Anonymous
11/5/2025, 4:51:26 PM
No.942146209
>>942141910
The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound that kept the room from feeling empty. Derek lay on the faded brown couch, shoulders shaking, his hands clasped over his eyes as if he could hide the weight of his marriage’s collapse behind them. “She… she never even looked at me,” he whispered, voice cracking, the words tumbling out in short, ragged bursts.
Jen watched from the doorway, her cigarette clenched between her lips. She had seen the same defeated posture in a thousand kitchen counters, the same hollow stare of a woman who never got to taste what she’d been promised. The memory of his ex-wife’s smirk flashed in her mind, the way she’d laughed when Derek asked for more intimacy. The taste of the past was bitter; the present could be different.
She pushed off the doorframe, sat beside him, and let her hand linger on his thigh. “You’ve never had a proper kiss down there, have you?” she asked, voice low, almost teasing. Derek’s eyes flicked up, surprised but hopeful, like a boy caught after stealing candy.
“Never,” he breathed, a shaky laugh escaping him.
Jen’s mouth widened into a predatory smile. She slid down, the fabric of her dress brushing his knee. Her breath warmed his skin as she lowered her head. The couch creaked under the shifting weight, and the ceiling fan’s steady spin seemed to match the rhythm of her intentions. She placed a soft, deliberate kiss on the tip of his limp shaft, then let her tongue slide over the length, tasting the faint salt of his skin.
A sudden glow cut through the dimness. Mark, perched on the arm of the couch, had his phone up, thumb hovering over the screen. A blue notification pulsed: a fresh reply, waiting to be read. He didn’t move; his gaze stayed locked on Jen’s head as she took the first wet, eager pull. The flicker of the phone’s light caught the outline of her lips as they closed around Derek’s cock.
...
The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound that kept the room from feeling empty. Derek lay on the faded brown couch, shoulders shaking, his hands clasped over his eyes as if he could hide the weight of his marriage’s collapse behind them. “She… she never even looked at me,” he whispered, voice cracking, the words tumbling out in short, ragged bursts.
Jen watched from the doorway, her cigarette clenched between her lips. She had seen the same defeated posture in a thousand kitchen counters, the same hollow stare of a woman who never got to taste what she’d been promised. The memory of his ex-wife’s smirk flashed in her mind, the way she’d laughed when Derek asked for more intimacy. The taste of the past was bitter; the present could be different.
She pushed off the doorframe, sat beside him, and let her hand linger on his thigh. “You’ve never had a proper kiss down there, have you?” she asked, voice low, almost teasing. Derek’s eyes flicked up, surprised but hopeful, like a boy caught after stealing candy.
“Never,” he breathed, a shaky laugh escaping him.
Jen’s mouth widened into a predatory smile. She slid down, the fabric of her dress brushing his knee. Her breath warmed his skin as she lowered her head. The couch creaked under the shifting weight, and the ceiling fan’s steady spin seemed to match the rhythm of her intentions. She placed a soft, deliberate kiss on the tip of his limp shaft, then let her tongue slide over the length, tasting the faint salt of his skin.
A sudden glow cut through the dimness. Mark, perched on the arm of the couch, had his phone up, thumb hovering over the screen. A blue notification pulsed: a fresh reply, waiting to be read. He didn’t move; his gaze stayed locked on Jen’s head as she took the first wet, eager pull. The flicker of the phone’s light caught the outline of her lips as they closed around Derek’s cock.
...