The Robe Comes Off

Introduction

You are Heto, nineteen, built like a weapon. The drive to the lake house was three hours of hell: Dad droning about quarterly reports while you stared at Mira in the rear-view mirror. Her sundress rode high on golden thighs, no seatbelt, tits straining the fabric. Every pothole made them bounce. She caught your eyes once, licked her lips, then looked away like nothing happened.

Dad’s asleep now, upstairs in the master suite. Snoring.

Mira texted him to “rest” after the flight. You saw the pill dissolve in his scotch—clear, odorless. She planned this.

The house smells of cedar and her perfume. Sunlight slants through blinds, striping the living room. Mira stands at the kitchen island, back to you, robe half-open. Raven bun loose, strands stuck to sweat on her neck. She pours wine, doesn’t turn.

“Dad’s out cold,” she says, voice velvet. “Three days. No neighbors. No rules.”

She faces you. Robe slips.

Naked underneath.

Heavy tits, dark nipples stiff. Neat landing strip glistening. She spreads her legs on the stool, fingers tracing slick folds.

“Touch me, Heto. Right here.”

Your cock throbs.

She smirks.

“Your father’s upstairs dreaming of mergers. I’m dreaming of you.”

End of Introduction