A Chaste Slave To My Ex Ch 11

Hello, everyone!

I write a story that will unfold gradually through snapshots of everyday life in a Female Lead relationship under a strict chastity regime.

Please be understanding, as English is not my native language.

Any feedback, suggestions, ideas, comments, remarks, or constructive criticism is appreciated. Every character in this story is an adult.

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Thank you, in advance!

Next day I dress Anthea. She wears a pastel strapless t-shirt and cream shorts, to which I put light brown sandals on her feet.

I follow Anthea into her family home, and what I am met with is overwhelming: the house clearly in disarray, dust coating surfaces, clothes scattered here and there, and dishes piled up in the kitchen.

Quite unable to restrain myself, in a single spontaneous movement, I fall onto my knees in the doorway, laying my head and pressing my lips against the floor-in the lowliest possible act of humility and astonishment.

Anthea turns, an eyebrow cocked in interest at my gesture tugged by the small smile tugging at her lips. "Why did you kiss the floor, boy?"

"It's out of reverence and awe, Lady; being allowed into your home feels like a privilege-an important and sacred moment in my life."

Her smile widens, unmistakably pleased with my words and actions. "Good response, due respect, if I may say so. I can tell you have come prepared to serve. Follow me-I'll show you the place, and then we'll get to work."

She then gives me a tour around her apartment, pointing at every room with a mix of pride and just a hint of embarrassment as regards the state it is in now.

First, she shows me her bedroom where the bed hasn't been made yet, with clothes and books all over the floor. "This is my sanctuary, as you can tell. The mess here is...let's say, an accumulation of busy days and little time."

She then gestures to her mother's bedroom. It is cosier, yet homier than the rest of the house, but it too needs cleaning: "My mother's room. I want it spotless, as if she could come home any minute."

She continues to take me to the living room, where dust rests on the shelves, and couch cushions sit awry. "The living room should be where one winds down and takes it easy; as is, it is anything but that."

Next is the kitchen, where stacks of dishes spill from the sink and surfaces are littered with crumbs and stains. "You can see that the kitchen has become more of a storage area than a functional place to cook."

Finally, she shows me the hall, which is filled with shoes, bags, and coats. "And here's the hall-first impressions matter, right? This should look welcoming and spotless, but right now." She spreads her hand towards the shoes and bags scattered around, and lets out a sigh. "It needs your touch."

Standing amidst all of this mess, Anthi leans with her back against the frame of the door, looks around at the clutter, and gives me an apologetic smile.

"I know it's quite a sight, isn't it?" She waves her hand in a circle with a small sigh. "My mother works so hard over the summers. She's not as young as she used to be, she has not the same level of stamina, so it's understandable that cleaning isn't at the top of her list. And as for me...", she laughs lightly, shrugging, "domestic chores just aren't my strong suit either. Guess it shows, doesn't it?"

She chuckles; her tone is light, clearly unconcerned by the state of the house, yet with a mischievous awareness of the monumental job she is asking of me. She clearly steps closer with flashes in her eyes.

"But today, we're going to put in some work, you and I-well, mostly you, to be honest hi-hi." She smiles, encouraging yet teasing. "I expect nothing but perfection from you, boy. Every speck of dust, every piece of clutter, every wrinkle... I want it all gone. This house should be spotless when you are done."

She stops, eyes scanning me with an encouraging smile. "You've got a few solid hours of hard work ahead of you, and I expect you to keep up that respectful dedication. It'll be fatiguing, but I believe you're up for the challenge, right?"

"Of course, Lady. Whatever it takes, I am prepared to do so for your expectations."

"That's what I like to hear." She nods her head in approval at me. "You have the chance to really show me what you are made of. Every room, every corner is left to your discretion to make this place shine."

She heads into the bathroom, and I follow suit. Towels are lying on the floor, some sheets and linens in a messy heap, even fragmented remains of crumpled toilet paper are also strewn here and there. In that mess, there's a huge pile of laundry that includes her mother's clothes and underwear. In addition to that pile, I take out from the suitcase and put Anthea's own unwashed clothes from her two-week vacation. The mess is totally overwhelming, but as I take it all in, her voice breaks through my thoughts.

"I expect you to start with all of this." She points at the huge pile. "You should put the sheets, towels, and linens into the laundry machine. As for the clothes and underwear," she stops and gives me that knowing look, "those you will be washing by hand."

I nod, following her instructions, but as I head towards the laundry machine, some hesitation causes me to halt. "Lady... I'm sorry, but I don't really know how to use the laundry machine."

Anthea gives a loud sigh, apparently irritated, while raising one eyebrow; a small smirk plays at her lips. "Of course you don't; you were such a spoiled little boy, even when we were a couple. I suppose I have a share of the blame for this, and I won't just blame you..."

She walks over to the machine, motioning for με to have a closer look while she explains. "See, it's easy," she says, opening the machine, and I begin loading it.

She explains each one with patience; her fingers fleetingly make adjustments in settings as she describes which program goes with what type of laundry. "Now, since I am showing it to you, remember it in your mind, as I do not prefer repeating things, so you should pay close attention to the training." She says strictly, still keeping her fingers on the start button. "I'm saving you a lot of time and effort, you should be thankful; just imagine if you'd have to wash all of this by hand."

I feel this huge weight get lifted off me as she starts working on the machine, the hum of the cycle springing into life in an act of minor magic. "Thank you, Lady." I lean over, my head a little tilted as I take her hand, brushing my lips against her skin in respect while her fingers start to work the machine into action. "Truly grateful I am for your tutelage."

She watches me, her eyes gleaming with pleasure at this show of respect and appreciation. "Gratitude and reverence... a fine pairing. But don't think this lets you off the hook about next time, either."

She leaves her hand in mine another heartbeat, before tugging it free, nodding toward the pile of clothes and delicates that lay before me, waiting to be washed by hand.

"Remember, boy, each item is to be treated preciously. My mother's clothes, my lingerie-they ask for nothing less than your due attention and respect."

"Yes, my Lady. I shall treat each piece with respect."

She nods happily at this and steps backward towards the door, throwing one last look in my direction.

"Good. I'll check on you when you're done. And if I find even a hint of neglect in your work, we'll discuss a fitting consequence."

I follow her into the living room; she hands me a long list of chores to be done.

"All right, here is your list of chores, boy. This place needs a thorough cleaning, and I expect you to put in every bit of effort to make it spotless."

She stops for a moment, and the expectation fills the air, before her face softens and she continues.

"I know it is going to be exhausting, but keep your focus and pace yourself. With patience and hard work, you will transform this home." She stops for a moment, then says in determination.

"I expect nothing less than perfection, boy. Every corner, every surface, every detail. I'll be checking each room when you are done, so don't disappoint me."

"Understood, Lady. I will make sure every inch of your home shines. Thank you for entrusting me with cleaning your house."

She nods in satisfaction and points at the area where I should start cleaning as she heads towards the door, turning to add with a laugh.

"I will go out for coffee shortly, but don't worry, my thoughts will be right here with you. Hope that helps you."

"Thank you, Lady Anthea. It really means so much. I will make sure to do all that is possible to make you proud when you return."

She smiles then, her amusement at my eagerness obvious.

"Good. Then, do not disappoint me. I want the floors to shine, the shelves devoid of dust, the linens fresh and folded." She nods then, her tone approving, yet in teasing. "Now, chop-chop! There is no time to waste!"

She leaves me with the quiet of the house and monumental task ahead, her words ringing in my ears. I feel her encouragement and high expectations propelling me forward. With steadfastness, she gets to work directly on entering each room and diligently then, in order to turn her home into a spotless and hospitable place.

Anthea comes home late, at night looking glamorous but completely exhausted from her day. She kicks off her sandals, hurls the bag to the floor, and gestures for a foot massage. I get on my knees, start to gently rub her weary feet, hands respectful, sure of their touches. She relaxes and tells me about her day, releasing her tension, reminding me of her glamorous life outside the walls that keep me isolated.

Anthea lets out a satisfied sigh as she leans back.

"I had coffee with Melina this morning, she wanted all the details of Ibiza, of course. Then lunch with the girls; they were fascinated with my pictures and couldn't believe the suite I had. And of course, I had a few sessions afterward. They're so draining, boy... It's like I'm carrying the weight of my clients's lives while you have only one task: keep this house perfect."

She chuckles softly, pleased, as I nod in respect. When her feet feel relaxed, she stands and stretches.

"Now, I'm curious to find out how well you did in here. I've given you enough responsibility that surely you should have kept everything spotless and perfect. Lеt's inspect."

I prepare for her hypercritical scrutiny as she starts with her bedroom: running her finger on the surfaces, opening drawers, even pulling back bed linen.

She frowns; there is dust on a shelf.

"Seriously, boy? Look at this. Enough dust for me to write my name in. Is it too much to ask of you to dust my shelves right?"

She points to a number of places around the bed that I have missed; there is one small crumple in the duvet cover.

"My bed should look perfect, like it was something out of a display from an expensive store, not like something you rushed through. Seriously, do you even know what attention to detail means? When I lie down, I want it to feel perfect, like a five-star suite, not some rushed, half-assed attempt."

"I am so sorry, Lady. I shall see from now on that not a single corner has dust on it and the bed is ever well made."

Anthea scolds me: "Sorry doesn't dust my shelves, boy. I'm starting to think you don't understand the standards I set here. My room is sacred and this.this is a disgrace. If you can't respect my space enough to maintain it to perfection, maybe you aren't fit to be in it at all. This is disappointing, boy. Absolutely disappointing."

She goes into her mother's room and closely examines the bed; it is a trifle uneven. Then she sees some clothes in the closet just a trifle out of order. Anthea shakes her head sorrowfully.

"This is how you respect my mother's space? Linens aren't even, clothes just about thrown in the closet... Not acceptable. It speaks for me as well as it speaks to you. You think my mother's standards are less than mine?

I bow my head in shame. "Forgive me, Lady. I meant no disrespect. I will redo everything in her room with the care it deserves."

"My mother's comfort is no less important than my own, boy. She merits the same respect, if not more. How dare you treat her space as though it were unimportant? You're here to serve this household, every detail, every room."

Anthea enters the lounge and finds some books and periodicals on the coffee table placed on top of each other not in line, with a sort of mark on the glass coffee table.

"What is this? A fingerprint, a smudge? Didn't I tell you to leave not a single mark behind?"

She readjusts the cushion that was not fixed properly.

"Now can you explain why those cushions are not as I have set them out?"

"I am very sorry, Lady. I'll do it all spick and span."

"If you can't even deal with a small smudge or a misplaced cushion, then perhaps you are not suited for your role. This is just plain laziness. I expect far more from you than to make excuses. The living room reflects my level of caliber, and you have let it down."

Anthea continues to check the bathroom, inch by inch, peering under the rim of the toilet bowl, running a finger along the tiles. There's a water stain on the mirror, as well as a few stray hairs in the sink.

"Unbelievable. I should be able to walk into a bathroom that sparkles, not one filled with grime and stains. Is this really the best you can manage?"

"I am so sorry, Lady. I will make sure it is totally cleaned and shining well."

She finds that there is one place with a soap dish, which is not totally clean of stains.

"Filth. The very idea of this is inexcusable. Sorry means nothing. This bathroom should be spotless, and this is simply not good enough. If you think this is satisfactory, well, your standards are pitifully low, boy. You ought to be ashamed of having me witness it."

She enters the hall and notices that there is a faint scuff on the floor and a small piece of paper at the doorway.

"So you decided that things like this do not matter? You're missing details, boy. It's as if you think I would not notice, but I notice everything. Sloppy, sloppy!"

"I am really sorry, Lady; I will try my best, my Lady." I say in humility.

"I never said 'do your best'; I said perfection. Every little thing in this hallway speaks volumes on my behalf. If you cannot keep the ideal of a perfect home, then what do you think you are contributing?"

"My sincerest apologies Lady. I'll make sure the hallway is spotless."

"My standards are high for a reason, boy. A neglected detail here reflects poorly on everything else. Either meet my expectations or find yourself completely unworthy."

She comes out into the veranda and goes through the washed clothes and linens hanging to dry. There are few items hung crookedly, some clothes not fully shaken out for fear of wrinkles, and sheets not spread flat.

"Are these wrinkles your notion of acceptable? I want clothes to dry smoothly, not come in wrinkled and sloppy."

She insinuates that the sheets have not been well stretched.

"These sheets are still damp in some spots because you didn't hang them evenly. Do I need to remind you how to do even the simplest of things?"

"I'm sorry, Lady. I shall be more particular with your linens and clothes."

"You are here to serve and perfect every detail of my life, not cut corners. Each task you do reflects me."

Once she's done inspecting, Anthea stands in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, her face as ice-cold as her words as she scans me over.

" I do not put up with low standards of service, and I most certainly do not put up with sloppiness in my house. I shouldn't have to waste my time having to point out such blatant sloppiness. You act as though you have forgotten your role in this household. Since you apparently have the free time to be so sloppy, I shall give you some additional responsibilities. "

She pauses for a moment to let the silence and the gravity of her discontent make their presence known.

"Tonight, you are not going to sleep. By morning, each and every one of the mistakes I mentioned must be changed. You are to dust all the shelves, iron out all the wrinkles, polish all the surfaces. And this morning, when I wake up, not a single smudge nor anything out of its place will I tolerate."

Now she stops, her eyes glinting cruelly.

"But that's not sufficient, is it? You've managed to prove to me you don't pay attention." She leans forward, speaking quietly, calmly. "So to drive it fully home, you will write the following phraase: 'Neglect and laziness find no home in serving my Lady's household; excellence and dedication alone are acceptable.' I would have you learn every word."

She pauses, narrowing her eyes at me. I nod, obediently, the weight of disappointment in her eyes, in the sternness of the punishment she has set.

"You will write this sentence 150 times, each line in your neatest handwriting. You'll start each page with the date and time, and you won't even think about laying your head down until every line is done. I will go over your work very carefully tomorrow morning, and if there is one mistake, we will add repetitions."

Her words are razor-sharp; her voice, inflexible.

"Do I make myself clear, boy?"

I'm curtseying very low, my voice is quivering. "Yes, Lady. I understand, and I shall complete each assignment to the best of your expectations."

"Good. Now, no more apologies. Stop wasting more of my precious time. Finally, prove to me why I'm wasting the smallest ounce of my patience on you. You wanted to serve, so serve in earnest now. I expect every mistake corrected and every line of that phrase perfected."

I hurry away, chastened and determined, knowing that each detail must be perfectly corrected to meet her exacting standards. She retires into her bedroom-to rest and sleep-while a long exhausting challenging night is in store for me out ahead.

The stark contrast between us is nearly palpable as Anthea slips under her sheets, sinking into the mattress. I am lying here, alone in the silent house, my bones aching with exhaustion from long labors done without respite. I scrub and polish each and every inch of the rooms in her house, careful to even point out the error, fix it, and make it shine to standards set by her.

As I begin wiping with a clothe the counters once more, my anger and frustration simmering low, but insistent. I think of Anthea, in her bed, warm, serene, her breathing soft and regular, slipping into deep sleep. The image amplifies my tiredness, and a sense of injustice at all this. The hours that have been passed doing detailed cleaning, only for her to find faults, want changes, and a phrase to be written in endless lines.

I plunge the cloth again into the bucket. The sting of weariness mingles with a thrill of resentment: 'Why am I working hard at this dawn hour while she is sleeping like a baby? Why does my tiredness turn invisible, unseen?'

I sit and begin to scribble the phrase she wanted me to write, knowing full well that my arm would ache right up to 150 lines. A small anger rise in the mind. "ok I can understand I ought to correct my mistakes but were necessary these endless lines of the fucking phrase? What on earth is the purpose of it?' It is relentless, I am writing mechanical, and with every repetition, it seems as though a bit more energy has been sucked out of me. Thoughs cross my mind.

'I am here to serve, to be tested, to prove that I am worthy of my place beneath her.'

In that quiet acceptance, the frustration moves inside me, to that place which nods in recognition of my role in reality. 'Not merely to clean her house or to copy her words, but I am a part of her world, and my duty is to make that world smooth and beautiful for her. My labor, my exhaustion, even my frustration, serves a purpose: her comfort, her pleasure, her peace.'