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You blurt it out before the second thoughts can form.

“I would do it.”

Natasha’s smirk vanishes. For a moment she simply stares at you, the shock plain on her face. Then something in your expression, the lack of joke, the raw edge of desire underneath the anger and the hurt, makes her look closer. The earnestness is visible. The real want is visible. She studies you for several long seconds while the kettle sits forgotten behind her.

“You are serious,” she says slowly. “You would actually let her teach you.”

You nod once. The thick outline in your sweatpants has not faded.

Natasha’s voice softens by a fraction, though the new authority she has been wearing since the confession remains.

“All right. I’ll organise it. She’ll be here this evening. You will listen. You’ll do exactly what she says. No pushing. No taking over. If you cannot handle that, the whole thing ends and we go back to the way it has been.”

She looks down at the obvious tent in your sweatpants again and something like pity mixes with the residual heat in her eyes.

“Take it out.”

You push the waistband down. The full 8.5 inches springs free, heavy and already leaking. Natasha steps closer, wraps her soft hand around the shaft, and starts stroking in slow, deliberate pulls. At the same time she unlocks her phone again and holds the screen where you can see it.

The first video begins. Ruby’s mouth between Natasha’s thighs on the sofa, the wet sounds clear even through the phone speaker. Natasha’s own quiet moans rise from the recording while her hand works your cock in the present. She swipes to another clip without stopping the stroke. Kitchen counter. Ruby’s fingers moving inside her. Natasha’s back arching. Then a longer video of the two of them in the bedroom, Ruby’s athletic body covering Natasha’s softer one, hips rolling in a steady rhythm while Natasha’s voice on the recording tells her not to stop.

Natasha keeps the hand job slow and controlled, thumb occasionally brushing the wet head, while the evidence of four months of their sessions plays in front of you. She does not look away from your face. She simply strokes, shows, and lets the combination of her hand and the videos do the rest, the pity in her expression now mixed with a quiet, focused interest in how completely you are letting this happen.