“Don't watch me... but whenever I remember our passionate nights, I get wet on my own.” Lonely widows in mourning clothes try to bury their grief by hungrily craving another man's cock. Their soft skin and melancholy allure stir desire; once kissed, fondled, and passionately wanted, the lust they have suppressed spills free. Men and women abandon everything to chase instinctive pleasure, and the more forbidden it feels, the harder the widows climax. Eight hours of taboo sex before their late husbands' memorial portraits.