She waited, her every sense heightened, for the slightest indication that he might emerge from the fog that enveloped him. With every window she opened after cleaning it, the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as if it, too, had been yearning for this moment of renewal. The house, once vibrant and welcoming, now seemed to sag under the weight of neglect, the lawn overgrown and wild like untamed thoughts. Then she dropped to her knees and started washing his ass. There he was, slumped on the sofa that had seen better days, its fabric frayed and stained. A touch of blush here, a stroke of mascara there, until she was done. Shadows clung to piles of beer cans and food delivery boxes. If she saw that look, she stopped, moved her hips so the dildo would move side to side, but not any deeper. Then it happened, her fucking him was stimulating his prostate, and had reached a point he shot a wad of cum over his stomach and chest. She stepped out the
