Yūto Shō slouched back against the pleather booth with the wrung-out satisfaction of someone who'd just cleared a Persona palace on Merciless — legs splayed, cock still glossy and half-hard where it lay against his thigh, chest rising and falling in that lazy post-orgasm rhythm. He had been tired. Genuinely. His thighs still trembled from the aftershock and his stomach muscles ached in that used-up way that usually meant lights-out. But the second his eyes tracked back down to Kirei Ryu — kneeling there with her lips slick, cum still shining at the corner of her mouth like she'd just walked out of a censored dōjinshi panel — some internal battery meter flickered right back to full. AP restored. Second turn incoming.
"Round two," he muttered, more to himself than her, and pushed himself upright.
He reached across the narrow booth and cupped the back of her skull the way a shōnen protagonist palms a volleyball — casual ownership, no negotiation — angling her face back toward his cock like the pause menu had never opened.
Kirei's cheeks flared red. She flinched back on instinct, tucking herself into the corner where the vinyl seat met the partition, arms drawn up defensively across her chest. Her voice came out somewhere between whine and complaint — a Yukinoshita huff filtered through humiliation.
"You said — you said you just wanted me to make you finish. Once. That was the deal, Yūto-kun."
He shrugged, wearing shamelessness like a Bakugo grin — all teeth, zero remorse. "Yeah, I said finish. I never specified a rep count."
He was ransacking his mental hentai library on the fly, cribbing lines from every dubious PDF he'd ever cleared from his browser history, and even he was mildly impressed by how smoothly the trash slid out of his mouth. His fingers were already threaded into her hair — that black, ink-glossy waterfall she'd been so careful to comb this morning — and he tugged, not hard, but with the kind of steady pressure that closed off her escape route like a Colossal Titan blocking the gate.
"You blew me stupid the first time," he said, low, coaxing, a little cruel. "Come do it again."
The booth couch was maybe five feet across if you were being generous, and Kirei — knees weak from the earlier assault, thighs still tacky where her own arousal had leaked past her panties — had no real terrain to retreat into. Her body dragged along after her scalp, ungainly, until she was folded between his open knees again, nose inches from the softening-but-not-really cock she'd just been trying to escape.
"Sooo mean," she muttered, and it should've sounded like protest, but it came out closer to a Kaguya-sama pout — that specific brand of tsundere complaint that says this-is-terrible-please-continue-immediately. "Bully me one more time and I'm blocking your LINE. For real this time."
Her hand rose anyway. Small, pale, five fingers wrapping the base of him with the delicate care of someone handling a Yu-Gi-Oh holo card. She tilted her head and looked at it — actually looked, curious, cataloguing — the way she hadn't been allowed to the first time when he'd been fucking her throat like a Stand user in the middle of Star Platinum's ORAORAORA combo. The glans still glistened. A single bead of leftover cum welled at the slit and slid down the underside, and her eyes tracked it like a scientist noting sample viscosity.
Then her lips parted — that soft hah of warm breath first — and her tongue came out, pink and pointed, and she tasted him. Delicate. Almost reverent.
She thought: this is his. His and Ruri's. And right now it's mine. Mine mine mine.
The petty triumph that sparked up her spine was, honestly, more intoxicating than any of the shame Yūto Shō had ladled onto her. It was a Death Note-level god complex, small and secret and hers.
Yūto Shō blinked at the shift. Two minutes ago she'd been thrashing like a Nezuko who'd caught sunlight; now she was licking him with the slow, studious devotion of a first-year at Hogwarts learning a new spell. Broken-doll mode already? he wondered. Or is she just too fried to fight?
Either way — this pristine student council type, this class-president perfect-attendance no-boyfriend-ever kind of girl, on her knees, spit-shining his cock like it was her homework — it hit some deep, greasy pleasure center in his brain. Pure defiling-the-white-sheet-of-paper energy. He couldn't help the shallow, involuntary thrust of his hips.
She glared up at him — a full Yukinoshita side-eye, ice-cold, manners, please — but the glare fizzled fast, because remembering that this belonged to Ruri and she was the one currently eating it sent that hot little rush right back through her ribs, and she didn't stop him. She let him fuck up into her mouth in tiny, greedy strokes.
She was a fast learner. That much became obvious inside a minute. What had started as a shy Genshin-tutorial tongue-flick evolved rapidly — she was licking, sucking, bobbing, twisting her wrist in counter-rhythm, and — without instruction, somehow, by pure feminine intuition or maybe residual data from every fic she'd ever guiltily read at 2 a.m. — her free hand crept lower and cupped his balls, rolling them softly in her palm like she was weighing plums at the market.
"Nnngh — fffuck," Yūto Shō hissed, head thumping back against the vinyl.
Her mouth was full of him now, cheek-to-cheek stretch, warm mucous-slick walls rippling around his shaft as her tongue traced maddening figure-eights over the head. She'd found the coronal ridge — his frenulum, the underside sweet spot — and she was working it, dragging the flat of her tongue across it on every downstroke like she'd figured out it made his abs jump.
"Nhhhh — mmmph — Kirei-chan's little mouth is dangerous, huh," he panted, playing up the porn-narrator schtick because that was the register he lived in now. "Second blowjob in your entire life and you're already S-rank. Might actually be a hidden talent — real Evangelion Unit-01 sync-ratio for cocksucking, ninety-eight point five percent. This throat's gonna wring me dry, huh?"
"Mmmph — quit — shlurp — quit saying — nnnhh — such perverted — hnn — things," she managed around his cock, jaw stretched wide, her words fragmenting each time he twitched inside her. "S-sex — genius — ghlk — s-stop — s-stop throbbing like that, my god — "
Her fingers had climbed the shaft now, thin white digits wound snug around the root like a jade bracelet, holding him steady. Her head began its own metronome — forward, back, forward, back — that black waterfall of hair swinging with her, brushing across his abs on every downstroke. Her cheeks hollowed with each pull of suction, dimpling inward, and the wet chuk-chuk-chuk sound of her working him filled the booth like a NSFW ASMR track piped straight into his brainstem.
"If you're gonna cum," she murmured around him, sucking hard between syllables, "shlk — you tell me. Say it. Out loud. Don't just — mmnh — spring it on me like last time."
Her tongue coiled, tight and hot, spiraling around his shaft as she spoke, and — fuck — her fingers squeezed at the base in perfect synchronization. Yūto Shō felt his stomach clench, felt the tell-tale prickle climb up from behind his balls, felt his hips buck up on their own into her mouth like her lips were a small warm pussy —
"Mm — mmff — mmn!" she urged, her palm scrubbing his sack faster, milking him toward it.
And then — he didn't cum.
Because he clamped down at the last possible second — some absurd Ultra Instinct kick-in — and forcibly reeled it back. His whole body shuddered with the effort. Kirei felt the near-miss, felt the twitch, felt his cock swell — and then... nothing. Just his ragged breathing and his softening throb and no salty flood.
She pulled off him with an audible pop, spit stringing between her lower lip and his glans, and stared at him with actual confusion. Big eyes. Wet mouth. A little Persona-5 question mark practically hovering over her head.
Kirei: ?
Yūto Shō: ...
"You were literally about to. I felt it. Yūto-kun."
"Yeah, well." He scratched the back of his neck, cheeks a little pink for once. "Felt kinda embarrassing to bust in like ninety seconds. I didn't want you to think I was some Isekai virgin who taps out at first contact. So I held it in."
"Ehehehehe." Her laugh came out flat, a Yukino special. "You're really something, Yūto-kun."
"Right? I thought so too, honestly. Grade-A control. Right at the edge and I yanked it back."
"...You realize I'm not complimenting you."
"...Sorry."
"Don't do that childish shit again."
"Got it, got it. I'll blow next round. But hey — for the record — I'm not a premature-ejac case, okay? Just wanted to be clear on that — "
"SHUT UP."
She looked, briefly, murderous — like she was seriously running the numbers on whether she could take him in a fair fight — and then, with the resigned sigh of a girl whose route had already locked in, she folded back down between his knees. Her lips reopened around his cock — sloppy now, half-lubed from her own spit, tacky with precum — and swallowed him back in.
"Faster," she mumbled around him. "Get it over with."
She thought: my knees hurt. Vinyl is disgusting. I can taste myself on him — no, wait — that's him. Oh my god I've been swallowing his — my jaw — my jaw is going to fall off. Faster faster faster please cum.
Yūto Shō took the invitation, canting his hips up into her face, treating her mouth like a Fleshlight version of Attack on Titan's paradise — mindless piston-piston-piston. Kirei's lips sealed tight around him, that soft ring of pink pressure clamping down and jerking him off with her mouth alone as her tongue undulated against the underside.
And then — because his fake-out had genuinely pissed her off — she escalated. Where before she'd played careful, tongue-tip stuff, now she started swallowing him down. Deeper. Deeper. Her jaw unhinged like a Titan's, chin tilting to line up her throat, and she took him inch by inch, forcing his cock past the soft resistance of her palate and into the tight, twitching heat of her throat.
"H-hey — ahhh — you close yet?" she rasped, coming up for a half-breath.
"Nnh — nearly — a little more — "
She looked up at him mid-suck, black eyes wide, gauging whether he was full-of-shit again. Yūto Shō stared right back, half-smirking, still holding on with white-knuckled willpower — and that smug expression was the last straw. Kirei narrowed her eyes, took one steadying inhale through her nose, and dove.
Two-thirds of his shaft vanished past her lips in one heroic gulp. Her throat spasmed around his cockhead — a wet, involuntary ghhhrk — and Yūto Shō felt his crown punch into some hot, velvet, silk-lined pocket that was tighter than any pussy he'd ever imagined. Deepthroat. She'd fucking deepthroated him. This prim honor-student had swallowed his cock down to the pubic bone like she was speedrunning a JAV trophy.
"H-holy shit — "
Her nose was almost pressed to his belly. Her small hands slid up and gripped the base of his shaft, then wandered lower and cupped his sack — one delicate palm cradling both balls, rolling them softly, urging them up. Her head began to rock — forward, back, forward, back — throat squeezing him on every plunge, saliva foaming at the corners of her mouth and drooling down onto her collar.
The oxygen deprivation was starting to fog her out. That black-and-white Yukino composure was cracking, dissolving into something animal — she'd gone glassy-eyed, sync-ratio-purple, an Eva pilot losing herself in the plug suit. Her hands slid off his cock entirely, wrapped around his thighs instead — clutching him like she needed him to stay upright — and her mouth just kept working, feral now, wet suction, cheeks caved in, spit trailing in ropes.
She thought: dizzy. can't. more. throat — burning — his — his balls are — pulling up — please — please —
If she could've seen herself in a mirror at that moment — hair mussed, mascara smudged, cock buried to the hilt down her throat, one hand fondling his balls — even she wouldn't have recognized the girl. This wasn't Kirei Ryu. This was some possessed dōjin version of her.
Yūto Shō's breath had gone shredded. He grabbed the sides of her head with both hands, fingers sinking into the silky black flood of her hair, and started actually fucking her face — no more pretense, no polite thrusts, just full-shaft slams that made her nose bump his abdomen on every stroke. She met him — pushed forward into the thrusts — pink lips stretched into a taut O around his shaft, tongue lashing at the underside on every retreat.
His cock left her mouth glistening from root to tip on every pull-out, thick strands of drool webbing from her lower lip to his crown, snapping and reforming, snapping and reforming — a pornographic Spider-Man web.
"Hhhk — hhhhk — can't — breathe — so — hot — inside — " she garbled, and it was less protest than encouragement, her whole body vibrating with it, thighs squeezed together beneath her skirt.
Then — "MMMPHH!"
Her eyes flew wide. His cock had grown, thickened, gone iron-bar rigid, and the head — buried in her throat — swelled another notch. Yūto Shō's hips snapped forward one final time, sinking every inch into her, balls slapping under her chin — SMACK — the heavy weight of them settling against the soft skin of her throat.
The line of her slender pale throat visibly bulged — a cock-shaped ridge distending the elegant swan-curve of her neck.
"Cumming — I'm cumming for real this time — nnhhhk — "
His sack seized. And then it hit — the first jet of hot cum blasted straight down her throat, splashing wet and thick against the soft pink walls, and she could hear it, actually hear the slick shhrrrk shhrrrk sound of him unloading directly into her esophagus like a firehose into a garden.
"Nnhh — nhhh — mmmhh — !"
Her throat scorched. Instinct kicked in — she tried to push back, palms flat against his thighs — but his grip on her skull held her locked in place, and she could only kneel there and take it, spurt after scorching spurt, until Yūto Shō mercifully — mid-orgasm — pulled back an inch so the last few pulses jetted into her mouth instead of straight down her gullet. Ropes of thick pearl-white filled her cheeks, painted her tongue, pooled behind her teeth.
Her eyes had rolled slightly — half-lidded, whites showing — cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's, spit and cum leaking from the seal of her lips down her chin. Her hands stayed clamped around his thighs, unable to let go.
His orgasm went on for what felt like an actual Attack on Titan opening — a solid twenty seconds of pump-and-pulse — before finally tapering. He gripped his cock at the base, squeezed the last few drops out onto her tongue, then dragged himself free of her mouth with a wet, ripe POP that echoed off the booth walls.
Kirei slumped sideways onto her hip on the floor, kneeling collapsed, chest heaving, face slack. Her lips stayed parted in the exact O they'd been forced into — jaw too shocked to close — and inside that soft pink cavern, the entire pool of white sat there, thick, viscous, brimming. It was so much cum it overflowed the moment her chin twitched — a slow, obscene rivulet slid from the corner of her mouth, tracked down her elegant Yukino-neck, traced along her clavicle, and disappeared into the collar of her blouse to trickle onto the small, warm swell of her breast.
The chill of the cum hitting her skin snapped her out of it. She jolted — clamped her mouth shut fast — didn't bother speaking — cupped her palm under her chin and scanned frantically for a trash can. There wasn't one. Just gaming chair. Just booth. Just the vague ambient thumping of some other patron's Genshin BGM leaking through the partition.
She screwed her eyes shut, tipped her head back, and — gulp — swallowed. Her throat visibly worked. One long, thick pull. Then a second, smaller aftershock swallow. It went down.
The whole pearl-load of him. Gone. In her stomach.
She fished a pack of Muji tissues from her bag with shaky fingers. Yūto Shō had sprawled fully back against the couch by now, thighs open, cock softening slick and shining against his thigh, breathing like he'd just finished a boss fight. Kirei paused, considered — and then, still kneeling, leaned in and gently began cleaning him. Wiping the shaft. Dabbing the wet mess from his sack. Patting the crease of his thigh.
He thought: bro. an actual princess is polishing my dick with wet-wipes. this is that Nier Automata secret ending shit.
He puffed up under it. First time in his life a girl had cleaned him up post-nut, and she wasn't just any girl — she was Kirei Ryu, class queen, face of the school's academic bulletin, and here she was dabbing his cum off his balls with a folded tissue like a Toyota commercial mom cleaning a countertop.
Once she'd finished him, she started on herself. Dabbed her chin, her neck, her collarbone. Muttering the whole time.
"Honestly. Look at this. You got it everywhere. How am I supposed to walk out of here — Ruri-chan's going to smell it on me — "
She poked two fingers down inside her collar, brushing at the tacky trail across her upper chest.
Yūto Shō — because he was Yūto Shō — reached over lazily and slid his own hand down her blouse to "help." His fingers grazed the modest curve there, and — nope. Well under Ruri's cup size. His interest visibly evaporated in real time, hand withdrawing with the sad flop of a JoJo Stand losing its user.
Kirei's face went dark. She didn't say anything. Just huffed hard through her nose, snatched up the plastic bag of apples that had been knocked to the couch during the earlier chaos — the apples she'd bought for Ruri, some of them still faintly streaked with his dried facial from Chapter 53 — and inspected them.
Yeah. Every single one was tainted. Little dried-white smears across the red skin.
She pulled the apples out one by one and, with meticulous patience, wiped each of them down with a fresh tissue. Wiped the shine back into the skin. Buffed until they gleamed. Returned each contaminated apple to the plastic bag like she was arranging offerings for a shrine.
"I'm going over to Ruri's now," she said, standing up, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs. "You?"
Yūto Shō rolled his head against the couch. He was tired. Yesterday's first-time deflowering had drained him and today had already been two rounds.