At around half past one in the morning, Risa finished her cleaning shift at the pachinko parlor and arrived home, utterly exhausted.
As she opened the front door, a chill crept up her ankles, and the imprints of her socks were clearly visible on her swollen feet. Rolling her shoulders produced a dull creak, and the sweat rash on her neck glistened faintly under the dim light.
She held a plastic bag from a convenience store in her hand. Inside were a discounted bento and a can of coffee. She set the bag down on the kitchen counter and carefully crossed the creaking wooden floor of the old house toward the living room.
She tossed her jacket onto the worn sofa; the hem of her sweatshirt rode up slightly, revealing her sweaty thighs. Her legs felt heavy from standing for hours, and the stiffness in her shoulders weighed down her entire body. Fatigue clouded her mind, and she didn't want to think about anything.
Yet, out of habit, Risa began climbing the stairs to check the second floor, where the children's rooms were. As her rough knuckles brushed against the wooden railing, the creaking steps shattered the silence.
When she reached the upstairs hallway, she noticed that Misaki's door was slightly ajar. A faint light seeped through the gap, and the damp air tickled her nostrils.
A soft sound reached her ears, and Risa paused unconsciously. Resting her hand on the doorframe, she peered inside and was met with a breathtaking sight.
Inside Misaki's cramped room, Haruma sat. The middle schooler's bare chest was exposed, his sweat-drenched T-shirt discarded, and beads of sweat trickled down his neck.
Misaki was straddling him on his lap. The high school sophomore's delicate body was pinned beneath Haruma's, her sleep shorts pulled down to her thighs. Her white panties were tangled around her knees, exposing her pale pink labia.
Misaki's neck was damp with sweat and her dark brown hair was disheveled, sticking to her face. She bit her lip, her eyes tightly shut. She made no sound, perhaps unable to.
Haruma gripped Misaki's waist and pulled her closer. His erect penis was fully exposed and swollen to about 13 centimeters. It was flushed a deep red and glistened with moisture. Veins bulged along its length; the engorged glans leaked a clear fluid that dripped onto Misaki's thigh and formed tiny beads.
In a low voice, Haruma whispered, "Spread your legs," forcing her knees wider apart. Misaki's vaginal opening was fully exposed; her pale pink labia were swollen and slick.
Haruma shifted his hips slightly, pressing the tip of his penis against her entrance and producing a wet squelch. Misaki's body jerked slightly, her neck glistening with sweat. Haruma pushed harder, slowly beginning to enter her.
Risa watched the scene silently through the gap in the door. Her tired face showed no expression; the dark circles under her eyes cast deep shadows.
She could see everything clearly: the way Haruma's penis sank into Misaki's vagina; the wet flesh clinging to it; and the way her mucosal folds peeled back slightly with each thrust.
As Haruma drove his hips forward, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room. Misaki's knees trembled, her thighs rubbing raw and red against Haruma's waist. His movements grew faster, his penis plunging in and out of her with increasing force.
Each withdrawal left strands of translucent fluid streaking down her inner thighs. Misaki's body arched, her B-cup breasts swaying beneath her tank top. Her nipples were stiff and pressed against the damp fabric clinging to her skin.
"Open wider," Haruma growled, forcing Misaki's legs farther apart. His penis plunged deep inside her, stretching her entrance with a wet, rhythmic squelching.
Misaki's slightly swollen clitoris twitched in response to Haruma's movements. He roughly grabbed her breasts, squeezing them as if to crush them and making her body stiffen.
Haruma's scrotum was tight with heat and glistened with sweat. The act was impulsive and dominant. Misaki's thighs rubbed raw against his hips, leaving red marks. With each thrust, her body jolted slightly, and sweat dripped down her neck and collarbone.
Risa's gaze remained fixed on Haruma's penis pistoning in and out of Misaki. Emotionally numb, she was unable to process what she was seeing, leaving her only able to stare blankly.
Haruma's movements grew frantic as he approached climax. His hips slammed into Misaki with increasing speed; the rapid echo of flesh slapping together grew louder and louder—thwap, thwap, thwap.
Misaki's body rocked violently, her knees trembling as if they might give out. Haruma's breathing became labored, and he groaned, "I'm close."
With each withdrawal, frothy, whitish fluid streaked down Misaki's thighs. The bubbles burst against her skin, leaving sticky trails. Her vaginal lips clung to Haruma's shaft, making wet, messy sounds with each thrust. His hips moved faster; he was about to finish.
At that moment, Risa quietly closed the door. Her fingertips were cold, and her hand lingered on the doorknob for a second. Her heart remained numb, feeling nothing.
As she took her first step down the stairs, a low groan escaped from Haruma inside the room. The rhythmic slapping of flesh stopped suddenly, replaced by Misaki's shallow panting and Haruma's heavy breathing. They were faintly audible through the thin walls.
Risa didn't look back, continuing down the stairs. The creaking wood echoed under her feet as she left the presence upstairs behind her.
Back in the living room, Risa sat on the sofa. She pulled the cold bento from the bag and peeled off the plastic lid. The rice had hardened, and a white film had formed on the fried chicken's grease. Without expression, she picked up her chopsticks and began eating.
The sounds from Misaki's room were still audible from above—the creaking floor and faint rustling of movement resonating faintly through the ceiling.
Risa paid no attention, mechanically chewing the tasteless food. The cold rice crumbled dryly in her mouth, and the greasy residue of the fried chicken lingered on her tongue. She cracked open the can of coffee and took a sip; the cold liquid slid down her throat. She didn't register the flavor, just swallowing it.
As if she had already forgotten what she had seen upstairs, Risa continued eating. The leftover fried chicken sat cold in the container, and droplets of condensation gathered on the coffee can's lid.