Chapter 3: Daily Routine + First Oral

Next weekday morning unfolded with the same practiced rhythm that once felt safe. From the top of the stairs I watched Dad lean in at the front door, giving Lauren a quick kiss on the cheek while murmuring something about a late meeting. She smiled up at him in her robe, dark hair still loose from sleep, waving as his car pulled away. The moment the door clicked shut my stomach twisted—not with guilt exactly, but with the sharp, electric awareness that the house now belonged to us in a way it never had before. Yesterday’s hand on her bare hip, the sharp crack of my palm, the warm splash of my release across her sports bra ... it all replayed in vivid flashes while I tried to eat cereal like a normal person.

My phone buzzed at one o’clock sharp. Lauren’s text: Workout at 2:30. New rules today. Don’t be late.

The hours crawled. I paced my room, cock thickening at random intervals every time I remembered the slick heat of her palm, the way her eyes had locked on mine while she tasted me. By 2:25 I was downstairs in nothing but basketball shorts, heart knocking against my ribs.

Lauren stepped into the living room wearing something new—brand-new black yoga leggings that looked almost ordinary from the front until she turned. The crotch was cut away in a precise, teasing slit that framed her smooth pussy lips and the lower curve of her ass perfectly, the soft edges of fabric brushing her skin like an invitation. The same tight sports bra hugged her chest, nipples already faintly outlined. Her dark hair was pulled into a fresh ponytail, cheeks carrying that nervous-excited flush I was starting to crave.

She motioned me to the couch first. “From now on, every weekday while your father is gone, this is our time. You spot me naked. No clothes on you at all. Understand?”

The command landed low in my gut. I stripped right there, shorts dropping to my ankles, cock springing free already heavy and half-hard. She smiled slowly, eyes tracing the length of me. “Good. Now help me set this up.”

From under the couch she pulled a small cardboard box. Inside was a thick, realistic suction-cup dildo—flesh-toned, veined, with a sturdy base that screwed directly onto the saddle. She fitted it in place with quick, practiced twists, explaining in that soft trainer voice, “This makes it feel more ... real.” My pulse hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat.