-Sarah’s POV: Preparing for Rick's Return-
Sarah stood in the kitchen, the smell of roasted chicken and garlic filling the air as she carefully poured a rich brown gravy into a small ceramic dish. Everything needed to be perfect. It had been months since Rick had been home, and though they had spoken briefly during his recovery, the separation had created a strange distance between them. She glanced at her reflection in the microwave door, her hair tied back in a messy bun, and sighed. Her green eyes looked tired, the faint shadows under them a testament to long shifts at the hospital and restless nights spent imagining this moment.
The house was spotless, a subtle effort to control what little she could. Rick always appreciated neatness. She had lit a few candles in the dining room, their soft glow casting a warm, comforting light across the space. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could do. Her phone buzzed on the counter, the name “Jason” lighting up the screen. Her heart skipped—a mix of guilt and a strange, fleeting excitement.
Jason: “Still good for Wednesday? I miss you.”
Sarah hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She knew she shouldn’t respond, not now. But the thrill of his attention, his words, made her chest tighten. She typed quickly, keeping her response short.
Sarah: “We’ll see. Things are busy.”
The sharp sound of the car door shutting outside snapped her attention back to reality. She hurriedly wiped her hands on a towel, her heart racing as she walked to the front door. This was it. Rick was home.
-Rick’s POV: Entering the House-
Rick stepped out of the car, his boots crunching against the gravel driveway. The air was crisp, the faint smell of burning leaves drifting on the breeze. He shifted his weight as he grabbed his duffle bag, his body feeling heavier than it should. It wasn’t just the months of recovery or the hospital treatments—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words.
The front door opened before he could reach it. Sarah stood there, her figure framed by the warm light spilling out of the house. Her smile was wide but tentative, and for a moment, Rick forgot the exhaustion tugging at his limbs.
“Welcome home,” she said softly, stepping forward to hug him.
Rick dropped the bag, wrapping his arms around her. Her body was warm, her scent familiar, but there was a faint stiffness to the embrace that hadn’t been there before. He chalked it up to the months apart.
Inside, the house felt cozy, almost too perfect. The dining table was set with their good dishes, and the smell of roasted chicken made his stomach rumble. “You didn’t have to go all out,” Rick muttered, setting his bag down near the couch.
“Of course I did,” Sarah replied, her voice light. “You’re home. That’s worth celebrating.”
Rick smiled faintly, but the tightness in his chest wasn’t just emotional. His shirt felt uncomfortably snug, pressing against his pecs in a way that made him adjust it as they walked to the dining room.
-Dinner and Conversation-
The meal was exactly as Rick remembered—simple, hearty, and comforting. Sarah had cooked all his favorites: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans sautéed with garlic. He ate with quiet appreciation, savoring every bite.
Sarah broke the silence first. “So… how are you feeling? Really?”
Rick hesitated, setting down his fork. “Better. Just tired. It’s strange being home after… everything.”
She nodded, her eyes scanning his face. “You look good,” she said, though her tone carried a hint of uncertainty.
Rick shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his reflection in the nearby window. He looked normal enough, but his skin felt different—softer, almost unnaturally smooth where the burns had healed. “I guess they did a good job patching me up,” he said, half-joking.
Sarah chuckled softly but didn’t press further. Instead, they talked about lighter things—what had been happening in the neighborhood, stories from her shifts at the hospital, and plans for the week ahead.
The conversation flowed easily enough, but Rick couldn’t shake the subtle unease in his body. His waistband pressed against his waist in a way that felt wrong, and the tightness in his chest made him adjust his posture more than once. Still, he didn’t mention it. The last thing he wanted was to worry Sarah.
-Sarah’s POV: Showering and Wondering-
After dinner, Sarah cleared the plates while Rick rested on the couch, his eyes half-closed. She felt the weight of the day settling in her shoulders. It had been a good evening, but there was a strange tension she couldn’t name—something unspoken between them.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “You should too. It might help you relax.”
Rick nodded absently, his gaze distant.
In the bathroom, Sarah turned on the water, letting it steam up the small space. As she undressed,
As Sarah caught her reflection in the mirror, her hand instinctively brushed over her stomach. She still looked good for her age, she thought, though the lines around her eyes and mouth hinted at the years that had quietly crept by. Her green eyes, still bright, lingered on her own face for a moment before wandering downward, taking in the rest of herself.
Her chest rose and fell with her steady breathing, her full, natural breasts sitting high despite the slight softness time had added to her figure. Her nipples, pink and slightly peaked from the cool air of the bathroom, stood out against her fair skin, which still held a smooth glow under the bright light. She tilted her head, lifting her arms slightly to adjust her posture, and felt a flicker of pride—Rick used to love her chest, and even now, she thought they still looked as enticing as they had years ago.
Her gaze dropped further, her fingers brushing along her stomach and the faint curve of her hips. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed, a habit she kept partly for herself and partly for whoever she wanted to see her that way. The faint shadow of her mound was visible in the reflection, the trimmed patch dark against her pale skin. She shifted her weight slightly, one hand grazing the inside of her thigh as she thought about how Rick might see her now—if he’d notice the effort she still put into her appearance.
Her legs were long and toned, a product of hours spent on her feet at the hospital. Though they weren’t as firm as they’d been in her twenties, she still felt they carried a certain elegance, the muscles faintly defined as she shifted in place. She ran her hand over her thigh, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle, and let her gaze trail down to her calves and ankles, both still slender and graceful.
Turning slightly, Sarah let her eyes settle on her rear, her hand grazing over the soft curve. It wasn’t as tight as it had been when she was younger, but it still held its shape—round, full, and undeniably feminine. She tilted her hips slightly, studying the way the light caught her skin, smooth and unmarred save for a few faint stretch marks she’d long since learned to embrace.
She stepped back from the mirror, her fingers brushing her stomach again as she sighed. She did still look good, she thought, but the subtle changes in her body reminded her of time passing—time spent without Rick by her side. Did he notice? Did he still want her the way he used to?
The thought lingered as she turned away from the mirror, her hands running absently down her sides, tracing the familiar contours of a body she still worked to take pride in.
The thought lingered as she stepped under the spray, letting the warm water wash away the day’s tension. She knew they would end up in bed together tonight, and she wondered if it would feel different. If Rick would touch her the way he used to or if the months apart had changed something between them.
-Rick’s POV: Showering and Reflection-
Rick watched Sarah disappear down the hall, the sound of the shower running faintly in the distance. He leaned back against the couch, his body heavy with exhaustion. His chest ached faintly, the tightness refusing to ease, and his skin felt warm—too warm, as if his body couldn’t decide whether it was hot or cold.
After a while, he stood, heading to the bathroom once Sarah was finished. The steam lingered in the air as he undressed, his body catching in the mirror. He paused, his hand brushing over his chest. His skin felt softer than it should have, especially around the places where the burns had been.
He shook the thought away, stepping into the shower and letting the water cascade over him. He closed his eyes, thinking of Sarah—of her laugh, her smile, the way her body fit against his when she hugged him. He missed her touch, missed the intimacy they’d once shared.
-Bedroom: Intimacy (Rick's POV)-
The room was quiet, the dim amber glow of the bedside lamp casting faint shadows across the walls. Rick lay on his back, his body sinking into the mattress in a way that felt foreign. Everything about being home should have felt comforting—his bed, Sarah beside him—but something in him felt unsettled, like a restlessness that had taken root deep inside.
He turned his head toward Sarah, her body curled beneath the blankets. The curve of her rear pressed against the fabric, soft and inviting, and for a moment, he just looked at it. It had been months since he’d seen her like this—so close, so real—and the ache of missing her settled heavily in him.
But there was something else, something deeper. It wasn’t just missing her. It was a pull, a need that made his body hum with quiet tension. He reached out, his hand brushing over the blanket, his hand trailing the outline of her butt. She stirred at his touch, her body shifting toward him as her green eyes fluttered open, soft and tired but warm.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low.
“Hey,” she whispered back, her lips curving into a faint smile.
Rick leaned in, his lips brushing hers. The kiss started slow, hesitant, like they were trying to remember how to fit together after so much time apart. Her lips were soft, slightly parted, and when he deepened the kiss, he felt her breath hitch faintly.
His hand slipped beneath the blanket, trailing over the bare skin of her stomach and waist right above the wasteband of her pajamas. She shivered at the touch, her hand finding his chest and resting there. The warmth of her palm sent a sharp jolt of sensitivity through him, almost electric, and he tensed instinctively.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice laced with quiet concern.
“Yeah,” Rick said quickly, forcing a faint smile. “I just… missed this.”
Her expression softened, and she leaned into him again, her kisses growing deeper, more insistent. Rick let himself get lost in the moment, his hands exploring the forgotten breasts on her body, her warmth pulling him closer. For a while, the tension in his chest, the faint unease simmering beneath his skin, was drowned out by her touch and his desire.
As her hands moved beneath his shirt, sliding over his ribs and back, Rick felt her nails barely graze his skin. The sensation sent another ripple of sharp sensitivity through him, almost too intense, and he let out a soft sound before he could stop himself. Sarah didn’t seem to notice.
Her hands tugged his shirt up and over his head, and he let her, feeling the cool air brush over his skin. Her eyes moved over his chest in the dim light, lingering for a moment as though she noticed the pink skin and slight scars, but she said nothing. She just touched him again, her hands exploring the familiar planes of his torso.
Rick shifted closer to her, his breath brushing against her neck as his hands moved to the hem of her shirt. His fingers curled under the fabric, the roughness of his touch softened by the way he carefully lifted it, inch by inch. The shirt slid up her torso, revealing the smooth expanse of her stomach, the faint curve of her waist drawing his attention as his hands lingered for a moment.
He pressed a kiss just below her ribs, his lips warm against her skin, before gently tugging the shirt higher. Sarah arched slightly to help him, her breathing growing heavier as the fabric slipped over her chest, baring her to him. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the sight of her exposed skin made him pause, his gaze lingering on the soft, natural curve of her breasts. He let the shirt drop to the floor, his hands immediately returning to her sides, his thumbs brushing along the edge of her ribs as though memorizing the feel of her.
Rick’s hands moved to the waistband of her pajama pants next, his fingers slipping inside, teasing against the softness of her hips. He paused, glancing up at her face, searching her expression for a flicker of hesitation. When she gave him a faint nod, her lips parted slightly as though to say something but stopping herself, he hooked his thumbs under the elastic and began to pull.
The fabric resisted slightly as he tried to tug them down, catching against the curve of her hips and thighs. Sarah let out a soft laugh, her hands moving down to his, guiding him as she lifted her hips off the bed. The slight effort made the pants slide more easily, and together, they eased the fabric down her legs.
Once the waistband cleared her thighs, Rick pulled the pants further, letting the material glide down to her knees. Sarah shifted again, stretching one leg and then the other to help him slip them off completely, leaving her in just her underwear.
His hands lingered for a moment at her hips, his fingers brushing the edge of the simple cotton fabric as he took in the sight of her. The pale stretch of her skin, the way her underwear clung softly to her curves—it all struck him as achingly familiar, yet it stirred something deeper, something raw.
The pants finally joined the shirt on the floor, and Rick’s hands returned to her legs, smoothing up her thighs with deliberate care. His fingers traced the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the warmth of her skin drawing him in as if touching her was the only thing keeping him tethered.
She was as beautiful as he remembered, her curves soft and inviting as she pressed closer. He kissed her neck, trailing his lips down to the hollow of her throat, his body moving instinctively as his hands gripped her hips.
But as he moved over her, as her thighs wrapped around his waist and their bodies aligned, Rick hesitated. The heat between them was undeniable, but when he tried to press into her, his body didn’t respond the way it once had.
His length, while there, lacked the same power he remembered—the same unyielding strength that had once felt like a certainty. The barrier of her pussy lips resisted, her hips shifting beneath him as if to guide him, but his manhood didn’t part her as it once did. He tried again, adjusting his angle, pushing forward with deliberate care, but the sensation was off as his penis bent a little.
Sarah’s hands gripped his shoulders, her breath hitching faintly as she moved to meet him, but Rick could feel the faint awkwardness between them. His body wasn’t failing him entirely—he could still move, still press forward—but the strength, the unshakable confidence in his movements, wasn’t there.
She shifted and grabbed his penis and aimed it direct to where it needed to go holding onto it till it got a little inside. Finally, he managed to enter inside her, his thrust slow and deliberate as he felt inside her body adjust and make way to him. She gasped softly, her nails digging into his back, her legs tightening around him. The momentary fumbling faded as they found a rhythm, but Rick couldn’t shake the awareness that something had changed.
Her body moved eagerly beneath his, her breath coming in shallow bursts as she clung to him. Rick focused on her—the way she slowly got wetter and each thrust got easier and deeper, the way her voice hitched when he moved just right—but the disconnect lingered, like a shadow he couldn’t escape. His chest ached faintly, the tightness refusing to ease, and every brush of her hands against his skin sent sharp waves of sensitivity through him.
When he finally came, Rick felt the familiar surge of release, his body tensing and then relaxing as warmth spread through him and his penis pulsed once, twice, three times till it emptied itself into his wife. To him, it felt normal—satisfying, grounding, even comforting after so many months apart.
But as Sarah shuddered beneath him, her reaction was anything but usual.
Her breath hitched sharply, her back arching off the mattress as a soft, involuntary cry escaped her lips. But it didn’t stop there. As Rick released into her, each warm pulse seemed to ignite something deep inside her, sending a ripple of sharp, undeniable sensation through her core.
“Ah—ah—ah!” The sounds slipped from her mouth, unbidden and uncontrollable, her body trembling with every wave. Her thighs clenched tightly around his sides, her fingers digging into his shoulders as her hips jerked against him, her body moving as if trying to pull more from him, desperate for something she didn’t understand.
Rick froze for a moment, his breathing heavy, staring down at her with wide, startled eyes. “Sarah?” he asked, his voice uncertain, but she couldn’t answer him.
Her body shuddered again, her head tilting back as another moan broke free, deeper this time, her chest heaving with each shaky breath. “I—oh my God,” she gasped, her voice high and unsteady, her fingers clutching him as if to anchor herself.
“Sarah,” Rick said again, more firmly this time, his brow furrowing as he watched her. To him, it had felt normal—satisfying, comforting, like it always had. But seeing her like this, her body writhing beneath him, her face flushed and dazed, left him uneasy.
Finally, her trembling began to subside, though faint aftershocks continued to ripple through her. She lay there, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes wide and glassy as she stared at the ceiling.
“What… what was that?” she whispered, her voice shaky, her body still tingling as if every nerve had been lit on fire.
“I don’t know,” Rick admitted, his tone heavy with concern. To him, it had been the same, but her reaction—the way her body had responded so physically, so intensely—left him deeply unsettled.
Sarah slowly relaxed, though her body still felt warm, too warm, and her breathing remained uneven. She curled into his side, her fingers brushing lightly over her stomach as if trying to process what had just happened.
Rick lay beside her, staring at the ceiling, his chest still tight, his skin overly sensitive where she had touched him. But it wasn’t the strange heat in his own body that gnawed at him—it was the way her body had seemed to react to him, almost beyond her control, that kept his mind restless.
-Sarah’s POV: Lingering Heat-
Sarah curled into Rick’s side, her body still trembling faintly as the aftershocks rolled through her. She pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, steady and calm, as if nothing unusual had just happened. But for her, everything felt different.
Her thighs clenched instinctively, a dull ache still thrumming inside her. She could feel a warm liquid pool inside her—or at least the aftermath of him. But it wasn’t fading the way it usually did. Instead, it lingered, spreading through her like a low, insistent fire that made her stomach twist in ways she couldn’t explain. Her breathing was still shallow, her heart pounding harder than it should’ve been.
She shifted slightly, the movement making her acutely aware of the wetness now slipping out of her insides. It was a slow, unfamiliar sensation that sent a shiver up her spine. She squeezed her thighs together again, her hips rocking subtly, trying to even clench her pussy, almost as if her body didn’t want to let go of whatever he’d left behind.
Her face flushed, her lips parting as she exhaled shakily. What the hell is that? she thought, her gaze flicking toward Rick. He looked peaceful now, his eyes closed, one arm draped loosely around her. It was almost frustrating how unaffected he seemed while her body felt like it was alive—tingling, pulsing, needing more even though she was utterly spent.
The heat between her legs was maddening. She could still feel him—the stretch, the way his body had filled hers—but it wasn’t just that. There was something deeper, something different. Her muscles fluttered involuntarily, a faint aftershock that made her bite her lip to stifle a gasp.
She shifted again, her legs parting slightly beneath the covers, and the sensation of something wet slipping out of her made her wince. The warmth trickled down her inner thigh, slow and deliberate, and for a moment, she thought she might lose her mind.
Carefully, she pulled away from Rick’s side, his arm slipping off her as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The cool air hit her bare skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from her core. She stood unsteadily, her knees weak, and padded toward the bathroom, trying to ignore the persistent throb that pulsed through her lower body with every step.
The light was harsh when she flipped the switch, and she blinked against it as she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks flushed a deep pink that spread down her neck and chest. She looked… wrecked. And she felt it too.
With a shaky breath, she turned to the toilet, pulling her legs apart slightly as she sat down. She winced as the wetness dripped from her pussy, a slow, steady trickle that made her stomach flip. When she glanced down, her breath caught in her throat.
It wasn’t the usual milky white she was used to. It was thicker, darker—almost mucky—like a strange, opaque swirl that pooled between her thighs. Her brow furrowed, her hand instinctively reaching out to touch her lower stomach, as if trying to ground herself.
What the hell is this? she thought, her pulse quickening. It wasn’t just the way it looked—it was the way it felt. Her body was still warm, almost unbearably so, and her muscles fluttered faintly as if trying to draw more of him in. The sensation was intoxicating, maddening, and impossible to ignore.
She leaned forward slightly, her legs trembling as another droplet slipped free. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, the pressure doing little to stop the heat from spreading through her veins.
Despite the discomfort, despite the strangeness of it all, she couldn’t deny how good it had felt. The way he’d moved inside her, slow and deliberate, the way her body had tightened around him as if it never wanted to let go—it was more than just pleasure. It was all-consuming.
Her lips parted as she let out a shaky exhale, her hand brushing down her stomach again, her fingers scratching the curve of her rear. She couldn’t stop thinking about it—the way his release had felt deeper, heavier than anything she’d experienced before.
But this… this wasn’t normal. The wetness between her legs, the way her body still pulsed with need—it left her uneasy, even as a faint, shameful thrill sparked low in her belly.
She tried to clean her vagina out wiping herself carefully, the strange, thick substance smearing against the tissue in a way that made her stomach churn. Her mind flickered to Rick, still lying peacefully in bed as if nothing had happened. Did he know?
Her breath hitched as she stood, her legs still weak beneath her. She flushed the toilet, trying to ignore the swirl of darkened fluid that disappeared into the bowl. The heat in her core hadn’t faded, and it left her restless as she rinsed her hands in the sink.
Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye again, and for a moment, she stared at herself, her lips pressing into a thin line. She was a mess—inside and out. The lingering warmth in her core wouldn’t go away, her thighs felt sticky and damp no matter how much she cleaned herself, and her mind… her mind kept wandering.
Jason.
The name slipped into her thoughts unbidden, and she bit her lip, guilt washing over her. She thought about the way Jason had touched her last time they were together—how he’d made her feel wanted, special, like the center of his universe. But this? Whatever Rick had done to her body tonight, it made everything with Jason feel small, insignificant in comparison.
Her fingers curled against the edge of the sink, her knuckles whitening as her body shuddered faintly. She hated herself for even thinking about Jason now, hated the way her body still responded to the thought of his hands on her, even as Rick lay just feet away.
With a sigh, she turned off the light and stepped quietly back into the bedroom. Rick was still asleep, his breathing soft and even. She slipped beneath the covers, her body curling instinctively away from his as the guilt twisted in her chest. But the heat, the lingering pull of whatever he’d left inside her, refused to fade.
Her hand rested lightly on her stomach as she closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but for now, she let the strange warmth lull her into an uneasy sleep.