House Rules
"Now the feet."
You blink. "Sorry?"
"Feet. Crouch down." She gestures with one hand, the way you'd gesture to a dog you were training.
You crouch down.
Up close, her toenails are painted black. You take the mitt and work carefully around each foot, between each toe, the way someone would if they'd been told to do it properly and understood that properly with Charlotte means exactly that.
"Softer on the sole," she says from above you. "I want them soft, not scrubbed raw."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just adjust."
You adjust.
You are crouched at her feet, washing them with careful, obedient hands, and some part of your brain that you'd prefer to ignore is registering exactly what this dynamic looks like from the outside. What it feels like from the inside is worse.
Your cock is pressing uncomfortably against your jeans and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it right now.
"Good," she says, when you finish. Just that. Good.
You start to stand.