It was Frants who originally suggested that I make a film of myself doing housework, naked. I jumped on the idea. It tapped right into my domestic service, historical and physical labour kinks - fetishising not only mistreatment, but hard work and productivity, too.

The floorboards needed scrubbing again. Vintage oak, we loved them but the varnish was wearing off and they took a lot of maintenance. Last time we did the whole downstairs at once, and even with the help of friends it was hours of backbreaking labour on hands and knees, leaving us sore and aching. This time, Tom had already done one of the other rooms, and I'd offered to do this one. What better way to brighten a morning's housework than by making it kinky?

This scene is my fantasy of how it might have worked if Tom had prepared a surprise for me. In reality, I wrote the scene and asked his help to set it up. With him looking dashing in a waistcoat, me dressing up in the old Victorian maid's uniform I used to wear to wait on him, and eighteen cane strokes, my morning was looking considerably brighter. Suddenly, a difficult chore became a challenge of my submission, my endurance and a self-indulgent hour of hard work and suffering.

Scrubbing, naked, on all fours, I stopped feeling grumpy about how long the job was taking and wallowed in the sensations of the wet wood under my knees, enjoyed the tingling of the cane welts as they slowly faded, and focused on the task at hand, determined to do a good job not only for its own sake, but to please Tom. Being watched by the camera as I scrubbed only added to the piquancy. It's funny how a shift of perspective can make a boring job so much more interesting.