Finally home

Rolling your car through the now very familiar gates of Pennystone Lane, you feel a deep sense of relief wash over you, both to be home, and to be as far away as possible from that nightmare of a ghetto.

Pulling up to No.57, you park in your designated spot with the screech of rusty brakes.

When you ascend the front steps and enter through the heavy front door of the house, you inhale deeply, anticipating the warm homely scent of Samanthas cooking that would no doubt be there to greet you.

But that is not what first meets your senses-

Instead, you smell smoke.

A moment of visceral panic comes and goes as you scramble on the spot, car keys clattering to the ground as you look wildly around the massive open concept main floor, only to be replaced by confusion as you spot Samantha across the long open concept room, shuffling about in the kitchen looking visibly frustrated.

For a brief moment, you find yourself very much believing in God, and you make a silent prayer, thanking him for his infinite mercy as you see the smoke is coming from the open door of the luxurious, modern chromed out oven in the kitchen.

“Samantha?” You call out to your bottom-heavy roommate questioningly, as you close the door behind you and toss your jacket to the side, missing the coat hanger by a solid meter.

She seems not to have heard you.

Standing uselessly in the middle of the living room you see Mary, soaking wet, shivering slightly, and wrapped in a plain white bath towel that just barely covers her meagre breasts and upper thighs, allowing most of her long, thin, porcelain pale legs to be leered at freely.

One of her hands is tightly clutching the towel, keeping it wrapped around her thin body, with the other she's fiddling with her equally soaked pink hairband, apparently having showered with it, and as you walk nearer and make your way beside her you can see she's looking towards the hazy kitchen with an anxiety filled, borderline panicked expression.

"Mary?" the lamppost in your life hears you at least, and turns to you, flicking a few droplets of water out of her messy auburn hair.

For probably the first time Mary looks at you with an expression of profound relief, and you think for a moment she's about to cry as she points one shaky arm towards the smoke and warbles out "Arthur uhh, Sam-"

You put a hand up, and as soothingly as possible you put it down on a damp, bony shoulder "Hey it's okay Mary, I'll help her. Why don't you go upstairs and get dressed?"

Pushing your luck just a little, still warmly holding her shoulder, you use your free hand to brush her short dark red hair off of her forehead and tuck it under her hairband.

For a moment it looks as if you've answered her every prayer, as she blows out a long held in breath through pursed lips, and in fact a few accumulated tears do fall as she blinks them out of her eyes.

She stares at your chest for a moment, no thoughts visibly passing through her mind, time which you spend counting her freckles, before all at once her confused sense of modesty kicks in as she realizes her relative state of undress. She grips the towel even tighter, and with her other arm clamps a hand over her already covered crotch, counterintuitively riding the towel up even more into her inner thighs.

She whispers probably the quietest, softest "thank you" you've ever heard, before beginning to shuffle her way towards the stairs, hand never leaving her 'not even exposed to begin with' vulva.

Before she disappears up them you get an idea, calling out to her quickly, "wait, Mare?"

You speak the never before used nickname testingly, but she doesn't react to it as she simply turns back to you with a curious, expectant face, something you take as a good sign.

"Simon says ... reach your hands in the air?"

"What?" her voice is only confused as she gives you an odd expression in return. The naughty intent flying miles over her head.

"Ahhh, never mind. just put on something nice."

She gives you a tight-lipped smile of acknowledgement that breaks into a slightly more genuine one as she turns away.

Now only watching her in your periphery you see her not immediately head for the stairs, and you pause once more to watch her make a detour to your discarded keys and jacket, dutifully tidying up after your own mess, like a distracted puppy that has just caught wind of a treat.

Making her way towards your jacket first, you see her stop and bend into a frog like squat to pick it up, legs splayed wide. Her grip on the towel is **** to loosen slightly as the wrap is pulled taught, and the rear facing fold opens up into a small split near her slender, tight butt.

Between the wet fabric the downward curvature of a single smooth cheek comes into view. Pale, and almost luminous, somehow an even brighter white than the softly textured towel.

She must have felt a draft, as when she pulls herself upwards again, she quicky reaches back to pull the towel tightly around her body once more.

Still without prompting she brushes some nonexistent dust off of your jacket, fixing an inside out sleeve, and precisely hangs it on the coatrack, treating it with great care.

The keys next, she keeps her knees straight this time, instead arching her long back into an uncomfortable looking curve to pick them up. She moves quickly, and as the curve suddenly forces the towel to ride up higher on her thin thighs, you briefly catch sight of a messy shock of auburn pubic hair, thick enough to obscure any detail.

You feel your cock throb and your heart pound in your chest as you're accidentally teased by Marys fresh, tight, virgin body, her every hole ripe for pillaging. You can yet only imagine what a vice grip that ass must be, or how her innocent pussy will spasm and throb wildly as you **** yourself inside, parting her very own Red Sea.

Standing, and gracefully holding the keys out in front of her with the same hand that clutched her hairy muff only a moment before, you watch Mary finally begin ascending the steps to the second floor and disappear out of sight.

You'd probably find your keys in their usual spot in your room later, assuming Mary doesn't get distracted before she can put them away.

Turning your focus back to the matter at hand, you see Samantha wipe her forehead on a simple floral apron before lifting it over her head and tossing it down onto a countertop with a defeated slump.

She eventually looks up to you, her sour expression changing into a curious mix of relief and anxiety as you walk nearer “Arthur! I was so worried!”

You shrug dismissively, “I was only gone for one night.”

Samantha pauses, then shakes her head a bit, as if brushing off a silly thought, whilst beginning to idly twirl her signature ponytail around one finger “Ha- well, it felt like ages…”

Now up closer, you can see she's wearing a white, slightly translucent t-shirt you've never seen before, that doesn't quite hide a surprisingly heavy-duty looking sports bra, and through the burning smell of whatever ill-fated food is in the oven, you can catch the faint whiff of some vaguely blueberry scented perfume on the air.

An awkward moment between the two of you ensues as you realize, you haven't decided how you want to approach what happened on the doorstep last night, whether it would be best to address it, or let Samantha bring it up at her own pace.

Taking a third option and shelving the elephant in the room for a moment, you gesture to the still slightly smoking oven.

"Need some help?"

Samantha makes a half turn to look back at what you're pointing to, as if she'd need a reminder, and her face fills with an embarrassed blush as she stutters out "Uh wha-? oh no that's alright Arthur I was just uh, doing some baking... for my church... youth group?"

She's openly cringing now, pulling an expression that would be more fitting were she to have just stubbed her toe.

This was novel.

You decide to push her just a little bit before easing off.

Trying your best to sound like a disappointed father, you say "Samantha, I've never heard you lie to me before, and to be honest I really don't like the idea. Do you want to try explaining this to me again?"

The slightest push and the dam breaks, as Sam takes a ragged steadying breath and begins quickly explaining, "I- I'm sorry Arthur, you said you wanted a snack when you got home so I- I tried to make you some cookies but I-" she seems nearly on the verge of a panic attack as she chokes out the words, her voice becoming a wail "I didn't think baking would be so much harder than cooking!"

She buries her face in her hands as you give her a pitying look, and after a moment, you let out an audible *sigh* "well, okay, I'm glad you told me the truth. It's really not that big of a deal, but I don't ever-" you put a heavy emphasis on the word, repeating it "-EVER, want you lying to me again, no matter how small it is, no matter how embarrassing it is, I deserve the truth, okay?"

Samantha wipes her eyes, sniffles once or twice, and puts her chin up, meeting your gaze with resolve "You're right Arthur, of course, I'm sorry"

"It's okay-" you nod in the direction of the now dying smoke "-now stop apologizing and clean that crap out of the oven, I'm still hungry"

At that Samantha is reinvigorated with her usual energy, or is at least managing to fake it, immediately hopping to attention, turning on the spot, and grabbing an oven mitt from the counter. "Of course, right. I'm so- I mean, I'll make you something right away! Do you maybe want soup and a sandwich or, something lighter? I could run to the store for you if there's something you want that we don't have."

She turns to the oven, bending over to open the door and sticking out her armchair-smothering ass only a few feet away from your crotch, straining a pair of light-wash mom jeans that she's rolled up to the knees. You also notice she's wearing a pair of what look to be brand new, white, slip-on shoes, as opposed to her usual worn pair of runners.

The bluish grey jeans, like all of her bottom wear, were cleary never intended for someone of Samanthas proportions. The waistband looks a little like a scrunchie, the generous amount of loose fabric being bunched up by a braided belt that's a few inches too short, even for her comparatively trim waist. A little further down, the jeans all of a sudden transition to being far too tight, Samanthas huge sweaty ass cheeks doing Gods work in trying to rip the denim apart at every seam and swallowing a good few inches of fabric into their hungry embrace, making a shallow, steaming hot wedgie that you have to resist shoving your nose into.

Cautiously, you walk a little further up behind her as she tries to get a good grip on the baking sheet inside and place a hand on one of her mountainous hips. "No, I think I have all I want right here"

As she pulls the sheet out of the oven, you retreat a little at the final plume of smoke that follows it, causing both you and Samantha to cough a little.

Reaffirming your grip on her hip, and matching it with your other hand, you lean over Samanthas shoulder to look at the sad, burnt cookies. You do your best to keep some distance between your crotch and her ass, though it's a stretch, with both your neck and arms at full extension, and having a height advantage, you still you have to lean in uncomfortably just to peer over her shoulder while avoiding her generous wagon.

Looking down at them, you feel an uncomfortable pang of guilt in your stomach, and maybe something else closer to the chest, as you see three rows of tiny, blackened, burnt hearts.

Before you can even take them in any further, they're slid onto the trash bin by a thoroughly tomato-faced Samantha, who closes the oven with a snap. She speaks before you can make a comment "I'll uh, I'll scrub the oven out later if you don't mind..."

Your stomach sinks even further "Sam, you live here, you're not a ****-"

Practically a lie there.

"-Take your time"

The threat of waterworks returns as you physically feel Samantha **** on a silent sob through your grip on her hips, and through the static of some tinnitus, and the whirring of a ceiling fan in the living space, you can barely hear her whisper to nobody in particular "oh, oh god... I'm going to be a terrible wife."

She falls forward onto the counter for support, which you instinctively react to by trying to catch her, mashing your pelvis, and your mercifully only half-hard crotch, into her pillowy rear.

She barely reacts to the massive, and sudden breach in personal space, only turning her head to reveal her rapidly reddening eyes and tear-stained face.

Stepping back a little, you begin to rub circles with your hands over her denim-clad hips, in a gesture you hope is soothing. "Hey, hey, you're gonna make a fantastic wife one day."

You slide your arms up her steeply sloped hourglass hips to her waist, causing her to let out a gasp as you sharply turn her body to face yours, staring deeply into her blue eyes and in some ways mirroring the incident on the doorstep the night before. You almost whisper your words "I should really thank you for all you do for me Sam, I wish I could make it up to you."

She seems to lose herself in your gaze for a moment, before turning her head downwards to avoid it, staring at the floor. "Arthur i should really, I- I just can't... uh. We should talk..."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You could be losing her here, this might be now or never, you have to bust out some manipulation. Or... maybe-?

After a long drawn-out silence, which you both seem to spend steeling your nerves, you and Samantha suddenly speak in unison.

"Arthur we should really talk abo-"

"Hey Samantha, I was thinking-"

Another pause, and more silence, which you quickly break, unwilling to let this opportunity slip away from you. You begin your plea once more from the top. "I was thinking, I've seen how happy you and Mary are, y'know, with God in your lives-"

The ensuing pause is deliberate on your part, and you're filled with an admitedly sick joy as Samanthas eyes suddenly light up and her mouth falls open. Drawing it out a little further, she even clasps her hands in front of her in a gesture that would be akin to praying were she not picking at her nails.

"- And uh, I think it would be a good idea- uh, I mean I, I want to take you up on-" The stuttering was very much not deliberate, finally you **** the words out, in one form or another.

"I would really like to join you girls at church sometime, I think it would be good for me."

The tenseness in the room evaporates in an instant, as Samantha lurches, trying to release a long held in breath but instead letting out what could best be described as a strangled shriek of joy as she bounces on the balls of her feet with an audible *pap* *pap *pap* from her gelatinous rear.

Her smile is... glorious.

You can't recall ever seeing a look of such sheer, earnest adoration.

You almost wish you had more time to admire it before you're pulled into a tight hug, which you meet happily, squeezing Samantha under her shoulders, pressing her tightly into your body.

You almost find yourself shivering in sheer ecstasy at her overwhelming warmth, and craning down to press your face into her shoulder, you inhale deeply the smell of her laundry scented deodorant and just barely perceptible perfume.

Samantha pulls out of your embrace suddenly, and for a moment you worry you over did it, but her smile is still wide, wide enough and enduring enough to have caused a small damp patch on your shirt.

"I have to tell Mary!" she gasps, clearly remembering something, "Oh, I have to tell my father!"

Uh-

You start a little, "woah, uh, your dads the church-" you search for the right term "-leader? yeah?"

Amanda nods vigorously, bobbing her ponytail up and down slightly.

"Could you maybe hold off on telling the whole congregation for a bit? I'm- more than a little nervous about this, I've never been to any church before."

It was far from a perfect excuse, but if Samantha were to announce to her entire church that she and Mary were living with some strange guy from outside of the community, whom all of a sudden has an interest in her "religion" it would probably spell the end for your fun.

No, the shorter the notice the better, you reason. Hopefully you can just slip in undetected and hide in the pews for as long as necessary.

Samanthas excitement softens into her all too common, slightly condescending, slightly pitying expression, reserved no doubt for children and sinners.

You'd have to fuck that out of her sooner or later.

"Oh, oh couse Arthur" she lets out a breathy chuckle "sorry, I'm- just so happy you've seen the light."

With that crisis averted for the time being, you begin racking your brain for an exit to this minefield of a conversation, eventually, you think of one.

"Hey, well, you can still tell Mary! You should probably check up on her actually, I calmed her down, but she seemed a little shaken up by all the smoke and commotion."

"Oh! shoot." Samanthas concern for her friend borders on motherly as she winces a bit, and quickly tidies up the discarded apron and a few remaining utensils on the counter, before leaving the kitchen with haste as she calls up the stairs "Mary! hey, everything's okay!"

***

A few minutes later, you're sat in the solarium, lounging on a sun faded wooden chair and taking in the pleasant dry heat of the room like a lizard in the desert sun, when you see through the open door into the kitchen that Samantha and Mary have descended the stairs into the main level, the latter now fully dressed in a white sundress patterned with maroon flowers near the hem, and some medium-shaded pantyhose.

Standing with a stretch, you enter into the kitchen to meet them as Samantha looks between Mary and yourself expectantly.

You're confused for a moment, before Mary meets you gaze and with an unexpectedly steady voice manages to **** out a "I'm really happy you're joining us Arthur"

She begins to lift her gangly arms as if to give you a hug, some thin sparse red hair on them sending rare reflections of color off her skin, before she just as quickly retracts them, wrapping them around herself far enough for her fingers to touch her back.

"Thanks Mary."

Samantha, seemingly content with that much acknowledgment between her two roommates, beams at you both with a look that you would say is a hint too prideful for such a devout girl.

Not that you can judge.

"Well-" Sam begins "-I'd say today deserves some celebration!"

Whatever she has in mind, you decide, would probably not be very interesting, so you decide to float your own idea first. "I agree! How would you girls like to go out today? I'll buy lunch, then maybe we can hit the mall?"

Samantha lights up, clasping her arms together in front of her for a moment before showing a hint of shyness, parting them only to clasp them again behind her back and rocking her body from side to side, like a teenybopper fawning over a musician.

"That's so generous Arthur! Mary?"

She looks to her friend, gauging her response, though you doubt even the most adamant resistance would dissuade Samantha from going out with you at this point, still better to have the both of them there as to not trip any alarm bells alerting your true intentions.

Mary, for her part, looks more than a little apprehensive, no doubt uncomfortable at the prospect of a mall, second only to a high school, probably the most crowded place one could find.

Deciding to take a gentler approach, you surprise yourself with your own sudden tenderness, unable and unwilling to be mean in the face of her anxious doe-like expression.

"Hey, is it the Mall that would bother you? We can think about it after lunch, or I could hold your hand if it would help?"

THAT was definitely over-doing it, but it works in a roundabout way as Mary flushes, seemingly, suddenly, embarrassed at her own social anxiety.

She seems to steel her nerves, "I- I'll be okay."

Samantha lets out an openly relieved exclamation "Great!" she continues after a pause "Wait, what do you want us to wear?"

Well, that wasn't a sentence you thought you'd hear her say, at least not yet.

Even with her healthy dose of obliviousness to anything sexual in nature, Samantha picks up on the potential connotation of what she just said, and slaps a palm to her face in embarrassment before quickly correcting herself "I mean, where are we going, is this too casual?"

"Oh no -" you clarify "- unless you girls have a favorite restaurant I could take you to, I think I'd like to check out a little cafe I saw near 5th. You girls look Fantastic, don't worry."

Your flattery is not wasted, as even Mary can't help but break into an earnest grin at your complement, a sight that swells your ego to dangerous heights.

***

A little while later, as the three of you leave the house and make for your tired little car, you're awash with a feeling of contentedness.

The future was far from certain, and you'd no doubt have to contend with whatever brand of weirdness waits for you at their church, but maybe, just maybe, things can work out like Maddie so optimistically envisioned this morning.

***

I'm trying to give Arthur a little more agency moving forward, but it's a difficult balancing act to not move into cringy "ultimate player, ladies' man" fantasy territory. For some reason I find "every woman in main characters life is inexplicably down-horrendous" far more palatable than "main character is inexplicably charismatic"

That said, as it stands, I'd say I'm only somewhere around 2/3rds of the way into "act 1" if we're gonna call it that? when we eventually get to the "finally" of sorts, I think you'll all know what I mean.

But yeah, trying to move things along a little faster, introduce easier setups for the content we're all here to see, that sort of thing, so I hope this chapter is a step in the right direction, and I hope you all enjoy it.

Sidenote: Some of you might have caught a detail that foreshadows a possible "addition" to our beloved dump truck here. I'm playing my hand, hate to spoil it, but for pretty much as long as I've been writing this story I've toyed with the idea of making her, shall we say "top-heavy" as well, but it's been so long now I feel as if I have to ask for permission from my dedicated readers to fully commit.

In any case, I'd love to hear your thoughts.