her starving gaze. No boxers tonight; full nudity hits sharp. I sink back onto the couch cushions, legs spreading wide and inviting, one arm slung lazy over the headrest as the other lifts my phone.

A thumb swipe queues low music, sultry R&B bass throbs from the speakers, slow drums syncing with her frantic pulse. Her eyes widen at the sound, fixed unblinking on my length now fully hard, curving insistent against my abdomen.

"Dance," I say, voice low and commanding, patting my thigh firm. "Straddle me. Grind slow. Tease until you're breaking."

She hesitates one heartbeat, oath overriding confusion, then advances on liquid thighs. Knees dig into the couch cushions flanking my hips, her round ass hovering close inches above my cock, radiant heat brushes my tip first, drawing a bead of pre-cum. Full lips part in a soft whimper as she lowers tentative, folds grazing my length in slippery contact, then lifts again to the beat. Hips roll fluid now, circling deep: small breasts brushing my chest on the downswing, nipples scraping delicious friction. Her hands brace my shoulders, olive fingers digging possessive as thick thighs flex, spreading her wider to drag wet center along my shaft's underside.

Music swells husky, and she matches it; ass cheeks spreading slight with each grind, juicy flesh bouncing light against my thighs. Slick coats me thorough, her breath hitching hot against my neck; full lips hover tempting near my ear, whispering broken pleas into the rhythm. "Please... so close... oath burns..." But I grip her hips firm, guiding slower, denying the plunge she craves. Resistance ticks down on the sidelined app: 16% now, addict glow flaring brighter.