[Yūto Shō's Apartment, Fantasy Date —]
Sato Ruri stepped inside, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the entryway tile. The air carried notes of detergent and something faintly woody—sandalwood, maybe, or cedar from the furniture polish. Her gaze swept left, right, cataloguing. Unfamiliar territory, every corner potentially hiding answers.
He actually kept his word. That's... suspicious.
She moved deeper into the apartment, curiosity overriding caution, her fingers trailing along the edge of a hallway console table thick with dust in the corners.
She paused before a door, firmly shut. "Whose room is this?"
"Family's," Yūto Shō answered from behind her, tone flat, offering nothing.
Sato Ruri didn't push—entering a stranger's private space felt like crossing a line even she wasn't ready for. Instead, she drifted toward his bedroom, hesitating at the threshold before pushing the door open.
If Yūto Shō has secrets, they're in here.
She'd been in this room once before. Found nothing useful. But she hadn't touched his computer.
Her footsteps slowed in the center of the room, and her gaze landed—inevitably, magnetically—on the bed. That bed. The mattress where she'd writhed beneath him, where she'd bitten down on her own cries and tasted copper, where the sheets had tangled around her sweat-slick limbs.
Don't look at it. Don't think about it.
Heat crept up her neck. She looked anyway.
Two arms circled her waist from behind. Warm palms pressed flat against her lower abdomen, the thin fabric of her shirt doing nothing to block the heat. His fingertips traced slow, deliberate circles just below her navel, and Yūto Shō's voice poured into her ear, low and honey-thick:
"Remember that night? We were right there on that bed. It was my first time too."
Sato Ruri's breath hitched. Her hand flew down to stop his wandering touch, but her grip trembled. "Wh-what do you think you're doing?"
Why does his voice sound like that? Like he's reading a goddamn confession scene.
"Virgin?" She forced a cold laugh that came out breathy instead. "You expect me to believe that? You moved like someone who'd leveled up their intimacy stats way past tutorial."
The accusation hung between them. Sato Ruri's mind raced—she'd shared a classroom with him for a year. Never seen him so much as talk to another girl. Yet that night, he'd handled her body like he was speedrunning a walkthrough.
Yūto Shō's chuckle vibrated against the shell of her ear. His hand kept its lazy rotation on her belly, palm radiating heat. "I watched a lot of videos. Studied them. Positions, techniques, timing. I prepared for that night for a long time, Ruri. Rehearsed every move in my head."
He's... confessing? To planning this?
Her heartbeat thudded loud in her ears. This was wrong—he was literally narrating his own crime to her face, and she was the victim. She should be furious. She was furious.
So why was she leaning back into him?
"That night," Yūto Shō continued, breath warm against her earlobe, "you were so beautiful I almost lost it the second I pushed inside. You were so tight around me, Ruri. I nearly came right then."
Nnh—stop—
"Sh-shut up!" Her face burned scarlet. "Let go of me! I need to check your computer!"
She tried to pull away, but his arms held firm—not bruising, not forceful, just... unrelenting. The pressure against her lower stomach intensified, his palm rubbing slow circles that made her thighs clench involuntarily.
"Let's go look together." His voice stayed soft, coaxing. "There's a lot of things on my computer I shouldn't show anyone. But if you want to see them, Ruri... I'll show you everything."
Why does he keep saying my name like that?
The heat from his hand sank through her skin, pooled low in her belly, spread downward in tendrils of warmth she couldn't ignore. Her pulse hammered. The room felt oxygen-thin.
Yūto Shō's lips curled against her hair, hidden from her view.
You want romance? Soft words? I'll give you whatever it takes.
He knew his lines sounded clumsy, the kind of cringe dialogue that would get roasted in any online forum. But it didn't matter. The lust marker he'd drawn on her body did the heavy lifting—every touch to her abdomen sent arousal straight to her core. The whispered sweet-talk was just seasoning.
Sato Ruri had already stopped resisting.
He guided her toward the desk, arms still wrapped around her waist, chest pressed against her back. When they reached the computer chair, Yūto Shō kicked it aside with one foot and bent her forward, pressing her palms flat against the desktop.
Her upper body folded over the keyboard. Her hips jutted backward, skirt stretched tight, ass pushing against his crotch.
"Hsss—" Yūto Shō sucked in a sharp breath. Even through layers of fabric, her warmth radiated against him, plush and giving. His cock stiffened painfully.
Fuck. Focus.
"What—what are you—let me up!" Sato Ruri squirmed, but the position pinned her. She felt him behind her, rigid and hot, pressed flush against the curve of her rear. The contact sent electric sparks racing up her spine.
This is... this is like a scene from one of those doujins the girls pass around...
"I don't want to let go." Yūto Shō's voice dropped lower, rougher at the edges despite his efforts at control. "I can't. But I won't do anything you don't want, Ruri. Just pretend I'm not here."
Pretend he's not HERE? With his—with THAT—pressed against my—
Her thoughts fragmented. The persistent rubbing on her stomach had done its work; warmth bloomed between her thighs, embarrassing and undeniable. She should push him away. She should want to.
Instead, she bit her lip and reached for the mouse.
"You said you had secrets," she mumbled, grasping at the remnants of her original mission. "Hidden files. Let me find them."
Her hand shook as she navigated folders, clicking blindly. The words on screen blurred. She couldn't focus—couldn't think—not with his heat branding her from behind, his hips shifting in subtle, maddening increments.
"You won't find them like that." His breath tickled her ear. "Click View. Check 'Hidden Items.' Then you'll see."
She obeyed on autopilot, fingers fumbling through the menu. A new folder materialized, gray and previously invisible.
There. His secrets.
A spike of triumph cut through the fog. She clicked into the folder, desperate for anything that might shift the power dynamic back to her side.
Videos. Dozens of them.
Self-recordings? Evidence?
If she'd been clearheaded, she would have recognized them instantly. But her brain swam in a haze of arousal, and all she registered was a vague sense of wrongness.
"The fourth video." Yūto Shō's voice had grown hoarse. "That one's important to me."
She double-clicked.
The media player launched. On screen, a woman bent over a desk—just like Sato Ruri was now—while a man stood behind her, hips pumping in a brutal rhythm. Heavy mosaic blurred the genitals, but the framing, the angles, the raw physicality—
Sato Ruri's mouth fell open.
Yūto Shō seized the mouse and dragged the progress bar forward. The video jumped to a rear-entry position: female pressed to the surface, male gripping her hips, thrusting deep.
The audio crackled with wet slaps and broken moans.
"This is the video I studied." His words came out strained, gravelly. "The one I learned from."
Before she could respond, he hiked up her skirt and yanked her panties aside.
Sato Ruri gasped—and then her body locked up, spine going rigid, eyes flying wide as she felt him position himself.
One thrust.
He filled her completely.
"Nnngh—!"
It's—he's—oh god—
The stretch burned and ached and fit, her inner walls clenching frantically around his thick shaft. She couldn't process the video anymore, couldn't process anything except the sensation of being stuffed full, pinned in place, owned.
Yūto Shō groaned against her hair, hips flush against her ass. "Fuck—you're squeezing me so tight—"
He grabbed her wrists, pulling her arms back, lifting her torso off the desk. Her body hung suspended, supported only by his grip and the angle of his cock inside her. Then he walked her toward the bed, each step jostling him deeper, making her whimper.
She collapsed onto the mattress face-first, and he followed her down.
Yūto Shō straddled her thighs, cock still buried to the hilt, and hooked his fingers into the collar of her blouse. One sharp tug—buttons scattered across the sheets like shrapnel, revealing the pale expanse of her back, the delicate wings of her shoulder blades, the soft swell of breasts pressed into the bedding.
He flipped her onto her back.
Sato Ruri stared up at him, chest heaving, hair fanned across the pillow in dark tangles. Her nipples had hardened to stiff peaks, flushed dusty pink against cream-white skin.
Yūto Shō descended, mouth claiming hers. His tongue shoved past her lips, sweeping against her teeth, tangling with her own in a kiss that was less romance and more conquest.
Why—why does this feel—
Her resistance crumbled. Arms lifted to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the angle. She tasted him—mint and something darker, something male—and her hips rolled upward instinctively, chasing friction.
His hands slid down her body, mapping the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. Deft fingers unhooked her bra, peeled the cups away, and palmed her breasts—each one a perfect handful, soft and heavy and impossibly warm.
"Mmmnh..." The moan leaked out against his mouth as his thumbs circled her nipples, teasing, pinching.
Yūto Shō released her lips and kissed downward—jawline, throat, the ridge of her collarbone. His teeth scraped over tender flesh, sucking bruises into existence, marking her in a trail of red welts.
Sato Ruri's breathing had gone ragged. Her hips bucked without conscious input, grinding against nothing, desperate for contact.
His fingers finally dipped between her legs.
Through the soaked fabric of her panties, he traced the outline of her slit—plump, slick, radiating heat.
"Sato Ruri." His voice was rough, almost taunting. "You're completely drenched down here."
"Sh-shut—ahhhn—!"
He pressed two fingers against her clit, rubbing in tight circles over the damp cotton.
Hah—hah—too much—
Her thighs clamped around his wrist, but he only pushed deeper, grinding the heel of his palm against her mound while his fingertips massaged her swollen bud.
Her panties vanished—yanked down and tossed aside earlier. Cool air kissed her bare pussy, followed immediately by the hot press of his fingers against her naked lips.
Yūto Shō traced through her folds, spreading the slick that coated her, finding her entrance. One finger slid inside, then two, curling upward.
"Mmm—!" Sato Ruri bit down on her lip hard enough to hurt, choking back the scream building in her throat.
Her inner walls fluttered around his digits, rippling and squeezing, trying to drag him deeper. The sensation of being penetrated—even just by his fingers—made her eyes roll back.
He pumped slowly, twisting his wrist, scissoring his fingers to stretch her.
"So tight," he murmured, almost to himself. "Can't believe I fit inside here the first time."
"Nnn—don't say—ahhh—"
He added a third finger, and she wailed.
Her pussy clenched down on the intrusion, slick and spasming, gushing fluid that dripped down to soak his palm. The obscene squelching sounds filled the room as he worked her open.
Yūto Shō withdrew his fingers—glistening, coated in her arousal—and rose to his knees between her thighs. His cock stood rigid, flushed an angry red, veins pulsing visibly along the shaft. A bead of precum welled at the slit, stretching into a translucent thread.
Sato Ruri's gaze locked onto it.
Big. That's going to—
Her inner walls clenched in anticipation.
He positioned himself at her entrance, the swollen head of his cock kissing her slick folds. Then he pushed.
Schhlrp—
The wet sound of penetration was obscene. Her cunt spread around him, petals parting, inner muscles yielding to accept the thick shaft splitting her open.
"Nngh—"
"Ahh—"
Both groaned simultaneously—his low and guttural, hers high and keening, threaded with pleasure-pain.
Her virginity was long gone, but she was still so small inside, her body barely able to accommodate his girth. Every inch felt like too much and not enough.
Yūto Shō paused once he bottomed out, his cockhead kissing her cervix. He lowered himself over her, lips finding her nipple, tongue swirling around the stiff bud while he sucked gently.
Sato Ruri trembled beneath him, the sting fading into something molten and good.
When her pained expression finally softened—when her whimpers turned syrupy and sweet—he began to move.
Slow thrusts at first. Long, rolling strokes that pulled him nearly out before pushing back in, each reentry accompanied by a slick schlick as her juices coated his shaft.
Her cunt rippled around him, gripping and releasing, the soft walls massaging every inch of his cock.
"Faster—" The word slipped out before she could stop it. "Please—"
He obliged.
His hips snapped forward, slamming into her with a wet smack. Her tits bounced with the impact, nipples drawing pink arcs through the air. Again. Again. The pace brutal, relentless, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room like applause.
"Ah—ah—AH—"
Her cries rose with each thrust. Reason had long since fled; she existed only as sensation now, a vessel for the pleasure crashing through her in waves.
Through half-lidded eyes, she glimpsed a dark smear on the sheets beneath her.
Blood. From... from last time.
The realization pierced the fog—he hadn't washed the sheets. Her virgin blood was still there, days later, staining the fabric like a memento.
He kept it. He kept the proof of—
Something fragile cracked open inside her chest.
"Mmmph—mmm—MMMH—"
The orgasm hit without warning—a tidal surge that seized her muscles and locked them tight. Her pussy clamped down on his cock like a vice, fluttering wildly, and a gush of clear fluid spurted around his shaft.
Yūto Shō groaned at the sudden constriction, the rippling squeeze milking him mercilessly. He grabbed her hips and flipped her over—face-down, ass-up, knees sinking into the mattress.
The new position put her most intimate places on full display: the tight pink pucker of her asshole clenching reflexively, the swollen petals of her cunt still twitching from her climax, glistening with arousal.
Smack!
His palm cracked across her right asscheek, and the flesh rippled, pale skin flushing red.
"Oh—!" Pain and pleasure fused, indistinguishable.
He dragged his cock through the cleft of her ass, the head catching briefly against her rear entrance—making her squeal—before sliding lower to notch against her dripping slit.
"I'm going back in."
"Nnn—yes—"
He slammed home.
"AHHHN—!"
The angle was deeper this way, his cock spearing into her core, stretching her walls to their limit. Her face pressed into the pillow as he set a punishing rhythm, hips clapping against her ass with every thrust.
Pap pap pap pap—
"So tight—fuck—Ruri, you're squeezing me so hard—"
She couldn't answer. Could barely breathe. Her consciousness had narrowed to the single point of contact where their bodies joined, the relentless pounding that drove all thought from her skull.
Yūto Shō grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms back, forcing her torso to arch. Her head lifted, mouth falling open, a strand of drool escaping her lips.
Her tits swung freely beneath her with every impact, soft flesh bouncing and slapping together.
The friction was unbearable. The heat building in her core threatened to ignite.
"I'm—I'm cumming again—"
Her pussy spasmed, clenching rhythmically around his cock, a fresh flood of slick coating his shaft and dripping down her thighs.
The sensation pushed Yūto Shō past his limit. His balls drew up tight, and then he was cumming too—hot ropes of semen jetting deep inside her, painting her cervix white, filling her womb until she could feel the warmth spreading through her core.
"Ahhhh—!"
They collapsed together.
Yūto Shō caught himself on his elbows, keeping his weight from crushing her completely, but his cock stayed buried inside—softening incrementally, reluctant to leave the warm sheath of her body. His palms found her breasts, cupping them gently, thumbs brushing over her oversensitive nipples.
Sato Ruri lay boneless beneath him, face turned to the side, eyes closed, chest heaving with ragged breaths. Sweat sheened her skin. The mingled scent of sex—musk, salt, and something sweeter—hung heavy in the air.
She felt him pulsing inside her still, residual twitches of pleasure rolling through them both.
Neither spoke.
His lips pressed against the nape of her neck, breathing in the fragrance of her hair, and his hands stayed curled around her breasts, holding her close.