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She’s on her knees in the kitchen again.nThat thin white lace is soaked and half off her body — heavy soft tits hanging free, nipples hard, the “MOMMY” necklace I bout for her for Mothers day swinging between them while she scrubs the floor.nShe knows I’m watching.nShe looks up with that wet, guilty smile and keeps cleaning, pushing her tits into the mess, rubbing it into her skin like she wants more of it.nThen I step closer.nShe doesn’t stop me.nShe just spreads her knees a little wider on the wet tiles, lifts her ass, and stays right there — still holding the sponge, still looking up at me — while I pull the lace aside and push into her.nShe’s already soaked.nHot, soft, and open.nI bury myself deep while she’s still on her knees cleaning, and she just moans quietly and keeps wiping the floor like it’s the most natural thing in the world.nIn the dream she never tells me to stop.nShe just takes every thrust, tits swinging, necklace bouncing, and keeps scrubbing until the floor is even filthier than when we started.