The cicadas hummed in the late afternoon heat as Haruto walked along the narrow dirt path leading past the rice paddies. The village was peaceful, quiet in a way that pressed against his chest. But that quiet didn't last long.
As he turned the corner, he nearly bumped into her.
A girl, no older than eighteen, stood clutching a basket of vegetables to her chest. She had long black hair tied into a low braid, a pale pink cardigan draped over her shoulders, and eyes that darted nervously when they met his.
"Ah—s-sorry!" she stammered, nearly dropping the basket.
Haruto quickly caught it for her, steadying her trembling hands. "It's fine. Are you alright?"
Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of red as she avoided his gaze. "Y-yes… thank you. Um… you're Haruto-san, right? The one who just moved into the Yamazaki house?"
"That's me," he said with a small smile. "And you are?"
"M-Miyu… I live just across the field…" she mumbled, bowing her head slightly.
Miyu. The name fit her—soft and gentle, like a flower not yet fully bloomed. He noticed the way her cardigan slipped off her shoulder, revealing smooth, bare skin. She tugged it back quickly, clearly aware of his eyes lingering a second too long.
There was something fragile about her. Shy, timid, but also… curious.
As they walked together toward the houses, Haruto tried to make light conversation. But each time he spoke, Miyu only gave short, stuttered answers. Yet her eyes, when they flicked toward him, were different—wide, bright, almost hungry for attention.
When they reached her small wooden gate, she paused. Her fingers twisted around the edge of her cardigan.
"Um… Haruto-san… if you're not too busy… would you… like to come inside for tea?"
Her voice was so soft he almost missed it, but the way she trembled, waiting for his answer, told him it wasn't just about tea.
Inside her home, the air was faintly scented with green tea and something sweeter—her perfume, perhaps. She fumbled nervously as she poured his cup, her hands shaking just enough for him to notice. When she set it down, she accidentally brushed her fingers against his, and quickly pulled away, face flushing deeper.
"M-Mother won't be back until evening…" she whispered, almost to herself.
Haruto's heartbeat quickened. The shy neighbor girl, inviting him inside, cheeks burning, cardigan slipping again to expose pale skin. She was innocent—but her body betrayed a tension, a restless need.
And Haruto could already feel where this was leading.
The quiet hum of the cicadas outside only made the silence between them louder. Haruto sat on the tatami mat, tea cup warm in his hands, while Miyu fidgeted across from him, eyes darting between his face and the floor.
Her braid had loosened, strands of hair falling across her cheek. She tucked them back nervously, only for them to slip forward again. Haruto found himself watching every movement—how her fingers trembled, how her lips pressed together when she was anxious.
"You don't talk much, do you?" he said with a light chuckle.
Her cheeks flushed instantly. "S-sorry! I… I don't know what to say."
"Then let me do the talking," Haruto smirked, leaning forward slightly. "You just listen."
Miyu's breath caught, and she quickly looked down, but not before he caught the spark of something in her eyes—an unspoken thrill at the way he leaned closer.
The silence stretched again, and then—her cardigan slipped further off her shoulder. This time she didn't fix it right away. The curve of her collarbone, the bare skin just above her chest… it drew his eyes like a magnet.
She noticed.
Her lips parted, and she shifted uncomfortably, thighs pressing together. The basket of vegetables she had carried earlier still sat near the doorway, forgotten. Instead, her trembling fingers played with the hem of her skirt, tugging it down as though she knew it was riding up.
But Haruto noticed.
"You're nervous," he said softly, his voice dipping low.
"I… I just…" she stammered, clutching her skirt tighter. "You're so close, Haruto-san…"
His hand moved, slow, deliberate, resting just an inch away from hers on the tatami. Not touching—just close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin. Her gaze dropped to their almost-joined hands, breath growing shallow.
"Miyu…" Haruto murmured, "do you always invite strange men into your house when your mother isn't home?"
Her head jerked up, eyes wide. "N-no! Never! I—"
He smirked, cutting her off, "So I'm the first?"
Her cheeks went crimson, her braid slipping over her shoulder as she nodded, barely audible: "Y-yes…"
The words hung heavy in the air.
Then Haruto leaned just a fraction closer, close enough that she could smell his scent, feel the warmth radiating from him. Her lips parted in surprise, her chest rising and falling quickly beneath her cardigan.
Her hand twitched once—then she let it fall against his. The tiniest touch, fingers brushing, but it felt like a spark igniting between them.
Miyu quickly pulled away, pressing her hand to her chest. "I… I shouldn't…"
But the way her thighs squeezed together, the way her eyes lingered on his lips—it betrayed her words.
Haruto didn't press further yet. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his grin teasing. "Relax, Miyu. We're just having tea."
But his words were a lie, and they both knew it. The air between them was charged, every second pulling them closer to the edge.
The clock ticked softly in the corner. Outside, the cicadas droned on. Inside, Haruto and Miyu sat, two shadows circling around temptation, waiting for the moment one of them would give in.
The cicadas' endless cry filled the summer dusk, but inside Miyu's home, the world had narrowed to the faint distance between her and Haruto. Her braid had slipped entirely, her long black hair spilling across her shoulders like ink.
She sat with her knees tucked under her, cardigan falling further to expose the soft curve of her shoulder. Her breath was uneven—half guilt, half anticipation.
Haruto leaned in again, deliberately brushing his knee against hers. Miyu gasped softly but didn't pull away. Instead, her hands clutched the hem of her skirt tighter.
"See?" he murmured, his voice dark velvet. "You let me get this close… even though you said you shouldn't."
Her lips trembled. "I-I don't know why… I just—"
Before she could finish, Haruto's hand moved—slow but sure—resting on her thigh. Through the thin fabric of her skirt, the heat of his palm spread like fire.
Miyu froze, her body going stiff, but her face turned crimson. "Haruto-san…!"
"Shh," he whispered, leaning close enough that his breath brushed her ear. "Your mother isn't home. No one will know… unless you moan too loud."
Her whole body jolted. She buried her face in her hands, muffling the whimper that escaped her lips.
Haruto chuckled low. His fingers pressed gently, sliding up the length of her thigh, tracing circles near the edge of her skirt. Miyu squeezed her legs together, trapping his hand, but he only smirked, using the closeness to tease her.
"Trying to stop me?" he whispered.
Her head shook frantically. "I-I just… I can't…"
But her thighs loosened.
And Haruto slid his hand higher, just barely brushing the soft warmth hidden beneath her skirt. The fabric of her panties was damp, a betrayal she couldn't hide.
"Already wet, Miyu?" he teased, voice dripping with wicked delight. "So innocent… yet your body tells me everything."
Her hands fell from her face to clutch his arm, not pushing him away but holding on—as though she might fall apart without that anchor.
"Please…" she whispered, her voice breaking.
Haruto's fingers pressed against her panties, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her pussy. Miyu bit her lip hard, her eyes watering from the intensity of the sensation.
Her hips twitched. Her thighs shook. And soon she was grinding ever so slightly against his hand, her shy body betraying her words.
"You like this," Haruto said, his voice deep and commanding. "Admit it, Miyu."
Tears pooled at the corner of her eyes, her face burning red, but her lips parted with a shaky whisper: "Y-yes…"
That one word drove him harder. His fingers worked her clit through the soaked fabric, teasing her mercilessly until her muffled whimpers grew urgent, desperate.
She leaned forward suddenly, pressing her forehead to his shoulder, muffling the tiny cries that threatened to spill. Her cardigan slipped fully off, baring her delicate, perky boobs hidden beneath a thin camisole—nipples hard and visible through the fabric.
Haruto smirked and slid his free hand up, cupping one breast, his thumb grazing over the nipple. Miyu gasped, her whole body arching into his touch.
Her legs trembled. Her pussy throbbed against his teasing fingers. And then, with a muffled cry into his shoulder, she came—shuddering, hips bucking, her panties soaking as she clung to him desperately.
The silence afterward was heavy, broken only by her ragged breaths.
Haruto leaned back, watching her flushed face. "You came just from my fingers over your panties… how cute."
Miyu buried her face deeper against him, ashamed yet trembling with aftershocks. "D-don't say it… please…"
He grinned, stroking her hair. "Relax. It's our little secret. No one will ever know… unless you want them to."
And with that, Miyu's heart pounded faster—not just from shame, but from a new dangerous thrill she couldn't deny.