My pupils dilated to their maximum as I stared intently at the computer screen, watching Michael's every move while feeling a surge of tension within myself.
After opening his eyes, Michael's gaze fixed unwaveringly on the prominent shape in front of him—Betty's 32E chest. With his head resting on Betty's arm, his line of sight was perfectly aligned with her chest.
Observing the captivated look in Michael's eyes, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. "That little rascal, already up to no good at such a young age," I thought bitterly to myself.
Before I could entertain further thoughts, I saw Michael slowly lift his head, very gently, as if afraid to wake Betty from her sleep. My gaze then shifted to Betty's face. Naturally beautiful, her sleeping visage didn't lose any of its charm; she looked like a true sleeping beauty.
After lifting his head, Michael alternated his gaze between Betty's face and the rise of her chest beneath her nightgown. This adolescent, brimming with curiosity about the opposite sex, was experiencing his first real lesson in sexual awakening—though it was just the beginning.
I was confident that Betty hadn't been violated; even in deep sleep, an intrusion of that nature would surely awaken her. Moreover, if such an event had occurred, her behavior over the past few days wouldn't have been so normal. Betty's acting skills might fool others, but not me, a seasoned journalist.
Michael then gently moved his nose and lips closer to Betty. My heart raced again, fearing he might kiss her lips—those lips were mine alone. Fortunately, he only brought his nose close to her cheek, then indulgently inhaled her scent.
Betty had a natural body fragrance, slightly milky, which I had teased her about before. Perhaps this milky scent was even more appealing to a child.
As Michael's nose approached Betty's cheek, his breathing seemed to stop—rightly so, as breathing too close might have warmed her face with his breath and possibly awakened her. Luckily, Michael didn't know that Betty was a deep sleeper; otherwise, he wouldn't have been so cautious and careful.
After a few greedy sniffs at Betty's face, Michael shifted his target. His nose trailed down her neck, eventually reaching her chest area, where he greedily sniffed through her nightgown, savoring the scent of her chest.
Watching Michael, he seemed like a little puppy, a scent-loving little puppy, now greedily inhaling the fragrance emanating from Betty.
At that moment, I noticed an issue with Betty's nightgown. Although she had changed into a more conservative nightgown, she had removed her bra underneath, leaving nothing between her skin and the fabric.
Betty, being a woman with relatively large nipples and areolas, appeared in the surveillance to have slightly erect nipples, pushing against her nightgown and forming two distinct grape-like outlines. If I could see this through the monitor, Michael certainly had a clearer view.
Feeling a surge of discomfort as I watched Michael sniffing and ogling Betty, I couldn't shake off a sense of unease.
Just then, a memory flashed through my mind about a conversation I had overheard among colleagues.
They joked that if a woman often shows signs of arousal in her sleep, she might be secretly very passionate.
At the time, I just laughed it off, but now, recalling that Betty's nipples often became erect while she slept—a detail I had noticed long ago—I couldn't help but wonder.
It's said that a woman's nipples harden with arousal just as a man's penis does. Could it be that Betty, whom I always considered almost saintly compared to other women, harbored a hidden passion?
Shaking my head, I tried to dismiss these thoughts as just dirty talk. Yet, there was Michael, still greedily inhaling Betty's scent, and I couldn't help but pull up some research on my laptop. Sure enough, it seemed there might be some truth to the idea that women who show signs of arousal in their sleep could indeed have a strong libido.
If that was the case, and given Michael's evident curiosity and burgeoning desires, the chances of an "accident" occurring weren't entirely negligible.
No, it could just be Betty's physiological response; maybe she's just unique in that way. I resolved to check this out when I had a chance.
Thanks to the high-quality night vision of my installed cameras, I could see everything clearly in the dimly lit room. Michael continued to inhale the pheromones emanating from Betty, and my gaze inadvertently drifted to his lower half. There, I noticed a significant tent in his loose pajama pants.
Although the baggy fabric obscured some details, it was evident that the boy was well-endowed—certainly more so than myself, though the exact dimensions were unclear.
Watching Michael, I couldn't help but wonder if he had some canine instincts, given his persistent sniffing. Finally, he stopped and looked up at Betty's face, noticing she was still deep in sleep.
He reached out tentatively towards her breast. My heart bled at the thought of her being touched; Betty's body was sacred to me. But Michael seemed to lack the courage to actually make contact.
His hand hovered about four inches from her nipple, as if he was trying to touch her through the air.
Eventually, he laid his head back down on Betty's arm, withdrew his hand, and once again became the quiet, well-behaved kid he was before, as if nothing had happened.