They posed like any proud couple out front—Tyler flexing, cocky in his polo. But all eyes went to DeShawn: shirtless, collared, kneeling, lips parted in that sweet, eager smile. He wasn’t just showing off the body. He was showing where it belonged. Right there. At Tyler’s feet.

DeShawn used to be the star on the field—now he’s Tyler’s good girl in a maid uniform and heels. Dusting in silence, collar snug, skirt barely covering that ass. Every swipe of the duster was for Tyler. Every glance back was a silent question: am I doing good, sir? And the answer was always yes