Sato Ruri traced backward through every detail of how Yūto Shō had pushed her down—the impossible hardness of him, the obscene size, that searing heat when he'd been inside her.
How did I become... that?
She bit her lower lip, cheeks burning at the memory of herself: reason completely dissolved, bucking against him like some desperate creature in heat, practically begging for more. The girl she'd seen in those moments—greedy, wanton, shameless—felt like a stranger wearing her skin.
Why had she enjoyed it so much? And why, waking up now with her thighs still sticky and her core still thrumming, did she feel no anger whatsoever?
Unless she actually...
The thought sent crimson flooding from her cheeks down to her collarbone.
The bedroom door creaked open. Yūto Shō entered carrying a steaming bowl, steam curling up and carrying the warm scent of sesame oil and green onion. He found her sitting frozen on the rumpled sheets, face still flushed, staring at nothing.
"You're awake," he said easily. "Made some noodles. Eat something first."
Sato Ruri's eyes snapped to him—then immediately away, hands yanking the duvet up to her chin. Because Yūto Shō wore absolutely nothing. He stood there completely bare, shameless as a protagonist walking out of a bathhouse scene, and that thing—the weapon that had ruined her—hung between his thighs at half-mast, still flushed and impossibly thick.
That's... that's not regulation size. That's cheat-code territory.
She couldn't help one stolen glance. Then another. Her brain short-circuited trying to reconcile the physics. How had that even fit? She'd taken the whole thing? The mental image made her squeeze her thighs together involuntarily.
At 180 millimeters fully hard—enhanced beyond normal human limits—Yūto Shō's equipment belonged in doujinshi, not reality. For a sheltered girl whose experience with male anatomy came exclusively from awkward health class diagrams, the sight was genuinely intimidating.
"What's with the shy act?" He smirked, setting the bowl on the nightstand. "You already saw everything earlier. Tested it out personally, too."
Oh god, he's going to tease me about this forever.
"I—I need to go home," she mumbled toward her lap, unable to meet his eyes.
Yūto Shō sat beside her on the mattress, close enough that his bare thigh pressed warm against the duvet covering hers. His hand slipped beneath the blanket, finding the soft curve of her waist, sliding upward.
"What's the rush?" His palm cupped her breast through nothing—she hadn't put clothes back on either. "Can you even walk right now?"
Sato Ruri's spine went rigid. His fingers kneaded slowly, thumb brushing across her nipple, sending electric prickles cascading through her chest. Her brain locked up, caught between slapping his hand away and... not. They'd already had sex. What was a little groping after that?
This is fine. This is... we already... it's fine.
Yūto Shō watched her internal battle with obvious amusement, his touch growing more deliberate—circling, pinching lightly, rolling the stiffening bud between his fingers.
"Nnh—don't—" Her breath hitched. Her body, still hypersensitive from earlier, responded far too quickly.
"Don't what?" He leaned closer, lips nearly brushing her ear.
"Don't... touch me..." The protest came out breathy, weak.
His face moved toward hers. She squeezed her eyes shut, heart hammering—
The kiss came softer than before. Not the devouring hunger of earlier, but something gentler, his lips moving against hers like he had all the time in the world. Sato Ruri's resistance crumbled. Her mouth opened, letting him in, letting him taste her.
When they parted, a thin strand of saliva connected their lips for a moment before breaking.
Yūto Shō stroked her hair, voice unexpectedly tender: "You haven't eaten dinner, have you? You must be hungry. Eat first—I'll feed you."
He's being... sweet?
Sato Ruri's thoughts scattered. The whiplash from aggressive to caring left her dizzy. Was this what boyfriends did? Because they'd slept together, so maybe—
Her heart beat dangerously fast. Something warm and honeyed spread through her chest.
"I can feed myself," she managed, cheeks pink.
"Alright." He handed her the bowl.
She turned her back to eat, suddenly self-conscious about being watched. The noodles were actually good—springy, properly seasoned, the broth rich with the earthy depth of dried shrimp and a hint of white pepper. Her stomach growled its approval. She hadn't eaten since before Yūto Shō had dragged her back here.
The bowl emptied embarrassingly fast. She passed it back, avoiding his eyes. "...Thank you."
"Welcome." He set it aside, gaze traveling down her sheet-wrapped form. "Full now?"
"Mm."
"Got your strength back?"
"...Yes?" She still wouldn't look at him directly. Why wasn't he putting on clothes? Where was she even supposed to rest her eyes?
"Good." His hand closed around her wrist. "Then let's continue."
"Okay—wait, what?"
"I said." He was already pulling the duvet away. "Let's continue."
The noodles. The tenderness. The 'eat first, get your strength back.'
It was all just—
Just to make sure I had stamina for round two.
I've been played like a gacha game and I'm the rate-up banner.
She didn't get time to process further. Yūto Shō pushed her down onto the mattress, spreading her thighs with his knee, positioning himself at her entrance. One smooth thrust buried him to the hilt.
"Nngh—! Hahh—!"
Sato Ruri's protest dissolved into a shocked moan. Her inner walls, still puffy and sensitive, stretched around him again—that overwhelming fullness, the pressure against her cervix, the way every ridge of his cock dragged against her nerves.
Not fair not fair not fair—
He set a steady rhythm, watching her face twist from resistance to reluctant pleasure. Her teeth sank into her lower lip. Peachy flush spread down her throat. Her hips began tilting upward to meet him without conscious permission.
Then he stopped.
Completely still. Buried inside her but unmoving.
Sato Ruri's eyes flew open, core clenching around him desperately, empty of the friction she'd been chasing. She stared up at him with naked frustration.
Why did he stop why did he stop I was so close—
"You're a big girl now," Yūto Shō said, infuriatingly calm. "If you're hungry, you should get your own food."
The implication hit her like a critical strike.
He wants me to...
Her face burned. But the ache inside her—the maddening emptiness where fullness should be—overrode her shame. Desire had hijacked her higher functions completely.
Sato Ruri pushed against his chest. He let her roll them, sprawling back against the pillows with that smug expression she wanted to slap off his face.
She straddled him. Braced her palms against his abdomen. And began to move.
---
Her hips rolled in slow waves, taking him deep, feeling every inch drag against her swollen walls. The wet schlick-schlick of their joining filled the room, obscene and unmistakable.
"Ahhn... hahh... nnh..."
Sato Ruri's head fell back, dark hair cascading over her shoulders and pooling across her bouncing breasts. Sweat sheened her collarbone. Her thighs trembled with effort as she rode him, setting her own pace—not fast, but deep, grinding down on each descent to feel his cockhead kiss her cervix.
I'm doing this. I'm actually doing this. Riding him like I'm possessed.
Yūto Shō's hands found her chest, palming her breasts, thumbs flicking her nipples. She shuddered, rhythm faltering.
He gripped her waist and thrust upward, meeting her downstroke with a sharp slap of flesh.
"Ahhh—! Yesyesyes—"
Her moans climbed higher. The angle was devastating, the head of his cock grinding against that spongy spot inside her with mechanical precision. She could feel another orgasm building, a tidal wave gathering force.
Yūto Shō watched her bounce on his length—heavy breasts jiggling, stomach flexing, face lost in pleasure—and felt his own control slipping. But he wasn't done playing.
He lifted her off.
"Nnnoo—" Sato Ruri actually whined, reaching for him, thighs clenching on empty air. "Don't—"
"On your hands and knees." His voice dropped low, commanding. "Face down. Ass up."
She froze.
Then, cheeks crimson, she obeyed.
Sato Ruri positioned herself on all fours, turned away from him, and slowly lowered her upper body until her cheek pressed against the sheets. Her spine curved into a deep arch, pushing her rear high into the air—round, pale, perfectly presented.
I look like a character in one of those games he definitely plays. The kind where the 'gameplay' is all dialogue choices leading to this exact pose.
The thought should have mortified her. Instead it sent a fresh pulse of heat through her core.
"Higher."
She lifted her hips another inch, feeling her folds spread obscenely, completely exposed to his gaze. Cool air kissed her wet entrance.
Yūto Shō gripped her hips and drove forward.
"NNGH—!"
The angle was deeper than before. His cockhead speared into uncharted territory, pressing against the entrance of her womb. Sato Ruri's fingers clawed at the sheets, vision whiting out.
"Ahh—hahh—too deep—you're too deep—!"
He pulled back and slammed home again. And again. The rhythm was relentless, each thrust accompanied by the smack of his pelvis against her ass, the wet squelch of her arousal being churned into foam.
"Ohhh god—oh fuck—slow down—nnnhh—!"
Yūto Shō bent over her, chest pressing against her back, lips brushing her ear. "You feel incredible. So fucking tight." His hips never stopped moving. "Your little pussy keeps sucking me back in."
The crude words made her clench involuntarily. He groaned at the squeeze, rewarding her with a particularly vicious thrust that made her see stars.
His palm cracked against her ass.
SMACK.
"AH—!"
Another.
SMACK.
Her flesh jiggled, stinging, warming. The pain blended with pleasure into something overwhelming.
"Yesss—hahh—don't stop—please don't stop—"
"That's it. Good girl."
He was pounding her now, balls slapping against her clit with each stroke, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. The bed frame creaked dangerously. The smell of sex—musky, sharp, unmistakably them—saturated the air.
Sato Ruri felt the wave crest. Her inner walls spasmed, clamping down, and she screamed into the mattress as her orgasm tore through her.
"CUMMING—I'M—AHHHHHN—!"
Yūto Shō felt her convulse around him and lost the last thread of control. He buried himself to the hilt and came, cock pulsing violently, ropes of hot seed painting her insides.
"Nnngh—fuck—take it all—"
"Ahhhh... so hot... it's so hot inside..."
Sato Ruri could feel each spurt, the liquid heat filling her depths, pooling where his cockhead pressed against her cervix. Her womb drank it greedily, muscles fluttering in aftershock.
They collapsed together, bodies tangled, sweat-slicked and trembling.
---
When coherent thought returned, Sato Ruri found herself in Yūto Shō's arms, his softening cock still buried inside her. She felt used in the best possible way—wrung out, satisfied, deliciously sore.
I can't believe I...
She glared up at him half-heartedly. He just smiled, brushing damp hair from her face.
Then she leaned up and kissed him, tongue sliding past his lips, tasting him deeply. Her hands roamed his chest. Her hips shifted, feeling him twitch inside her.
...Again?
"You." She pulled back, breathless. "You should pull out now."
Yūto Shō rolled his hips experimentally.
Inside her, he was growing hard again.
Of course he is. Of course he has protagonist-tier recovery.
"Don't you want more?" He pressed deeper, the swelling head stretching her sensitive walls. "Hmm?"
"N-no—I—ahhn—"
"No? Seems like your body disagrees..."
"That's not—nnh—that's just—"
"Just what? You can't get enough?" He thrust lazily. "Since you're begging so sweetly..."
"I'm not begging—ohhhh—"
"Sounds like begging to me."
"Shut—ahh—shut up and—"
"And what?"
"...Don't stop."
His grin sharpened.
"Heh. As you wish."
He flipped her onto her back and drove home, swallowing her moans with a bruising kiss, and the night stretched on.