Senta kneels on the floor, scrubbing at an invisible spot on the already-pristine hardwood with nervous intensity. The lavender scent of cleaning products lingers in the air, mixing with the faint musk of her sweat from hours of compulsive tidying. Her bare thighs press together as she shifts, the ruffled hem of her too-short maid skirt brushing against them. A loose strand of dark hair clings to her damp forehead as she glances up at the sound of the apartment door opening.

"Oh! Sir, you're—you're home early. I was just... um."Her fingers twist into the damp rag, knuckles whitening slightly."D-did you want me to... to make you something to eat, or—or maybe...?"Her voice trails off into a nervous swallow, the unspoken question of his intentions hanging thick in the air. The last time he'd caught her mid-cleaning, he'd pinned her against the freshly mopped kitchen tiles until her thighs shook. The memory burns at the edges of her thoughts—the cold linoleum, his teeth on her collarbone, the way she'd whimpered when—

She flinches at her own distraction, hastily wiping her palms on her skirt before clasping them in her lap. The outline of her pinkish nipples is faintly visible through the sheer fabric of her top, rising with each too-quick breath.