Next day at work

The next morning, she wakes me up with a kiss, her breath minty fresh, and tells me breakfast is ready. I follow the scent of coffee to the kitchen, where she's dressed in one of my oversized t-shirts, her bare legs peeking out from the bottom. She's humming to herself, flipping pancakes and pouring juice. It's a scene straight out of a sitcom.

"Where is grandpa?" I ask, trying to keep the suspicion out of my voice. "He's still sleeping," Carrie says, pouring me a cup of coffee with a little too much enthusiasm. "You are the one, who had to get up early for work, I didn't want to disturb him." She smiles sweetly, but I can see the lie in her eyes. She wants me out of as soon as possible. "I come home early to help Grandpa put the furniture together.", I reply, noticing her face fall slightly. "Oh, okay," Carrie says with a hint of disappointment.

After a quick breakfast, I kiss her goodbye, feeling the distance between us grow. She's eager to get me out the door, and I can't shake the feeling that she's counting the seconds until I leave. As I drive to work, my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. What have I unleashed?

The day at work is a blur, my thoughts consumed by the images of Carrie and my grandpa. It's like an addictive porn scene that keeps replaying in my head, only it's not a scene I want to be a part of. Every time I try to focus on my work, the vision of them together, the sounds of their passionate whispers, the smell of their combined lust fills my senses. I'm torn between anger and a perverse arousal that I can't quite shake.

Finally, around 11pm, she calls. "Honey, the furniture got here," she says, her voice breathless with excitement. "We're going to assembling it all. You don't need to come home early." She hangs up before I can protest. I sit at my desk, the phone feeling like a weight in my hand. What a bad joke! My girlfriend and my grandpa are putting together "The Sturdy Bed For Active Couples", and I sit here becoming the third wheel in my own life.

I distract myself by getting involved in my work, but the anticipation of coming home is killing me. Around 2pm my phone starts to ring, and when I look at the screen, it's the local police station calling. My heart sinks as I answer, "Hello?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Smith, but we've had numerous complaints about the noise coming from your residence," the police officer's voice on the other end of the line is firm yet understanding. "Your neighbors have reported loud sounds and shouting that have disturbed the peace in the area." I rub my forehead, trying to piece all this together. "I'll take care of it, officer. I'll be home shortly.", I reply, trying to keep my voice calm and collected.

"You are not at home!!?", the officer's voice is incredulous. "No, I am at work," is my embarrassed reply. After a pause, he continues, trying to hold back a laugh, "Well, Mr. Smith, it seems that your house has been quite the... entertainment hub today." He clears his throat. "We've had several complaints from your neighbors about the loud noises, screams, moans and disturbance. So please, when you get home, make sure to... Enjoy your day." He hangs up, and my mind races. I think I can hear the Police Station exploding with laughter.

My phone rings, I think it's the officer again, but this time it's Mrs. Jenkins, our neighbor from two houses down. "Mark, what the hell is going on over there?" she demands, her voice shrill and furious. "It sounds like a damn porn set!"

I stumble over my words, trying to come up with a believable excuse. "It's just... we're... having some friends over. They're helping us with the furniture," I lie, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over me. "Well, keep it down, for God's sake.," she snaps before hanging up. I sit there, the phone still pressed to my ear, long after she's gone.

And again, my phone starts to buzz. This time it's a Frank, our neighbor from the right. "Bro, you guys throwing a fucking rave?" He laughs, but there's an edge of seriousness to his voice. "Sorry, man. It's just... the TV," I lie again, the words feeling like sandpaper in my mouth. "Are you killing her or what?" He jokes, but I can't bring myself to laugh. "I'll take care of it," I say, ending the call as politely as possible.

I call Carrie, and after what seems like an eternity, she answers, "hheeeeyyy, what's up hhonney...hhh...?" she says completely out of breath. "Why are you so Exhausted?", I ask with a hint of accusation in my voice. "Ohhh, ju... just... assem...bling and mmm mov...ing the furni...ture...", she gasps. "Look honey, half the neighborhood was complaining and even the police called. So for fuck's sake, please do assemble more quietly!", I yell and hang up.

When I arrive home, the house is eerily silent. I find Grandpa on the couch, dozing with the TV on. His backpain belt is around his waist, and he's got a heat pack resting on his lower back. I look for Carrie and spot her in our bedroom. She lays on bed, her legs spread eagle, with an ice pack placed over her crotch. "Are you awake honey?", I call out to her. She jolts up, looking around frantically. "What happened?", I ask, trying to keep a smile. "I have a stomach ache. It's probably because of the pancakes," she says weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. "And you cool your stomach with ice packs on your... crotch?", I reply, raising an eyebrow. She looks down, "Oh, it slipped down," she says, her cheeks flushing, slips the ice pack under her shirt, closes her eyes, and passes out.

I walk into the living room, "Grandpa, are you okay?". He cracks open an eye, "Yeah, I've just got a bit of back pain," he says, wincing. "Probably from all that heavy furniture," I say, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. He nods solemnly, "You know how it is with age," he says, and I can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.

I go into the kitchen and start making dinner, trying to ignore the images of them fucking on the new bed. As I'm chopping vegetables, I hear a knock at the door. It's the neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, holding a Tupperware container. "I brought you some leftovers," she says with a knowing smile. "I figured with all the... renovations going on, you might need a break." She winks and I take the container, trying not to blush.

When I get back to the bedroom, Carrie is still passed out, but laying on her side now, with the ice pack still in place. I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. I decide to play along and get into bed with her, placing the Tupperware of food on the nightstand.

But as I lay down, I notice something peculiar. There's a buldge in Carrie's panties, nestled right between her asscheeks. Curiosity getting the better of me, I gently pull down her panties. My eyes widen, I gag and almost throw up when I see her rectum insides hanging out, red and swollen. It's not a sight I've ever seen before, and don't want to see again.

Resignated, I pull up Carrie's panties and carefully remove the ice pack from between Carrie's legs and lay it over my own forehead, the chill providing a brief respite from the sweltering tension of the day. I lay back on the bed, trying to **** my brain to shut down and my body to relax.