Hidden Desires - Family Secrets

"Thud, thud, thud..." As I ducked my head to avoid the video's visuals, the dull sounds of flesh colliding echoed through my headset, each thump striking deep into my heart.

On the screen, Betty lay on the couch, her body bent by Michael, rocking back and forth, her back grinding against the couch cushions.

Michael had Betty's legs hoisted over his shoulders, his hands gripping her breasts, his hips continuously slamming into the juncture of her thighs and buttocks, creating a squelching sound of wet friction that audibly revealed the extent of their arousal.

"Ah, ah, ah..." Betty's hands clutched the couch cushions tightly, her lips bare and exposed. Under Michael's relentless pounding, she had no resistance left; wave after wave of climax had her lost in the throes of pleasure, fully immersed in the act.

Michael, in a semi-crouch, adopted a solid stance, maximizing the power from his waist, relentlessly driving into Betty.

His upper body supported Betty's legs, holding them still.

His legs, firm in stance, didn't move, his lower body as stable as a mountain, allowing his waist to move vigorously.

Despite my reluctance to admit it, I couldn't help but admire Michael's physical coordination and stamina.

The scene slowly shifted, time dragged on, and Michael's thrusts became faster, Betty's moans grew wilder.

Seeing Michael's demeanor, I knew he was close to climaxing. Would Betty be creampied again? In the past, those few times she was creampied, Michael was younger, reckless, not fully aware of his actions, and Betty couldn't control him then. It was almost like a rape.

But now things were different; Betty was willing, and Michael had matured. Would Betty let Michael ejaculate inside her? Explore more at My Virtual Library Empire

My whole body trembled, suddenly realizing how terrified I truly was. I bit my lower lip so hard that a salty taste seeped into my mouth—I had bitten through my lip.

"Click." I don't know where the sudden burst of action came from, perhaps from a peak of inner fear or maybe my tolerance had reached its limit.

With a forceful click of the mouse, I shut off the surveillance feed. The screen went blank, the sounds in my headset ceased, and all went quiet. I exhaled deeply.

Leaning back in my chair, I felt utterly drained. My face and body were drenched.

I wiped my face, realizing I was sweating profusely. The room fell silent.

With no visuals or sounds, it felt like I had suddenly been freed from a cage. Yet, my heart didn't feel much relief.

Although it was quiet on my end, the frenzied lovemaking continued in the small courtyard across, its duration unknown. I had the courage to start watching but not the bravery to see it through.

Though I had turned off the monitor, the surveillance hard drive continued to record everything happening there.

I felt a tightness in my chest, almost suffocating.

I stood up, clutching my chest, and walked out of the cabin.

The outside air hit me as I stepped out, the streetlights dim.

This area had little traffic; at this point, I no longer felt the need to hide anything, nor was there a need to. The outcome I desired had been achieved; nothing else mattered now.

I looked at the red gate of the small courtyard and walked towards it, hand on my aching chest.

Reaching the gate, I looked at the heavy wooden door and raised a hand to knock.

My energy was nearly spent, and the sound was faint—the door was just too heavy.

Beside the door, a wall-mounted doorbell button was visible, but the wires next to it had been cut, likely Michael's doing.

The small courtyard was merely a secret rendezvous for him and Betty; the doorbell there was utterly useless.

Even if a third person rang it, they wouldn't answer, not wanting to disturb their intimate world.

I could have climbed over the wall into the yard, but I was utterly drained, my body weak and feeble.

Inside, I was certain they were passionately making love; even if I pounded on the door, they probably wouldn't hear a thing.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I turned it on and dialed Betty's number, but after several rings, it went unanswered and eventually hung up.

I couldn't accept it; I called again, but still, no one picked up, and I had to give up.

Did Betty not hear it, or did she see who was calling and chose not to answer out of fear or reluctance?

Suddenly, I found myself with nowhere to go on this silent night. Where could I turn? Heartbroken and exhausted, I clutched at my chest and walked to my van, slumping into the driver's seat.

I started the van with effort, and it began to move toward the city center.

I drove aimlessly through the streets, wondering where to go. I had never felt so desperate.

If Betty and Michael's affair was a stab last time, this time, for some reason, felt even more despairing and painful.

It seemed that only my parents were left to confide in; friends, colleagues, siblings—none could help me at this moment.

Driving the old van toward my home, I nearly passed out several times but fought to stay conscious and keep the vehicle on course.

Part of me wished the van would lose control, ending my misery in a tragic accident, but I couldn't risk harming others, even in my despair, and I hadn't yet visited my parents' memorial tablet.

After entering my neighborhood, I staggered up the stairs, resting every two floors.

When I finally reached my front door, my hands shook as I fumbled with the keys and struggled to unlock it.

Normally, Betty would have dinner ready by this time, but now the apartment was pitch dark, no lights, no beloved wife, no delicious meal waiting.

I glanced at the time; it was 5:36 PM.

Perhaps their lovemaking in that little courtyard hadn't ended yet. I didn't bother changing my shoes; I just closed the door behind me and headed to the back balcony to see my parents' memorial tablet.

I wanted to vent, to scream, to let it all out and ease the unbearable pain in my heart.

This scene was all too familiar; it was also here that I had witnessed everything between Betty and Michael and looked at my parents' memorial tablet.

Afterward, I had taken the tablet and sought to end my life, only to be saved by Luna.

If possible, I would have preferred death to this second betrayal.

I wanted to lose consciousness, to end the suffering.

But just a few steps toward the balcony, my head spun, and I could no longer move; my body felt like it was losing all its strength.

Unable to reach the balcony, I grabbed the nearest sofa and collapsed onto it.

I clutched at my chest, feeling like I was suffocating, my mind growing fuzzier, slipping toward unconsciousness.

Before my eyes closed, I imagined Betty and Michael together, reveling in their union.

I weakly raised my other hand to stop them, but it fell limply to the sofa, unable to reach them.

Was I dying? If so, it wasn't the worst way to go—at least I would die in my own home, the tormenting images fading as my consciousness slowly slipped away until it was gone.