After 10 minutes, you put the sponge back, take out a scrubbing brush, exchange the cleaning solution for a different one, and fall to your knees behind the kitchen bench. I rise from my seat and make my way to the side of the kitchen, watching as you scrub the floor.
You slowly crawl backwards, your ass pointed at me and shaking as you scrub the floor. I can see your breasts jiggle in the reflection of the window across the kitchen, tempting to come out of the uniform.
As you reach the edge of the kitchen, you sit back on your knees, wipe your hands on the apron, and turn to look at me.
"All done, Sir. What's next?"
I step forward and take the scrubbing brush and cleaning solution from you, "On your feet. Wait."
Standing up, you take a step back and assume the Wait position. Feet shoulder width apart, you stand with a straight back, chin up, and your arms held in box position behind your back.
I place the scrubbing brush and cleaning solution in the bucket, and slowly move around the kitchen, inspecting each surface. "Well done on these cupboards. The floor is good..." I trail off as you watch me run a finger across the island bench beside the bucket. "Tell me, Pet, why would I be hesitating here?"
You lick your lips, "I didn't dry the bench correctly, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."
"Come here," I say firmly. You make your way through the kitchen to stand beside me. "You need to dry these surfaces," I say as I grab your hair, "or you will leave water marks." I thrust you downwards, pressing your chest into the puddle. You stumble off balance with the force of the movement, but quickly recover, supporting yourself on one hand as I push and pull you, dragging your breasts through the water as it soaks into your bra.
"Dry it properly," I tell you, throwing a towel beside you. But as you try to stand, you feel my hand on the small of your back, "While bent over."
"Yes Sir," you lift yourself slightly and start running the towel across the bench. Before you can finish, you hear the rush of air and hear a loud slap. A red hot flash of pain and warmth rushes through you from your ass. You yelp in pain, your legs buckling involuntarily, as I rest my paddle on your ass cheek.
"That will be five strikes, for having to redo this job," I tell you sternly, "and you will count them aloud for me."
SMACK
"One", you moan, your breasts pressing against the stone benchtop as you reflexively move forward.
SMACK
"Two!" You jump again.
"Keep drying the bench, Pet," I say, lifting the paddle off your ass again. Biting your lip you nod in response and continue mopping up the wet patches with the towel.
