03-03-2026, 07:35 PM
Chapter 3: Under Their Rules
It’s late evening by the time I get out of bed. I’m on my way to the bathroom when a door opens and a wave of steam spills into the hallway.
Mia steps out, towel wrapped around her hair, another knotted loosely between her breasts, the swell of them pressing against the damp cloth. A single droplet slides from her collarbone, down the soft rise of one breast, vanishing into the knot. I don’t know where to look, caught between shock and an unexpected sense of awe. Her skin glows faintly pink from the heat, a few damp strands of hair sticking to her neck. In that moment, I can't help but realize just how striking Mia truly is.
For a second we just stand there, and my heart races. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of the air, the floral scent lingering as if it’s wrapping around me, drawing me closer.
She laughs softly, adjusting the towel. “Oh – hey. Didn’t expect to bump into you already.”
“Sorry!” I blurt out.
For a second we just stand there, the narrow hallway filled with warmth and scent. Then she smiles, slips past me, and disappears into her room.
The door clicks shut, but the scent lingers – soft, clean, impossible to ignore. I shake off the moment and step into the bathroom. The mirror’s fogged, the air still warm. I take a quick shower, trying not to think too much, just letting the water wake me up.
When I’m done, the flat feels quiet again. I grab my jacket and step outside for a walk.
The street’s busier now – soft evening light, cafés filling up, people talking in small groups. A couple walks past laughing, hands tucked into each other’s coats. Two girls ride by on bikes, scarves fluttering. Somewhere down the block, music spills from a bar.
I wander for a while, not really going anywhere. Everyone seems to belong somewhere; I’m the only one just passing through.
When I get back, the smell of food hits me before I even open the door. Something warm and garlicky. Sophie and Mia are at the table, plates already set.
“Hey,” Mia says, looking up. “We made extra. You can join us if you want.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” Sophie says. “You’re part of the flat now.”
I smile, take the empty chair, and sit down.
We eat quietly for a while, the clatter of cutlery filling the gaps between small talk. The food’s simple – pasta, vegetables, something with garlic – but it’s comforting, a reminder that I’m not alone in this new place.
Halfway through, Sophie sets her fork down. “You’ll learn how we live with time,” she says, voice calm and even. “We can’t list everything tonight. But there are a few basics you should know as you start.”
She looks at Mia, then at me. “The first one’s the bathroom.”
“There’s only one,” Mia adds. “And we all start early.”
Sophie nods. “I’m usually in there around six-thirty. Mia and I mostly use it together to save time – one brushing, one showering. It works for us.”
I nod slowly, not sure what to say.
Sophie continues, “But that won’t really work with you. That’s why we wanted a female tenant. We needed someone who can fit into our routine, to keep things running smoothly. Anyways, let’s do this: we’ll be done by about seven-fifteen. You can have it after that.”
“Yeah, that should be fine,” I say quickly.
“Good.” She smiles, polite but firm.
Mia glances at the small laundry rack by the window. “Oh, before I forget. Laundry.”
I look up. “Laundry?”
She nods. “We only have one machine, so we share the cycles. It keeps things simple.”
Sophie adds, “Three loads a week. Monday is delicates, Wednesday whites, Friday colors. One of us takes responsibility for each day – loads it, runs it, hangs it.”
Mia grins. “We’ll rotate, but it’s probably best if you take the delicates day next round. We’d rather not handle your “stuff”.”
“Sure,” I say quickly. “Whatever works.”
Sophie gives a small approving nod. “Good. It’s not a big deal, just about keeping things organized.”
Once we finish eating, they move on to stacking plates and wiping the counter, and I stand there for a second, wondering how many more rules I haven’t heard yet.
When the dishes are done, Mia leans against the counter. “Okay, next thing. Food.”
I brace myself, half-smiling. “There are rules for that too?”
She laughs. “Not rules, just logic. The kitchen’s small. If all three of us start cooking separate meals, it turns into chaos.”
Sophie nods. “So we take turns. Whoever cooks, cooks for everyone. The others clean up.”
“That sounds fair,” I say. “I can cook a bit.”
Mia smiles. “Good. Then we’ll expect something American when it’s your turn.”
I grin. “Mac and cheese it is.”
They both laugh, the atmosphere lighter again. For a moment, it feels like a normal shared flat – three people figuring things out. But underneath, there’s still that quiet awareness: I’m the one adjusting to them, not the other way around.
“Oh, one more thing,” Sophie adds. “The keys.”
I pause. “Keys?”
“The flat currently has only two sets,” Sophie explains. “Claudia says she’ll get a third soon, but until then, you’ll need to adjust.”
She continues , “We work from home a few days a week, so one of us is usually at home during the day. But you’ll have to be home by ten. After that we do not like to be disturbed.”
I blink. “Ten?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Sophie says evenly. “You start early anyways.”
Mia smiles, almost apologetic. “Berlin nightlife will have to wait, okay?”
I laugh a little, though it feels like the only right answer. “Sure. No problem. It’s temporary.”
Sophie nods, satisfied. “Good. Then we’re settled.”
The conversation drifts back to lighter topics, but I keep hearing her voice in my head.
You’ll have to be home by ten.
I can’t help but wonder what else lies ahead in this new living arrangement.
Chapter 4: A Strange Comfort
The alarm goes off at six-thirty, and for a moment I forget where I am. Then I hear the sound of water running – the shower, voices, a hairdryer. Right. The bathroom.
I wait, half dressed, checking the time every few minutes. Seven-ten. Seven-fifteen. I grab my towel and step into the hallway just as the door opens.
Sophie comes out, wrapped in a towel that clings to her curves, accentuating her tall, graceful figure. Her dark-blonde hair is damp and tousled, framing her face beautifully. She looks effortlessly elegant.
“All yours,” she says easily, walking past me.
I nod, trying to sound awake. “Thanks.”
I can’t help but feel a rush of luck at sharing a flat with two young, beautiful women. Not everyone gets that chance, and here I am, caught in a moment that feels almost surreal.
Inside, the mirror’s fogged, the air warm and sweet with the smell of shampoo. I have twenty minutes before I have to leave. I brush, shave, shower faster than I ever have in my life, nearly slipping twice.
By the time I’m dressed, it’s already seven-thirty-five. No time for breakfast.
I grab my bag, jog down the stairs, and step out into the sharp morning air. The street’s quiet except for the sound of trams. I half jog, half walk to the station, catch the U-Bahn with seconds to spare, and finally sink into a seat, heart still racing.
I reach the training center at exactly eight, breathless, the automatic doors sliding open just as the clock above them flips from 7:59. A small victory.
Inside, the place smells faintly of polished floors, fresh paper, and coffee. Rows of lockers line one wall, and a long corridor stretches ahead, covered in posters of smiling employees in bright uniforms, all promising a future that suddenly feels very close. A sign points to Ausbildung Seminarraum 3.
When I step in, nearly everyone’s already there, maybe twenty people. Most of them German, chatting in fast bursts I can half follow, but there are others too: a girl from Turkey, a guy from Poland, someone from Ghana. I catch a few English words here and there, enough to feel less alone.
A woman at the front – mid-forties, confident smile – claps her hands. “Guten Morgen zusammen!” The group answers in unison. I join in half a second late, but no one notices.
She introduces herself as Frau Schneider, the instructor, and starts explaining how the first week will work: safety briefing, store orientation, scheduling. It’s a lot, but her voice is warm, and for the first time in days, I stop thinking about money, rent, or other problems.
During the short break, a tall guy named Leon offers me coffee. “First day?” he asks in English.
“Yeah. You too?”
He nods. “Same. Don’t worry, it gets easier.”
We laugh, and it feels good – normal.
By the end of the day, my head’s spinning with rules, names, and German phrases, but I’m smiling. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt part of something.
The first day ends around four. Frau Schneider thanks everyone, hands out a small folder with our weekly schedule, and wishes us a “schönen Feierabend.”
No one leaves right away. People hang back, chatting in little groups. Leon waves me over, and soon I’m standing with him, the girl from Turkey named Ayla, and a guy named Jonas from Hamburg.
We talk about where we’re all from, which stores we’ll be placed in, how confusing the German paperwork was. Someone jokes about the free uniform shirts being two sizes too big for everyone. It feels easy. The kind of conversation that fills silence without effort.
By the time I finally leave, it’s close to five. The air outside has that late-afternoon glow, the city humming softly. I walk for a bit instead of going straight to the U-Bahn. As I walk, I watch cyclists stream past, people heading home, the sound of trams and laughter from cafés. Berlin feels huge and alive, and I’m excited to be a part of it.
The U-Bahn is crowded, warm, the metal poles sticky from too many hands. I ride seven stops, then step out near home. The walk back is quiet. Lights in the windows, the air cooler now.
When I reach the flat, I pat my pockets before I even realize what I’m doing.
No key.
For a second I just stand there, hand hovering over the handle like it might magically open. Then I press the doorbell.
It rings once, sharp in the quiet hallway. A few seconds later, the door clicks and opens. Sophie stands there, hair tied back, jacket on, keys in hand.
“Oh,” she says, surprised but smiling. “You came just in time. Mia’s still at the office, and I was about to head out.”
“Lucky me,” I say, stepping inside. “What would’ve happened if I’d missed you?”
She shrugs lightly. “Then you’d have to wait, or give one of us a call. If we’re nearby, you can meet us and pick up the key. There’s no other way for now.”
I nod, trying to keep my tone casual. “Right.”
She slips her shoes on. “It’s only temporary. Claudia will sort it out soon.”
“Sure,” I say, but it still feels strange, like even coming home isn’t completely mine anymore.
She nods and continues. “Oh, and before I forget, it’s laundry day. We’ve already put our delicates in the machine. You just need to add yours and start the cycle.”
“Got it.”
“Good. See you later, Ethan.”
“Yeah. See you.”
She smiles quickly and leaves, locking the door behind her.
The flat feels suddenly quiet. I drop my bag, grab the small pile of underwear I have – just from the last two days – and add them to the machine. I press start, listening to the hum fill the silence.
For a moment I wonder about the rest of my clothes – the shirts, the jeans. I don’t have many. Cleaning them only once a week will be tight, but I’ll figure it out.
I always do.
***
It’s getting dark when I hear the door unlock.
Mia steps in, shaking the cold off her coat. “Hey,” she says, dropping her bag by the wall. “What’s for dinner?”
I blink from the couch. “Dinner?”
She glances at the kitchen, then back at me. “Yeah. It’s your night, right?”
“Oh – uh, I didn’t know it was my turn today. Sorry.”
Her expression softens, but there’s still a trace of disapproval. “No big deal. Just throw something together. Pasta, maybe? There’s sauce in the cupboard.”
“Okay.”
I move to the kitchen, open cupboards that feel unfamiliar. The shelves are lined with neat jars, labelled in German. I find the pasta, fill a pot, try to look confident.
Mia’s already changed, wearing a relaxed tank top that dbangs over her figure, highlighting her slim waist and gently defined shoulders. The fabric is soft and casual, revealing a small glimpse of her midriff, and her shorts sit low on her hips, showing off her legs and the subtle curve of her thighs.
She scrolls through her phone at the table, completely at ease, and the sight hits me harder than I expect – a sudden rush of admiration and something warm, almost electric, tightening in my chest.
I look away quickly before she notices me staring. The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable. They didn’t want a guy in this flat to begin with, and if I give them even one reason to feel uneasy, I’ll be out the moment these three months are over.
By the time the pasta’s boiling, the washing machine clicks off and falls silent. I’m stirring the sauce when Mia looks up from her phone.
“That’s your cue,” she says. “Go ahead and hang the laundry before it wrinkles.”
I wipe my hands and open the washer. The clothes are still damp. Mia comes over, carrying a folding rack from the corner.
“Here,” she says, unfolding it neatly. “Hang them on this. You can’t just pile them; they need air to dry.”
I pull out the delicates, feeling the warmth of the damp fabric in my hands. Among the pieces, I find an array of lingerie that makes my pulse quicken – a colorful assortment that feels both intimate and tantalizing.
I spot a lacy black thong with delicate straps, barely leaving anything to the imagination. Embarrassment washes over me as Mia teaches me how to smooth it flat before dbanging it over the bars, her casual demeanor only heightening my awareness of the moment.
Next, I pick up a soft pink bra with invitingly curved cups, its lace trim adding an alluring touch. A deep purple bralette lies nestled in the pile, its sheer material teasingly hinting at what it hides beneath. I also find a set of matching emerald green panties, the fabric slipping through my fingers like silk and igniting a rush of conflicting emotions.
As I hang each piece on the rack, my heart races with an awareness I can’t ignore. The intimate nature of the garments heightens my senses, stirring a mix of curiosity and embarrassment. The thought of these delicate items belonging to either of my flatmates makes me acutely aware of their femininity, and I can’t help but wonder about the moments they might wear them.
I try to focus on the task at hand, but the sight of the lingerie sparks an unwanted heat in me, making it hard to concentrate. There’s something thrilling about being so close to their private lives, and a heat creeps up my cheeks as I hang the last piece, caught in the tension of this new reality.
I’m taken aback by how at ease Mia is with me handling their most intimate belongings, casually guiding me through the process as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
When we’re done, she steps back to check. “Good. It’ll dry by morning. Just don’t open the window tonight, it’s too cold.”
“Got it.”
She gives a quick approving smile, then goes back to the table.
I glance at the rack once more, my simple underwear mixed in with their delicate bras and panties, an intimate collection that feels strangely personal.
By the time the laundry’s done and the pasta’s ready, the flat smells warm again – tomato sauce, detergent, and a hint of something floral from the drying rack.
The door opens, and Sophie steps in, cheeks pink from the cold.
“Smells good,” she says, setting down her bag. “I see you survived your first cooking turn.”
Mia grins. “Barely. But he managed.”
I laugh, handing them plates. “I can handle pasta. Anything more complicated, we’ll see.”
We sit at the small table, and for a while it feels easy. They ask about my first day – how the people were, what the training was like, whether I liked the place.
I tell them about Leon, about the instructor, about getting lost in the building once and pretending I meant to be there. They laugh at that.
It’s comfortable – real conversation, not small talk.
And yet, under it, there’s that same careful rhythm: Sophie pouring water for everyone before herself, Mia wiping the counter as we eat, both of them moving in quiet sync.
They’re kind, and even playful, but underneath it all there’s a strict precision. Everything has a place, and they make sure it stays there.
When we finish, Mia stacks the plates. “Tomorrow’s my cooking day,” she says. “You can relax.”
“Good,” I say, smiling. “I’ll need it.”
They both smile back, and for a second I almost forget the locked door, the schedule, the curfew.
Almost.
It’s late evening by the time I get out of bed. I’m on my way to the bathroom when a door opens and a wave of steam spills into the hallway.
Mia steps out, towel wrapped around her hair, another knotted loosely between her breasts, the swell of them pressing against the damp cloth. A single droplet slides from her collarbone, down the soft rise of one breast, vanishing into the knot. I don’t know where to look, caught between shock and an unexpected sense of awe. Her skin glows faintly pink from the heat, a few damp strands of hair sticking to her neck. In that moment, I can't help but realize just how striking Mia truly is.
For a second we just stand there, and my heart races. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of the air, the floral scent lingering as if it’s wrapping around me, drawing me closer.
She laughs softly, adjusting the towel. “Oh – hey. Didn’t expect to bump into you already.”
“Sorry!” I blurt out.
For a second we just stand there, the narrow hallway filled with warmth and scent. Then she smiles, slips past me, and disappears into her room.
The door clicks shut, but the scent lingers – soft, clean, impossible to ignore. I shake off the moment and step into the bathroom. The mirror’s fogged, the air still warm. I take a quick shower, trying not to think too much, just letting the water wake me up.
When I’m done, the flat feels quiet again. I grab my jacket and step outside for a walk.
The street’s busier now – soft evening light, cafés filling up, people talking in small groups. A couple walks past laughing, hands tucked into each other’s coats. Two girls ride by on bikes, scarves fluttering. Somewhere down the block, music spills from a bar.
I wander for a while, not really going anywhere. Everyone seems to belong somewhere; I’m the only one just passing through.
When I get back, the smell of food hits me before I even open the door. Something warm and garlicky. Sophie and Mia are at the table, plates already set.
“Hey,” Mia says, looking up. “We made extra. You can join us if you want.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” Sophie says. “You’re part of the flat now.”
I smile, take the empty chair, and sit down.
We eat quietly for a while, the clatter of cutlery filling the gaps between small talk. The food’s simple – pasta, vegetables, something with garlic – but it’s comforting, a reminder that I’m not alone in this new place.
Halfway through, Sophie sets her fork down. “You’ll learn how we live with time,” she says, voice calm and even. “We can’t list everything tonight. But there are a few basics you should know as you start.”
She looks at Mia, then at me. “The first one’s the bathroom.”
“There’s only one,” Mia adds. “And we all start early.”
Sophie nods. “I’m usually in there around six-thirty. Mia and I mostly use it together to save time – one brushing, one showering. It works for us.”
I nod slowly, not sure what to say.
Sophie continues, “But that won’t really work with you. That’s why we wanted a female tenant. We needed someone who can fit into our routine, to keep things running smoothly. Anyways, let’s do this: we’ll be done by about seven-fifteen. You can have it after that.”
“Yeah, that should be fine,” I say quickly.
“Good.” She smiles, polite but firm.
Mia glances at the small laundry rack by the window. “Oh, before I forget. Laundry.”
I look up. “Laundry?”
She nods. “We only have one machine, so we share the cycles. It keeps things simple.”
Sophie adds, “Three loads a week. Monday is delicates, Wednesday whites, Friday colors. One of us takes responsibility for each day – loads it, runs it, hangs it.”
Mia grins. “We’ll rotate, but it’s probably best if you take the delicates day next round. We’d rather not handle your “stuff”.”
“Sure,” I say quickly. “Whatever works.”
Sophie gives a small approving nod. “Good. It’s not a big deal, just about keeping things organized.”
Once we finish eating, they move on to stacking plates and wiping the counter, and I stand there for a second, wondering how many more rules I haven’t heard yet.
When the dishes are done, Mia leans against the counter. “Okay, next thing. Food.”
I brace myself, half-smiling. “There are rules for that too?”
She laughs. “Not rules, just logic. The kitchen’s small. If all three of us start cooking separate meals, it turns into chaos.”
Sophie nods. “So we take turns. Whoever cooks, cooks for everyone. The others clean up.”
“That sounds fair,” I say. “I can cook a bit.”
Mia smiles. “Good. Then we’ll expect something American when it’s your turn.”
I grin. “Mac and cheese it is.”
They both laugh, the atmosphere lighter again. For a moment, it feels like a normal shared flat – three people figuring things out. But underneath, there’s still that quiet awareness: I’m the one adjusting to them, not the other way around.
“Oh, one more thing,” Sophie adds. “The keys.”
I pause. “Keys?”
“The flat currently has only two sets,” Sophie explains. “Claudia says she’ll get a third soon, but until then, you’ll need to adjust.”
She continues , “We work from home a few days a week, so one of us is usually at home during the day. But you’ll have to be home by ten. After that we do not like to be disturbed.”
I blink. “Ten?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Sophie says evenly. “You start early anyways.”
Mia smiles, almost apologetic. “Berlin nightlife will have to wait, okay?”
I laugh a little, though it feels like the only right answer. “Sure. No problem. It’s temporary.”
Sophie nods, satisfied. “Good. Then we’re settled.”
The conversation drifts back to lighter topics, but I keep hearing her voice in my head.
You’ll have to be home by ten.
I can’t help but wonder what else lies ahead in this new living arrangement.
Chapter 4: A Strange Comfort
The alarm goes off at six-thirty, and for a moment I forget where I am. Then I hear the sound of water running – the shower, voices, a hairdryer. Right. The bathroom.
I wait, half dressed, checking the time every few minutes. Seven-ten. Seven-fifteen. I grab my towel and step into the hallway just as the door opens.
Sophie comes out, wrapped in a towel that clings to her curves, accentuating her tall, graceful figure. Her dark-blonde hair is damp and tousled, framing her face beautifully. She looks effortlessly elegant.
“All yours,” she says easily, walking past me.
I nod, trying to sound awake. “Thanks.”
I can’t help but feel a rush of luck at sharing a flat with two young, beautiful women. Not everyone gets that chance, and here I am, caught in a moment that feels almost surreal.
Inside, the mirror’s fogged, the air warm and sweet with the smell of shampoo. I have twenty minutes before I have to leave. I brush, shave, shower faster than I ever have in my life, nearly slipping twice.
By the time I’m dressed, it’s already seven-thirty-five. No time for breakfast.
I grab my bag, jog down the stairs, and step out into the sharp morning air. The street’s quiet except for the sound of trams. I half jog, half walk to the station, catch the U-Bahn with seconds to spare, and finally sink into a seat, heart still racing.
I reach the training center at exactly eight, breathless, the automatic doors sliding open just as the clock above them flips from 7:59. A small victory.
Inside, the place smells faintly of polished floors, fresh paper, and coffee. Rows of lockers line one wall, and a long corridor stretches ahead, covered in posters of smiling employees in bright uniforms, all promising a future that suddenly feels very close. A sign points to Ausbildung Seminarraum 3.
When I step in, nearly everyone’s already there, maybe twenty people. Most of them German, chatting in fast bursts I can half follow, but there are others too: a girl from Turkey, a guy from Poland, someone from Ghana. I catch a few English words here and there, enough to feel less alone.
A woman at the front – mid-forties, confident smile – claps her hands. “Guten Morgen zusammen!” The group answers in unison. I join in half a second late, but no one notices.
She introduces herself as Frau Schneider, the instructor, and starts explaining how the first week will work: safety briefing, store orientation, scheduling. It’s a lot, but her voice is warm, and for the first time in days, I stop thinking about money, rent, or other problems.
During the short break, a tall guy named Leon offers me coffee. “First day?” he asks in English.
“Yeah. You too?”
He nods. “Same. Don’t worry, it gets easier.”
We laugh, and it feels good – normal.
By the end of the day, my head’s spinning with rules, names, and German phrases, but I’m smiling. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt part of something.
The first day ends around four. Frau Schneider thanks everyone, hands out a small folder with our weekly schedule, and wishes us a “schönen Feierabend.”
No one leaves right away. People hang back, chatting in little groups. Leon waves me over, and soon I’m standing with him, the girl from Turkey named Ayla, and a guy named Jonas from Hamburg.
We talk about where we’re all from, which stores we’ll be placed in, how confusing the German paperwork was. Someone jokes about the free uniform shirts being two sizes too big for everyone. It feels easy. The kind of conversation that fills silence without effort.
By the time I finally leave, it’s close to five. The air outside has that late-afternoon glow, the city humming softly. I walk for a bit instead of going straight to the U-Bahn. As I walk, I watch cyclists stream past, people heading home, the sound of trams and laughter from cafés. Berlin feels huge and alive, and I’m excited to be a part of it.
The U-Bahn is crowded, warm, the metal poles sticky from too many hands. I ride seven stops, then step out near home. The walk back is quiet. Lights in the windows, the air cooler now.
When I reach the flat, I pat my pockets before I even realize what I’m doing.
No key.
For a second I just stand there, hand hovering over the handle like it might magically open. Then I press the doorbell.
It rings once, sharp in the quiet hallway. A few seconds later, the door clicks and opens. Sophie stands there, hair tied back, jacket on, keys in hand.
“Oh,” she says, surprised but smiling. “You came just in time. Mia’s still at the office, and I was about to head out.”
“Lucky me,” I say, stepping inside. “What would’ve happened if I’d missed you?”
She shrugs lightly. “Then you’d have to wait, or give one of us a call. If we’re nearby, you can meet us and pick up the key. There’s no other way for now.”
I nod, trying to keep my tone casual. “Right.”
She slips her shoes on. “It’s only temporary. Claudia will sort it out soon.”
“Sure,” I say, but it still feels strange, like even coming home isn’t completely mine anymore.
She nods and continues. “Oh, and before I forget, it’s laundry day. We’ve already put our delicates in the machine. You just need to add yours and start the cycle.”
“Got it.”
“Good. See you later, Ethan.”
“Yeah. See you.”
She smiles quickly and leaves, locking the door behind her.
The flat feels suddenly quiet. I drop my bag, grab the small pile of underwear I have – just from the last two days – and add them to the machine. I press start, listening to the hum fill the silence.
For a moment I wonder about the rest of my clothes – the shirts, the jeans. I don’t have many. Cleaning them only once a week will be tight, but I’ll figure it out.
I always do.
***
It’s getting dark when I hear the door unlock.
Mia steps in, shaking the cold off her coat. “Hey,” she says, dropping her bag by the wall. “What’s for dinner?”
I blink from the couch. “Dinner?”
She glances at the kitchen, then back at me. “Yeah. It’s your night, right?”
“Oh – uh, I didn’t know it was my turn today. Sorry.”
Her expression softens, but there’s still a trace of disapproval. “No big deal. Just throw something together. Pasta, maybe? There’s sauce in the cupboard.”
“Okay.”
I move to the kitchen, open cupboards that feel unfamiliar. The shelves are lined with neat jars, labelled in German. I find the pasta, fill a pot, try to look confident.
Mia’s already changed, wearing a relaxed tank top that dbangs over her figure, highlighting her slim waist and gently defined shoulders. The fabric is soft and casual, revealing a small glimpse of her midriff, and her shorts sit low on her hips, showing off her legs and the subtle curve of her thighs.
She scrolls through her phone at the table, completely at ease, and the sight hits me harder than I expect – a sudden rush of admiration and something warm, almost electric, tightening in my chest.
I look away quickly before she notices me staring. The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable. They didn’t want a guy in this flat to begin with, and if I give them even one reason to feel uneasy, I’ll be out the moment these three months are over.
By the time the pasta’s boiling, the washing machine clicks off and falls silent. I’m stirring the sauce when Mia looks up from her phone.
“That’s your cue,” she says. “Go ahead and hang the laundry before it wrinkles.”
I wipe my hands and open the washer. The clothes are still damp. Mia comes over, carrying a folding rack from the corner.
“Here,” she says, unfolding it neatly. “Hang them on this. You can’t just pile them; they need air to dry.”
I pull out the delicates, feeling the warmth of the damp fabric in my hands. Among the pieces, I find an array of lingerie that makes my pulse quicken – a colorful assortment that feels both intimate and tantalizing.
I spot a lacy black thong with delicate straps, barely leaving anything to the imagination. Embarrassment washes over me as Mia teaches me how to smooth it flat before dbanging it over the bars, her casual demeanor only heightening my awareness of the moment.
Next, I pick up a soft pink bra with invitingly curved cups, its lace trim adding an alluring touch. A deep purple bralette lies nestled in the pile, its sheer material teasingly hinting at what it hides beneath. I also find a set of matching emerald green panties, the fabric slipping through my fingers like silk and igniting a rush of conflicting emotions.
As I hang each piece on the rack, my heart races with an awareness I can’t ignore. The intimate nature of the garments heightens my senses, stirring a mix of curiosity and embarrassment. The thought of these delicate items belonging to either of my flatmates makes me acutely aware of their femininity, and I can’t help but wonder about the moments they might wear them.
I try to focus on the task at hand, but the sight of the lingerie sparks an unwanted heat in me, making it hard to concentrate. There’s something thrilling about being so close to their private lives, and a heat creeps up my cheeks as I hang the last piece, caught in the tension of this new reality.
I’m taken aback by how at ease Mia is with me handling their most intimate belongings, casually guiding me through the process as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
When we’re done, she steps back to check. “Good. It’ll dry by morning. Just don’t open the window tonight, it’s too cold.”
“Got it.”
She gives a quick approving smile, then goes back to the table.
I glance at the rack once more, my simple underwear mixed in with their delicate bras and panties, an intimate collection that feels strangely personal.
By the time the laundry’s done and the pasta’s ready, the flat smells warm again – tomato sauce, detergent, and a hint of something floral from the drying rack.
The door opens, and Sophie steps in, cheeks pink from the cold.
“Smells good,” she says, setting down her bag. “I see you survived your first cooking turn.”
Mia grins. “Barely. But he managed.”
I laugh, handing them plates. “I can handle pasta. Anything more complicated, we’ll see.”
We sit at the small table, and for a while it feels easy. They ask about my first day – how the people were, what the training was like, whether I liked the place.
I tell them about Leon, about the instructor, about getting lost in the building once and pretending I meant to be there. They laugh at that.
It’s comfortable – real conversation, not small talk.
And yet, under it, there’s that same careful rhythm: Sophie pouring water for everyone before herself, Mia wiping the counter as we eat, both of them moving in quiet sync.
They’re kind, and even playful, but underneath it all there’s a strict precision. Everything has a place, and they make sure it stays there.
When we finish, Mia stacks the plates. “Tomorrow’s my cooking day,” she says. “You can relax.”
“Good,” I say, smiling. “I’ll need it.”
They both smile back, and for a second I almost forget the locked door, the schedule, the curfew.
Almost.
Experienced Bull.Techie by Profession and Bull by Passion.BDSM is my Obsession.Enjoying being a DOM
Ass Lover|Doggy Style|Taller Women| Biting the hell out
Interested in discussions related to BDSM, Cuckoldry,Polygamy, Forced Sex
For any personalized discussion ping me in Hangout-apply2dreams
Ass Lover|Doggy Style|Taller Women| Biting the hell out
Interested in discussions related to BDSM, Cuckoldry,Polygamy, Forced Sex
For any personalized discussion ping me in Hangout-apply2dreams
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)