Yūto Shō's big hand kneaded her hard enough to hurt, but Kirei Ryu didn't dare cry out. She could only flush crimson, hunch her shoulders, and squirm away, panting through her nose with that helpless why-is-this-happening-to-me expression Rei Ayanami wore right before a sync-ratio meltdown.
His mouth drifted to the corner of hers. A soft peck at the edge — then he shifted and swallowed her lips whole, savoring them like a taste-test he'd been rehearsing all week.
His tongue circled the seam of her mouth. Kirei Ryu's brain whited out. Before she could even mourn the theft of her first kiss, she felt him prying, knocking at her teeth like a delivery guy who wouldn't leave until she signed for the package.
She clamped her jaw shut, refusing to let him win — until a tingling jolt shot through her chest where his hand had wandered. A startled "nnhh!" escaped, her lips parted for half a second, and Yūto Shō's tongue plunged in like the Colossal Titan breaching Wall Maria. Her own tongue was captured on the spot, tangled, sucked, subdued.
Her body was still hypersensitive from the bus route — every nerve dialed to eleven — and now this. Kirei Ryu felt herself short-circuiting, bullied by his overlord-mode advance, and the humiliating part, the part that made her want to melt through the leather couch, was that some traitorous corner of her nervous system was actually enjoying it.
Yūto Shō pushed her flat against the cushions, knelt between her knees, breathing rough and hot as he tugged at the buttons of her blouse.
He's going to do it here? In a net café booth?
The thought slid into her head sideways and she started trembling. She hadn't signed up for this — not with Yūto Shō, not today, and definitely not on a couch that had probably absorbed the sweat of a thousand League of Legends marathons.
She twisted under him despite the jelly in her limbs, voice sharp with warning: "Yūto Shō — if you keep going I'll scream."
He collapsed onto her chest with the theatrical anguish of a shounen protagonist mid-power-up, face twisted like Bakugo denied an explosion. "Kirei, just a little. Just a little bit, please. I swear I'll only rub the tip — I won't put it in."
He was performing the scumbag playbook with the shameless confidence of Issei Hyoudou at full power.
Kirei Ryu's head spun. She never thought she'd hear that particular meme deployed on her in real life. She spat back, cheeks blazing: "Liar. You think I haven't read the end of that doujin? The 'just the tip' always ends up all the way in."
The instant the words left her mouth she saw the pained, feral look on his face — the my ancestors are watching kind of desperation — and a spike of genuine fear ran through her. She'd heard boys turned into something else when the blood left their brains. Once they lost it, they'd do anything. Full Berserk mode. No safety word.
And Yūto Shō was in that mode — outwardly, anyway. Pressed flush against her, Kirei Ryu could feel the weapon in his slacks digging into her thigh, the fabric doing nothing to hide the shape or the ridiculous furnace heat radiating off it. It pulsed against her, twitched, and her stomach flipped.
She bit her lower lip, teeth catching pearl-white, and forced her voice steady. "Yūto. Are you… are you really that uncomfortable right now?"
He nodded with the desperation of a man three seconds from cracking. In truth he'd blown his load enough times last night with Ruri that he wasn't dying — but scamming girls into taking care of him was, per the Scumbag Route flowchart, extremely on-brand. And besides, he wanted to bully her a little.
Kirei Ryu turned her face to the wall, biting down on her humiliation. "You guys… sometimes you deal with it yourselves, right?"
He nodded solemnly. "It's called masturbation. Most guys do it. Girls too, probably. Have you ever masturbated, Kirei?"
"I have not." Snapped, then softer, mortified: "…Then just go to the bathroom and handle it yourself."
"Handling it myself doesn't feel good. Help me. Help me get it out and I won't be in pain anymore."
His eyes locked on her like a Persona portrait fixing its target.
"You're a total pervert!" she hissed, face going nuclear.
"It's your fault for being too pretty, Ryu-chan. On the bus earlier too — your butt is so soft, you almost made me embarrass myself right there in the aisle."
The confession was the most insane thing anyone had ever said to her, and Kirei Ryu wanted to sink through the floor tiles — except somewhere behind the humiliation, a small warm pilot light flickered on.
He complimented me. He likes my butt.
She held onto that thought like a talisman.
"Is my butt bigger… or is Sato Ruri's bigger?" she asked, so quietly it almost got lost under the hum of the booth's cooling fan.
Yūto Shō blinked at her, genuinely caught off guard. He shook his head. "I don't know how to answer that. I haven't compared. But I really, really like yours."
He didn't confirm anything about Ruri. Slippery as an eel.
Kirei Ryu let out a small huff — not quite satisfied — then flicked her gaze down to his stomach, lashes fluttering. She swallowed. "You're not lying to me? If I really… help you… you'll stop hurting?"
Yūto Shō's insides did a small victory dance. He nodded, radiating sincerity like a scam artist at a Yu-Gi-Oh tournament. "That's how it works. Try it and see."
He leaned in.
Her face went scarlet. She hesitated, took one deep breath through her nose the way an anxious protagonist does before a boss fight, then reached out with a shaky hand.
Yūto Shō watched her palm approach, half-disbelieving. She was actually going through with it. Was she secretly this slutty under the honor-student cardigan, or was something else driving her?
He decided to interrogate her later.
Finally, her fingers pressed against the front of his slacks, feeling out the shape of him through the fabric. The heat startled her — her small hand jerked once — then she squeezed her eyes shut and settled in, tentative, exploring.
Her touch was too gentle to be useful. Not the movement of a girl trying to get a boy off — more the movement of someone poking at a Pokémon egg to see if it would hatch.
Yūto Shō huffed through his nose. Being a non-virgin, this level of scratching-an-itch-through-a-boot was not doing it for him. He wanted the real thing.
Watching her sit there — eyes squeezed shut, cheeks flushed, brushing him like she was afraid he'd bite — he made an executive decision. He unzipped, unhooked, and freed himself.
The soft thwap against the back of her hand made Kirei Ryu flinch. It stung, and her fingers instinctively closed around the shape that had smacked them — and every mental image she'd secretly, shamefully constructed over the last two weeks snapped into brutal, hot, veiny clarity.
Her fingers couldn't fully close around it. She was so shocked her breath hitched, but she still didn't open her eyes. Didn't say a word. She just… kept going. Silent handshake operator. Hand of the King. Pumping slowly like a rhythm-game novice on the tutorial stage.
Still not enough for Yūto Shō. His eyes locked on her parted, panting mouth — pink, wet, soft — and dark ideas hatched like Nue eggs in the back of his skull.
He slid his free hand back onto her chest and started fondling her again.
Her body jolted, a delicate shudder rippling through her shoulders, but her eyes stayed shut. She squirmed once, uncomfortable, unfamiliar with being handled like this — and yet not, in her private heart of hearts, hating it.
Yūto Shō got bolder. His hand roamed like a cursor in an eroge menu, ticking every option. In seconds she was gasping again, her already-oversensitized body defenseless against fresh stimulation. Her hand on him slowed, then stalled, going limp as her focus dissolved.
Perfect.
He stood up in front of her while she was still glazed over. Both hands cupped her cheeks. He tilted her head up gently — a false gentleness, like a Persona confidant right before betrayal — and moved closer.
Then, in one clean, brutal motion:
He gripped the back of her head and shoved his cock straight into her mouth.
"Mmphh — nnhh — mmph!" Kirei Ryu's eyes flew open, huge, wet, terrified. Her palms slapped uselessly at his stomach. Tears beaded in the corners of her eyes as a thick, hot, salty-musk smell exploded up through her sinuses and hit her brain like a Star Platinum ORA to the frontal lobe. She shook her head, tried to shove his thighs, tried to twist away — but the girl who'd already climaxed twice today didn't have a single kilojoule of resistance left in her. She could only gag and jerk and let him pin her skull in place while that thick, ugly, hot piece of meat crammed itself between her lips.
"Kirei Ryu — open your mouth wider — don't bite me with your teeth!" Yūto Shō growled, hips flexing, cock sliding in and out of her mouth in short, obscene strokes as he lectured her mid-thrust like a senpai correcting her form.
"Mmph — mmph — nngh —!" Furious, humiliated, cheeks streaked with tears, she wanted to chomp the whole thing off in a single glorious Titan-bite. But even at her angriest she couldn't actually mutilate him. She could only shove weakly at his thighs, a shivering protest, all bark, no fangs.
"Haah… Kirei, this must be your first blowjob, huh? Listen — open your mouth wider, then use your tongue. Lick the tip. Like you're tasting a lollipop." He grinned down at her, hips still working, delivering hentai tutorial voice-lines with the shameless confidence of a Bakugo hero-license exam.
Truthfully, physically, the blowjob wasn't spectacular — Kirei Ryu had no idea what she was doing, her tongue frozen, her teeth a constant hazard. But watching the class beauty with her prim little braid and her clean uniform sitting there with his cock jammed in her mouth — that was the drug. Every new line she crossed lit up his brain like a Persona 5 all-out attack splash-screen. Mental stimulation, ten out of ten. He was flying.
"Haah… Kirei… so good…" His cock stiffened harder, thicker, the veins standing out. He fucked her mouth for a few more shallow strokes, then yanked himself free and gripped his shaft, jerking fast and rough. A low, guttural growl rolled out of his chest — "nngh, hah, ahh" — and the first thick, pearly rope of cum erupted from his tip and splattered directly across Kirei Ryu's flushed, tear-streaked face.
"Mmh — you — AH!" The moment his cock left her mouth she opened it to scream at him, but a scorching, sticky splash hit her cheek, and because her lips were still parted, one thick strand shot right onto her tongue. Kirei Ryu knew exactly what it was. She clenched her teeth shut and shut her eyes, whipping her head sideways to dodge — but Yūto Shō angled his cock at her deliberately, jerking off directly onto her face. Rope after rope of hot, viscous cum splattered her forehead, her cheekbones, her nose, her chin, dripping down onto her collarbone in gooey pearl-white strings. Not one drop wasted. Full facial finish, Persona-attack splash-art style.
"Haah… Kirei, sorry about that — got a little carried away." Panting, entirely unrepentant, Yūto Shō finally lowered his softening cock and reached into the tissue box, plucking out a handful and offering them to her with the kind of fake-apologetic smile a JoJo villain wears while announcing their stand ability.
Kirei Ryu snatched the tissues, mortified, hands trembling, and started scrubbing frantically at her face — cheeks, forehead, chin, the corner of her mouth. Once her skin was mostly clean she registered the taste still coating her tongue — briny, thick, disgusting — and remembered the strand he'd shot inside her mouth. She bent forward and spat, spat again, tongue out, trying to purge every molecule.
"Kirei, come on, it was just a blowjob and a facial. You're overreacting a little, don't you think?" Yūto Shō chuckled, patting her back with mock-concern as she gagged.
"Urgh — hurghh —" She retched dry over her knees, hand fisted in her skirt, and shot him a look pure enough to kill — a full menacing glare — but she didn't have the energy left for a real argument.
Yūto Shō didn't take offense. He dropped onto the couch and drank in the sight of her: braid half-undone, uniform blouse rumpled, cheeks blotchy and red, lashes wet, lips shiny, throat still swallowing convulsively. His cum-glazed masterpiece. Post-facial Kirei was, in his professional scumbag opinion, the most beautiful he'd ever seen her.
She looked down at the white smears still clinging to her palm, brow furrowed. "Eugh… what is this stuff, it smells so weird."
She actually lifted her palm to her nose — a small, curious, catastrophic mistake — and sniffed.
A strange, sharp, faintly floral musk hit her — like privet blooms in late spring, but heavier, muskier, animal. Something in her chest thumped, and heat prickled at the back of her neck.
It's the same smell, she thought, dazed. Exactly the same as what was on Ruri last night. Like privet flowers, but… more. Sharper. It makes my heart race.
Her cum-streaked cheeks flushed a fresh red, a color that had nothing to do with shame this time. And she didn't notice — didn't notice at all — that the sticky white on her hand was slowly, obscenely dripping down between her fingers, plopping in slow fat drops into the plastic grocery bag propped against the couch leg, soaking through the paper and glazing every single one of Sato Ruri's get-well apples in a fresh, glistening coat of Yūto Shō.