It had been a torturous week since Michael last felt the warmth of Betty, and the physical manifestation of his longing was undeniable.
His scrotum was taut, heavy with a week’s accumulation of unreleased desire, a visceral reminder of his deep-seated yearning.
Betty’s intimate apparel now seemed to beckon him, a forbidden fruit in his mundane existence.
With a mix of guilt and urgency, Michael surreptitiously lifted Betty’s bra and panties from where they lay.
He brought the bra to his nose, inhaling deeply.
The delicate fragrance of Betty’s skin was infused into the fabric, a scent that transported him back to countless nights spent in close, intoxicating proximity to her body.
Those nights when he could not only smell but taste the very essence of her being.
Now, all he could do was reminisce and ache.
He then picked up Betty’s panties, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric where faint, yet distinct, marks of her intimate secretions remained.
These were mere whispers of her innermost self, carrying the potent aroma of her femininity.
As he breathed in deeply, the familiar, arousing scent triggered a visceral response—his penis began to stiffen, a physical testament to the power of memory and longing.
Seated before my computer, I couldn’t help but observe the stark transformation in Michael’s anatomy.
His penis, now fully erect, presented a vivid contrast of colors, its curvature proud and defiant.
Measuring over eight inches, it was as robust as a newborn’s arm, a daunting symbol of raw, masculine force.
This was the very organ that had claimed my beloved Betty, an ordinary piece of human anatomy that had, in one fateful night, altered the course of our lives.
It was just flesh and blood, yet its implications were profound—stripping Betty of her innocence and altering the sanctity of our bond.
Watching it now, my emotions churned with complexity; the sight brought back vivid flashes of that night—how it had dominated and pleasured Betty, how she had succumbed to its relentless rhythm, achieving peaks of ecstasy previously unknown, all under Michael’s commanding presence.
In a moment of desperate intimacy with the past, Michael wrapped Betty’s panties around the head of his penis.
The delicate fabric, so small and fragile compared to his engorged member, somehow provided a strange comfort.
With one hand, he clutched Betty’s bra, inhaling her scent like a lifeline, while his other hand worked fervently with the panties, seeking release.
His eyes were shut tight, no doubt picturing Betty, reliving each moment of that night in vivid, aching detail.
This solitary act of pleasure was a poignant testament to the enduring power of memory and desire.
Michael was panting heavily, his breaths echoing through the bathroom as he indulged in his private pleasure.
The sounds of his heavy breathing mixed with the subtle moans of his self-gratification filled the space.
Meanwhile, Betty, who had been trying to sleep in the bedroom, woke up.
She hadn’t been sleeping deeply and felt exhausted from the restless, half-asleep state.
Groggily, she got out of bed and walked towards the bathroom.
Michael, lost in his own world inside the bathroom, didn’t hear Betty’s bedroom door open.
The bathroom was filled with his breathing and faint moans.
Unbeknownst to him, he had left the bathroom door unlocked and slightly ajar, a habit from his nightly quick trips to relieve himself, never thinking he’d be engaging in such an act that would make him forget to secure the door.
Betty, still drowsy, reached the bathroom door and noticed the light was on, indicating someone was inside.
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Her eyes, clouded with sleep a moment before, sharpened with a flicker of panic.
Just as she was about to turn away, the unusual sounds of heavy breathing and moaning reached her ears.
The sounds were reminiscent of lovemaking, but in a house with just her and Michael, could Michael have brought someone home in the middle of the night?
A mix of confusion and anger flashed through Betty’s eyes.
She noticed the door was slightly open and couldn’t help but peek through the crack.
What she saw inside shocked and confused her, mingling with a flush of embarrassment.
Michael was standing by the toilet, his robust penis fully exposed, Betty’s bra clenched between his teeth, and her panties, which she had changed out of just hours before, stretched over his erection.
His hands were busy, fervently stroking his length.
Betty, being an adult, understood immediately what Michael was doing.
Surprisingly, instead of anger, she felt a rush of nervousness and shyness.
She watched his thick penis, her cheeks reddening and her breathing becoming more rapid.
Betty was no stranger to this penis.
She had seen it accidentally in the bathroom before, and on that night, it had taken her against her will.
Normally, seeing a man masturbating with her underwear should have enraged her, but instead, her flushed skin and uneven breathing suggested she was oddly thrilled.
Despite her attempts to deny it, that night, while traumatic, had introduced her to a level of pleasure unmatched by anything her husband could provide.
Michael’s size, the stamina of his youth, his firmness, and the force of his climax were all things her older husband couldn’t match.
Betty didn’t avert her gaze this time, unlike the first time she saw Michael’s penis.
Instead, she found herself unable to look away.
Unaware of the onlooker at the door, Michael continued to indulge in his fantasy, savoring the scent of Betty’s bra between his lips, his eyes closed as he imagined that night, his hands moving faster and faster.
Michael moaned softly through the fabric of the bra, his pace quickening.
With a deeper moan, Michael finally reached climax.
A thick stream of white semen shot from the tip of his penis, spraying high and far across the bathroom—hitting the opposite wall, the washing machine, and even some of Betty’s clothes draped over it.
The panties Betty had recently removed bore the brunt of his release, soaked with his semen.
Michael ejaculated seven to eight spurts, a significant amount that left traces on the washing machine, the wall, and Betty’s clothes.
After his climax, Michael let out a deep sigh of relief, his hands finally slowing and his penis, still dripping with semen, began to soften.
He caught his breath, his arms sore from the vigorous activity.
Michael’s sexual stamina was notably enduring.
After resting for a moment, Michael began to clean up, wiping the semen from the walls, the washing machine, and Betty’s clothes with some tissue.