What's good, you beautiful disasters? Chapter 3 just gutted half the casual scrollers—guilt thick enough to choke on, that "flutter" turning into a full-on storm inside her. Still now comments? You MF are doing too much now.
This chapter? We're going nocturnal, Soft—midnight whispers, doors creaking, boundaries getting licked away (yeah, you read that right).
Expect the tension to crank up, the shame to burn hotter, and that repressed body waking up in ways she never asked for. If you're still here, you're not watching for plot twists—you're here for the slow, suffocating fall. Proud of you freaks for sticking. Let's dive deeper into the abyss.
Straight to the confession—no more teasing.
She's logged in at 3 AM this time, house dead silent, phone brightness turned all the way down. The guilt from the afternoon's still raw, but the site's become her only outlet—no therapy, no friends who understand. Fingers fly over the keys, tears dropping on the screen as she types faster than before, like if she stops she'll chicken out.
******
update 2: back again and it's only been like a few hours since my last post but something happened just a few moments ago and i'm freaking out even more now. i can't stop feeling ashamed quietly in my bed while typing this on my phone, fingers slipping because my palms are sweaty. this is getting out of control and i feel like i'm losing myself piece by piece.
After what happened yesterday afternoon i couldn't stop thinking about it all evening. every little sound in the house made me jump, every glance from Ojiisan across the dinner table felt like he knew exactly what i was hiding.
I just lay staring at the ceiling feeling so guilty and ashamed, like how did i let this happen twice? i keep telling myself i'm only doing it to help an old lonely man but it feels so wrong, so filthy. and that weird fluttery feeling deep inside is still there, stronger now, like a pulse low in my stomach when the memory flashes—his heat in my grip, the way it make my heart jumped.
i hate it because i don't get why my body is reacting in ways i've never felt before after 18 years of nothing, like something dormant is stirring and i'm terrified of what it means.
Anyway my son Haruto sleeps in my room in another bed most nights because this house is new and japan still feels scary to me at night—strange creaks, unfamiliar shadows outside the window, the wind rattling the old shutters. i don't like being alone in room without my husband, it makes me anxious.
Haruto's a good boy but he's 18 and in that moody teen phase where we don't always get along—he rolls his eyes at me a lot, snaps sometimes, but he adores his grandpa, they're super close, always chatting in japanese about old stories. Haruto was already deep asleep by midnight, curled up on his futon next to mine, snoring softly with his back turned. i was wide awake, tossing and turning, the sheets twisting around my legs, replaying everything in my head until i wanted to scream into my pillow.
Then i heard the door slide open just a tiny crack—that old wooden creak slicing through the silence like a knife. the room was pitch black, no lights on anywhere. i sat up fast, heart slamming into my throat, and looked over. through the little gap i could make out Ojiisan's silhouette in the dark hallway, peeking in, his white hair catching the faint moonlight. i gestured at him frantically like
"what??"
trying to be silent, mouthing go away. he didn't say anything at first, just motioned with his hand for me to come out, waving me over slowly, persistently.
I shook my head hard, pointing desperately at Haruto sleeping right there, mouthing
"no, he'll notice"
with wide eyes. but Ojiisan wouldn't stop. he kept gesturing, putting his hands together like praying, whispering super low
"please… come… please."
His voice was quiet but in the dead of night it felt so loud, carrying straight to my ears. i got terrified—if Haruto woke up and heard his grandpa whispering outside the door, he'd sit up confused, ask what was going on. i gestured back
"no, not now, go away please"
waving him off, but he started whispering a bit louder,
"help… one last time… can't sleep… please."
His voice carried more and i panicked hard. Haruto shifted in his sleep with a small grunt and i thought my heart would explode out of my chest. i didn't want him waking up to this weird situation, asking questions i couldn't answer. so i sighed shakily, nodded okay just to shut him up, and slipped out of bed super quietly in my thin nightshirt and shorts, bare feet cold on the floor. i tiptoed out, closing the door softly behind me so Haruto wouldn't hear a thing.
In the hallway i whispered as firm as i could
"what do you want? go back to bed"
trying to sound strong. Ojiisan looked at me with those sad, watery eyes and said in his broken english
"please help… one more time… itchy bad… can't sleep… please."
he was begging again, hands clasped tight, rocking a little like he was in real pain, looking like he was about to cry any second. i said
"no more, this has to stop, it's wrong"
but he wouldn't listen, kept whispering
"one last… please… hurt too much… lonely."
we were standing right outside my room door and his voice was getting a little louder with desperation, echoing faintly in the quiet house. i kept glancing at the door, scared Haruto would hear his grandpa's voice and come out rubbing his eyes, asking why we were up.
i felt completely trapped—if Haruto woke up now, how would i explain us whispering in the dark hallway at midnight? he doesn't get along great with me these days, typical teen stuff where he thinks i'm too clingy or old-fashioned, but he worships his grandpa like a hero. if he caught anything weird, he'd blame me 100%, think i'm the bad one messing with poor innocent Ojiisan. i couldn't risk that, couldn't bear him hating me more. so i whispered
"alright but this is the absolute last time, promise me?"
my voice cracking. he nodded fast, looking so relieved it twisted my gut, and before i could think or pull away he grabbed my wrist gently but firmly and pulled me across the hall to the small front toilet right opposite my room. it's tiny, like a cramped closet with just a toilet and sink, barely room for one person let alone two—we were pressed close, my back against the door, his body heat radiating.
my heart was racing—the walls are paper thin, Haruto's room literally feet away through one door. i knew what he wanted the second we squeezed in. i pulled down his pajama pants quick with shaking fingers, and there it was already hard, jutting up thick and veiny in the dim light from the tiny window, the head glistening.
i started stroking like before, fast as i could, my hand flying up and down the hot length, wanting it over in seconds so i could escape. but nope, same problem—it dragged on forever, the shaft pulsing stubbornly in my grip, refusing to finish. i was whispering
"shhh please"
because he kept making little moans and saying stuff in japanese under his breath, his hips rocking slightly into my fist. i said
"quiet, my son is next room, he'll hear"
but he didn't care or didn't understand, just kept breathing heavier, eyes half-closed.
after like 10 minutes nothing was happening and my arm was aching bad, wrist cramping from the speed. he tapped my shoulder gently, startling me, and mimed spitting again, pointing urgently at his thing with a needy look. i hesitated hard, shook my head no, whispering
"no, not again,"
but he got bolder this time—grabbed my arm softly and pulled me even closer until our bodies touched, signaling desperately to spit on it. his voice got a tiny bit louder begging
"hayaku… please… hayaku."
i was so scared of the noise carrying i just… gave in. i leaned down close, the musky scent filling my nose, and spit a bunch on the top—like a lot of saliva, thick and warm from my mouth, watching it drip down the shaft in strings. it felt even grosser in that cramped, steamy space, my spit coating everything, but i kept stroking faster, the slick sounds louder now, wet and obscene.
but it still didn't end. 30 minutes dragged by and he wasn't done, the thing just throbbing endlessly in my fist. i couldn't believe it—how does a 72-year-old last this long?? my hand was cramping painfully, sweat dripping down my back, soaking into my nightshirt, the toilet smell mixing with the sharp scent of him. i was whispering
"please hurry… please"
over and over, tears pricking my eyes from frustration and shame.
then he says something low and points at my chest, miming lifting a shirt with desperate hands. he wanted to see my boobs. i straight up said
"no, absolutely not"
firm as i could in a whisper, shaking my head. but he got even bolder, begging
"please… see… help cum… please."
i kept saying no but he raised his voice a little more, whining louder
"onegaishimasu…"
loud enough that i thought Haruto might stir through the wall.
i shushed him desperately
"quiet! my son will wake up, please!"
but he wouldn't stop begging in that low but carrying voice, eyes pleading. i was scared—if Haruto heard and came out, saw us crammed in the toilet like this, he'd freak out completely. he loves his grandpa so much, he'd think i'm the one forcing this or seducing poor Ojiisan, blame me for everything, destroy whatever's left of our relationship. i couldn't let that happen.
i still refused the boobs, shaking my head hard. so he grabs my bicep gently and points at my armpit, lifting his own arm to show what he meant. i didn't get it at first, like what kind of weird thing is this?? i hesitated but to shut him up and end it i pulled my nightshirt sleeve up a bit and raised my arm, showing my armpit—it was sweaty and sticky from nerves and the hot cramped space, a faint salty smell.
before i could react or pull away, he leaned in and started licking it wildly, like full tongue lapping at my underarm, dragging slow and wet across the sensitive skin, tasting the sweat, leaving hot trails of his saliva that cooled instantly. he was moaning softly into it, his tongue rough and insistent, exploring every fold. it was so weird and gross—no one's ever done anything like that to me in my life, not even my husband back when we could. it felt strange, intensely ticklish and warm and wrong all at once, sending this electric shiver through me i can't explain, straight down my spine to places i didn't want to acknowledge. i froze in shock, whispering
"enough… please enough"
but he kept going for what felt like forever, lost in it.
i thought oh god this is getting worse, things could escalate bad if i don't finish this now, so i started jerking him super fast with my free hand, grip tight and twisting a little at the top like i'd figured out by accident.
after about 5 more minutes of that frenzy he finally tensed hard, a deep groan rumbling in his throat as he came—shooting everything in thick hot bursts all over my hand, my shirt, even splashing the floor and my thigh. so much again, sticky and endless.
i pulled away quick the second he finished, wiped my hand frantically on a towel, fixed my shirt with trembling fingers, and slipped out of there as fast and quiet as i could. i went straight to the other bathroom downstairs to shower, scrubbing myself raw under the cold water at first to shock the feeling away, especially my armpit where i could still feel his tongue, that lingering wet warmth haunting me. the sensation won't go away, it's like tingling even now hours later.
i snuck back into next bed to Haruto, who was still asleep thank god, but now i can't believe what i've become. two days ago i was just a normal mom helping out with baths, now i'm sneaking around at midnight letting this happen in a toilet, letting him taste my sweat like that?? i feel more guilty and ashamed than ever, like a total failure as a wife and mom, dirty in ways i can't wash off. and that weird feeling inside is even stronger, making me question everything about myself.
i'm so lost,
I don't even know what I have become, and from now how far this will go...
To be continued...
******
DAMN!!!!, readers—this midnight toilet session? Next-level suffocating. The licking, the spit, the risk with the son feet away... her innocence is cracking like glass under pressure. That "tingling" lingering? Yeah, the body's waking up whether she wants it or not.
Drop your unfiltered reactions in the comments—what the fuck is wrong with this old man? Is she doomed? Predict how bold he gets next. Hate it, love it, feel filthy reading? Spill. Command time: Comment right now—craziest theories, "I'd snap here" moments, whatever's in your twisted head. This lives on your input; lurk and you're dead to me.
Chapter 5 incoming... daylight brings new traps, and the armpit obsession is just the start. Only the unbreakable remain. Let's fucking feast.