Extra: Yandere Milfs Chapter 60: I Hate Myself When I Think of You (2) [ 18]

Chapter 60: I Hate Myself When I Think of You (2) [ 18]

She closed her eyes, as if to escape the mory.

Everything had happened so suddenly. Kaiser had approached her, tilted his head, and his gaze had fixed directly into hers with a destabilizing intensity. Then his lips had touched hers.

The contact had been firm, direct, without ambiguity. The surprise had been so violent that her heart seed to stop before beating at a frantic rhythm. She had pushed him away almost instinctively, out of a defensive reflex, but the sensation of his mouth against hers persisted, like an indelible imprint.

She brought two fingers to her lips, annoyed to note that they retained a particular sensitivity, as if slightly heated.

"Why did I not react with more firmness?"

"Why did I not raise my voice to express disapproval?"

"Even as a woman and duchess, I am not worthy... Why did I not show the cold dignity expected of a duchess?"

When she reopened her eyes, her reflection in the mirror did not lie. She had been deeply disturbed.

She clenched her jaws, determined.

She refused to beco that type of woman: a wife who seeks to recapture her youth in illicit adventures, a noble who betrays her husband for fleeting excitent, a person who breaks her honor and that of her house out of weakness.

She shook her head energetically, splashing water around her.

Kaiser possessed a dangerous quality. Not physical danger, but rather a particular way of looking at people. That imperturbable calm, that quiet assurance, that way of expressing himself without the slightest hesitation. He had used none of the conventional seduction techniques. Yet he had managed to breach her defenses without her realizing it in ti.

She felt an unpleasant contraction in her abdon.

Her right hand, resting on the enaled edge of the bathtub, slowly slid, almost despite herself, toward her chest. Her fingers first brushed the pale curve of her left breast, then moved to the right. The tips of her fingers grazed the nipple, already hardened and brown, rising to the surface of the hot and scented water.

"Hmm..." A breath escaped her. Then, lower, charged with sha: "Kaiser..."

The na ca out in a barely audible murmur, lost in the steam.

She imdiately bit her lower lip, so hard that it left the white mark of her teeth.

"He is the sa age as Kris... my own son," she whispered to the foamy water, her face red with confusion. "I cannot... It would be immoral, monstrous. Perhaps if he were older, more... No! Stop, Dyana. What are you thinking?"

"I am thirty-five years old and mother of two children.... Wife of Randal Donoghan, an upright, respectful man who never raises his hand against . I should not ~Hmm~ Kaiser.. It’s Yes ~Kaiser! Hmmmm, yes Hmmm, I want you..."

And yet.

Her hand, heavy with guilt, descended lower, as if pulled by a thread. It brushed the soft and slightly flabby skin of her belly, where the marks of her pregnancies persisted, then lower still, until brushing the wet hairs and the humid heat between her thighs. She was already soaked. Well beyond the wetness of the bath.

"Aah..." Her fingers found her swollen clit almost by instinct. An electric shiver ran up her spine.

"I must not... I am a married woman..." she breathed, but her voice trembled, without any conviction.

She closed her eyes tighter, squeezing her eyelids. The image of Kaiser imposed itself on her: his sideways smile, arrogant and young, the way he had tilted his head in greeting on the day of the funeral, as if he saw through her duchess armor, as if he already knew she would end up thinking of him, alone, in her bath.

*Frot* A first slow, hesitant circle with the tip of her index finger.

*Frot* A second, more pressed, more precise.

"Mmmph..." Her pelvis lifted slightly, breaking the water’s surface. Her toes clenched against the slippery porcelain bottom of the bathtub.

"Kaiser..." she moaned again, abandoning all restraint in her mind.

She imagined his hands, larger, covering hers, guiding her fingers. She imagined his mouth, younger, more demanding, on her throat, on her breasts, then descending, much lower... She imagined his body, hard and muscled from training, pressed against hers, crushing her.

Her digital movents beca faster, more frantic. *Frotfrotfrot.* Her breathing beca short, jerky, a high-pitched gasp. "Hah... Hah..."

She brought her other fist to her mouth and bit it to stifle the cry rising. A long muffled moan, "Mmmmmph!