*Author's Note: Critique and commentary is always very welcomed! Any ideas of what you'd like to see in the next chapter is also grand :) *

Uwe sits in the dim living room, the stale air heavy with the smell of damp walls. The small table before him still holds the remnants of their meager breakfast—a crumb of stale bread and an empty coffee tin where the last of their money had been stashed. His foot taps impatiently against the cracked floorboards as he glances at the door for the hundredth time, frustration building in his chest.

“What’s taking her so long?” he mutters, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

With a resigned sigh, he picks up the crumpled newspaper Elsa had discarded that morning. His eyes skim over the faded print, landing on an ad in bold letters:

“Laborers Needed at Werner’s Factory. Immediate Start. Decent Pay.”

He pauses, his brows knitting together. The name “Werner” jumps out at him. Could it be the same place Elsa had mentioned? His jaw tightens as he reads the details. The pay isn’t great, but it’s something—anything to pull them out of this endless cycle of scraping by.

The idea of working in the same factory as Elsa stirs conflicting feelings in him. On one hand, it’s a chance to provide, to step up as the husband he knows he should be. On the other, a strange unease creeps in, a nagging voice reminding him of the tension between them, of her determination to navigate the city on her own terms.

Setting the paper down, he leans back in the rickety chair, staring at the ceiling. The thought of swallowing his pride and taking a blue-collar job grates on him, but the alternative—doing nothing—feels even worse.

As the minutes drag on, his frustration only grows, fueled by a simmering mix of jealousy and self-doubt. “She better have a good reason for being late,” he mutters, though the ad lingers in his mind, a faint glimmer of possibility in the gloom.

Elsa steps through the door, her face flushed from the cold and the rush of emotions swirling within her. Despite the threadbare coat draped over her shoulders and the ache in her feet from walking all day, a flicker of hope lights her expression. She clutches the small advance Werner had given her, hidden safely in her pocket.

“Uwe!” she calls softly, closing the door behind her. “I got the job. Werner hired me.”

Uwe, seated at the table with the crumpled newspaper in hand, looks up sharply. His eyes scan her, noting the slight smile playing on her lips, but his frustration remains palpable. “You took your time,” he mutters, his voice edged with irritation. “What were you doing all day?”

Elsa’s smile falters. She slips off her coat and drapes it over a chair. “It was a long process. He had me working through tests, dictations, tea service… It’s not as simple as it sounds.” She tries to keep her tone light, but Uwe’s scowl deepens.

“And this Werner,” he says, folding the newspaper with a snap. “Who is he? What kind of job did you take?”

Elsa hesitates, the memory of Werner’s touch and his invasive inspection flashing through her mind. She pushes it aside, straightening her posture. “He’s strict, but professional. He runs the factory well. It’s a good opportunity, Uwe. We’ll finally have a steady income.”

Uwe narrows his eyes, setting the paper aside. “I saw an ad. The factory’s hiring laborers too. Maybe I’ll take it.”

The tension hangs heavy in the air, Uwe’s bruised pride clashing with Elsa’s cautious optimism. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” she says gently, stepping closer. “I’m doing this for us, Uwe. We’re a team, remember?”

His shoulders relax slightly, the edge in his expression softening. “I know. It’s just… it’s hard, Elsa. Waiting here, not knowing what’s happening, feeling useless.”

Her heart aches at his vulnerability, and she reaches out, resting a hand on his arm. “I understand. But things are changing now. We’re moving forward.”

For a moment, the room feels warmer, the bitterness dissipating. Uwe nods slowly, the tension easing from his jaw. “Alright,” he murmurs. “We’ll get through this.”

Elsa offers a small, reassuring smile. “We will. Together.”

The uneasy peace settles between them as the harshness of the day gives way to a quiet resolve.

As the tension ebbs away, Elsa’s hand lingers on Uwe’s arm, her touch warm against his worn shirt. She looks up at him, catching the soft flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, and suddenly, the harshness of the day feels distant. For a moment, it’s just the two of them in the dim, drafty apartment, the world outside forgotten.

Uwe’s lips twitch into a faint smile, the first she’s seen from him in days. He places his hand gently over hers, roughened from work and cold, but steady. “I missed this,” he says softly, his voice almost a whisper.

Elsa tilts her head, her brow furrowing slightly. “Missed what?”

“You,” he replies simply. “The way you look at me like nothing else matters.”

She laughs lightly, a sound that feels foreign in their strained lives but welcome nonetheless. “You make it hard sometimes,” she teases, though her voice carries a tenderness that softens the words.

He steps closer, his hand moving to her waist, his touch hesitant, almost reverent. “I know,” he murmurs, his forehead leaning against hers. “But I’ll do better. I promise.”

The closeness stirs something in Elsa, a warmth that spreads despite the chill in the room. She cups his face, her thumb brushing over the stubble on his cheek. “We both will,” she whispers.

Their lips meet, tentative at first, then deeper, the kiss carrying a mixture of apology, love, and a desperate need to hold onto something pure amidst the chaos of their lives. The world outside fades further, and for a brief, stolen moment, their love feels like a refuge, strong enough to withstand whatever comes next.

Uwe takes off Elsa underwear, and push his head between her legs start licking on her labia. Elsa being tickled spread further her legs allowing Uwe to continue. Uwe is so excited that pulls down his pant, revealing his erection. He has a below average cock hidden in a wildh bush. He push inside Elsa with force. She hesitates but then let go. “ Careful with the dress,” she says, her tone light but insistent. “It’s not mine—it’s Frau Beck’s.”

Uwe shrugs, brushing her concern aside with a wave of his hand. “It’s just a dress, Elsa. Stop fussing.”

The act is short Uwe jizz on her dress.

“Uwe!” she exclaims, stepping back abruptly. She instinctively grabs at the hem of the dress, trying in vain to blot the stain with her fingers. “This isn’t mine! Frau Beck is going to kill me!”

Elsa shakes her head, the fragile romance of the moment shattered. “You never think, Uwe,” she says, her voice trembling with frustration. “You never think about what I’m dealing with, what I’m trying to do for us.”

Uwe is anyway satisfied but Elsa is left with hanging orgasm, and a dress that needs a wash. She has know to get back to find a shop still open to find a new dress.

“I have to fix this,” she mutters to herself, grabbing her coat and scarf.

“Where are you going?” Uwe asks, still seated at the table, his tone now softer but tinged with guilt.

“To buy a new dress,” Elsa replies coldly, her back to him as she ties the scarf around her neck. “I can’t show up tomorrow like this. And I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

The air between them is heavy, but Uwe doesn’t respond, leaving Elsa to storm out into the cold night.

The streets are dimly lit, the orange glow of gas lamps casting long shadows over the cobblestones. Elsa pulls her coat tighter around herself, the chill biting through the thin fabric. Most shops have already closed, their shutters drawn and doors locked, but she presses on, desperate to find one still open.

Her boots echo on the empty streets, mingling with the occasional distant murmur of voices or the bark of a stray dog. She passes a group of workers trudging home, their faces weary and impassive, and feels a pang of envy for their certainty, their routines.

Finally, at the corner of a narrow alley, she spots a shop with faint light seeping through the window. The sign above reads Kleider & Stoffe, and though it looks more like a secondhand store than a proper boutique, it’s her only option.

Elsa steps into the shop, the faint jingle of a bell announcing her arrival. The air inside is heavy and stale, carrying the scent of old fabric and something faintly metallic. The dim light from a single flickering bulb casts long shadows across the cluttered space. Racks of mismatched dresses and coats are packed tightly together, and a thick layer of dust seems to coat every surface.

Behind the counter stands an old man, barely taller than the counter itself. His hunched frame is draped in a shabby cardigan, and his thin, graying hair clings to his scalp in uneven patches. His small, watery eyes squint at Elsa through thick, smudged glasses, giving him an unsettling, almost insect-like appearance.

“Well, well,” he rasps, his voice a low growl as he straightens slightly. “What brings you here so late, young lady?”

Elsa hesitates, suddenly feeling the cold more acutely even though she’s indoors. The way his gaze lingers on her makes her stomach churn, but she pushes the discomfort aside. “I need a dress,” she says, her voice firmer than she feels. “Something simple, for an office.”

The old man’s lips curl into a thin smile, revealing uneven yellowed teeth. He doesn’t move right away, instead leaning forward over the counter as if to inspect her more closely. “Office, you say? Not many come in here needing such things… but I might have something.”

He steps out from behind the counter, his movements slow and deliberate, the shuffle of his worn shoes against the wooden floor echoing in the quiet shop. Elsa instinctively steps back as he approaches, the hairs on her arms rising as his shadow stretches toward her.