The Training of a Domestic MILF, Day Two

You bust your ass all day for some suit who couldn’t care less, come home, and the place is a fucking wreck. No food, laundry stinking, trash spilling over, fridge empty. Your so-called slave’s on her phone, thumb-deep in her own face, instead of on her knees with your dick in her mouth. That’s not what I call coming home. I want a house that’s clean, stocked, and quiet. My retreat. My castle. She keeps it that way, or she learns. Bend that tight ass over the bed, grab the wooden spoon she should’ve used for dinner, and beat the laziness out of her cheeks till they glow. Dust bunnies? Turn them into dirt elephants. Down on all fours, tits scraping the floor, whip kissing her ass every time she slows. She cleans until the place shines. Only after the work is done does she get my cock. On her knees, hot pussy pushed high like a bitch in heat, she works her wet cunt up and down the shaft. When I’m ready I flip her around, paint that pretty face white, and make her thank me for the privilege.