It was undeniable.
If Michael decided to force himself on Betty, he would undoubtedly succeed.
After all, Michael was a burly young man, far stronger and more physically capable than Betty.
Alone in a room with her, she stood no chance against him.
This thought alone filled me with dread.
Winning a woman's heart is what truly matters, and though force might achieve his immediate desires, it was far from the best approach.
Yet, in moments of desperation, force seemed like the only option left.
Michael had been waiting, biding his time, but now,rnered by his own frustrations, it seemed he might resort to this last, dark option.
By noon, as usual, Michael prepared a lavish lunch for Betty.
He carried it to her, and the room fell silent once more, giving me a moment to rest, though my mind was fraught with worry.
If something were to happen between Betty and Michael, I desperately hoped it wouldn't be throughercion.
Force would harm Betty, both physically and emotionally.
Yet, part of me also hoped for it, because if Michael resorted to force, it would clearly show that Betty was not a willing participant.
I was caught in a tormenting cycle ofnflict andntradiction, emotions that seemed mirrored in both Betty and Michael.
Soon after, Michael returned.
He tidied up the insulated lunch box and sank back into theuch, lost in thought once more.
Time ticked by, inching closer to the end of Betty's workday, and my anxiety deepened.
I doubted my ownurage to face what might happen when she returned.
My greatest fear was that a deranged Michael might overpower her as soon as she stepped into our room, forcing her onto our bed.
With less than an hour until Betty finished work, Michael finally stood up from theuch.
He had been sitting there for over three hours.
Stretching lazily, he glanced at the clock before retreating to his bedroom.
His laptop was shut down; over the past few days, he had finished editing and saving all his videos.
During these days, he had watched videos of Betty, including ones where she masturbated.
Each viewing nearly drove him to losentrol, but he managed to restrain himself, avoiding masturbation to release his pent-up desires.
Back in his bedroom, Michael pulled a suitcase from under his bed and opened it to reveal various bottles of pills and liquids, neatly arranged in a box.
The labels were too small and too far to read, leaving theirntents a mystery.
Holding these medications, Michael fell into deep thought.
What were they for?
In all the days he'd been home, I'd never seen him use them.
Were they his own medications, or something more sinister like aphrodisiacs or stimulants?
Was he planning to drug Betty?
It wasn't out of the realm of possibility.
Using drugs might be a less violent way to achieve his ends, potentially leading Betty into anfused state where she might half-resist, yet half-accept.
After pondering for a while, Michael placed the medications on the bed, then neatly repacked the suitcase.
With the experience of that day in mind, he placed the box of medications on his desk, then stripped off his pants and lay back on the bed.
He didn't sleep, though; instead, he lay there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, occasionally glancing down at his erect penis.
His penis was so long that he didn't need to bend down to see his glans.
What was he thinking about as his penis throbbed, seemingly engorging with blood?
Suddenly, the sound of the door opening echoed from the living room.
He quickly turned his head, then shut his eyes, pretending to sleep.
In the afternoons of the past few days, whenever Betty came home from work, Michael would be waiting in loose pajama pants on theuch.
As Betty entered, he would help her with her shoes and bag, casually showing off his groin area, which wasnspicuously devoid of underwear, displaying the shape and curve of his penis as it shifted within his pajamas.
Michael's recent actions hadn't raised any suspicions in Betty.
She knew he wasn't wearing underwear beneath his pajamas, ammon choice for him at home, especially since he found briefs umfortable when he was aroused.
When Betty got home, she flicked on the lights and glanced at Michael's shoes by the door,nfirming he was still there.
She peeked at his closed bedroom door, assuming he was probably still asleep from exhaustion.
After the incident the other day, she merely glanced at the door and headed to the kitchen took, resisting the urge to push the door open.
As she passed by Michael's room, sheuldn't help but steal another look, her eyes filled with a mix of reminiscence and shyness.
She might have wanted to sneak another peek, but sheuldn't take the risk.
What if Michael was sleeping naked again?
Inside his bedroom, Michael sensed Betty hadn't entered and sighed, feeling a sting to hisnfidence as she once again seemed to undermine him.
After preparing dinner, Betty knocked on Michael's door several times, increasingly harder, but she never opened the door to look inside.
Eventually, Michael responded, got dressed in his pajama pants, and walked out to the dining table, his penis swaying as he moved.
Betty chatted with Michael sporadically.
As their relationship grew closer, she found herself wanting to talk more with him, though the closeness was bming more familial, with undertones of ambiguity and desire that Bettyntinually suppressed.
At night, after masturbating to climax, Betty would often check her phone's wallpaper—a photo of us together—and sometimes murmur, "Honey, when are youming back? Please,me back soon..."
Her longing and fear were evident; she trusted herself but not Michael, which is why she locked her bedroom door every night, just to be safe.
"Mom, go take a shower. I'll clean up here..."
After dinner, Michael took the dishes from Betty, insisting she shower first, a gesture of attentiveness he had maintained over the past few days.
Betty agreed and went back to her bedroom to change into hernservative pajamas.
Although Michael was busy with the dishes, he seemed distracted.
Seeing him like this, Iuldn't help but worry.
From the moment he stepped out of his room, I had beenncerned that he might suddenly losentrol and pounce on Betty.
So far, he had behaved properly, showing no such tendencies, but his hesitation now made me anxious.
"Click..."
Betty, dressed in her modest pajamas, entered the bathroom, and the door closed behind her.
"Click..."
Another sound followed as Betty locked the bathroom door from the inside, a routine precaution she took every night.
