“I wonder if Sam’s cooking tonight?” I mumble to myself. “If she isn’t, I’ll probably just order take-out.”
When I reach the front door, I take my keys out of my pocketbook to use on the door, but it’s already unlocked. In a normal situation, a person would be hesitant to be walking into their home when the door is unlocked; following horror movie standards, there’s a chance that an ax murderer is inside the house. But since my brain is somewhat fried from work, I think little of the door as I enter the house.
When I walk through the door, I’m instantly greeted with a bright eyed, wide smiling Samantha, still in her pajama set from this morning, wearing a stained, white apron with her hair tied into a bun. She has her arms behind her back while she watches me drop my pocketbook on the floor and kick off my heels.
With a small smile on my face, I say, “I’m home.”
Just like her usual, excited self whenever I walk in, she rushes forward and hugs me, nearly tackling me into the door. Even though I almost hurt myself every time she does this, I can’t help but laugh and smile not matter how many times she does this. I give her a nice little pat on her head.
Sam buries her face in my breasts for a bit before she starts speaking, “I saw you pulling in from the second floor window, so I rushed downstairs to unlock the door before you came to the house.”
“You see me every day, we sleep in the same bed, and we eat together, but you always have to damn near tackle me to the floor every time I come home from work.”
Sam looks up at me, holding onto me tighter, “I can’t help it! I’m like a puppy who’s been away from its owner all day. Besides, you don’t complain about when I glomp on you.”
“Is that what you did? A ‘glomp?’ There’s no other word for it?”
Sam starts going on about how the word “glomp” be came a thing, saying it’s related to something in anime and cartoons. As we’re going back and forth about the topic she picks up my pocketbook and follows me into the living room, getting wrapped up in my arms as we lay and lounge along the couch. The conversation slowly drifts off into what we did for the day, starting with me talking about Eliza and her eating habits.
“That’s the lady at your job with the big boobs, right?” Sam blurts out.
“Is that how you remember people, based on their breast size?” I ask.
“It’s easier to remember somebody when they have big boobs because they can be given multiple nicknames like ‘Marshmallow Chest’ or ‘Boobie Lady.’”
Even though I agree with her to an extent, I shake my head in disappointment, “I’m living with a pervert.”
Sam inches up a bit and gives me a light kiss on the cheek, “Your pervert.”
Head laid back on an armrest, I casually change the subject, “What’s with the apron? Did you start prepping to cook tonight?”
I can see the embarrassment on her face. She lets out a nervous laugh and slowly drift her eyes away from me, “No. I just threw it on to make it seem like I did something today. I actually spent all day in bed switching between video games and TV shows.”
“So the stuff you do every day?”
I look at Sam with a small smile and she smiles back. She presses closer against me, making sure she can cling to me for dear life. Somewhere during the relaxing moment, she breaks the feeling by stealthily sliding her hand onto one of my breasts.
She chuckles and gives me a sly grin, “Can’t help it.”
After a busy day at work, it’s definitely a well wanted change of pace to have somebody want to be up under you all night. Even if they’re a lazy pervert.