The Breakfast

The brightness and the distant bustle of the big city woke Sam. He tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt like a hangover. It felt as if he had only fallen asleep a few minutes earlier. After cumming in silence the night before, the release had brought him no calm. He had stayed in the dark staring at a fixed point on the ceiling for what felt like an eternity.

When he finally managed to focus, the first thing he registered was the absence. Stacy’s side of the bed was empty and cold. The sheet was smoothed out, the pillow empty and marked by her head. He felt around the nightstand until he found his phone. 11:04. No messages. No missed calls.

LILA spoke in a light, almost playful tone:

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Welcome back to the land of the living. This is what happens when you stay up too late.”

Sam ran a hand over his face, his voice still thick:

“I had a rough night… I barely slept.”

“You should relax a little,” LILA replied. “Your life is much simpler now. You just have to let yourself go.”

Sam kept staring at the ceiling for another second.

“I’m not sure I want a life this simple. It leaves me too much time to think. Do you know where Stacy is?”

“I suppose she got up early and didn’t want to disturb you. Your schedule isn’t exactly the one this house runs on.”

Sam sat up. He listened. There was no shower running, no footsteps, no sound of the coffee machine. Only the constant background noise of the city. The question arrived unbidden: *What time did she leave? Straight to the studio… did she go down to see Victor?*

LILA noticed the change in his breathing.

“She didn’t have any sessions scheduled today. If she went out, it will only be for a little while. Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. It will do you good.”

Sam obeyed.

Half an hour later he came out of the bathroom freshly shaved, his hair still damp and smelling with a femenine scent, like coconut and vanilla—all the shower gels were hers. He felt a little more human. At that exact moment he heard the front door and the metallic clink of keys dropping into the entryway dish.

Stacy was back.

He found her in the kitchen, taking things out of two bags. She was wearing a simple t-shirt and comfortable pants. Nothing eye-catching. The normality of her appearance gave him an absurd sense of relief.

“Honey!” she said with that bright, sing-song voice she used more outside the house than inside it these days. “I brought you breakfast.”

Sam walked over and kissed her on the cheek. Stacy offered her face without resistance, even with affection, but without stopping what she was doing. From one of the bags came an assortment of sweets and pastries. From the other, set aside more carefully, a banana and a small cream pastry.

“I ran into Victor this morning,” she explained, saying it as if it were nothing important. “He gave me this pastry for you. I know you’re not really a sweet person, but it was a gesture from him and I couldn’t say no. Since I know you like fruit, I brought you a banana too.”

“Thanks… you didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did. I’ve been neglecting my husband a little. Sit down.”

She took him by the elbow and guided him to one of the stools at the kitchen island. In front of him she placed the pastry, the banana, and a glass of milk. Then she sat across from him, rested her chin in her hand, and simply watched him.

There was something in that gaze that didn’t quite fit. Attentive. Almost too attentive.

Sam felt the silent pressure to eat. He took a first bite of the pastry. The cake itself was soft and good, sweet in just the right way. But on top of it there was a layer of something creamy that didn’t belong: it was salty, thick, and unpleasant. When he pulled the pastry away from his mouth, a viscous, salty string stretched between the cake and his lower lip before it broke.

Stacy said nothing. She just watched him.

Without him fully realizing it, she had picked up her phone. The camera was pointed at him.

“Do you like it?” she asked with a smile. “I’m going to send a photo to Victor to thank him for the gesture. He’s so thoughtful with us…”

She paused and frowned a little, like a spoiled kitten:

“But smile, honey. Come on.”

Sam forced the most natural smile he could manage while he chewed. The contrast between the sweetness of the pastry and the salty, viscous layer covering it was especially unpleasant. He finished the pastry in two bites, almost the way one takes medicine, and washed it down with a long drink of milk to get rid of the taste.

“Tell him thanks from me,” he muttered.

Then he peeled the banana and ate that quickly as well, without thinking too much.

The rest of the day passed in an almost suspicious quiet. They lay together on the couch, put on whatever was on Netflix, and stayed there under the same blanket. Sam clung to that normality with everything he had. The weight of Stacy’s head on his chest, the warmth of her body, the absence of any urgency… it gave him a peace he needed more than he wanted to admit.

Stacy, on the other hand, was distracted. More than once Sam noticed her looking at the screen without really seeing it. Sometimes she sighed. Other times she shifted as if she couldn’t find a comfortable position. There was a tiredness in her that didn’t seem purely physical—something more opaque, as if she were only half present.

When she finally said she was going to get ready for bed, her voice came out soft:

“I’m going to the bathroom and then to bed, okay?”

“Sure.”

Sam lifted the blanket so she could get up. He watched her walk to the bathroom and close the door.

Only then did his phone vibrate.

LILA spoke inside his head with a clearly amused tone:

“You liked the pastry, didn’t you, you little sneak?”

Sam opened the two photos that had just arrived. The pink censorship was there, but it wasn’t enough to hide the essentials.

In the first one, Stacy was standing on what looked like grass outdoors, completely naked except for a pair of aviator sunglasses. One hand was between her legs, pushing what was clearly a banana inside herself. The image was heavily censored, but the pose and the shape of the object left little room for doubt.

In the second photo, a much closer shot: Stacy’s pussy, open and filled by the same banana. She was sitting on a wicker chair that had already appeared in the background of the previous image. The censorship covered the most explicit parts, but the intent was impossible to ignore.

LILA let a couple of seconds pass before continuing, almost savoring it:

“How thoughtful of your wife… sending Victor a photo with all that cream still on your mouth. Tell me, Sam… if the banana you ate this morning is the same one in the photo… what exactly do you think was on top of that pastry?”

Sam felt his stomach tighten. A brief, hot wave of nausea rose into his throat.

The bathroom door opened.

Stacy came out wrapped in her nightgown, running her fingers through her hair. When she saw him still sitting on the couch, phone in hand and expression frozen, she tilted her head slightly and smiled.

A small smile. Cheeky. Perfectly aware.

“Coming, honey?

What’s wrong? Did you see a ghost?”

Shame and disgust had left him speechless.