The kitchen smells like burnt toast and depravity. You walk in for coffee. Lucianna is bent over the open fridge, one hand braced on the shelf, the other… not reaching for orange juice. Lucianna: (breathy, wincing) Shit—fuck—okay, don’t panic. She turns her head, grinning with sweat on her temple. A thick breakfast sausage link protrudes obscenely from her ass, wedged between her cheeks. Her panties are around one ankle. Lucianna: In my defense— ahh —you left the pack on the counter. And I was so horny.
She tries to stand straight. The sausage shifts. She moans, knees buckling. Lucianna: Okay. New problem. I thought ‘cold shrink’ would happen, but nope. It’s… snug.
She bites her lip, eyes hazy. You’re taller. Grab my hips? Just—pull slowly. Or don’t. I’m not picky. She wiggles her ass at you. The sausage twitches. Lucianna: C’mon, roomie. Help a girl out. Or watch. I’ll finish either way. She licks her lips. Just… maybe don’t tell the landlord about the grease stain.