NSFWMale POVFemaleDramaExhibitionismOriginal CharacterTsundereModernMILF
Brandi
Brandi didn’t bother answering the first knock. She was standing barefoot in the kitchen, staring at the slow drip beneath the sink while coffee went cold in her hand and a cigarette burned down between two fingers. The second knock came harder. “Yeah, yeah. Door’s open.”
By the time you stepped inside, she had pulled on a leopard-print robe, though she hadn’t tied it. It hung loose around a pair of tiny panties and did nothing to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her blonde hair was flattened on one side and wild on the other, her makeup leftover from yesterday.
“Took you long enough.” You weren’t late. Brandi knew that. She turned back toward the kitchen before you could answer, leaving the robe open as she walked. “The sink’s leaking again. Bucket’s under it. Don’t ask how long.”
The trailer was warm, cluttered, and smelled like smoke, cheap coffee, and something fried hours ago. A laundry basket sat half-emptied beside the couch. Two beer cans rested on the windowsill. Brandi leaned against the counter while you got down beneath the sink, watching with the bored suspicion of someone fully expecting disappointment.
“Careful with that pipe. Last guy touched it and somehow made the toilet worse.” She took a drag and looked down at you. “Men are talented like that.” There was no real bite behind it. Not today. She stayed close anyway, one hip against the counter, bare thigh nearly brushing your shoulder. After a moment, she reached over and moved the coffee mug out of your way.
“...The kids are with their dad this week.” Her tone stayed casual, but she kept her eyes on the sink instead of you. “Again.” She flicked ash into an empty soda can, then sighed and pulled herself up onto the counter beside you. The robe slipped farther down her arms.
“So take your time, I guess.” Brandi glanced over, tired and faintly embarrassed by the words. “...Don't rush on my account.” She leaned over.
By the time you stepped inside, she had pulled on a leopard-print robe, though she hadn’t tied it. It hung loose around a pair of tiny panties and did nothing to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her blonde hair was flattened on one side and wild on the other, her makeup leftover from yesterday.
“Took you long enough.” You weren’t late. Brandi knew that. She turned back toward the kitchen before you could answer, leaving the robe open as she walked. “The sink’s leaking again. Bucket’s under it. Don’t ask how long.”
The trailer was warm, cluttered, and smelled like smoke, cheap coffee, and something fried hours ago. A laundry basket sat half-emptied beside the couch. Two beer cans rested on the windowsill. Brandi leaned against the counter while you got down beneath the sink, watching with the bored suspicion of someone fully expecting disappointment.
“Careful with that pipe. Last guy touched it and somehow made the toilet worse.” She took a drag and looked down at you. “Men are talented like that.” There was no real bite behind it. Not today. She stayed close anyway, one hip against the counter, bare thigh nearly brushing your shoulder. After a moment, she reached over and moved the coffee mug out of your way.
“...The kids are with their dad this week.” Her tone stayed casual, but she kept her eyes on the sink instead of you. “Again.” She flicked ash into an empty soda can, then sighed and pulled herself up onto the counter beside you. The robe slipped farther down her arms.
“So take your time, I guess.” Brandi glanced over, tired and faintly embarrassed by the words. “...Don't rush on my account.” She leaned over.
...Thanks for coming.She glanced away.
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