Corruption of Salim
Copyright© 2026 by Andosius
Chapter 2: Chores
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 2: Chores - Wealthy artist buys an exotic slave girl who leads him to darker and darker things.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Slavery Heterosexual Fiction Historical BDSM MaleDom Sadistic Spanking Torture Gang Bang Black Female Anal Sex Oral Sex Needles
Now, tidy up the ropes, mop the floor, and hasten to the kitchen – I expect you to bring me my evening tea shortly, - he ordered, turning away from her and walking to the bench to read.
Mop the floor with what, masster? - she asked with thinly veiled frustration.
Just use the rag you have, - he chuckled. That will teach her.
The reading didn’t go well. He couldn’t focus on Porphyry’s arcane musical theories with this curvy, naked woman crawling around. At some point, she must have noticed his sidelong glances, for she started moving with seductive grace. She arched her back while reaching for a piece of rope, and the motion drew his eye to the curve of her spine—the subtle sway of her hips as she crawled toward the next column. He kept up his pretense of reading, pretending to ignore her, and urged her to hurry up.
Finally, her chores done, she went to the kitchen and soon brought a tray with a teapot, a cup, and some sweetmeats. She was no longer naked. Her torn tunic, now dirty from mopping the floor, was wrapped around her hips, forming a shabby, stained loincloth. Coming closer, she set the tray on a low table beside the bench.
Walking was clearly still uncomfortable for her – each step deliberate, shifting her weight carefully as if testing which muscles could be trusted. Her jaw tightened several times, briefly, before being relaxed again. He wondered if her discomfort was more due to the strain on her inner thighs, muscles stretched and cramped from hours of bondage; the damage from switching, or the hard loving he’d given her.
Having poured him his first cup, she settled into a kneeling position beside his bench, within easy reach. Her makeshift loincloth rode low on her hips, and her breasts—welted from the switching—rose and fell enticingly with each slow breath. She looked calm, serene even, with eyes half-closed. Her back was straight, despite the bruises and abrasions covering it. After all she just went through, this display of self-control – or indifference to torment– was unsettling.
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