It was december. The winter chill had seeped into every corner of our home, but inside me, a fire was raged. My husband who was sleeping in a blanket, had turned away from me for weeks, muttering about the cold sapping his cock's energy. He had declined to all my advances. he'd come home after his office, rolling over in bed, leaving me aching and frustrated. My body burned with need, pussy throbbing at the slightest thought of touch.

Desperation led me to the garden gate that afternoon, where I spotted him—a ragged beggar ringing bell of my house, huddled against the gate, his clothes threadbare, eyes hollow from hunger and idleness.I approached hesitantly, my shawl wrapped tight against the breeze, but my voice came out steady.