He checks the boxes as soon as you're out the door.

You're right, though. Some of the boxes are filled with boring old files, from tax filings to health records. Some of the boxes contain closing, old dresses that became too tight for your mother's growing butt, some dated jeans and blouses from the late nineties... nothing there is worth much, except maybe for a vintage website. One of the box contains underwear, lacy thongs, slutty tangas... the Voice did the job right. Your mother always had a slutty streak. You suddenly realize this is not the work of the Voice. Your mother always had such a streak, you learned that the hard way.

He can't help it, and he masturbates with one of the thongs. You don't know that, though. What happens in his room, only he knows. Only he knows how he cums into his mother's old thong after a less than a minute of frantic masturbation. Only he knows how he tries to prevent the cum from dripping on his bed and fails, how he cleans his mess half heartedly, how he hides the box back under the bed. Only he knows how he goes back under the bed later and fishes another box. Only he knows how the contents blows his mind.