Chris's knees ached as he knelt on the hard bathroom floor, a small brush clutched in his trembling hand as he worked at the stubborn grout between tiles. The sounds filtering through the wall made his stomach clench and his cock twitch simultaneously—Sandy's high-pitched moans, punctuated by the deep, possessive grunts of Marcus. The rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh formed a humiliating soundtrack to his menial labor, each wet smack a reminder of his position in this new hierarchy that had taken over his marriage and his home.

"Oh fuck! Yes! Right there!" Sandy's voice carried through the thin wall with perfect clarity. "God, your cock is so fucking huge!"

Chris scrubbed harder at a particularly stubborn spot, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The brush in his hand moved in time with the creaking bed frame from the adjacent bedroom, as though his body had subconsciously synchronized with the rhythm of his wife being fucked by another man.

"Take it, you fucking slut," Marcus's voice boomed, causing Chris to flinch. "Tell me whose pussy this is now."

"Yours! It's all yours!" Sandy cried out, her voice reaching that familiar pitch that Chris recognized—the sound she made right before an orgasm.

His cock strained uncomfortably against his pants as he tried to focus on the task at hand. The grout cleaner stung his nostrils, the chemical smell mingling with the sweat that beaded on his forehead. He'd been at this for nearly an hour, meticulously cleaning while they went at it in the bedroom. It wasn't the first time, and he knew it wouldn't be the last.

The bed frame's creaking intensified, accompanied by Sandy's escalating moans. Chris knew what was coming next. His wife's crescendo of pleasure built like a wave, crashing over the walls between them.

"I'm cumming! Oh my god, I'm cumming!" she screamed, her voice raw and primal in a way it had never been for Chris.

Chris dropped the brush, his hand shaking too much to maintain his grip. He closed his eyes, picturing what was happening in the next room. Sandy sprawled on their marriage bed, legs spread wide as Marcus, with his muscular black body, pounded into her with relentless force. The mental image was both torture and arousal, a confusing mixture that left Chris lightheaded.

The bathroom door swung open without warning.

"You missed a spot," Sandy said, her voice cold and imperious despite her flushed appearance.

Chris looked up, momentarily stunned by the sight of his wife standing naked in the doorway. Her blonde hair was disheveled, tangled from being pulled and grabbed. Her lips were swollen from aggressive kissing, and a light sheen of sweat covered her athletic body. A small bruise was forming on her neck—a marking of ownership that Chris had never dared to leave.

She stepped into the bathroom, the scent of sex following her like an expensive perfume. Chris's eyes involuntarily traced the contours of her body, lingering on the places where Marcus had clearly gripped her hips, leaving faint red marks that would become bruises by morning.

Sandy reached past him to grab a glass from the counter, filling it with water. She drank deeply, her throat working as she swallowed. A drop escaped, trailing down her chin, following the curve of her neck, and disappearing between her breasts.

"There," she said, pointing to a corner near the shower with an imperious finger. "You completely missed that whole section. Start over."

Chris nodded, not trusting his voice. He crawled toward the indicated spot, brush in hand, humiliatingly aware of his erection pressing against the front of his pants and the wetness that had begun to seep through the fabric.

"And when you're done here," Sandy continued, setting the glass down with a decisive click against the counter, "make sure to clean Marcus's shoes. He has an important meeting tomorrow."

The casual way she referred to Marcus's possessions, as though they were more important than Chris himself, sent a jolt of shame through his body. Yet that shame didn't diminish his arousal—if anything, it intensified it, a fact that only deepened his humiliation.

"Yes, Sandy," he mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.

A low chuckle from the doorway made Chris's head snap up. Marcus stood there, his naked body filling the frame with its imposing presence. His dark skin glistened with sweat, muscles defined in a way that made Chris acutely aware of his own softness. Marcus's semi-hard cock hung impressively between his legs, still wet from being inside Sandy.

"Look at him down there," Marcus said, his voice rich with amusement and contempt. "Cleaning the floor while his wife gets the fucking of her life."

Sandy smiled, a slow, predatory expression that Chris barely recognized. Before he could process what was happening, Marcus stepped forward, grabbed Sandy by the waist, and bent her over the bathroom counter in one fluid motion.

"Watch this, cleanup boy," Marcus said, his eyes locked on Chris's as he positioned himself behind Sandy.

Sandy braced her hands against the counter, arching her back to present herself better. Marcus slid into her with a single thrust, causing her to gasp and clutch at the smooth countertop.

"Hurry up!" Marcus commanded as he began to pump his hips. "I want to hear you mopping while I fuck your wife raw!"

Chris's face burned with shame as he turned back to his task, scrubbing with renewed vigor. His glasses slid down his sweaty nose, but he didn't dare take a moment to adjust them. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was louder now, unmuffled by walls, accompanied by the wet sounds of Marcus's cock sliding in and out of Sandy's visibly dripping pussy.

"Yes!" Sandy screamed, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls. "Fuck me raw! I love feeling you without anything between us!"

Chris's hand froze mid-scrub. Without anything between them. The implication hit him like a physical blow. They weren't using condoms anymore—a boundary that had always been non-negotiable, a final thin layer of separation between his marriage and complete surrender to Marcus.

Marcus responded with a growl that seemed to come from deep in his chest. "Fuck, your pussy feels so good without a condom. So tight, so wet... just for my cock."

"Only for you," Sandy moaned, pushing back against him, taking him deeper. "No one's ever filled me up like you do. No one's ever fucked me this good."

Chris resumed cleaning, his movements mechanical as his mind raced. This was a new level of intimacy they'd never shared before. Sandy had always insisted on condoms with Marcus, had always maintained that bare skin was something reserved for her husband. That final boundary was now gone.

"You like watching me breed your wife, don't you?" Marcus taunted, his pace increasing. "You like knowing my cum is going to be inside her, where yours hasn't been in months."

It was true. Chris couldn't remember the last time Sandy had allowed him inside her. He'd been relegated to other forms of service, using his mouth when she permitted it, or simply watching and cleaning up afterward.

Marcus gripped her hips harder, leaving new marks atop the old ones. "Tell your husband what you want."

"I want his cum!" Sandy cried out, her eyes finding Chris's in the bathroom mirror. "I want him to fill me up! I want to feel it dripping out of me!"

“You will get it,“ Marcus moaned, with a drop of sweat dripping from his forehead. “But not just yet!“

Chris's hand gradually slowed its movement, the small brush barely scraping against the tile as his attention fixed on the obscene tableau unfolding before him. Sandy's naked body glistened with sweat, her blonde hair sticking to her flushed face as Marcus fucked her relentlessly against the bathroom counter. Chris couldn't tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the sight of his wife's submission to another man, his own neglected erection straining painfully against the front of his pants.

Sandy's eyes were half-closed, her lips parted in a perpetual moan as Marcus's hands roamed possessively over her body, squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples with a roughness Chris had never dared to use. The contrast between Marcus's dark skin and Sandy's paleness was hypnotic, like watching art being created right before his eyes—beautiful and devastating all at once.

"On your knees," Marcus ordered, but he wasn't talking to Chris. Sandy immediately complied, sliding down from the counter to kneel on the bathroom floor—the very floor Chris had just spent an hour cleaning.

"Right here, where your husband can see what a real cock looks like in your pretty mouth," Marcus said, positioning himself in front of Sandy.

Sandy looked up at Marcus with adoration, her hands running up his muscular thighs. "Yes, please," she whispered, her voice carrying a hunger Chris hadn't heard in years—if ever.

Marcus grabbed a fistful of Sandy's blonde hair, wrapping it around his hand like a leash. With his other hand, he guided his semi-erect cock to her waiting lips. "Open wide, slut."

Sandy parted her lips eagerly, her tongue darting out to wet them before Marcus pushed forward, sliding into her mouth with a satisfied groan. Chris watched, unable to look away as his wife took another man's cock into her mouth right in front of him, on the floor he had just cleaned.

"Fuck," Marcus growled, his hips beginning to move. "Your wife's got a talented mouth, doesn't she? Bet she never sucks you like this."

Chris said nothing, knowing the answer was obvious. Sandy hadn't touched him sexually in months. His only release came from his own hand, usually after cleaning up after their sessions.

Sandy moaned around Marcus's cock, the vibration clearly pleasuring him as his grip on her hair tightened. Her eyes watered slightly as he pushed deeper, testing the limits of her gag reflex. Far from resisting, she relaxed her throat, taking him even deeper.

"Look at her," Marcus taunted, his eyes locked on Chris. "Look how much she loves choking on my cock. This is what a real man does to a woman, not that pathetic excuse for a dick you're hiding in those pants."

Chris clutched the cleaning brush tighter, his knuckles turning white. His erection throbbed painfully, a mixture of humiliation and arousal flooding his system as he watched his wife service another man with an enthusiasm she'd never shown for him.

"Enough peeping!" Marcus's sharp voice cut through Chris's trance. The larger man's eyes narrowed. "No more enjoying the show for free, cleanup boy!"

Chris quickly lowered his gaze, but it was too late.

"Get to those shoes!" Marcus suddenly barked, pointing toward the doorway. "My meeting tomorrow is important, and I won't have people thinking I'm some slob like you."

Chris hesitated for only a second, torn between obeying and continuing to watch the degradation of his wife. That second of hesitation earned him a stern look from Sandy, who pulled back just enough to speak.

"Do as he says," she ordered, her voice husky from the rough treatment of her throat. "Now, Chris."

"Yes, Sandy," Chris mumbled, rising from his knees with difficulty, his legs stiff from being in the same position for so long.

He backed out of the bathroom, unable to tear his gaze from the sight of Sandy returning to her task, her head bobbing eagerly as Marcus thrust into her mouth. The sound of Marcus's pleased groans followed Chris as he reluctantly made his way to the entryway where Marcus's expensive leather shoes waited.

Chris knelt again, this time on the hardwood floor of the entryway. He gathered the shoe cleaning supplies from the hall closet—supplies he'd purchased specifically for this purpose, knowing that keeping Marcus's possessions in pristine condition was now part of his duties in this restructured household.

As he began to clean, applying leather conditioner to the already-polished shoes, the sounds from the bathroom echoed through the apartment. The wet, gagging sounds of Sandy's enthusiastic oral service mingled with Marcus's deep groans and occasional commands.

"That's it, take it all the way down... Good girl... Fuck, your throat is so tight..."

Chris's hands trembled as he worked, his mind creating vivid images of what was happening just rooms away. His cock remained hard, tenting his pants obscenely as he polished Marcus's shoes to a mirror shine. There was something deeply symbolic about this task—caring for the shoes of the man who was sexually dominating his wife, making sure he looked good for the outside world while living out his most primal desires in Chris's home.

He tried to focus on the task at hand, carefully working the conditioner into the leather, buffing it to perfection. But his eyes kept drifting to the clock on the wall, calculating how much longer this humiliation would last. Would Marcus stay the night again? Would Chris be relegated to the couch while they took the master bedroom, forcing him to listen to their coupling through the night?

The doorbell's sudden ring startled Chris so severely that he nearly knocked over the bottle of leather conditioner. Who could possibly be coming by at this hour? Then he remembered—the weekly grocery delivery. How could he have forgotten?

The sounds from the bathroom hadn't ceased. If anything, they'd grown more intense, with Sandy's muffled moans and Marcus's commanding voice clearly audible even from the front door.

Chris looked down at himself in panic. His erection was obvious, straining against his pants in a way that couldn't be hidden. He glanced around frantically for something to cover himself with, but there was nothing within reach.

The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time.

"Get the fucking door!" Marcus shouted from the bathroom, followed by a particularly loud moan from Sandy.

Chris stood shakily, trying to adjust himself to minimize the obvious bulge. It was useless. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, positioning himself partially behind it to hide his lower half as much as possible.

The delivery person, a young guy in his twenties with a cap pulled low over his eyes, stood there with several bags of groceries.

"Delivery for Harrington," he said, then paused as a particularly loud cry from Sandy cut through the apartment.

"Oh god, yes! Fuck my mouth! Make me choke on it!"

The delivery person's eyes widened, darting from Chris to the direction of the sounds and back again. A knowing smirk slowly spread across his face as he took in Chris's disheveled appearance, flushed face, and the obvious situation.

"Sounds like someone's having a good time," he commented, his voice laden with innuendo as he handed over the bags.

Chris's face burned with shame as he accepted the groceries, fumbling with his wallet to find his ID for verification. His hands shook so badly he could barely hold it out.

"Just need your signature here," the delivery person said, holding out the electronic pad, his smirk never leaving his face.

Chris scribbled his signature, acutely aware that the sounds from the bathroom had only intensified, as though Marcus and Sandy were deliberately putting on a show for this stranger's benefit.

"Enjoy your evening," the delivery person said with a wink as he turned to leave. "Sounds like someone already is."

Chris closed the door, his entire body burning with humiliation. Not only had his wife's infidelity been flaunted in his face, but now a complete stranger knew about his cuckolding, had heard the sounds of his wife pleasuring another man while he stood there, pathetically aroused.

He set the groceries down on the counter, knowing he should put them away but unable to focus on anything beyond the continued sounds from the bathroom. Marcus was surely fucking his wife in the bathroom again, based on their screams and the unmistakable sound of raw sex.

Chris returned to Marcus's shoes, picking up where he'd left off with methodical precision. The routine of cleaning was almost comforting now, a task he could lose himself in while his world spun out of control around him.

He finished with the shoes, but instead of stopping, he turned his attention to Marcus's expensive coat hanging on the rack. It wasn't part of his assigned duties, but perhaps going above and beyond would earn him some favor, some small acknowledgment of his usefulness.

Chris carefully brushed the coat, removing every speck of dust and lint, straightening the collar and sleeves. He treated the garment with a reverence he'd never shown his own clothes, knowing that pleasing Marcus had somehow become essential to his existence in this new dynamic.

As he worked, the sounds from the bathroom went really wild. Chris continued his task, determined to have everything perfect for when Marcus emerged. Maybe, just maybe, this extra effort would be noticed, would earn him a nod of approval or a word of thanks—crumbs of affirmation he now found himself desperately craving from the man who'd taken over his marriage.

Chris returned to the bathroom, his heart hammering in his chest. He'd finished with Marcus's coat and shoes, polishing them to a mirror shine that reflected his own degraded status in this new household order. As he approached the bathroom door, Sandy's voice carried clearly through the steam-filled air: "Yes! Fuck me raw! I love feeling you without anything between us!" The words hit Chris like a physical blow, yet his cock twitched traitorously in response. He stood frozen in the doorway, unable to look away as Marcus pounded into his wife from behind, her hands braced against the shower wall, water cascading down their entwined bodies.

Steam billowed from the open shower door, fogging the mirror and wrapping the scene in a dreamlike haze. Sandy's blonde hair was darkened by water, plastered against her back as Marcus gripped her hips with powerful hands, pulling her back onto his cock with each thrust. Her wedding ring gleamed on her left hand as she steadied herself against the tile wall—a jarring reminder of vows that now seemed to mean something entirely different.

"You love my bare cock inside you, don't you?" Marcus growled, one hand moving up to grab a fistful of Sandy's wet hair. "Tell your pathetic husband how much better it feels without a condom."

Sandy moaned, her head pulled back by Marcus's grip. Her eyes found Chris standing in the doorway, watching. Rather than showing shame or embarrassment, her gaze held triumph and lust.

"It's so much better," she gasped, her words punctuated by the rhythmic slapping of wet skin. "I can feel every inch, every vein... nothing between us... just pure, raw fucking."

Marcus chuckled, a deep, menacing sound that made Chris's stomach clench. "And what about your husband's dick? Does he fuck you bare too?"

Sandy laughed, the sound cruel and unfamiliar to Chris's ears. "He used to," she said, "but it never felt like this. Never filled me up like yours does."

Chris watched, transfixed, as Marcus's muscular ass flexed with each powerful thrust. Water streamed down his broad back, following the contours of his muscles, dripping onto the point where his body joined with Sandy's. The contrast between Marcus's dark skin and Sandy's paleness was stark and hypnotic, especially where they connected—where another man's bare cock slid in and out of his wife's most intimate place.

His own neglected erection throbbed painfully, straining against the front of his pants. Chris hated himself for his reaction, hated that the sight of his wife being taken by another man could arouse him so intensely. Yet he couldn't deny the heat coursing through his veins, the twisted excitement that mingled with his humiliation.

"Look at your husband standing there watching," Marcus taunted, his pace never faltering. "Look at the bulge in his pants. The pathetic cuck gets off on watching a real man fuck his wife."

Sandy's moans grew louder, more desperate. "He does," she agreed breathlessly. "He loves seeing me satisfied... seeing me get what he can't give me."

Marcus shifted his angle slightly, causing Sandy to cry out in pleasure. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the shower wall harder, her body shuddering with each precise thrust.

"Oh god, right there!" she cried, her voice echoing off the tiled walls. "Don't stop! Fuck me harder!"

Marcus complied, increasing his pace, the water spraying around them as their bodies collided with increasing force. Chris could see Sandy's face contorted in an expression of pure ecstasy, her mouth hanging open, eyes half-closed in rapture. It was an expression he'd rarely seen directed at him, certainly never with this intensity.

"You like watching, don't you?" Marcus called to Chris, his voice deep and commanding even as he exerted himself. "You like seeing what a real cock does to your wife's pussy. Come closer. I want you to see everything."

Chris found himself obeying without conscious thought, drawn forward as if by an invisible leash. He moved to the side of the shower, where he had a clear view of Marcus's thick shaft disappearing into Sandy with each thrust, stretching her in ways Chris knew his own average endowment never could.

"Look how wet she is for me," Marcus said, pulling back slightly so Chris could see the glistening evidence of Sandy's arousal coating his length. "That's all for me, not you."

Sandy whimpered, pushing back against Marcus, eager to have him fully inside her again. "Please," she begged, "I need you deep inside me."

Marcus obliged, slamming back into her with a force that made her scream in pleasure. Chris winced, both from the sound and from the visible impact of Marcus's powerful thrust.

"You want my cum?" Marcus asked, his rhythm becoming more erratic as he approached his climax. "You want me to fill your pussy with my seed?"

"Yes!" Sandy cried without hesitation. "Fill me up! I want to feel it pumping inside me!"

The shamelessness of her request made Chris's head spin. This wasn't just sex anymore; this was a complete surrender, a claiming of his wife in the most primal way possible.

Marcus's movements became more urgent, more forceful. His hands gripped Sandy's hips with bruising intensity as he drove into her repeatedly. Water splashed around them, the shower's steady stream adding another layer of sensory overload to the obscene display.

"Here it comes," Marcus growled, his body tensing. "Take every fucking drop."

With a loud roar that seemed to shake the bathroom walls, Marcus thrust deep one final time, holding Sandy firmly against him as he climaxed. Chris could see the other man's muscles contracting, could almost visualize the hot semen pumping into his wife's body—claiming territory that once belonged exclusively to him.

Sandy moaned loudly, her own orgasm triggered by the feeling of Marcus filling her. Her body trembled violently, legs nearly giving out as waves of pleasure washed over her. Only Marcus's strong hands kept her upright as she convulsed around him.

"Fuck, your pussy milks my cock so good," Marcus groaned, making small, shallow thrusts to prolong both their pleasures. "Squeezing every last drop out of me."

Chris stood motionless, mesmerized by the scene before him. Water continued to cascade over their joined bodies, steam rising around them like a physical manifestation of the heat they'd generated together.

After several moments of afterglow, Marcus slowly withdrew from Sandy, his still semi-hard cock glistening with a mixture of his semen and her juices. A thick, white stream began to trickle down the inside of Sandy's thigh, visual evidence of what had just transpired.

Marcus stepped out of the shower first, grabbing a towel and drying himself with casual confidence. He barely acknowledged Chris as he brushed past him, his naked body radiating dominance even in its relaxed state.

Sandy turned off the water and stepped out after him, not bothering with a towel. Water dripped from her satisfied body onto the floor Chris had so meticulously cleaned earlier. More importantly, Marcus's semen continued to leak from between her legs, marking its path down her thigh.

"Now here's a really big mess for you to clean up," Marcus said, his voice laced with cruel amusement as he gestured toward Sandy's leaking pussy. "Hope you're hungry."

The implication was unmistakable, and Chris felt a wave of humiliation wash over him. Yet his erection, far from subsiding, seemed to throb even more painfully at the suggestion.

Marcus stepped aside, giving Chris a clear path to Sandy, who had spread her legs slightly in anticipation. "Kneel," Marcus commanded, not to Sandy this time, but to Chris.

Chris hesitated for just a moment, a final flicker of resistance quickly extinguished by Sandy's stern look. Slowly, he sank to his knees on the bathroom floor he'd cleaned earlier, positioning himself in front of his wife.

"Clean your wife's pussy," Marcus ordered, his voice leaving no room for refusal. "Lick up every drop of my cum."

Sandy's hand came to rest on the back of Chris's head, guiding him forward. "Be thorough," she instructed, her voice both tender and demanding at once. "I want to feel your tongue everywhere he's been."

Chris leaned forward, his face inches from the evidence of his wife's infidelity. The musky scent of their combined arousal filled his nostrils—Sandy's familiar feminine scent now mixed with Marcus's masculine one. It was intoxicating in its wrongness, a perfume of betrayal that made his head swim.

With the first tentative lick, Chris tasted the another man's essence mixed with his wife's. The salty, slightly bitter flavor of Marcus's semen flooded his mouth as his tongue made contact with Sandy's inner thigh, lapping up the white trail that had made its way down her leg.

"That's it," Sandy encouraged, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Work your way up. Don't miss a drop."

Chris obeyed, his tongue tracing patterns up her thigh, collecting every trace of Marcus's release. As he moved higher, approaching her center, Sandy spread her legs wider, giving him better access to his humiliating task.

"Make sure you get it all," Marcus said, watching from nearby as he continued to dry himself. "I came deep inside her. You'll have to really get your tongue in there."

Chris reached Sandy's pussy, his tongue hesitantly probing her entrance where the majority of Marcus's seed remained. The flood of semen that met his tongue was shocking—so much more than he'd expected, thick and plentiful, evidence of just how thoroughly Marcus had claimed his wife.

"Oh god," Sandy moaned as Chris's tongue delved deeper, seeking out every drop of the other man's essence. "That feels so good."

Her pleasure was unexpected but undeniable. Chris could feel her beginning to respond to his attentions, her body growing tense as his tongue cleaned and pleasured her simultaneously.

"Look at that," Marcus laughed. "The slut's getting turned on by having her husband clean up another man's cum from her pussy. That's fucking hot."

Sandy's grip on Chris's hair tightened, holding him firmly against her as she began to grind against his face. "Don't stop," she commanded breathlessly. "Right there... just like that..."

Chris continued his task with growing enthusiasm, his own arousal painfully constrained in his pants. There was something deeply erotic about tasting the evidence of their coupling, about cleaning the most intimate aftermath of their passion. His tongue worked diligently, lapping at her folds, dipping inside to collect Marcus's seed, then flicking over her clit in a rhythm he knew she enjoyed.

"He's actually good at this," Sandy said to Marcus, her voice strained as pleasure built within her. "The one thing he does better than you."

Marcus chuckled. "At least he's useful for something."

Sandy's breathing quickened, her hips moving more urgently against Chris's face. "I'm close," she gasped, pulling his hair painfully. "Make me cum with my bull’s cum still inside me."

Chris redoubled his efforts, focusing his attention on her clit while his tongue continued to collect the remnants of Marcus's release. The combination of tastes—Sandy's arousal and Marcus's semen—created a cocktail of submission that had him lightheaded with conflicting emotions.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Sandy cried out, her whole body tensing as she reached her climax. Her thighs clamped around Chris's head, holding him firmly in place as she rode out her orgasm against his face. The sound echoed off the tile walls, a piercing scream of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.

When she finally released him, Chris gasped for air, his face glistening with a mixture of saliva, Sandy's juices, and the remnants of Marcus's seed. His glasses were askew, fogged from the heat and moisture of his task.

"Good boy," Sandy said, patting his head condescendingly as she stepped away from him. "You cleaned up nicely."

Marcus, now fully dried and watching the scene with amused interest, nodded in agreement. "Not bad, cleanup boy. Maybe you're not completely useless after all."

Chris remained on his knees, his erection still painfully straining against his pants, his face wet with the evidence of his debasement. The taste of another man's essence lingered on his tongue, a reminder of just how thoroughly his role in this marriage had been redefined.

Sandy stepped over him as if he were simply another bathroom fixture, walking naked and satisfied toward the bedroom. Marcus followed, giving Chris a patronizing pat on the head as he passed.

"We're going to have a nice long sleep now,” he called over his shoulder. "You can take the couch in the living room, cleaning boy."

Chris nodded silently, still kneeling on the bathroom floor, surrounded by the steam and scent of their coupling. His knees ached, his jaw was sore, and his neglected erection throbbed painfully—all physical reminders of his new place in this restructured hierarchy of his once-normal marriage.