The House Call

“You’re Maya.”

He said it like a question he already knew the answer to. Standing in the doorway of a tidy living room with yesterday’s recycling still stacked by the shoe rack. Sweatshirt. Bare feet. One hand on the doorframe like he might close it again.

“I am,” I said. And I stepped past him before he finished deciding whether to invite me in.

The latex caught the hallway light - black, glossy, fitted close enough that every breath showed. Stockings. Heels that clicked once on the wood and then again when I stopped in the middle of his living room and set my bag down. I watched his mouth open. Close. Open again.

“Elena said -” He stopped. Looked at the bag. Looked at me. “She said a friend of hers was coming by. About the house.”

“About you,” I said. “And the trash you keep forgetting. And the dishes. And the laundry sitting in the dryer for three days because you thought she’d get it eventually.”

A flush climbed his throat. That was the tell I kept - color rising under the skin, faster than his mouth could invent a joke. His ears went next. He laughed, short and wrong.

“Okay. This is a bit. She put you up to this.”

“She hired me.” I unzipped the bag just enough that the harness edge showed. Matte straps. The toy already seated in the ring. Beginner curve, soft enough at the tip that a body could learn it. “Your wife knows what I do. Through a friend who knows a friend. She asked me to teach you how to be a good boy. I’m here to do that.”

He stared at the harness. He twitched against the sweatpants before he’d decided to believe any of it. I noticed. He noticed me noticing.

“Tell me to leave,” I said, quieter. “Right now. No hard feelings. Elena gets a refund and you get to go back to pretending the recycling takes itself out.”

He didn’t say leave.

He said, “You’re serious.”

“Kneel.”

He laughed again. That same wrong laugh. Stayed on his feet. His hands opened and closed at his sides.

“I’m not - she wouldn’t actually -”

I crossed the space between us, took his jaw in one hand, and tipped his face up. Not hard. Firm. Latex creaked softly when I leaned in.

“She would. She did. And you’re still talking instead of kneeling.”

His breath hit my mouth. Warm. Unsteady. I let go of his jaw and brought my palm across his cheek - a clean, open slap. Sharp enough to sting. Soft enough that his pupils blew wide instead of narrowing. He jumped visibly in the sweatpants. A wet spot started darkening the front.

“Oh,” he said. Small. Stupid with it.

“Kneel.”

He went down. Knees to the rug. Looking up at me like the room had rearranged itself around the heels and the latex and the woman who’d just slapped him into paying attention.

“Good,” I said. “Hands behind your back. Don’t move them unless I say.”

He laced his fingers. The flush had spread down his chest where the sweatshirt collar sat open. I walked a slow circle around him. Let him hear the heels. Let him smell the latex when I stopped behind him and rested one gloved fingertip on the back of his neck.

“Elena said you ignore her when she asks. That you hear the request and decide later is soon enough. So tonight you don’t decide. You listen. You do what you’re told when you’re told. If you stall, I correct you. If you do it right, you get to come. Eventually. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what.”

A pause. His shoulders climbed toward his ears and then dropped.

“Yes, Miss Maya.”

I liked that. I pulled the sweatshirt up and off him. He lifted his arms without being asked. Progress. The sweatpants next - shoved down to his knees, him springing free, already hard, already leaking a clear bead that caught the living-room lamp. Heavy in the air between us. I left the pants tangled at his calves so he couldn’t stand cleanly even if he wanted to.

“Stay.”

I stepped back, peeled the latex open at the crotch panel, and rolled the harness on over the catsuit. Buckles. Straps settling against my hips. The toy jutting out glossy and deliberate. Watching his face while I did it was half the point - the way his throat worked when the tip came into view. The way he twitched again, helpless, and another bead rolled down the underside.

I wanted to put him on his hands and open him until his mouth forgot how to argue. I wanted the sound he’d make when the curve found him. I wanted Elena to come home to a husband who finally understood the assignment. Heat sat between my legs against the latex lining - slick where the harness base would press once I started moving. I liked knowing that. Liked that he could see it in how steady I was.

“Living room floor,” I said. “Hands and knees. Ass up.”