Clean Your Room

Felicity's room is pure filth. Ivana kicks the door open like she owns the place. She doesn't ask. She tells. Time for chores, old-school rules. Felicity's on her hands and knees scrubbing, sweat running down her back. Ivana watches every move. She's got that sharp edge, that voice that cuts. One slip and she'll slap Felicity's ass raw. The door stays open. No hiding. Dirty mind, yes. Clean floor, now. Every stroke of the sponge gets rougher, faster, wetter. Ivana's hand finds its way under Felicity's waistband, fingers sliding against skin, firm, never gentle. Chores never felt so charged. Every inch of that room screams with tension and heat. Ivana pushes harder. Felicity bites her lip, hips arching, breath caught between grit and want.