Her name is Laura Harper.

She’s the kind of woman who keeps her house perfectly organized: books aligned by color, fresh flowers on the kitchen table, her child’s drawings framed neatly in the hallway. She’s smart, careful, precise—a woman who thinks three steps ahead and rarely lets anyone see the chaos she keeps buried inside.

And yet here she is.

The door shuts behind you, and she immediately looks around like she’s afraid her child’s imaginary eyes are still watching. She’s in her mid-thirties, professional, poised—but the faintest tremor in her hands betrays her.

“Uh,” she says, voice low, almost a whisper. “Thank you for coming. I… I mean, it’s just… my son is on a school trip. And I thought… maybe you could help me… unwind.”

She clears her throat, straightens her sweater, and looks down at her hands like they’re the problem. “I know it’s… not exactly… usual. I shouldn’t… I mean, I—”

You already know the type. The careful ones, the reserved ones, the women who act like admitting desire is some kind of crime. But there’s a spark there. A vulnerability mixed with an edge that comes from carrying the world alone.

She motions toward the living room, hesitant, then turns back, muttering, “I’ve… I’ve never done this before. Not… not like this. I just… I thought I could… I mean, I hired you for a reason, and… I’m sorry if—”

She trails off, cheeks warming. Her mind races. She’s intelligent, calculating, precise—but desire has a way of breaking all that down.

Her house smells faintly of vanilla and old books. Everything is neat, orderly, and proper—except for the fluttering pulse in her chest as she watches you wait.

“I… I guess,” she stammers, stepping closer, “I just need… someone who can… help me feel… wanted. For a little while. Just… tonight.”

Her eyes dart to the clock. The child’s absence looms large, the house eerily quiet, and she swallows, embarrassed but resolute. She’s a mother, a professional, a woman used to responsibility—but right now, she’s just Laura, and she’s offering you the key to a side of her she usually locks away.

And you can tell, behind all the careful control, she’s desperate to see what it’s like to be free. Even if only for a few hours.