Yo, degenerates and shadow-lurkers, you're back? Fuck yeah, I knew you would be. Chapter 2 dropped that bomb—the housewife's world tilting on its axis, guilt pouring out like blood from a fresh cut. And wtf?, the comments? I kept waiting for them, but you MF really disappointed me, like for real.
I'm buzzing for Chapter 3 because if you thought the first confession was heavy, this update cranks the dial—watch how pity turns into a trap, how one "just this once" snowballs into something stickier. No spoilers, but expect the emotional noose to tighten, that weird inner conflict bubbling hotter. You're the elite now, the ones who get life's not a rom-com script. Let's roll—only legends make it this far.
Okay already too much yapping now straight to the innocent Japanese wife confession-----
She's back online the next night, same drill: phone under the blanket, door cracked for any sounds from the house. That guilt's gnawing harder, but the site's pulling her like a magnet—no judgment, just release. Logs in quick, heart thumping, stares at the box. Deletes a few false starts, tears blurring the screen. Then she pours it out, raw and desperate.
******
update: i posted yesterday about what happened with my FIL and i'm back because things got worse and i don't know what to do anymore. please read my first post if you haven't, i'm still using this throwaway account and i feel like i'm drowning just typing this.
i've been feeling so guilty and ashamed since yesterday, like i can't even look at myself in the mirror without wanting to shatter it. every time i wash my hands i remember the stickiness, the warmth, and it makes me gag.
I keep replaying it in my head—his tears, my hand moving, the way it throbbed—and thinking how could i do that? i'm not that kind of person. i'm a good wife, a good mom, the one who packs lunches and remembers birthdays. but deep down there's this weird feeling i can't explain, like a flutter or a warm twist in my belly when the memory hits at random times, like when i'm folding laundry or hearing the shower run.
It scares me because i don't understand it at all—why would something so wrong feel... anything but bad?
A little background so you get why this is hitting me so hard: i've never been the type for casual stuff or modern sex things, no flings or experimenting. i was a virgin when i met my husband at 20, shy and raised strict, and we only did it a few times before our son was born—quick, lights off, nothing wild. that was 18 years ago, in our tiny apartment back in the US.
After Haruto came, my husband got really sick—kidney disease out of nowhere, swelling and pain that landed him in the hospital for weeks. they had to remove one kidney in surgery, and the doctors were blunt: no more sex ever, it could stress his body too much, risk infection or failure on the remaining one. so we haven't done anything sexual in 18 years. nothing. not even touching or kissing beyond a peck.
Our bed's just for sleeping now, and i've been fine with it, i was never a sex curving person, even though when we did it was nothing special, i still don't understand why people hype sex so much, i love him for his kindness, his laugh, the way he still holds my hand on walks.
But yeah, that means yesterday was the first time i've held a man's… thing… since forever. like, ever really, because even with my husband it was quick and in the dark, no lingering, no exploring. feeling it pulse under my fingers, hot and alive—it was different, foreign, like touching fire.
Anyway today i thought it was over, just a one-time mistake i'd bury deep and never think about. Haruto was home from classes early, we had lunch together with Ojiisan—simple miso soup and rice i managed not to burn. everything felt almost normal, Haruto chatting about some professor, Ojiisan nodding along quietly. then after Haruto went to his room to study (he's got exams soon, door closed with music on low), Ojiisan called me quietly to the bathroom again from the hallway. same thing—looking uncomfortable, shifting on his feet, scratching a bit at his pants, saying "kayui again… please help" with that pitiful whine in his voice. i shook my head no, whispered "yesterday only one time, no more" but he just looked so lost and in pain, kept pointing down there, saying he couldn't wait because it hurt too much, his eyes pleading like a wounded animal.
Haruto was right upstairs, i could hear him typing on his computer through the thin walls, the click-clack echoing. i panicked—if Ojiisan kept calling louder or knocking, Haruto might come down and ask what's wrong, poke his head in with that curious teen look.
I didn't want to explain anything weird, make up some lie that'd crack later. so i thought okay, i'll just do it super fast this time, get it over with before anyone notices, then tell him firmly no more after. my pulse was racing as i nodded yes, closed the bathroom door quietly (it doesn't lock well, just a flimsy latch), sat him on the stool, pulled down his pants quick with trembling fingers.
He was already half hard, the skin flushed and swelling as soon as the air hit it. i grabbed it like yesterday, my palm wrapping around the warmth, started stroking fast as i could—up and down the length, feeling the veins bump under my grip, eyes closed tight, praying it'd be over in a minute. but no, same as before—it took forever, the thing just throbbing steadily without release. my arm was burning after 10 minutes, muscles cramping from the speed, and he was moaning a little now, soft grunts that made me hiss "shhh" terrified Haruto would hear through the door. i kept going but nothing, his hips twitching slightly into my hand, making it feel even more intimate, more wrong.
then he taps my shoulder gently, startling me, and says something in japanese i didn't catch, miming spitting into his hand and rubbing with a twist. i got what he meant right away—spit to make it slippery, to go faster, the wetness glistening in his pretend motion. i said no no, shaking my head, whispering "not necessary," but he begged again, teary eyes welling up, saying "hayaku… hayaku" (quick, quick) and "onegaishimasu" over and over, his voice cracking with need.
Haruto yelled from upstairs just then, asking if i needed help with something (he must've heard the stool creak under Ojiisan's shift or my harsh whisper). i yelled back "no i'm fine just helping Ojiisan with something!" my voice too high, heart slamming against my ribs like it'd burst out. so i… did it, no choice with the panic rising. i leaned over close, the musky scent hitting me stronger, and spit on it, right on the swollen head
—a thick glob that dripped down the shaft, warm from my mouth. then i kept stroking with the wetness, my hand gliding smoother now, slick sounds filling the tiny space, making me cringe inside.
it felt so gross and wrong, the slide of my saliva mixing with his skin, but it did make it easier, faster— or so i thought. he came after another 15-20 minutes (total like 30 again), his body tensing suddenly, a low groan escaping as hot spurts shot over my fingers, coating my palm sticky and warm, some dripping onto my wrist.
I washed up fast under the sink, scrubbing frantically while he sighed contentedly, helped him pull up his pants with numb hands, and got out of there before Haruto came down, slipping back to the kitchen like nothing happened.
now i'm stuck, trapped in this nightmare i created. i can't tell anyone—my husband would divorce me or worse, shatter our family; my son would hate me forever, look at me like a monster. but i can't say no to Ojiisan because he's family and he's suffering, his loneliness so raw it breaks me, and what if he tells someone i refused to help, paints me as cruel? i feel more guilty than ever, like i'm turning into someone i don't know, a woman who sneaks around bathrooms doing things she never imagined.
That strange feeling is back too, stronger, a warm flutter low in my belly when i remember the heat in my hand, the way it pulsed— it makes me feel even worse, like my body's betraying me. am i going crazy?
please don't judge me for what i did again, i hate myself enough already even twice from before.
*****
Holy shit, readers, this update? Pure escalation gold—the guilt's thicker, the acts tenser, that "flutter" hinting at cracks in her innocence. You can feel her spiraling, cornered by pity and panic, the old man's pleas hitting like emotional gut punches. Crazy how fast "one time" turns into habit, right?
Drop your takes in the comments—what's her breaking point? Predict the next move: does she stop, or does he push further? Hate her weakness? Root for the chaos? Feel that dirty thrill? Spill it all. Command: Comment now, you silent creeps—wild guesses, "I'd do this" scenarios, judgments. This feeds on your input; don't lurk, participate or get out.
Chapter 4 coming soon... her midnight confession drops next, and trust me, the boundaries start blurring hard. Only the elite survive. Let's fucking go.