And Edited Life, Part 5

“You fix dinner while I put the finishing touches on our agreement,” Andre said, once we returned upstairs after he’d fucked me in a swing in his basement. “I should have it ready by the time we eat.”

“Clothing?” I said.

“There are some aprons in the pantry,” he replied, “and chicken marinating in the fridge.”

I walked to the kitchen and Andre retreated to his study, yet another of his home’s rooms I’d not been in. In the pantry, I selected a burgundy apron with a length that extended to about mid thigh.

The chicken – which was infused with a lemon marinade – went on the deck’s propane grill, and I made dirty rice and a salad to go with it.

There was something both extremely unclean and highly erotic about preparing a meal wearing nothing but an apron while Andre’s spunk dried in my pussy and along the insides of my thighs.

I knocked at the study’s door and announced to Andre that dinner was ready, then returned to the kitchen to remove the apron and carry our meal to the table outside. Andre emerged through the French doors with some papers in his hand, and he slid them in front of me after sitting down.

My eyes couldn’t pour through the contract’s words quickly enough, and as I read, it felt a bit like I was opening a present.

The document included sections about me caring for my body, my responsibilities in the home, and, of course, the level of control I agreed to yield to Andre.

With only a few exceptions – such as when I was menstruating – I would be required to remain nude when in the home and, weather permitting, in the back yard, even when guests were over.