-Sarah’s Morning and Lingering Effects-
The morning light filtered into the bedroom as Sarah turned over, her body immediately reminded of the night before. Her thighs felt slick, the subtle wetness between her legs making her shift uncomfortably. How am I still this wet? she thought, her brows furrowing as she carefully got out of bed, trying not to wake Rick.
She padded to the bathroom, her legs trembling faintly. Her reflection in the mirror looked tired but flushed, her green eyes still carrying the shadow of sleeplessness. She’d barely gotten any rest, waking constantly throughout the night in a strange haze of arousal that refused to fade. The slow, burning warmth in her lower abdomen was still there, persistent and maddening.
As she cleaned herself up, she noticed the dampness on the tissue—still thicker than it should’ve been, faintly colored, not quite normal. Her stomach twisted at the sight, a mix of unease and residual pleasure.
Her mind raced as she rinsed her hands. Was this because of him? Something from his treatment? She didn’t want to think about it—didn’t want to make him feel abnormal, not after everything he’d been through. But the thought lingered. What if it’s contagious?
By midmorning, she found herself constantly sipping water. Her body felt thirsty in a way she hadn’t expected, as if the persistent wetness was draining her. Her mind drifted to Rick’s body and how it had felt… different. She shook her head, dismissing the thought.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, snapping her out of her thoughts. Jason.
Jason: “Still good for Wednesday? I miss you. Can’t stop thinking about last time.”
Her heart skipped, a mix of guilt and excitement tugging at her chest. She hesitated, staring at the message, before typing back.
Sarah: “Yeah, we’re still good. I’ll see you then.”
The conversation carried on longer than it should have, Jason teasing her with playful comments that made her smile despite herself. He was easy, effortless, a sharp contrast to the tension she felt with Rick lately.
-Rick Wakes Up – Soreness and Exploration -
Rick didn’t stir until almost lunchtime. When he finally woke, his body felt heavy, his muscles sore in a way that felt deeper than fatigue. He groaned as he sat up, running a hand through his hair. A few strands came loose, sticking to his fingers, and he frowned.
“Great,” he muttered, brushing them off as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His hands rested on his knees, and for a moment, he just sat there, taking stock of himself. His chest still felt tight, his skin overly warm, and when he flexed his fingers, the absence of his usual callouses caught his attention.
He dismissed it, pulling on a shirt and heading downstairs. The house was quiet, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound. He found Sarah in the kitchen, sipping coffee, her expression unreadable.
“Morning,” he said, his voice rough from sleep.
“Afternoon,” Sarah corrected with a faint smile. “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever wake up.”
Rick chuckled, pouring himself a glass of water and sitting down at the table. They ate a quiet lunch together, the conversation light but carrying an undercurrent of something unspoken. Rick noticed the way Sarah avoided his gaze occasionally, her fingers fidgeting with her cup, but he didn’t press her.
-Rick’s Exploration of the House -
After lunch, Rick stretched his legs, his muscles aching with a dull fatigue that didn’t quite make sense. The house felt familiar—built around the life he and Sarah had shared—but moving through it now, everything felt slightly off. It wasn’t the house that had changed, though. It was him.
He started in the living room, where the large sectional couch faced the TV, the coffee table cluttered with magazines. Running his fingers along the arm of the couch, he frowned. His hands were soft, no longer marked by the roughness of hard work. His nails, slightly thicker, caught his eye—small changes that nagged at him.
He stepped outside, the crisp air brushing against his skin as he walked onto the patio. The backyard, with its neatly trimmed grass and blooming flowers, was unchanged. Yet, as he ran his hand over the smooth patio railing, it felt foreign, a reminder of how his own hands had softened.
Rick’s chest and groin radiated a faint, persistent warmth—uncomfortable but not painful. Adjusting his waistband, he felt his pants sitting tighter, the fabric pressing against his skin in a way that felt wrong. The shed in the yard, once his refuge, now felt distant, like a piece of a life that didn’t quite fit anymore.
Upstairs, the master bedroom was neat but sparsely filled on his side. Sarah’s things dominated the space, a stark contrast to his few belongings. The guest room, now her workspace, spoke to a life that continued even while he was gone.
In the bathroom, Rick caught his reflection—hair drier and less resilient, strands coming loose as he ran a hand through it. His skin, unnaturally smooth, made him pause, fingers gliding over the softened surface. It’s just the recovery, he told himself, though the unease lingered.
Down in the basement, his man cave remained untouched—dark wood furniture, a pool table, military memorabilia lining the walls. Running a hand over the felt, the roughness dulled against his soft fingers, Rick felt a pang of loss. This space, a testament to his past strength and identity, now felt like a shadow of what he’d been.
With a sigh, he climbed back upstairs, his legs aching with each step. The house was the same, but deep down, he knew he was the one who’d changed—something inside him shifting in ways he didn’t yet understand.
-Evening Reflections (Sarah’s POV)-
The day dragged on, but Sarah couldn’t escape the constant hum deep within her body. It had started the night before, that slow burn she’d woken up to repeatedly, but by the afternoon, it had become a maddening thrum she couldn’t ignore. No matter what she did—cleaning up the kitchen, folding laundry, even scrolling through her phone—her body refused to settle.
Every small movement reminded her of how wet she was. She shifted on the couch, uncomfortable in her damp underwear, the fabric clinging in a way that made her face flush with frustration. Her thighs pressed together, but the sensation only seemed to amplify the ache.
By mid-afternoon, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She slipped upstairs, closing the bathroom door behind her with a sigh. Pulling down her underwear, she winced at the dampness. How can it still be this bad? she thought, her brow furrowing as she inspected the wet patch. It wasn’t normal—not at all—and the way her body had been leaking all day left her uneasy.
The wetness clung to her as she wiped herself clean, but even then, the sensation of slick heat wouldn’t fade. Her body seemed to pulse faintly, a soft, rhythmic reminder of the night before. She quickly pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, trying to brush the thought away.
Still, as she walked back downstairs, the state of her body lingered in her mind. Random thoughts would flash through her—fantasys of Rick moving over her, the way his touch had felt… different. The way her body had reacted. But it wasn’t just Rick she thought about. Images of Jason crept in unbidden, his teasing grin, the way his hands always seemed to know exactly where to touch her. The thought made her stomach twist, guilt mingling with the relentless arousal that refused to fade.
By the time Rick came back into the living room, her nerves were frayed. He sank onto the couch across from her, running a hand through his hair, his expression distant. She glanced up from her phone, her legs tucked beneath her as she watched him.
He looked tired. His shoulders were slouched, his movements slower than usual, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his hand lingered on his head after he ran it through his hair. When a few strands fell loose, his frown deepened, but he said nothing, brushing them off absently.
“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice quiet, trying not to sound too concerned.
“Yeah,” he said, though his tone didn’t match his words.
They sat in silence after that, the quiet between them heavy. Sarah couldn’t focus on her phone anymore, her body too distracted by the heat pooling low in her belly. Every time she shifted on the couch, the fabric of her underwear brushed against her swollen lips, sending a faint shiver up her spine. Her fingers tightened around her phone, her breath catching faintly as she adjusted her position again.
She wanted to ignore it, to act normal, but it was impossible. The need was consuming, growing stronger the longer she sat there, stealing her focus until it was all she could think about. Her gaze flicked to Rick again, his profile outlined in the dim light. He looked like the same man she’d always known, but there was something about him now, something she couldn’t put into words, that made her body react in ways she didn’t understand.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She set her phone down and stood, crossing the room to where Rick sat. He looked up at her, his brow furrowing slightly, but she didn’t give him time to question her.
Her hands found his shoulders as she slid onto his lap, straddling him without hesitation. His body tensed beneath her, his hands instinctively moving to her hips.
“Sarah,” he started, but she silenced him with a kiss, her lips pressing against his with a desperate urgency.
Her hands moved to his chest, her fingers trailing over the faintly swollen muscle beneath his shirt. She could feel the heat radiating from him, matching the warmth in her own body. It was magnetic, impossible to resist, as though the air between them carried a charge that made her entire body ache. Her hips pressed down and shifted against his penis, her body searching for that familiar hardness, but she was met with nothing.
Rick’s hands tightened on her waist as he tried to respond, lifting his hips to try and push the saft up against her crotch, his breathing deepening, his kisses growing more insistent. But his body wasn’t following through.
Her frustration began to bloom as her hips rocked against him again forward and back, forward and back again, met only with soft resistance. “Rick,” she murmured against his lips, her voice shaking with a mix of need and confusion.
“I… I don’t know what’s wrong,” he admitted, his voice low and thick with frustration.
Sarah pressed herself against him once more, her movements slower this time, more deliberate trying to meet her pussy right on top of the flaccid ridge in his pants. She was trying to coax him, to draw something out of him, but his penis remained soft beneath her, unyielding in the worst way. Rick groaned, the sound heavy with equal parts shame and desperation, his hands gripping her hips as if trying to ground himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice tight, his tone tinged with guilt. “I want to, I just…”
But Sarah wasn’t ready to stop. She couldn’t stop. Her body was too revved up, too desperate for relief, the hum inside her growing louder with every second. She sat back slightly, her thighs straddling him as her hands moved down to his waist, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
“Don’t apologize,” she whispered, her voice soft but insistent. Her green eyes locked onto his, and there was a flicker of something determined in her expression. “Let me try.”
Rick hesitated, his jaw tightening as he looked at her, unsure, but he nodded faintly. Sarah slid her hands under his shirt, her palms skimming his warm skin as she lifted it over his head. She tossed the shirt aside and leaned forward, pressing kisses to his neck, his collarbone, and down his chest. She let her hands wander, exploring the familiar contours of his torso, though she couldn’t help but notice how his skin felt softer, smoother under her touch.
She moved lower, her lips brushing over his stomach as her fingers worked to undo the waistband of his pants. Rick’s breath hitched, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides as she pulled his pants down just enough to free his thick length.
He was always big but, he wasn’t hard, not the way she needed him to be, but Sarah didn’t let it deter her. She wrapped her hand around it, her touch gentle but firm, her fingers gliding over his length with careful intent. Rick groaned softly, his head tipping back against the couch, but it didn’t get hard which is what she wanted.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, her movements slow and patient. She kissed the curve of his hip, her other hand stroking as she tried to stir something in him, something she hoped was still there.
Rick shifted beneath her, his breathing uneven, and she could feel the tension radiating from him. “Sarah…” he started, his voice strained, but she shook her head, silencing him again with a soft kiss to his abdomen.
“Just relax,” she said softly, her voice carrying a mix of reassurance and quiet desperation.
She tried everything she could think of, her determination unwavering even as her frustration grew. Her hands moved with practiced care, gliding over him in slow, strong exaggerated deliberate strokes, the warmth of her palm brushing against his skin in a way that she knew would normally drive him wild. Her fingers traced along his length, applying pressure, teasing, coaxing, but the usual response just wasn’t there.
Her lips followed, brushing softly against his abdomen, trailing lower with each kiss. She paused for a moment, her breath warm against him, hoping the sensation might stir something in him, anything. When nothing happened, she pressed her lips around his length, her movements tender but desperate. She, nipped softly, let her tongue trail along his skin as her hand moved to cradled his balls, trying to create the spark that had always been there before.
Still, his body remained unresponsive. The softness in her mouth only deepened the knot in her stomach, the quiet resistance of his body feeling almost unnatural.
She shifted, adjusting her position to push his length deeper inside her mouth, her body warm against his, her hands brushing against his thighs as she tried to create some sense of connection, some way to draw him out of whatever was holding him back. Her mouth lingered, nibbling gently as if testing a new approach, her tongue grazing his forskin. It was then she noticed it—a faint taste on her tongue, something different.
It wasn’t the usual sharpness or metallic tang she expected—it was… delicious. Subtle but rich, with an almost addictive sweetness that seemed to coat her tongue. She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as she pulled back slightly, her lips still lingering near him. Watching closely, she noticed a few faint drops of a strange, translucent liquid emerge from him.
The drops shimmered faintly in the dim light, and without thinking, she leaned in again, her tongue brushing over the the small hole at the front of his penis, for more small amout of liquid. The flavor hit her instantly, like nothing she’d ever tasted before, smooth and almost irresistible. The heat that pulsed through her body in response felt instant, her skin prickling as an undeniable need stirred even deeper within her.
She didn’t know why—couldn’t explain it—but her body pushed her forward, instinctively seeking more. Her lips pressed back to him, her tongue trailing along the source of the strange liquid as she tried to sucked a little harder to coax another taste from him. Her hands gripped his thighs tighter, her movements more insistent as her mind began to fog, the sweetness driving her like a subtle whisper urging her on.
Rick groaned softly, his breathing uneven, his head tipping back against the couch as her persistence grew. A few more faint drops emerged, and Sarah captured them eagerly, her lips brushing against his skin as her body trembled faintly with every taste.
“Sarah,” Rick murmured, his voice low and strained, his hands suddenly moving to her shoulders.
The sound of his voice broke through the haze in her mind, and she froze, her lips still hovering against him as her hands hesitated. The warmth of his touch on her shoulders wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to stop her movements, enough to remind her of where she was and what she was doing.
Her breath hitched as she pulled back slightly, her gaze moving up to his face. His expression was conflicted—part guilt, part confusion, and something deeper she couldn’t quite place.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with frustration and shame. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Her chest tightened at the sound of his words, her heart aching as she searched his face. The need still burned in her, sharper now after the sweetness she’d tasted, but seeing the way he looked at her—so defeated—made her force herself to stop.
Sarah sat back slightly, her hands falling away from him, though her body screamed at her to move closer again. The tension between them was heavy, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of what had just happened—or hadn’t happened.
The silence lingered, thick with unspoken thoughts, as Sarah’s hand drifted to her mouth for a second.
“It’s not your fault,” she said softly, though her voice wavered.
Rick shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, his hands falling limply to his sides.
Sarah got up and sat beside him on the couch. Her body still burned with need, the heat between her legs impossible to ignore, but she forced herself to stay still. She didn’t want to make him feel worse.
The silence between them was heavy, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Sarah’s mind raced, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of what had just happened—or hadn’t happened.
Her hand drifted to her stomach, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric of her shirt. What’s happening to us? she wondered, the question echoing in her mind. But she didn’t ask him. Not yet.
-Bedtime Routine-
-Sarah’s POV-
Sarah sat quietly on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing absently against her thighs. The soft fabric of her pajama shorts clung to her skin uncomfortably after she’d changed into them, the dampness she’d tried to clean away earlier still persisting in faint waves. The heat in her body hadn’t faded, and every shift of her legs only seemed to fan the embers burning low in her belly.
She glanced toward the bathroom door, hearing the faint sound of the shower running. Rick was in there now, and she couldn’t help but replay the evening in her mind. The taste of that strange sweetness still lingered faintly on her tongue, tantalizing and infuriating in equal measure. She swallowed hard, as though trying to rid herself of the memory, but it wouldn’t leave her.
Her thoughts darted between guilt and confusion. She didn’t understand what was happening—why her body was reacting like this, why Rick couldn’t… She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. She didn’t want to dwell on it, not when he was already so frustrated.
Sliding under the covers, Sarah pulled the blanket over herself, hoping the cool sheets might calm her. Her body still felt too warm, her skin overly sensitive as her thighs brushed together beneath the fabric. She let out a slow breath, closing her eyes as her hand rested on her stomach, trying to will herself to relax.
But the hum was still there, faint but persistent, and as much as she wanted to ignore it, she knew sleep wouldn’t come easily.
-Rick’s POV-
Rick stood in the shower, the water running over his body as he braced his hands against the tiled wall. The heat of the water helped loosen the tension in his muscles, but it couldn’t reach the unease settling deeper inside him.
He glanced down, watching the water bead on his chest before rolling down to his legs. His pecs still felt tight, the faint swelling beneath his skin reminding him of the strange sensations he’d been dismissing all day. His hands, once rough and calloused, looked almost foreign to him now, the smoothness and faint sheen of his nails catching the bathroom’s dim light.
But it wasn’t just his hands or his chest that lingered in his mind—it was the evening. The way Sarah had looked at him, touched him, tried so hard to get something out of him that he just couldn’t give. His jaw tightened, frustration mingling with shame as he ran a hand through his damp hair, feeling more strands come loose between his fingers.
He turned off the water, stepping out into the bathroom and grabbing a towel. The mirror above the sink was fogged, but he avoided wiping it clean. He didn’t want to see his reflection right now. Instead, he dried off quickly, the softness of the towel against his skin another reminder of how different his body felt.
Pulling on a clean pair of pajama pants, Rick padded back to the bedroom. Sarah was already in bed, her back to him as she lay still beneath the blanket. He hesitated for a moment, watching her, unsure if she was asleep or pretending to be.
Sliding into bed beside her, he settled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his mind wouldn’t quiet. He glanced at Sarah again, the way her hand rested lightly on her stomach, the subtle curve of her back under the blanket. She still looked beautiful to him, but the quiet distance between them now felt heavier than it ever had before.
Rick closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep. But even as fatigue tugged at him, the unease in his body and the unanswered questions in his mind refused to let him rest easily.