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– Oh my gooood… yes, yes...
I couldn’t take it—my lips parted all on their own in that whimpering, sweet moan as my tongue gathered the last bits of creamy sauce from the plate, while my knees pressed painfully into the cold metal sink. My fingers, wrapped in pink rubber gloves, slipped along the slick edge of the porcelain, and the plate almost slipped out of my hands. Fuck, why does this feel so good again?
Everything inside tightened, but not from shame—not just from that—but from this strange, pulling, sweet anticipation of how many more of these little, humiliating chores I still had to do today. How many unbearably feminine gestures I’d have to make, the kind that would leave me gasping in a ragged, shameful pre-orgasm while doing them. Like how I’d climb down from this sink—carefully, because walking in these fucking heels is a nightmare—my whole body shaking, my breasts bouncing with unbearable sensitivity. And then I’d head toward the bathroom, where the bucket and that fabulous electric mop were already waiting. The one I once bought for Stacy. So convenient, and now so damn desirable I already want to start mopping…
– No, just a bit more… – I whispered to myself, breathing heavily and finishing with a broken sigh, and right then I felt that warm, wet pulse between my legs. That same feeling that hit me every time I started doing anything I used to hate and...