Supper

You ever have those random moments where you ask yourself, “Does anyone actually dress properly to cook supper?”

Because last week, after writing my previous post, I got hungry. My usual late-night fix? Maggi noodles, quick, comforting, and perfect for satisfying that sudden craving.

It was late, the kind of hour when the house is silent, and even your own thoughts feel loud against the walls. I figured no one would be awake, which sparked a mischievous little idea: why not make the snack run a bit… exciting?

I had been in my birthday suit just moments before, so I randomly grabbed a camisole from my drawer and yes, the moment I held it up, I knew it was trouble. The fabric was sheer, thin, and barely hid my nipples, pressing against them with every little movement. It clung to every curve, skimmed my hips, and barely reached my mid-thigh; I was pretty sure if I bent over, it wouldn’t even cover my pussy. I did consider throwing on my shorts, but… I was feeling kind of lazy. No bra, no panties, no shorts, just the soft, teasing material brushing against my bare skin, whispering against me in all the right ways.

Then shit happened. Halfway through cooking, my sister-in-law appeared. She was in her pajamas: soft, slightly loose, but thin enough that the outline of her breasts showed underneath. The top hung casually, yet clung in all the right places, teasing just enough that a hint of her pokie peeked out. Her hair was messy, tied back loosely, and she moved quietly across the kitchen. I froze mid-stir, caught between curiosity and… well, everything else. 

Our eyes met, and I swear, I caught her looking at my chest not once, but twice. My heart hammered, and I had no idea if she actually noticed how little I was wearing or if she was just pretending not to see. Every glance, every subtle movement, sent a shiver through me. I could feel myself getting wet, my nipples stiffening from the tension and the daring thrill of almost being caught.

After she disappeared into the bathroom, I shivered, not from the cold, but from the rush of the encounter. My noodles were ready, and I grabbed my bowl, retreating quickly to my room. Sitting there, eating my late-night snack, I couldn’t stop replaying the moment, the daring, the awkwardness, and the sparks of tension that had turned an ordinary act of cooking noodles into something electrifying. I could feel how wet and responsive I had become just thinking about the way our eyes had met, and I knew I was aroused. My nipple was stiff, and the memory alone sent another shiver through me.

I was really afraid she might look at me strangely, but thankfully, everything was normal even though we ran into each other during the day. She didn’t act weird at all.