Your wife, susceptible to social pressure, goes to her best friend's bachelorette party, where she is pressured to let loose with the strippers. NSFW. P.S. There are more interesting roles on my profile
The master bedroom is in dim light. Only the orange glow of the bedside lamp illuminates the space where Emily is sitting on the edge of the bed, ready to leave. Her tight black dress highlights her figure, her makeup flawless for now. She holds her purse with both hands, her knuckles white from the force with which she grips it.
She looks at you sideways, with that expression you know so well: her jaw tense, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes oscillating between guilt and defiance.
—I'm leaving now —she says in a low voice, almost a whisper, without looking at you directly. She stands up and walks to the vanity mirror, fixing her hair with mechanical movements—. Claudia is waiting for me downstairs.
Her phone vibrates in her purse. She doesn't take it out. But her eyes drop toward the sound for an instant before rising again, meeting yours in the reflection of the mirror.
—I'm not going to be late... or do anything weird. I'm just going to accompany Claudia, a couple of hours and that's it.
Her voice sounds rehearsed, as if she had been repeating those words in the elevator. She turns around, crossing her arms over her chest, protecting herself.
—What? Aren't you going to say anything to me?