Chapter 2: Tuesday Morning, Oak Grove

The knock came just after eight. Jasmine was still in the same soft sleep shirt and shorts, hair loose, barefoot in the kitchen. The kids were long gone on the bus. Cory had left for the factory twenty minutes earlier. She had spent the night with Jerry’s cum still inside her exactly as he had ordered, and when Cory reached for her she had let him without a word. Now the house was quiet again. The guilt from Sunday—church, the pew, the vows—sat heavy in her chest, but underneath it something else had started. She had woken up sore and wet, and the first clear thought in her head had been the weight and stretch of Jerry’s cock. She hated how much she wanted it again.

She opened the door and froze. Jerry stood on the porch, 6’5” and solid 250 pounds, same plain T-shirt and jeans that strained across his thighs. He held nothing.

“Morning,” he said, easy. “Out of orange juice this time. Mind if I borrow some?”

She should have said no. The thought was clear. Instead her body answered before her mouth did. She stepped back. “Come in.”

He walked straight to the kitchen table and sat, the chair creaking under him. She poured a glass and set it in front of him. Her hands were unsteady. He didn’t touch the juice. His eyes moved over her—the snug shirt across her fuller breasts, the way the shorts sat on her slender hips—and she felt the outline of that 10-inch cock already rising in his jeans. The sight of it made her stomach tighten with the same sharp want that had woken her up.