Something Hard!

Jimmy's dick quit on him. Stone dead, and now he's standing in front of his wife telling her the bad news straight up: he can't fuck anymore. Full stop. Nothing works. They sit with that ugly truth for about thirty seconds before he offers the fix that keeps her wet—black studs on the payroll. Therapist scribbles down a number. Jimmy calls the guy, books him, and pays cash. First time the bull shows up his wife is already grinning at the door like she's unwrapping Christmas. That first sight of the thick slab he packs is better than any reassurance Jimmy could give. She's spreading before the stud even drops his pants, and Jimmy takes the chair in the corner, cock safely tucked behind a limp nothing. From that seat he watches the whole show—the bull sliding every inch home while his wife's moans pitch louder, her cunt swallowing dark meat like it was built for it. Jimmy's got front-row tickets, nothing to do but sit and soak up the wet slaps, the filthy talk, the way she comes so hard the bed frame complains. Lucky bastard. He gets to watch his wife get properly wrecked without ever needing to perform again.