At 21 years old, Sophie was a young woman standing at 5 feet 7 inches tall and had a naturally striking appearance. Her brunette hair flowed smoothly past her shoulders, its rich brown tones shimmering softly in the light. Her hair framed a face with gentle, feminine features–a smooth complexion, expressive eyes, and a warm smile.
Sophie’s job as a waitress at a local coffee shop, being on her feet all day, kept her in good shape, and she had very full firm 34D breasts, a narrow waist and with a lovely full heart-shaped ass giving her very feminine curves.
Her legs were long and toned, from her work. Whether standing, walking, or simply resting, her posture reflected poise and self-assuredness. She moved with an effortless grace, her steps smooth and deliberate, having been a dancer in high school, making her presence hard to ignore.
Her boyfriend a few years older than her, Ethan Walker, 28 years old, had thought that he had pulled the hottest girl when she first agreed to go out with him. He was a man with a strong and confident presence. Standing at 6 feet tall, his athletic build suggested an active lifestyle and a dedication to staying fit. His broad shoulders and well-defined arms added to his commanding appearance, while he had a lean and toned physique.
His hair was dark brown, cut neatly, and styled with just the right amount of care, giving him a polished yet relaxed look. His eyes were a deep shade of green, sharp and thoughtful, with a gaze that conveyed both focus and warmth. A straight nose and a strong jawline.
His skin had a healthy, sun-kissed tone, hinting at time spent outdoors, perhaps enjoying sports or adventures. His hands, strong but well-kept, reflected both his active lifestyle and attention to detail. Whether wearing a fitted shirt and jeans or more tailored attire, his clothing always complemented his physique and helped him look confident.
Beyond his physical appearance, there was an aura of reliability and kindness about him. His confidence was never intimidating; instead, it felt reassuring.
Unfortunately for both of them he had lost his job two months ago. He hadn’t learned a lot at the big furniture store as he had only been there for a year, but when he complained to his manager that only the manager’s favourites got the over time, a week later he was given his cards. It had turned out that the manager, not a nice man, had been vindictive and passed around to other stores in the small town, that Ethan was not to be trusted and so Ethan hadn’t been able to get another job.
Due to their meagre salaries, they had already been a month behind on the rent and now had fallen a further 3 months behind on their little studio apartment in a rougher part of town.
It was eight thirty on a Tuesday evening, after their dinner, Sophie, thinking that maybe she could take Ethan’s mind off the depressing situation they were both in, had gone and got changed into a little mini skirt and a tight tank top, no bra, to show off her large breasts. Coming back out to see Ethan she had gotten no reaction, she felt sorry for him, for the stress he was suffering. But, also, because of Ethan depression, they had only had sex now twice since he’d been sacked and even then, he hadn’t been able to get her off due to his lack of enthusiasm. She needed to be loved and needed to be shown how hot she was.
Ethan was very frustrated, he could tell his beautiful girlfriend was trying, he looked at her, she was so damn pretty, her full red lips, her big, beautiful hazel eyes. Whenever he looked at her, he felt like the luckiest man in the world, but now it was like a weight on his shoulders, he was a failure and he had let her down so badly, although he had always loved to watch his stunning girlfriend, now whenever he looked at her he felt his own failure.
She sat on his lap, taking his head in her hands, “Baby, don’t worry we’ll sort something out. All that matters is us, how much we love each other. I’ll take more overtime at the cafe.”
Ethan looked down at Sophie’s stunning toned thighs, in the past that would have meant an immediate erection and all he would want to do is rip her clothes off and make mad passionate love to her. But now it made him sick with his own failure and no reaction in his very average sized dick. He was a failure; he couldn’t even make love to his beautiful girlfriend.
As Sophie sat on his lap she could feel the need, the itch between her legs. They hadn’t had any sex now for over a month, she had needs, even the last time, five weeks ago, she had just about managed to get him hard, but she assumed because the last time had been two weeks previously, he shot his load into the condom within two minutes and that was it. He had gone down on her and had just about managed to give her the weakest orgasm she had ever experienced.
She decided to go all out, she stood up and lifted her skirt, “Do you like my little thong. It’s so small that you can see I’m completely shaved.”
Ethan looked and then looked up at her, she saw the saddest look in his eyes, it nearly made her cry.
Ethan: “Please, baby, don’t, it’s not you baby, you’re perfect, it’s me I don’t seem to have it in me.”
“BANG! BANG! BANG!” it was so loud it made them both jump and they weren’t immediately sure what it was then they realised someone was banging on their front door.
“BANG! BANG! BANG!”
They looked at each other, both scared.
“I know you’re in there, if you don’t open the door, I will have my men break it down.”
That was the voice of their landlord, Victor Grayson.
Sophie: “We’ll have to open darling; we don’t have any choice.”
Ethan got up and went and opened the door, Victor pushed in, and he and two other men walked in.
Victor Grayson, at 55 years old, had a tough, weathered appearance that matched his no-nonsense personality. He was of average height, around 5 feet 9 inches, with a stocky build that made him seem more imposing than he actually was. His shoulders were broad but slightly hunched, and his movements were often sharp and abrupt, reflecting his irritable nature.
His face was rugged and lined with deep wrinkles, especially around his forehead and mouth, as if years of frowning had etched permanent marks. His skin had a pale, slightly sallow tone, with a rough texture that hinted at a life spent working hard and perhaps not caring much about self-care. A patchy grey beard covered his jawline, though it seemed more neglected than stylish, giving him a scruffy look.
His hair was thinning and mostly grey, combed back in an attempt to look neat, though a few stray strands always seemed out of place. His piercing blue eyes were sharp and calculating, darting quickly as though he was always assessing a situation or looking for something to complain about. There was little warmth in his gaze; instead, it carried a hint of suspicion, making people feel like they were always being judged.
His mouth set in a tight line, and when he spoke, his tone was curt and impatient, adding to the sense that he wasn’t someone you wanted to cross. His voice had a gravelly quality, the kind that could easily rise into a bark if something annoyed him.
His attire was simple and practical, consisting of worn jeans and a plain shirt. His boots were scuffed and sturdy, the kind that suggested he spent a lot of time walking around, keeping an eye on things. A large, jangling set of keys was always clipped to his belt, a constant reminder of his authority over the property. It told his tenants that he had the keys to their property even if he wasn’t supposed to use them without permission.
He had a way of looming, even when he wasn’t particularly tall or threatening. It wasn’t his physical size but the way he carried himself–with an air of authority and a knack for making others feel uncomfortable.
The two men with him were there because they were hard men, not scarted to use their strength to bully people into what he wanted.
Tom was a towering figure with a rough, intimidating presence. Standing at about 6 feet 3 inches, his large frame made him look like someone who was always ready for a fight. His broad shoulders and muscular arms looked like they had been built from years of hard work or physical training. His chest was thick, and his stomach was solid, with no signs of softness or weakness.
Tom’s face was hard and angular, with a strong jawline that looked like it could cut through steel. His skin was pale, almost sickly looking, with a few dark scars running across his cheeks, probably from past fights. His dark brown hair was kept short, almost buzzed to his scalp, and his eyes were a cold, icy blue. They were the kind of eyes that seemed to look right through people, making anyone who met his gaze feel uneasy.