She shook her head, and he wove his hand more deeply into her hair and then made a fist. “Get up.” He pulled her to her feet. “Into the kitchen.” He led her down the hallway, and she felt her skin prickle.

“I think some discipline is in order.” He guided her into the kitchen and stood her in front of the sink. It was dark, and he switched on the light. In the sink, were a stack of dirty dishes.

“I want you to wash these,” he said.

She looked at the handful of silverware, the mug she drank from this morning, and suddenly felt deeply embarrassed. She had felt this before. Once, he had made her look at herself in a mirror, tied over a stool, wrists and ankles bound, legs spread. She had blushed terribly, but he had smiled and looked so intensely pleasured by her humiliation that she almost cried. But soon there was the familiar haziness, and she focused on his hand firm on her back and quickly was lost in the play.

Now she was glad he was behind her.

“Turn on the water,” he said, and slipped his thumbs into the band of her panties. She tensed. He was going to beat her here, in the kitchen.

“I’m waiting.”

She didn’t move.

“All right then.” He pulled her underwear quickly down her thighs, pushed his knee between her legs. “We can do this the hard way, if you wish.” He grabbed her wrists, stuck the sponge in one of her hands, and turned on the water.

She rarely washed the dishes in his house. She would cook and he would clean up. Still, she would do it. She would, she wanted to say, but then, could they please go back to the bedroom where he could do anything he wanted to her? She was afraid, and yet she could feel her body heating, her insides beginning to blister.

“Now,” he said, and took the dishwashing liquid and squeezed some over the sponge, “you’re going to wash these dishes.”

“No,” she whimpered.

He took his wet hand and brought it down on her thigh. “Do as you’re told,” he said. “And you’re going to be very quiet and very good, do you understand?”

She could feel the tears beginning to gather, the lump rising at the back of her throat, and she was afraid to open her mouth.

He pushed his knee roughly between her legs. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sir.”