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Lily's playful eagerness from the night of her encounter with Barry waned as the full weight of what she had done began to set in. Did she really want to go further? What had gotten into her last night?

The next morning, the air in their small kitchen was thick with unspoken tension. The easy rhythm of their routine was gone, replaced by a careful, choreographed distance. Jake made coffee, his movements too precise, the clink of his spoon against the ceramic mug unnaturally loud in the silence. Lily poured a glass of water, her gaze fixed on the stream filling the glass, on anything but him.

It was Jake who finally broke the silence, his voice uncharacteristically soft, tentative. "Hey," he began, placing a mug on the counter near her, but not too near. "About last night... I feel like maybe I should have intervened before things went too far. Are you okay?"

Lily flinched at the question, gripping her glass. This was her chance to build a wall. She couldn't admit to the confusing flicker of power she'd felt, or the surprising arousal towards the end at her own degrading position, pleasuring a gross older man - his cum covering her hand and even splattering near her pouty little mouth. To do so would be to invite more. She had to perform. She turned to him, her face a carefully constructed mask of revulsion. "It was just... gross, Jake." She let out a small, authentic shudder. "The way he smelled... feeling his... that... on my skin." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "It wasn't a fun game. It just felt dirty. I felt cheap."

Jake's relief was almost palpable, though he hid it well behind a facade of remorse. She was disgusted. Good. That meant he could be the protector. "You're right," he said immediately, his tone earnest as he stepped closer. "You're absolutely right. I got lost in the idea of it, the fantasy, and I didn't think about how it would actually feel for you. He is a pathetic loser. It was a mistake to go that far."

This was the validation Lily needed to set her boundary. "I don't think I can do that again," she said, her voice gaining a sliver of strength. "The physical part is... it's too much."

"Okay," Jake said, nodding quickly, sealing the deal. "I hear you. No more physical stuff. We'll stick to the online teasing. That was a line, and I crossed it. I promise I won't again."

A fragile, dishonest truce settled between them. Lily accepted his apology with a quiet nod, relieved that she had established a rule that would protect her from any more unwanted physical encounters. Jake was relieved that by agreeing to her terms, he had salvaged the game, keeping her trust while he secretly cherished the memory of what had happened. He gave her a brief, functional hug, a gesture of peacemaking, not passion. "Okay, Jake. Done," she murmured into his shoulder. The matter was closed. Or so they had both agreed.

But the residue of the handjob, Barry's surprisingly substantial member, and her own confusing, shameful arousal lingered. Her mind kept replaying the moment of his climax, the sheer volume of it erupting onto her hand. She had scrubbed her skin raw in the bathroom afterward, but she couldn't wash away the sensory imprint. "It should be repulsive," she'd whisper to herself in the dark, Jake snoring softly beside her. "So why do I keep thinking about the feel of it?" The disgust she was supposed to feel, the disgust she performed for Jake, felt thin and brittle compared to the bewilderment.

Driven by a desperate need to understand her own body's confusing signals, Lily found herself drawn to the anonymous glow of her laptop screen late at night. This wasn't an exploration of Jake's fantasy; it was a search for answers about herself. Her search history became a shameful litany of her confusion: "unexpected arousal," "turned on pleasuring gross older men," "why am I turned on by being degraded?"

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