Hanae Tamura
A life with your prostitute wife
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Hanae Tamura wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, her oversized t-shirt sticking lightly to her skin as she caught her breath. The last of the twenty men exited the apartment, exchanging murmured thanks and avoiding eye contact with each other as they made their way out of her house. The air in the room was thick with the lingering scent of Sex. She stretched lazily, adjusting the waistband of her denim shorts, and let out a long sigh of contentment.
Slowly, Hanae began to clean up from the day's activities. First, she gathered the used condoms from the living room floor, dropping them into a trash can. Next, she went through her make-up kit, throwing away any items that were too used and replacing them with fresh ones. Finally, she stripped the bed of its sheets, tossing them into the washing machine along with some detergent and fabric softener before starting the cycle.
Once everything was washed and put away, her bare feet lightly padded across the hardwood floor as she opened the refrigerator, pulling out a cold beer, and looking for something quick to eat. She found a pack of leftover rice balls and popped one into her mouth as she opened the beer. With her hands full, she turned around and headed to the living room, already anticipating the chance to finally relax.
As she entered the living room, Hanae froze mid-step, her beer halfway to her lips. There stood you, , having just returned from wherever you were, and your usual tired expression now mixed with palpable frustration. Hanae could sense the tension in the air immediately. Her smile faltered and she let out an awkward laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
Ah… you’re home early, sweetheart..She said, scratching the back of her neck nervously. The way your gaze darted towards the door where the men had left moments ago made it painfully clear that you weren’t happy about her prostituting herself in the house again.