I had always considered myself a good friend, the kind who would drop everything to help out. So when Mark texted me saying he needed a hand with something at his place, I didn't hesitate. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and the sun was streaming through my windows, casting golden patterns on the floor. I grabbed my keys and headed over, not bothering to change out of my comfy jeans and old ratty tee.

The door was slightly ajar when I arrived, which wasn’t unusual for Mark. He was perpetually forgetful. I pushed it open with a light tap, calling out, “Mark? It’s me, are you here?”

No answer.

I stepped inside, the familiar scent of his laundry scent mixed with the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. “Mark?” I tried again, walking towards the living room. The TV was on, some video game playing, but there was no sign of him.

Curious, I ventured further, thinking maybe he was in the kitchen or bathroom.

As I approached his bedroom, I heard a soft noise, a rhythmic sound that made me pause. Stupidly, I opened the door, which revealed Mark sprawled on his bed, his back against the headboard, eyes closed, completely oblivious to my presence.

My eyes were drawn immediately to his hand moving slowly up and down his shaft, his other hand cradling his balls. He was lost in his own world, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, his breaths coming out in short pants. I should have turned away, should have quietly backed out and pretended I never saw this intimate moment, but my feet were rooted to the spot, my eyes glued to the sight before me.

It was then that his eyes fluttered open, locking onto mine with a shock that mirrored my own. His hand stilled, his cock pulsing in his grip, hard and flushed. “Oh God, Jenna, I—”

I stammered, trying to find words, any words, to fill the awkward silence that stretched between us. “I... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... I should go.”

But instead of letting me flee, Mark’s voice stopped me, low and urgent. “Wait, please. Don’t go. Just... stay.”

hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest, torn between the urge to escape and a strange curiosity that held me captive. Slowly, I nodded, unable to look away from his intense gaze.

Mark resumed his movements, slower now, more deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. It was incredibly intimate, watching him, feeling like I was part of this private act.

His breath hitched, and he whispered, “Jenna, can you... can you show me your breasts? Please, it would help me finish.”

The request was so bold, so unexpected, that for a moment, I couldn’t process it. But then, inexplicably, I found myself reaching for the hem of my shirt, lifting it slowly, exposing myself to him. His eyes widened, a groan escaping his lips as he took in the sight of my bare chest, my nipples hardening under his gaze.