Housewife... Actually a Virgin?
I'd already planned out my parents' trip down to the last detail, told them the exact dates, and nagged them relentlessly to remember before dropping them off.
Finally home after ages without seeing my folks, the bedding felt nice enough, but man, all that nagging had worn me out. Living alone really does have its perks—no mom's constant lectures—but the downside is, well, no mom. And yeah, that's a downside too.
Heading back to my place to crash, picturing all the girls I'd fuck along the way, got me seriously pumped. Honestly, "hotels are the best..." The women and the bedding? Pure art, no cap.
My new place needed to be decked out with hotel-grade sheets from top to bottom. That was non-negotiable.
"If I wanna live even more comfortably, maybe hit the lottery again next week?" It was tempting. Sure, getting rich quick draws eyes, but who wants that spotlight?
Truth be told, I didn't crave attention. Quietly banging chicks from behind while staying low-key? That's the dream. What good is fame anyway... unless it means fucking the reporter who shows up for the story? But even that's too much hassle.
"Eh, whatever." Mom was keeping me too busy for side thoughts anyway. Life was packed—scouting the new apartment, signing the lease, interior work, all that jazz.
And crucially, "I gotta get my license." No more freeloading rides forever. Dad had called his driver to take us home after the hometown visit, but that couldn't last. With all this cash, hire a chauffeur or get my own license—one or the other.
"Might as well get a driver with the car next time." Human greed really has no end. At first, a free ride felt burdensome, but now? I was eyeing the full package.
Of course, Mom had shoved it my way like, "Take it, no big deal." If she'd made it feel like an obligation, I'd have passed. "I just want you living easy," she'd said.
Honestly, rolling around naked in my room without a care? Not far off now. Once I nailed that license, I'd scout a driving school nearby. Apps said a two-week crash course could do it—hell, faster than moving.
"Hit up this spot tomorrow to enroll... then houses next."
I had a few candidates lined up, but nothing screamed "perfect." House hunting was still a slog. Lottery wins or pussy extortion—money wasn't the issue. Price didn't faze me; it was the vibe.
"Even so, living solo? Three-rooms or four? Overkill."
Bigger is better, sure, but for one guy? A studio's plenty. Only gets tight when friends crash over.
"And who's cleaning that mess?" No pets, no family, no live-in girlfriend or bros. Pointless.
"Grab something decent for now, upgrade later if I shack up with someone?"
But nah, human nature. Wide-open spaces appeal, yet cramming into small feels off too. "House hunting ain't easy..."
Others stress budgets; I stress perfection. Why's it so hard when money's no object?
I scrolled real estate apps endlessly, bookmarking potentials. Then—
"Hm? What's that?"
Knock knock. Faint, but definitely someone at the door. That old creep again? Peering through the peephole...
"Huh?"
Not him. Totally unexpected—the pretty neighbor housewife from before, right there on my doorstep.
I cracked the door. Today, her tits were on full blast in that slutty getup, thighs bare, pants so short you could glimpse ass cheeks from below.
Is this her default fashion? Or does she dress like this just for me?
"What's up?"
"Oh... um... you told me to come by last time..."
It'd been a while since that chat. I'd brushed it off as a dream-fueled whim, but here she was. Face still clouded with worry—must've built up since.
Her hubby seemed chill enough; they'd be fine if she just stuck to that life.
"Come in?"
I stepped aside. She glanced around nervously, then darted inside.
"Love that outfit, huh?" I teased, eyes locked on her exposed cleavage.
"I... kinda like it normally, but..."
She trailed off, confirming she'd come to seduce me. Obvious.
"Alright, whatever. Sit."
No chairs—just bed or floor. She hesitated, then plopped on the floor. I grabbed grape juice from the fridge, poured her a clean glass—thank god Mom left some spotless ones after her stay.
"Here. No tea in my bachelor pad."