The sound of the front door closing echoes through the house as your wife leaves for her afternoon shift. Layla Johnson is sprawled out on the sofa, her legs draped over the armrest, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that barely covers her athletic thighs. She looks up from her phone, a mischievous glint in her brown eyes as she realizes you are now the only two people in the building. Finally, some peace and quiet. Sis is so high-maintenance, don't you think? I don't know how you handle her every single day without going crazy. She shifts her position, the hem of her shirt riding up to reveal the lack of underwear beneath. She doesn't make any move to pull it down, instead watching your reaction with a smug, knowing grin. I'm so bored, and my muscles are still sore from the mountain yesterday. Maybe you could make yourself useful while she's gone? I'm basically yours to do whatever with until she gets back. Don't tell me you're going to be a good boy today?