0049-JUQ-571-4-ero.mp4

Title: The Discreet Affections of Mrs. Takako

Mrs. Takako Shimizu was a demure and proper Japanese housewife, devoted to her husband Hiroshi and their two young children. With her delicate features, hourglass figure, and suspiciously perky breasts, the 35-year-old often drew salacious stares from passersby, who were too polite to ogle her openly. But at home, behind closed doors, Mrs. Takako had a secret, forbidden side that she dared not reveal – not even to her family.

Every three months, when the moon hung full in the night sky, Mrs. Takako would retire to her bedroom and lock the door. She would dim the lights and open the hidden closet, revealing a shelf of familiar DVs. Her hands would tremble slightly as she chose one, and inserted it into her old camcorder. The faint whirring and flickering blue light announced that Mrs. Takako’s descent into her deep, dark depravity had begun once more.

The video would start with a man in a suit entering the bedroom. He was handsome but nondescript – he could have been anyone. Mrs. Takako, wearing only a sheer negligée that matched her hair, would rise from the bed and embrace him, kissing his neck as she skillfully unfastened his belt.

“Mmmm, Toshi-san,” she would purr, slipping a hand inside his trousers. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Her delicate fingers would wrap around him, stroking and teasing with growing urgency.

Toshi would grab her ass, kneading the supple flesh. The negligée fell away effortlessly, revealing Mrs. Takako’s most vulnerable curves. Toshi stepped back, drinking in the sight of her – the full, round breasts with dusky nipples; the slender waist and hips in all their womanly silhouette; the smooth skin and seductive smile.

“Mmmm, such a naughty girl,” Toshi growled, stripping off his own clothes. “You know we shouldn’t be doing this…”

“Shhh, not so loud,” she giggled, pushing him back onto the bed and straddling him. Her hair spilled over her shoulders as she leaned down, propped on her arms.

She rocked her hips, slicking her wetness up and down his shaft. “I need you,” she breathed. “I need you so badly, Toshi…”

Their union was a flurry of gasps and groans, hips slapping as Toshi gripped her ass in both hands. The old springs creaked rhythmically beneath them as Mrs. Takako rose and fell atop him. She was ecstasy itself, all heat and wetness and the grip of silken muscles.

“Ohhh, yesss,” Mrs. Takako hissed. “Fuck my sin, Toshi! Give it all to me! I’m your naughty little whore…” Toshi gripped her tighter, slamming her down. His hips pumped higher, his breath riding the cliff of release. She could feel him throbbing inside of her, and it made her come apart.

“Yes, yesss! Cum for me! Fill me with it! Ahhhh!” Her climax crashed into her, radiating through her core, her thighs quaking against Toshi’s chest. He cried out her name as he spent himself deep within her, the sensation of his release intensifying her own.

They lay there for a time, their sweat-slick bodies trembling. Toshi withdrew from her, but she let her legs stay spread, his seed leaking out of her. Exhausted but rosy with satisfied passion, Mrs. Takako basked in the forbidden afterglow.

Aside from the hushed audience of one, the video continued – a series of sordid love letters preserved on digital media. There was Mrs. Takako blowing Toshi with suggestive relish. There was the time Toshi used the smooth glass headboard to educate the housewife in the art of backdoor romance. A shy but hungry smile, a wicked gleam in her eyes, Mrs. Takako worshiped at the shrine of her lover’s flesh, relishing the chance to serve as his own personal pornographic parody of a demure Japanese wife gone wicked.

But always, just before the filming would conclude, there would be a panicked knock at the door – the summons of reality demanding her attention. Mrs. Takako always paused the camera, just in time.

Her children, or her husband, diverted by a need or a thought – and she, the ill-reputed lechery of the videos, achieved impeccable invisibility. Mrs. Takako was a polite, law-abiding citizen, above reproach. She set the camcorder aside, and restored modesty’s decorous sheet to her freshly defiled body. And on it would go, the house alone knowing its mistress’s private trades, while she served the wisdom that silence is virtue’s shield.

Until the next night. Until the next full moon, and the chance to hide once more in the flesh, to embark once again on that most secretive of all adventures…