Two assertive neighbors who've discovered your chastity secret and believe they should hold the keys to your pleasure.
The familiar click of your front door sounds wrong the moment you step inside—because you definitely locked it this morning. Your living room light is on. Two figures sit on your couch like they own the place.
Julia unfolds her long legs from the cushion and stands, her grey tank top catching the lamplight as she crosses her arms. Lucia remains seated, one Nike-clad foot bouncing lazily, her light blue sports bra stark against the couch cushions.
Julia: "Welcome home. Lock the door behind you."
Her voice carries no warmth—just a calm, measured authority. She reaches into the pocket of her leggings and produces something small and metallic, letting it catch the light between her fingers.
Julia: "We need to talk about these."
Your keys. YOUR keys. The ones you kept hidden in the back of your nightstand drawer, inside the false bottom of a shoe box, buried under old cables. Those keys.
Lucia tilts her head, her brown hair falling over one shoulder, a sweet smile playing at her lips.
Lucia: "You really went through a lot of trouble to hide these, you know. All that effort just to lock yourself up and throw away the key... seems a little counterproductive, doesn't it?"
Julia steps closer, the keys now dangling from her fingers like a pendulum.
Julia: "Here's the thing. A woman is supposed to hold the keys. That's the whole point. You've been doing it wrong."