"All of that because you followed me and provoked me first," I stated calmly, my voice a low rumble against her ear. Her struggles were becoming weaker, her threats dissolving into furious sobs. It was time to introduce a new element to her education.
With one hand still holding her firmly slung over my shoulder, I reached down with the other. I hooked my fingers under the waistband of her latex catsuit, right at the small of her back. The material was tight, like a second skin.
With a sharp, sudden yank, I ripped it open.
RRRIIIP!
The sound was like tearing thick fabric, but more visceral, more intimate. It echoed in the alley, a sound of profound violation.
Yukikaze froze mid-struggle. The sound was followed by the sudden, shocking sensation of cold, grimy city air on her bare skin.
Her massive butt cheeks, previously encased in tight, protective latex, were now completely exposed.
I let my hand land on her bare flesh. The sensation was a hundred times more potent. It wasn't just a slap; it was a fleshy, wet thwack that resonated deep in her bones.
My palm was rough, the heat of it searing against her skin. Then my fingers sank into the soft meat of her cheek, a possessive, violating grope.
A strangled, high-pitched scream was torn from her throat. This was a different level of violation. Her uniform, her Taimanin identity, had been physically ripped away, leaving her naked and defenseless.
This was when I introduced the real threat.
"Say sorry," I commanded, my voice low and dangerous. "Unless you want me to do this in public instead of this alley, Miss Taimanin."
The threat of public humiliation hit her like a physical blow. Her mind, I could only imagine, was flashing with images of crowds staring, laughing, and pointing at her bare ass as this strange man had his way with her.
The thought was so mortifying that it eclipsed even the physical pain.
Tears streamed freely now, not just of rage, but of pure, abject terror.
"NO! Please, no!" The fight drained out of her completely, replaced by desperate pleading. The shame was absolute. Her body was shaking uncontrollably.
And then I felt it. The traitorous heat between her legs exploded into a wildfire, a slick, wet flush of arousal that she couldn't stop.
It was disgusting. She must really hated it, hate how her body is betraying her.
But the combination of utter helplessness, the raw pain, and the terrifying threat of public exposure was short-circuiting her mind.
"S-Sorry! I'm sorry!" she sobbed, the words tasting like poison in her mouth. She pounded a weak, defeated fist against my back.
"I'm sorry, okay?! Just... just don't... don't do it out there! Please!" Her voice was a pathetic, broken whimper. Her pride, a concept that seemed so important just moments ago, was shattered into a million pieces on the dirty alley floor.
"Oh, seems like someone isn't totally unreasonable, huh?" I mused, my hand merciless. I began to grope and knead her magnificent, bare ass, squeezing the soft, pliable flesh as if it were mochi.
Each intrusive press and pull sent new waves of raw, humiliating sensation through her. Her body felt like it didn't belong to her anymore.
The slick wetness between her legs was undeniable now, a shameful testament to her body's utter betrayal.
"Say it again," I demanded softly. "And what are you sorry for, miss?"
A gut-wrenching sob tore from her throat. She could barely think through the thick fog of shame and fear.
"I... I'm s-sorry," she choked out, her voice a mangled wreck. The words were thick with tears and self-loathing. I didn't let up, my fingers digging into her ass, demanding more.
"I... I'm sorry for following you," she forced the words out, each one a fresh surrender. "I-I was wrong to provoke you. I shouldn't have attacked." The confession was a lie forced by terror, and it burned her throat.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please just let this be over... please don't take me outside."
That was good enough. The lesson had been learned. For now.
"Well, fine," I said, a smirk in my voice. "I'm not that evil."
I lowered her down, letting her heeled boots touch the grimy pavement.
The moment she was on her feet, she stumbled, her legs trembling like a newborn fawn's. The cold, damp air on her completely bare, throbbing butt was a stark, horrifying reality. I had let her go.
She didn't dare look at me. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, hot tears dripping onto the concrete.
"Better not cross me next time, midget," I said, delivering one final, casual insult. "Or the punishment won't be just a simple spanking." I gave her a wink she probably didn't see.
Her first, instinctual motion was to try to cover herself. Her hands flew behind her, frantically pulling at the ripped edges of her latex catsuit, a futile attempt to hide her naked, exposed flesh.
The torn material barely covered anything, leaving the full, round globes of her ass still shamefully visible.
Without looking back, she turned and bolted. Her movements were clumsy, her run more of a frantic, stumbling flight. The clicking of her heels echoed wildly down the alley, a desperate sound of retreat.
I could still feel the phantom sensation of her soft flesh under my hands, and I knew she could still feel me. The disgusting, slick wetness between her own legs would serve as a traitorous reminder of her body's shameful response.
She didn't stop until she burst out of the alley and back into the anonymous city streets, disappearing into the crowd like a wounded animal seeking cover.
I chuckled to myself, adjusting my torn shirt. This city wasn't so boring after all. I had a feeling I'd be seeing Taimanin Yukikaze Mizuki again very soon.