Chapter 39: Thinking of him or his ****…

The apartment was quiet the next morning. Everyone had left for school: Akira, Mia, Rina, Aoi, and Ayaka, leaving Mrs. Mei Kasai alone in her apartment with her thoughts and an empty schedule.

She stood in her kitchen, sipping tea and staring at the clock. Nine-thirty. The realtor business was slow today, no showings scheduled until late afternoon.

“Might as well do something productive,” she muttered, setting down her cup.

Laundry. That would kill some time.

She changed into something comfortable: a long, flowing skirt and a simple shirt. No bra or panties underneath; she was alone after all, and comfort was key. She grabbed the laundry basket and began her rounds through the shared apartment.

Mia’s room first. Clothes everywhere, as expected. “That girl,” Mei sighed, picking up scattered shirts and shorts. “Just like her mother at that age.”

Rina’s room was surprisingly tidy. There was just a small pile of clothes beside the hamper. It was an easy fix.

Aoi’s room was spotless, with clothes neatly folded in their proper place. “At least someone knows how to keep things tidy,” Mei said with a smile.

Ayaka’s room gave her pause. Something about that silver-haired girl felt… off. But her laundry was minimal, just a few items.

Then she reached Akira’s room.

The door was slightly open when she got there. She pushed it open, stepping inside. The scent hit her immediately: masculine, musky, with something else underneath that made her stomach flutter.

“Boys,” she muttered, shaking her head.

But her heart was beating faster.

Clothes were scattered across the floor. She bent down, gathering them up one by one. A shirt, some socks, and then… his joggers, the ones from yesterday.

The moment her fingers touched the fabric, memories flooded back. Two days ago, in this very room, before Mia had interrupted them, she’d sucked him off so eagerly, and was even ready to take his cock inside of her to quench her sex thirst.

“Stop it, Mei,” she whispered to herself. “He’s your friend’s son. He’s just a boy.”

But the memory wouldn’t leave. The size of what she’d seen, touched and felt was overwhelming. It was thick and promised more than enough satisfaction for a woman, nothing like her ex-husband’s pathetic excuse.

She lifted the joggers to toss them in the basket, but paused. There was something on them… white stains that are crusty and dried. And that smell… it was stronger now, unmistakable.

Mei’s breath caught as she realised what it was… his cum… his semen.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively as heat bloomed between her legs. She shouldn’t. This was wrong. Completely inappropriate.

But her fingers tightened on the fabric anyway.

“Just… just doing laundry,” she told the empty room. “That’s all.”

She gathered the rest of his clothes quickly, stuffing them into the basket with trembling hands. Then she hurried back to her private apartment, the joggers clutched separately in her hand.

This time, she locked the door behind her. Once. Twice. Then she checked it again to confirm.

Her living room suddenly felt too warm. She set the basket down but kept hold of the joggers, bringing them closer.

“This is insane,” she whispered. “You’re being insane, Mei.”

But the musky scent was driving her crazy. The memory of his body, the glimpse of that massive cock that had been teasing her thoughts for days now…

She lifted the fabric to her nose and inhaled deeply.

The rich, masculine scent hit her like a drug. Her pussy clenched involuntarily in response, wetness already forming between her legs, making her press her thighs together.

No panties meant nothing to stop the wetness from flowing if it started.

“Oh God,” she breathed, sinking onto her couch. “What am I doing?”

Mei didn’t answer her own question; her body had already decided. She didn’t want to be sane, she wanted to be satisfied.

Her hands, trembling slightly, brought the coarse fabric of the joggers lower, moving them past her face, down her neck, past the soft swell of her breasts, and finally, settling them right where the burning need was building up.

She pressed the crotch of the joggers directly against her bare, throbbing pussy.

A desperate whimper escaped her lips.

The instant, concentrated scent of him, coupled with the rough texture against her sensitive skin, was overwhelming. She didn’t need to touch herself; the fabric was doing the work, absorbing the heat already radiating from her core.

The memory hit her with the force of a physical blow. She squeezed her eyes shut, and in the darkness, she saw Akira from two days ago.

She remembered him sneaking and spying on her, she walking up to his room, the sudden turn of events, the surprised look in his eyes, and then, the main event… his massive, thick, intimidating cock.

She recalled the sheer size, how it felt like hot velvet filling her entire mouth, stretching her jaw to its limits, making her gag and moan in equal measure. It had been warm, heavy, and absolutely perfect.

Nothing like her ex-husband’s small, quick disappointment.

She moved the joggers slowly, grinding the fabric against her clit, letting the rough, dry crust of his seed rub against the most sensitive point of her body.

The sensation was agonizingly intense, a friction that was driving her mad. Her thighs were pressed together so tightly they ached, but it wasn’t enough to stop the wet, hot juices that were now flowing freely.

She shifted, pushing her hips forward, using the fabric to replace the weight and warmth of the cock she craved. She whimpered, then cried out, the sound muffled by the empty cushion next to her.

“Akira… Oh, God, Akira…” she moaned, rocking her hips faster, the shame now completely obliterated by the flood of pleasure.

She imagined him standing over her with cold and commanding eyes, watching her break. She imagined his massive rod, not just entering her mouth, but slamming deep inside her, stretching her untouched womb until she cried out in surrender.

The thought of that size, that thickness, tearing into her filled her with a terrifying, delicious anticipation. She squeezed the fabric harder, twisting it, forcing the friction.

She let out a high-pitched cry, her whole body seizing, as the first wave of climax hit her. It was a vicious, short, and incomplete spasm of release, leaving her panting, gasping, and more desperately aroused than before.

The crotch of the joggers was now soaked through, glistening with her own hot, feminine fluids mixed with the dried crust of his seed.

She was sobbing, tears streaming down her face, shame flooding back as she realized what she had done. She had defiled herself with a piece of dirty laundry, driven to animalistic need by the memory of a boy’s body.

Just then, a sharp, splitting pain hit her.

It wasn’t pleasure; it was a severe, sudden migraine that felt like an ice pick was being driven through her skull. It started in her temples and instantly focused behind her eyes, forcing her to drop the joggers and clutch her head.

“A-ah! What is this?!” she cried out, trembling.

The pain was overwhelming, far worse than any ordinary headache. It wasn’t until it subsided a moment later that she realized the joggers, lying innocently on the floor, felt kind of cold to touch.

Her breathing was ragged. She looked down at the pants, then down at her wet, still throbbing pussy.

“This is not normal,” she whispered, the shame of masturbation instantly replaced by sheer terror as she realised she wanted more of him. “This isn’t just lust. This is… an addiction. A sickness.”

Her obsession with the boy wasn’t just unhealthy; it was powerful. It was slowly affecting her, as all since two days ago, she’s been having memory flashes of his cock and she screaming under him.

No amount of self-control or denial was going to stop this craving.

She sat up and slowly pulled her long skirt down to cover the evidence of her shame. A single, desperate, and very wrong thought formed in her mind, shining like a bright light of evil reasoning:

If the memory of his cock is driving me insane, maybe the actual thing will cure it.

Maybe the obsession wasn’t about the fantasy of his size and power, but the denial of it. If she just had him… one time, a thorough, shattering session that satisfied her core, maybe, just maybe, her body would calm down.

She closed her eyes, making a decision within herself.

“I need to break this obsession,” she whispered firmly, “and the only way to do that is to let him break me first. Just once, Mei. Just one time, and then you stop.”

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