Arin's gaze swept, searching for the perfect opening, something safe, something that wasn't her body. His eyes landed on the tiny trash bin beside the table. Crumpled papers spilled over the rim, and one sheet had escaped entirely, lying half-curled on the floor.
He leaned down casually, picked it up, and smoothed it out.
It was a pencil drawing of a cat perched on the very edge of a cliff, tail curled elegantly, fur rendered in excruciating detail. The background, though, was completely blank, as if the cat existed in pure void.
The skill was undeniable.
Arin glanced up. "Ma'am… did you draw this?".
Jenny turned from the stove, wooden spatula still in hand. A shy smile tugged at her lips. "Yes, that's mine."
He let genuine admiration flood his voice. "That's insane, ma'am. Seriously, this might be the most talented drawing I've ever seen in my life."
Heat exploded across her chest and raced downward. Her thighs pressed together on instinct, the seam of her orange leggings suddenly far too aware of itself.
"Aww, thank you… but it's really just a normal sketch," she murmured, cheeks flushing as she turned back to the pan.
Arin wasn't done.
He took another wafer from the bowl, eyes never leaving her. "No, look at the fur texture, the way the light hits each strand… that's not normal, ma'am. That's next-level."
The heat surged harder. Jenny bit her lower lip, stirring the sizzling beef with a little too much force. Her legs trembled. She crossed them tightly at the ankle, trying to ease the sudden, throbbing ache between them.
"There are way more talented artists out there… I'm really nothing special," she said, voice wavering.
Arin leaned forward slightly, tone warm and relentless. "That just means you worked insanely hard to get this good. I'm actually speechless. This is perfection, ma'am."
Jenny froze.
Her breath hitched. A violent pulse throbbed deep in her core, so intense her knees nearly buckled.
'Fuck… what's wrong with me? Why am I getting this wet just from his words? My pussy's itching so bad… I need… I want something inside me right now…'.
Without thinking, her left hand dropped to her thigh. She shifted her weight, subtly sliding her fingers between her legs, pressing the fabric of her leggings against her swollen clit in slow, discreet circles. Just enough to take the edge off.
She kept stirring, eyes fixed on the pan, convinced Arin was still studying the drawing and hadn't noticed.
He noticed everything.
From his seat, Arin watched her shoulders tense, watched the tiny, rhythmic shift of her hips, watched her thighs clench and tremble while her fingers worked desperately beneath the counter's edge.
Arin's eyes gleamed.
"I'm really curious now, ma'am. What else do you draw? I'd love to see your real masterpieces… if that's okay."
Jenny's hand snapped away from between her thighs like she'd been burned. She spun toward the wardrobe, cheeks flaming, and yanked out a thick, worn sketchbook.
"H-here… take a good look," she stammered, practically shoving it into his hands.
Arin accepted it with a soft, innocent smile.
'Heh… She just handed me her entire soul on paper. How cute jenny.'
He flipped the first page. A charcoal portrait of a woman in profile, every lash and freckle perfect.
"Ma'am… this is insane."
Another page. A sleeping cat curled on a windowsill, sunlight pouring over its fur.
"The lighting here? I've never seen anything this realistic."
Page after page—landscapes, still lifes, delicate studies of hands—and every single turn earned another calm, devastating compliment.
Jenny stood frozen at the stove, gripping the counter.
The rich smell of beef stew filled the room, but she barely noticed. Her thighs kept clenching, slick heat soaking through her panties and leggings. She turned off the burner with trembling fingers and let the pot rest.
Arin never looked up from the sketches, voice steady, almost reverent.
"You're not just talented, ma'am. You're a genius. I'm actually getting goosebumps."
That one broke her.
Jenny stumbled to the chair opposite him and collapsed into it, hiding her burning face behind both hands. Her shoulders rose and fell with shallow, desperate breaths.
She crossed her arms tight over her chest, then let her forehead drop toward the table, hair spilling loose from the bun.
Arin closed the sketchbook gently and stood."Ma'am? Are you okay?" His tone was pure concern, face perfectly neutral.
"Y-yeah… I'm fine," she whispered to the tabletop, voice cracking.
Then she glanced sideways, just a flicker—and saw it.
The sweatpants were no longer loose. A thick, obscene ridge strained against the fabric, the swollen head clearly outlined, pointing straight toward her like an accusation.
Jenny's eyes snapped up to his.
"W-why… why is it standing like that?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her entire face crimson.
Arin scratched the back of his neck, sheepish.
"Oh… it's nothing, ma'am. Happens sometimes when I'm around a really beautiful woman. It'll go down on its own, don't worry."
Jenny swallowed hard, her gaze helplessly dragged back to the monstrous tent straining his sweatpants.
"B-but… doesn't it hurt? I mean… it's… really big…"
Arin let out a soft, pained hiss, shifting his weight.
"N— uhm… yea… it actually hurts pretty bad right now" he said, voice low and rough, a faint wince crossing his face as he exhaled through his teeth.
Total lie.
Jenny's mind fractured.
'God… why does my mouth want to wrap around that cock so badly? It's… it's triple the size of my worthless husband's—bigger than the limp little shrimp smiling in that frame over there. This isn't even real… I just want to see it, touch it—'
Shame crashed over her like ice water. She dropped her forehead to the table again, hiding her burning face in her folded arms, breath coming in ragged little gasps.
In two soundless steps he was behind her. Warm breath ghosted the shell of her ear.
"Ma'am…" His voice was a dark, velvet whisper. "…why are you absolutely drenched right now?"
Jenny froze. "W-what…?"
Before the word fully left her lips, his hands slid forward—fast, confident, possessive. Palms cupped her heavy breasts through the thin sky-blue tank top and squeezed hard.
*SQUEEZE—SQUEEEEEZE*
"Anhhh—!". A broken, desperate moan tore out of her throat, back arching involuntarily into his grip.