"The bedroom needs attention. Fresh sheets, surfaces dusted, bathroom cleaned." He glanced up. "Unless you need a break?"
"No, Daddy." The thought of stopping, of breaking this spell of service, felt wrong. "I can continue."
"Good. I'll inspect in an hour."
The bedroom was already neat—he maintained his spaces with military precision—but I found tasks anyway. Stripped the bed, appreciating the quality of his sheets as I replaced them. Dusted surfaces that didn't need it, cleaned mirrors that already gleamed. The bathroom required more attention, and I lost myself in making porcelain shine.
"Time," he called.
I hurried to present myself, standing at attention as he inspected my work. He checked corners I hadn't considered, ran fingers along surfaces looking for dust, examined the bathroom with critical eyes.
"Acceptable for a first attempt," he concluded. "Though you missed the baseboards and the mirror has streaks."
"I'm sorry, I—"
"Learning," he interrupted. "Which is expected. You'll improve with practice." He tilted his head, studying me. "How does the plug feel?"
"Present," I answered honestly. "Constant reminder of... this. Ofwhat I am right now."
"Which is?"
"Yours to use. For pleasure or service or whatever you need." I met his eyes. "Your devoted servant who burns toast but tries so hard to please you."
"Come here."
I moved to him immediately, standing between his spread knees. He ran hands up my thighs, over the curve of my hips, across my belly. Mapping territory he owned but touching with appreciation rather than demand.
"You look beautiful like this," he murmured. "Collar and panties and willingness. My perfect domestic angel who kneels so prettily and begs for scraps."
"Only for you."
"Only for me." Agreement and claim. "No one else gets to see you serve. See you struggle with simple tasks because you're distracted by arousal. See you bend over my table for correction."
"Is that what this is? Training for after?"
"Partly." His hands settled on my waist. "Also because I've fantasized about this. Having you in my space, tending to my needs, available whenever I want you. The sessions have been intense, necessary, but this? This sustainable service? This is what I really crave."
"Barefoot and collared in your kitchen?"
"Everywhere." His thumbs stroked my skin. "Cooking breakfast while I read. Cleaning while I work. Curled at my feet while I write reports. Always there, always mine, always ready to serve however I need."
"That sounds..."
"Degrading? Antiquated? Nothing like what modern women should want?"
"Perfect," I finished. "It sounds perfect. Like I could finally stop thinking, stop deciding, stop being anything but yours."
"Even though you'll burn toast sometimes? Need correction? Struggle with tasks that should be simple?"
"Especially then." I touched his face, needing connection. "Because you'll teach me. Shape me. Help me become the servant you deserve."
"You already are." He pulled me down for a kiss. "Eager and obedient and so beautifully ashamed of how much you love this. My perfect contradiction who gets wet from washing dishes."
"Only your dishes," I clarified, making him laugh.
"Good to know. I'd hate to loan you out for dinner parties."
"Never." The thought made me press closer. "Only yours. Only ever yours."
