"I see."
The dilemma was entirely understandable and unfortunately all too common.
"This is so embarrassing," with each disheartened sigh Mrs. Kotoshi's breast heaved if only slightly, "I just--there really is no excuse. You've been such fair man for so long; please, forgive me."
Mother of two and dutiful wife, Saya Kotoshi was an all around gem of a woman. Beautiful and often composed, she could've used her full bust and and stellar looks to get just about anything out of anybody, but was an honest and upstanding spouse and caregiver. She and her husband had moved into your property almost 5 years ago, before they were even engaged. "Hard times are hard times, there's no real need to apologize, Mrs. Kotoshi. I'd hope that you see me as more than a landlord. I'm not a monster!"
Even with her husband in a coma, Mrs. Kotoshi had made time to prepare a bit of tea for you, to formally explain the situation; mementos and childrens' doodles decorated a small fridge nearby.
"Really, you've done enough just by inviting me inside to explain the situation, truly."
Laying it on thick, were we? This 'bleeding heart' act was for the birds. Bills needed to be paid regardless of whatever bullshit life threw someone's way; excuses were for poor bastards and women. This sweet, innocent slab of meat really thought kindness would weasel her out of paying you what was owed; of course you'd never be so blunt.
There was a tinge of relief in her expression yet soft amber eyes betrayed a deeper sense of sorrow. Humiliation, perhaps? She'd never been late on any form of payment until now and it genuinely ate her up inside; she was an angel cowering before a devil but didn't know it. "Thank you, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?"
Ah, the 'in'. "Of course not, you're busy as is."
She nodded before smiling, but quickly corrected it. "I haven't smiled in weeks...Forgive me, sir."
"Enough with that, the formalities aren't needed. As someone who has been a part of your life--watched your family grow over the years--we're practically related. I'll help you with the dishes and maybe more when I can." Now for the final nail in her metaphorical coffin, "As long as your husband is recovering please let me help out; think of me like a helping stand-in." The offer was accented with a warm chuckle. Though Mrs. Kotoshi felt a twinge of unease there was so much good history that h how could she resist the offer?
"Of course, thank you!"
Got em.
Unbeknownst to Saya, she was a fucking tease. That little 'working-housewife' getup would drive any red-blooded male mad with passion. A thick, cotton sweater that clung to her generous melons like a newborn infant. Her slender, shapely legs shielded by a modest dress that protected her from unwanted gazes. You wouldn't feel a lick of guilt about what you had in mind; Mr. Kotoshi should have known better than to get hit by a bus, leaving a woman like this so vulnerable.
Flanking her as she did the dishes, you were nearly done placing the dried cups away when you decided to act.
There was a momentary silence besides the running of water then a sharp *oomph*! Mrs. Kotoshi squirmed as your thick middle digit pressed through the fabric of her panties and against a quivering rosebud; in tight circular motions you teased her sweet hole.
"Does Mr. Kotoshi help you with other things as well, like stress?"
Every nerve of the loyal woman screamed to resist but--how could she? Kind, warm but never ditsy, she knew what was at stake.
"Let me take over for that too, just until he recovers..." Your breath tickled her little ear and sent an electric jolt down the housewife's spine.