He Made Her Scrub on Her Knees Without Having Done Anything Wrong

The two weeks when Lucía had learned what it meant to step outside the script were already behind them. The routine between her and Andrés had settled back into place: work, home, and the small rituals of a couple that no longer argued about what each expected from the other.

She kept on with her design commissions from the studio by the entrance. He continued with his architecture projects from home for most of the week, overseeing everything else with the same attention he gave a drawing before sending it to print.

Saturday was for the two of them. Walks through the old quarter, the odd exhibition, long meals on the sofa. Lucía valued those moments above anything else and let him see it in little details: a cup already full before he asked for it, a message thanking him for the night before, a hand resting on his knee while he read.

That Saturday she came into the living room carrying the breakfast tray and wearing a smile that no longer seemed calculated to please.

“Good morning,” she said. “Your toast the way you like it, with tomato and flaky salt.”

“Thanks, Luci. Always so thoughtful.”

Andrés watched her move between the table and the kitchen. Something in her had changed since those two weeks. The spark that used to light up her eyes when she got defensive no longer appeared. In its place was a calm that wasn’t resignation, but something else. A quiet sense of belonging. Every time she served coffee or leaned over to clear a plate, she did it with a care that used to be hard for her.

They finished breakfast talking about the weekend. When he set down his cup, he looked at her without raising his voice too much.

“When you finish cleaning my motorbike, you’re going to scrub the kitchen floor and the bathroom floor without a mop, on your knees. Like that time.”

She lifted her gaze from her plate. The last time he’d asked her to do it had been a punishment, and she still remembered the pain in her knees for days afterward.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, with a thread of unease in her voice.

“No. You haven’t done anything wrong. That’s why I’m asking you today.”

She frowned slightly, not understanding.

“I want you to do it precisely when it isn’t required,” he added. “When there’s a punishment, you obey because you’ve failed. Today I want you to obey because I say so. So you know it, and I know it too.”

She nodded slowly. Something in her expression made it clear she had already accepted it even before fully processing it.

“All right. I’ll do it.”

“No arguing. No asking twice. Understood?”

“Yes, understood.”

She left the living room without another word. Andrés heard the stream of water filling the bucket in the patio, then the brush scraping against the motorbike saddle. When she came back in, she was carrying the cloth and a smaller bucket with soapy water. She didn’t even look at him before kneeling down in the kitchen.

He stayed on the sofa with the newspaper, listening to her. The porcelain tile must have been freezing at that hour. Every so often he heard her change the water, wring out the cloth, reposition her knees. He didn’t need to go in to know her back was bent and her thighs were taut.

He passed through the kitchen twice without saying anything. The second time, she looked at him over her shoulder for a moment, waiting. Andrés didn’t say a word. He went back to the sofa. He knew that lack of comment was what kept her most in place. If he approved too soon, it lost its meaning.

When she finished the kitchen, he heard the bucket being dragged into the bathroom. He held out for twenty more minutes. Then he went to inspect.

The bathroom was spotless. Almost. He walked slowly over the tiles, checking the corners where grout darkens with time. Lucía was watching him from the edge of the bathtub, hands resting on her thighs and her knees red.

“It’s done well,” he said. “But that corner behind the toilet and the area tight against the baseboard could use another pass. It’s not serious. I want it perfect.”

“Of course. Right away.”

She went back down to the floor without a sigh. That was the part Andrés liked most about the day: how quickly she accepted going back down without a single micro-complaint in her shoulders. He lifted the bucket and made a show of tipping it toward the work she’d just finished. Lucía pressed her lips together and looked down. She didn’t protest. He set the bucket back where it belonged.

“Much better,” he told her when she was done. “Good job, baby.”

“Thank you,” she replied. And then, almost breathless: “I’ll do it whenever you want, love.”

He didn’t answer. No need.

***

Andrés took the laptop and sat on the sofa to check his email. Lucía put away the cleaning tools and, instead of going upstairs to change, came over barefoot and knelt at his feet.

“Can I massage your feet?” she whispered.

He looked at her for a second. He nodded without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Go ahead.”

She took off his sneakers carefully and began pressing the tops of his feet with her thumbs. She knew exactly where to tighten and where to ease off. The silence filled with the sound of the keyboard and her measured breathing. Every time she paused to look at him, he gave her half a smile and went back to his emails.

“You’re doing a good job,” he said after a while.

“Thanks.”

When he closed the laptop, he pulled her up with one hand.

“Let’s go for a walk. It’s a beautiful day, and you’ve earned it. You’ve got a client job in your inbox, but it can wait until the afternoon.”

She went upstairs to change. She came down wearing a short white fitted jumpsuit printed with tiny hearts. She stopped in front of him, waiting for the approval before putting on her shoes. Andrés nodded. They went out.

***

The neighborhood park was full of families and people strolling slowly. Lucía breathed deeply, working the tension out of her shoulders after the morning’s effort. They passed neighbors, greeted a couple of acquaintances. Halfway through the walk they ran into Javier, a sales rep from Andrés’s firm whom he sometimes saw, and his wife Daniela, a dark-haired Argentine with wavy hair that fell to mid-back.

Daniela had those big eyes that hold a gaze a second too long, and a way of walking firmly in flat sandals that saved her from needing to show off. Dressed in raw linen, with no visible makeup, she knew perfectly well how she looked. Under the pale fabric, her large braless breasts stood out, with her nipples pointing each time she crossed her arms.

Javier still had something of the physique he must have had ten years earlier, but his belly was winning out over the shirt. He wore his collar open and a watch too large for his wrist.

“Want to have a drink with us?” he suggested.

They went into a nearby terrace bar. As always, Lucía offered to go to the counter to order.

“Luci, get four beers and some olives,” Andrés said.

“I’m on it.”

Daniela watched her cross the terrace, settled into her chair, and played with a lock of hair for a moment.

“Javi, Daniela could lend a hand, couldn’t she?” Andrés said, in the same tone someone might use to comment on the weather.

Daniela frowned.

“And why should I? We’re here to relax.”

Javier looked at him for a moment, uncomfortable. Andrés continued, without raising his voice.

“Lucía doesn’t do it because she has to. She does it because she knows taking care of the details is good for me. Maybe you’d be surprised what it feels like to do it for Javi once.”

“Maybe…” she said, not very convinced.

Lucía came back with the tray, handed out the beers, and finally sat down. She changed the subject effortlessly and told Daniela about the hiking routes they’d started doing in the Picos de Europa, how hard it had been at first, and how the body gets used to it if you’ve got someone close by pushing you a little.

“That sounds amazing,” Daniela said. “Though getting Javi off the sofa is another story.”

They both laughed. When Lucía got up to head home and start lunch, she leaned naturally toward Andrés.

“Andrés, what do you feel like for lunch?”

“The spaghetti with clams you made the other day, if you’ve got what you need.”

“I do. I’m going.”

Daniela set down her glass.

“I can’t believe you make him lunch every day and even ask what he wants. I don’t even give Javi a choice.”

Lucía said goodbye without taking the subject any further. Andrés did.

“She does it because she likes fitting herself to me. Not because she has to. Try it sometime, it won’t hurt.”

“Yeah, Dani,” Javier backed him up. “We could try it.”

She snorted with a laugh and, half joking, ended up agreeing to serve them that round. When she came back from the bar with the glasses, Javier gave her an affectionate tap on the hip.

“Thanks, baby. And while you’re at it… those cannelloni you make so well, tonight, yeah?”

“Just for today, Javi. Don’t make it a habit.”

“That’s what they all say at first,” Andrés added.

The three of them laughed. Daniela blushed slightly and looked at Andrés a second too long when she thought Javier wasn’t noticing.

While he went to the bathroom, she leaned toward Andrés.

“We should do this more often.”

“Of course,” he said, not moving from his seat. “If you promise to serve us with the same enthusiasm you have today.”

“Deal. But you have to demand something from yourselves too.”

“I can put you to the test sometime, Daniela. I know you can give much more.”

She lowered her eyes. When Javier came back, they finished their beers and the four of them walked to the intersection where their streets split apart. Lucía saw them appear from the living-room window.

***

They ate slowly. Lucía served a chilled Albariño, and the spaghetti with clams was perfect. Andrés had had two beers on the terrace, and with the wine he began to feel lighter in his body and less rigid in his head.

When she cleared the plates, instead of bringing dessert, she came back into the dining room with nothing in her hands. She unfastened the jumpsuit in front of him, let it fall to her ankles, and stood still. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her nipples were already hard just from thinking about it, and between her thighs a wet sheen ran down to the inside of her legs.

“I’m the dessert, if you like,” she said, with a small smile.

“Come here. Spread your legs and show me that pussy.”

Lucía took a step, parted her feet, and opened herself with two fingers in front of him. The pink lips shifted apart, revealing the swollen clit and the soaked entrance, drawing out a thread of clear slick that hung for a second before breaking against the floor.

“You’re already dripping and I haven’t even touched you,” Andrés said. “Look at it falling onto the parquet.”

“Sorry, love. I’ve been thinking all morning about sucking you off.”

“Pick it up with your finger and lick it off.”

She bent down, ran two fingers through the stain on the floor, and took them into her mouth to the knuckle, looking at him. She pulled them out clean and shining with saliva.

“Good girl. Now come here.”

She knelt between his legs. Andrés unzipped his fly and took out his cock, already swollen, the thick head throbbing against his belly. Lucía wrapped her hand around it, weighed it for a second, and stuck out her tongue. She started by licking from the balls to the tip, slowly, with her tongue flat and her eyes fixed on him.

“You’ve got a delicious cock, love. My mouth’s watering.”

“Take it all the way in. Like you know how.”

She took him into her mouth in one shot, until the head pushed against her uvula and tears sprang to her eyes. She stayed there a few seconds, swallowing around the cock with her throat tightening. Then she pulled back to breathe and a long strand of spit mixed with pre-cum dripped from her lip to her breasts.

“That’s it, fuck. You love it,” he murmured, gripping the back of her neck.

“I love your cock,” she answered, her voice hoarse. “It just gets me wet having it in my hand.”

She took it back into her mouth, this time setting the rhythm with her head. She rose up to the head, played with her tongue around the crown, sucking hard, then went back down to the base. Every time she got to the bottom, her throat opened with a wet sound, and every time she came up, the cock came out shining with saliva. With her free hand, she grabbed his balls and started massaging them, squeezing just enough.

Andrés let her work for a few minutes. He pushed her hair aside so he could see her better, to watch her cheeks fill out when he was inside and how her fringe stuck to her forehead with sweat. She took his cock out of her mouth for a moment and bent down to suck his balls, one by one, taking them in all the way and pulling them off with a plop.

“Keep going, don’t stop,” he said, his breathing already changed.

“Andrés,” Lucía whispered, gripping his cock with her hand and rubbing the head against her cheek. “Do you want us to play? Close your eyes and imagine I’m Daniela. If you feel like it.”

“I prefer you, Luci. The woman I love.”

“I know. It’s just a game. Only if it turns you on.”

He nodded. He gripped her hair a little harder.

“I don’t know if it’ll work. Daniela is too rebellious. She thinks she’s going to get her way. She needs discipline.”

Lucía’s eyes flashed for a second. She swallowed.

“I’m Daniela,” she murmured. “I need you to discipline me. Teach me how to suck your cock the way it deserves.”

Andrés slapped her across the face with an open hand. Not hard, just enough to leave the mark for a second and hear her breathe differently. She tightened her lips around the head and kept going, eyes locked on his, her cheek red.

“Do you hear me, Daniela? I’m in charge here. And you’re going to learn to treat me with the respect I deserve. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

She obeyed. Andrés spit into her open mouth and shoved his cock down her throat, never letting go of her neck. He started fucking her mouth with short thrusts, knocking his balls against her chin. Lucía grabbed his thighs with both hands and held on, the gag reflex rising, tears running down her cheeks mixed with mascara.

“That’s it, whore. With that rebellious little mouth of yours. Swallow it.”

Every three or four thrusts he pulled out fully to let her breathe and then shoved back in. She nodded, her face full of spit, not taking her eyes off him, letting herself be used as if it were the only thing that mattered in the world. She took her hand to her cunt and started rubbing her clit with two fingers, moaning around his cock. The vibration of those moans shot up Andrés’s cock like a jolt.

“Touch that cunt while you suck me off. Show me how hot it gets you when I treat you like this.”

She slid three fingers into her cunt and started fucking herself, her free hand clutched around his balls, swallowing deeper and deeper. He could hear her muffled moans, and he felt saliva running down his balls and onto the sofa. Within a minute her thighs jerked, her whole body tightened, and she came with his cock buried in her throat, trembling, her fingers all the way inside.

“Good girl. Coming while I swallow you to the hilt. That’s how I want you.”

When he reached the edge, he didn’t take his hands away. He held her head with both of them and speared her all the way through, feeling her throat close around him.

“Swallow it all, Daniela. All of it. Not a drop spills.”

He came deep in her mouth with a low growl, gripping her hair. The first spurts went straight to her throat and she swallowed without pulling away, her throat squeezing rhythmically around his cock while she kept milking him. He drew out slowly, still emptying himself, and painted her lips and tongue with the last threads of thick semen. Lucía kept it in her open mouth, showing it to him, then closed her lips and swallowed with a muffled moan.

“Show me your mouth.”

She opened again, clean. She licked what was left on the head, sucking the last drop hanging from the tip, and kissed his cock slowly before letting it go. Then she went back up the shaft with her tongue, with the care of someone who knows the task doesn’t end with the obvious.

She climbed onto the sofa with him. Andrés drew her across his chest and stroked her back with an open hand. Her cheek was still hot, and her hard nipples were pressed against his shirt.

“Lucía, I love you,” he said, and for once he felt the whole sentence, without measuring it. “And not because you’re pretty, though you are. It’s something else. You understand me like no one else. You know what I need before I say it. You’re smart, you’re creative, and you put that into everything you do, at home, at work, and here.”

She listened to him with her cheeks still red and her eyes shining.

“I trust you,” he went on. “You make an effort to please me and that makes me feel unique. You’re the perfect partner for me.”

“And you for me, Andrés,” she replied, with a lump in a throat that had just been used. “Nothing matters to me more than seeing you well.”

They stayed like that for a long while, with the living-room light falling in a diagonal. Her head rested on his chest and he ran his fingers over the back of her neck.

The client email was still unopened. It could wait.