A not-so-shitty afternoon

As Karen made the call to the school, informing them of my illness, I stood there, my mind racing with possibilities. Her conversation with the front desk lady was a mere background hum to my thoughts. My mind was too preoccupied with the idea of getting Karen out of that tantalizing robe, to admire more of her irresistible MILFy body. Admittedly, my morning nausea had all but faded upon seeing her dressed like that.

When I had first barged into her room, Karen had instinctively tied her robe up tightly, perhaps in an attempt to maintain some decorum. But in doing so, she had only accentuated her hourglass figure even more. As she sat on the edge of her bed, the robe clung to her curves, highlighting her hips and breasts in a way that was impossible to ignore. The fabric outlined her form with an almost teasing precision, and I couldn't help but let my eyes linger.

I was so deep in my reverie, imagining the contours of her body beneath the robe, that I barely noticed when Karen finished the call. She turned to me, a nervous edge in her voice. "I've told them you're sick. You should really get some rest now," she said, her tone laced with a subtle urgency.

I smiled at her, amused by her apparent concern, though I could tell she was eager for me to leave her room. But I had no intention of going anywhere. The new 'contract' we had established at the dinner table last night had given me a certain power over her, and I was keen to explore the extent of that power.

"Thanks for the call, Karen," I said, stepping closer to her. "But I think I'll stay here for a bit. We need to talk about your performance with the chores. Remember what we discussed last night?"

Karen's eyes widened slightly, a hint of apprehension flickering in them. Even with the magic influencing her, some part of her knew where this was going and did not like it.

I leaned against the door frame, fixing Karen with a pointed look. "Don't tell me you already forgot, Karen," I began, my tone sarcastic. We both knew she wouldn't forget that conversation anytime soon. "I told you that, as a favor, I would help you identify what chores you had to do to stay in the house, and also how to do them correctly."

Karen nodded, a **** acknowledgment in her eyes.

"You see, Karen, it's clear that you're not really cut out for this kind of work," I said, a hint of condescension in my tone. "It's not really something you've had to deal with before, right? Living in luxury, having others do things for you?"

She shifted uncomfortably, her discomfort palpable. "Yes, I suppose you're right," she admitted. "I'm not used to this, but I'm trying to learn."

"That's the problem, Karen. You're trying, but you're not really succeeding. Maybe what you need is a bit more... guidance. Someone to show you the ropes, so to speak."

"Okay," she said hesitantly, her expression resigned. "What did you have in mind?"

I pretended to think for a minute, only to end up genuinely lost in thought after catching a whiff of the sweet coconut smell that seemed to permeate her room. Was that a candle? Or her shampoo?

A moment later, I snapped back to reality. Turning to her, I proposed, "Well, for starters, I think it's best if you just do things exactly as I say. Obviously, I know my own cleanliness standards and could teach you a thing or two about how to do your chores properly."

She looked uncertain but nodded slowly. "I guess that makes sense. You've been doing the housework longer than I have."

"Exactly," I said, seizing the opening. "And since I know best, it's only logical that you follow my instructions without objection. Since I am volunteering my free time to help you, it's the least you can do to show respect."

Karen paused, considering my words. "You're saying that I should just do whatever you tell me to, no objections?" she asked, a slight note of incredulity and discomfort in her voice.

"That's right," I affirmed. "I mean, think about it, Karen. You're still learning, and I already have the experience. Wouldn't it just be easier to listen to me?"

She hesitated, torn between reality and the false logic I presented. "I suppose... but it just seems a bit..."

"A bit what, Karen? Unreasonable?" I cut in. "Isn't it more unreasonable to keep struggling when you have someone right here willing to help you? Especially when so much is on the line for you and Lily?"

Karen bit her lip, mulling over my words. "When you put it like that... I guess I can see your point."

"There you go," I said with a smile. "So, we agree then? My way is the best way, and you'll follow my instructions without objection?"

She took a deep breath, the final barriers of resistance crumbling. "Yeah. You do know the best way to meet your standards. It makes sense to do what you say."

My smile only lasted an instant, quickly overpowered by a sudden realization that I might be overexerting the pen again. On instinct, I reached into my pocket to get a sense of how much the pen was heating up. To my pleasant surprise, it wasn't. I guess since she had already agreed to do the chores per my instructions, this conversation didn't accomplish anything new, except to remind her of the terms of our new magical contract. Given that I still had so much leeway, I decided to push the boundaries a little further. That had always worked out well for me, right?

She looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for instructions. Had she noticed me zone out?

"There is one condition, though. Before I start helping you, I expect an apology for what happened last night," I said, my tone firm.

Karen looked taken aback, a mix of confusion flashing across her face. "An apology? For what exactly?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

I took a step closer to my stepmom, now only a foot away. The only thing separating us was her white bathrobe, tightly wrapped around her like the gift wrap on a Christmas present. A present I definitely intended to open soon. Even without makeup, she was amazing. It was no wonder dad had wanted to spend his last few years with her. Her lips were dark and full, her smooth skin shone brightly. Maybe her skin looked like that because she put lotion on herself after she showered? Man, I'd love to watch her rub herself down with some of that creamy ointment.

Oops, I got distracted again.

Rushing to answer her after the awkward pause, I chose be blunt. "You let Lily talk back to me. Your bad parenting has turned her into a spoilt brat. That's not even mentioning how pathetic your attempts at keeping the house clean have been."

The words were deliberately harsh. I watched as Karen's expression crumbled, the impact of my words hitting her. She had always prided herself on 'raising Lily right', and hearing such direct criticism was visibly shaking her.

I liked doing that. Making her feel bad, crushing her spirit. It made me feel powerful. And she never seemed to fight back, not hard anyway. Maybe she liked it too?

"I... I'm sorry, Marcus," Karen stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll try to do better, I promise."

"Trying isn't good enough," I said, my voice cold. "I need to see results. And I need to see that you understand just how much you've let things slide. So, let's hear a proper apology."

Karen took a deep breath, composing herself, then looked directly into my eyes. I couldn't tell if she was trying to test my resolve or check if I was serious, but I stared right back, unflinching. After a few tense seconds, she blinked and bowed her head. "I apologize for being bad at housekeeping for being a... bad mother," she said, her voice steady but filled with a palpable sense of humiliation.

She continued, "I've let things get out of hand, and I've not been up to the standards you and Lily need. I'm truly sorry, and I'll do whatever it takes to make things right."

That was ... surprisingly easy.

I reached into my pocket to check on the pen again and found that it was still cool to the touch. Great, now that I had all the pieces together, it was time to actual start messing with her.

"Thank you for your apology, Karen. I'm sure you and Lily will work hard to do better in the future," I acknowledged. "Now, let me start by teaching you how to do laundry."

She gave me an energetic nod, probably eager to move on to the actual chores.

"Since you've obviously been doing it wrong, all your clothes must be filthy. It's time you learned how to do it properly. We'll take everything in your laundry basket and head downstairs."

Karen hesitated. "Everything? You mean all of my dirty clothes, right?" she asked, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

I fixed her with a stern look. "No. I mean everything," I said. "Also, remember we agreed no objections. I am doing you a favor here, and it's disrespectful to slow me down with silly questions."

She nodded, a resigned acceptance in her posture. Watching her act like this was undeniably sexy. The way she acquiesced, the subtle shift in her demeanor—it all added layers to her allure.

Without waiting for further protest, I reached out and took her hand, pulling her towards her own walk-in closet. The sudden movement caught her off guard, and for a moment, she stumbled, her body coming unnervingly close to mine. The contact was brief, but it was enough to send a jolt through me, and I mentally prepared myself. If everything went according to plan, my dick was going to be _aching _for a release by the end of the day.

Also, the coconut scent was definitely coming from her shampoo. Her hair smelled divine.

As we stepped into her walk-in closet, the intimacy of the space was immediately apparent. It wasn't as spacious as I had initially thought, the room filled to the brim with racks of hanging clothes and shelves of designer shoes, including some an impressive high heel collection. The closet was cozy, bordering on crowded, especially with both of us and a laundry basket making it even tighter. The proximity meant that moving around would inevitably lead to a few accidental brushes against each other, which of course I didn't mind at all.

Karen's catalogue of clothes, though not overly abundant in designer brands, was clearly curated with an eye for quality and style. Every piece, from casual wear to formal attire, showed off her sophisticated taste. The arrangement was meticulous, but the sheer volume of items made the closet feel more personal, more lived-in.

The confined space brought us closer, physically, than we'd been before, a dynamic that added a palpable tension to the air. "All right," I said, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the distraction of our proximity. "Why don't you go ahead with that rack of hangers, and I'll start working on these drawers?"

Without waiting for her to respond, I turned my attention to the closest drawer, curiosity getting the better of me. To my pleasant surprise, it was filled with her underwear. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Karen's reaction as I nonchalantly picked up a plain bra. It was a simple piece, nothing overly fancy, but its significance wasn't lost on either of us.

Holding it up, I couldn't help but contemplate its size. Her breasts were big enough that I could probably wear one of the cups on my head and still get some UV protection on a sunny day. I stifled a chuckle, imagining myself walking around wearing one of Karen's sexier bras like a giant yamaka. Unfortunately for me, this bra was not that racy. It was well-worn, yet meticulously cared for, suggesting a certain level of modesty and practicality in her choices. Maybe I'd find something better deeper in the pile.

Slowly, I placed the bra in the laundry basket, my movements deliberate. As I turned to do so, I caught Karen's face, flushed with embarrassment. The blush that spread across her cheeks made her look even more attractive, if that was possible. It was like natural makeup, enhancing her features in a way that was both **** and incredibly sexy.

Not wanting her to question why I was the one rifling through her underwear instead of her, I chided, "Aren't you supposed to be working on those hangers? Get back to it."

Karen quickly turned her attention back to the rack of hangers, visibly flustered but compliant. Satisfied that she had resumed her tasks, I allowed myself a moment to take in where I was. Karen's walk-in closet, a personal space filled with her clothing and intimacies, was now a stage for our new, evolving relationship.

Diving back into the drawers with renewed fervor, I sifted through her belongings. Most were what you'd expect—socks, more underwear, workout clothes—but a few items stood out, drawing my attention. There was a lace thong, daringly thin and barely there, a stark contrast to the plain bra I'd first pulled out. Another drawer revealed a silk nightgown, soft to the touch and luxurious, hinting at a side of Karen that was usually kept hidden. I even found a pair of sheer stockings, their delicate fabric making me fantasize about how they would look on Karen's milky thighs.

As Karen efficiently moved items from the hangers into the basket, the pile of clothes grew rapidly. Soon enough, it started to spill over the edge, a testament to just how many items she had. Meanwhile, I took my time going through her drawers, each piece of intimate clothing I examined adding to the tension in the room.

By the time Karen had finished her task, she was left with **** but to watch as I rifled through her intimates. Each item I picked up and inspected seemed to increase her discomfort. I couldn't help but feel a sense of power in that moment, knowing that she was **** to observe me handling her most personal garments.

Eventually, we gathered all the laundry – it was a substantial amount. We had to make several trips downstairs, even after I lent her my own laundry basket. It was clear that Karen had an extensive wardrobe, far more than I had initially realized.

Standing in the laundry room, surrounded by the piles of clothing and Karen clad only in her robe, I could sense her uncertainty about how to proceed. She was clearly eager to do things right and meet the standards I had set, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what those were.

I smiled at her, ready to take advantage of her confusion. “Now that we've put all of your dirty laundry in the laundry room," I began in a patronizing tone, “the first rule is that no clothes leave this room until everything is clean. We don’t want dirty clothes contaminating the clean ones. Otherwise, we’ll just end up having to start all over again.”

She nodded, albeit hesitantly. “That… makes sense, I guess,” she said, though her expression showed she was still trying to grasp the logic of it.

“Good,” I said, pleased with her response. “Now, the second rule, and this is where I think you’ve been slipping up, is to always check the cleansing vent in the back of the washer before putting in a load.”

There was no such thing as a 'cleansing vent', but she didn't need to know that.

Her surprise was evident, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Cleansing vent?” she echoed, clearly puzzled.

“Yes, the cleansing vent,” I continued, keeping my face straight. “It’s the vent at the back of the washing machine that is responsible for actually cleaning the clothes. It's kinda similar to the lint catcher we have in the dryer. Considering how filthy your clothes are, I’m not surprised you didn’t know about it. It’s a common step in proper laundry care. Why don't you go ahead and check it right now?"

Karen looked at the washer dubiously but didn't question my instruction. She moved towards the machine and, with a slight hesitation, got down on her knees to peer into its dark interior. As she leaned forward, her bathrobe naturally rode up, wrapping around her ass, revealing her shapely calves.

I couldn't help but appreciate the view, even as I kept up the facade of instructing her on the nonexistent vent. The situation was absurd – like something out of pornography - Karen on her knees, crawled halfway inside of the washing machine. Maybe I'd have to try this on Lily sometime.

Karen verbalized, a hint of frustration in her voice. "I can't see anything, it's too dark in here," she said, her head still inside the washing machine. She leaned further into the washer causing her ass to rise up a few inches as her back arched even more.

"Let me take a look," I said, feigning disappointment.

Seizing the opportunity to get a better look at her up close, I got down on my knees beside her, placing my left hand casually on the small of her back. My other hand was pressed against the ground, supporting me, as I moved my face just inches away from her backside.

Holy. Fuck.

God definitely created women, because this ass was heaven.

I was close enough to see the tiny goosebumps that ran along the back of her legs, still slightly obscured by the bottom of her bathrobe.

Her yoga was definitely working magic because her calves looked as toned and tight as ever.

I wanted nothing more than to lift up the fabric of her robe and grab a fistful of her tushie. If it was anywhere near as firm as her calves, maybe even give it a light spank.

From the edge of my vision, I could even peek at a pair of cream-colored cotton panties. They looked so soft, it took every ounce of willpower I had not to lean over, rip them off, and shower her ass with kisses.

I could even see a strand of pubic hair sticking out of -

"Marcus?" she called.

And like that, the moment was over. Panic flashed across my eyes. She sounded worried.

Had she caught me?

I swallowed nervously and quickly adjusted myself. I could help play it off like I had slipped. Probably...

"I can't seem find the cleaning vent back here," she asked hesitantly.

Relief washed over me. If she had known that I was ogling her, I definitely would've gotten slapped. She hadn't immediately gotten out of the machine, which meant that I was in the clear.

"I can see it just fine from over here," I remarked, still eyeing her rump.

Licking my lips, I added "Everything here appears to be in good shape," as I gave her sweet, sweet behind one more glance.

Karen hesitated for a moment before slowly pulling her head out of the washing machine. "Okay," she said, still sounding unsure but willing to accept my word for it. We both stood up, and I couldn't help but notice a slight flush on her cheeks, whether from the awkward position or the situation itself.

"Well, looks like the vent is just fine," I said with a nonchalant shrug, playing it off. "Let's get started with the laundry, shall we?"