Mira-san's nostrils flared a few times, as if catching a scent on Rai Hikaru.
Her lovely eyes narrowed slightly, smiling at him. "Y'know, Little Hikaru."
"Gifting auntie? Mentally grown-up now."
"But body-wise? Who knows if it's caught up."
"Kid days, I carried you."
"Now big boy—scoop auntie, spin me. Prove you're grown, hm?"
Her expectant gaze?
Rai Hikaru couldn't refuse.
Mira's requests? He caved every time.
Arms up, exposing smooth, hairless pits under thin straps—
He wrapped her slim waist.
Easy lift, spun her as requested.
Airborne Mira yelped surprise, then chill. "Little Hikaru's strong now—holding auntie steady."
"Takeoff～"
Playful, arms out airplane-style, engine noises self-voiced.
Her joy tugged Rai Hikaru's smile.
This not-young auntie? Quirky-cute in spots—seamless, even cuter than spry teens.
Mid-thought, arms retracted, neck-hug.
Dizzying face-wash scent choked him.
Spins later, he tapped out—set her down.
Mira plush but perfectly placed—not heavy. His build? Breeze.
But skin brushes intentional-unintentional, suffocating softness? Tough.
Head throbbed harder...
Down safe, she beamed. "My Little Hikaru's truly grown."
Side-step, waist-bent smile: "Yup, grown."
Awkward pose—hiding unsanctioned tent.
Hot day? Mira too tempting?
Or Wakaba/Rikka unfinished business?
Arm around her? Instant swell.
Post-lift oddness noted, Mira eyed his dodge, lips curving allure.
"Little Hikaru, shower first? You reek～"
Rai Hikaru stiffened.
Hotel shower yes—but post-Rikka test? No time.
Feign calm: "Yeah, sweaty-sticky, funky. Planned bath on arrival."
"Sticky?" Echoed.
"Uh... hot day, sweated buckets. Sticky mess, weird whiff."
Cold-sweat brow-wipe; Mira off—tone glum?
Sudden rethink, face bloomed killer smile.
"Hot today, yeah. Heavy workout? Sweaty normal."
"Grab clothes upstairs—I'll run the tub."
Nod. "Thanks!"
Up quick.
Downstairs, Mira eyed his back—kind smile vanished.
Lips pursed tight, pink fists clenched—pissed.
'Hug-scent check: woman's perfume. Keen nose—no mistake! Long hair strand too.'
'Little Hikaru's "workout"... not routine...'
'Damn, fuming! Which bitch...'
'Planned post-grad, full-grown... but no...'
Heart soured—like fattened pig raided by cabbage. Unbalanced rage.
Wall photo: kid-Hikaru cradled by her.
Eyes to upstairs rummager, resolve gleamed.
...
Clothes packed quick, downstairs Mira called.
"Little Hikaru, tub ready—bathtime!"
"Coming!" Down fast.
Mira smiley. "Dinner's set—wash up, eat."
Nod. "Got it, Mira-san."
Bath door pushed—steam billowed.
Waved clear.
Full tub, towels, gels, shampoos, post-bath wraps—all prepped.
Back-scrub toys tubside.
"Mira-san's thoughtful..." Sigh, in.
Hotel tub post-Wakaba? Decent—but home? Supreme cozy.
Ripple-warm, steam-shroud misty allure.
Back-edged, arms out, eyes shut bliss.
Planned 10-min soak—body and soul cleanse.
Two-three minutes in, eyes cracked.
Door creak, soft steps.
Bathroom intruder.
Turn—eyes wide: "Mira-san?!"
Her—lone Tsubara resident with him.
Bewildered why; more shock: sole thin towel wrap.
"Mira-san, issue?"
Soul-stealing smile: "Can't visit sans reason?"
"Remember kid-baths together?"
"Days back, you scrubbed me. My turn."
Ah, that...
Wry: "Kid stuff now—grown up."
"Scrub? Awkward..."
Lids drooped, pout—mature beauty girl-sad: "Got it. Little Hikaru hates old auntie—I'm out."
Prime MILF sulk? Still hit pure—no discord.
Added coy charm—irresistible hug-urge.
Her pitiful tone melted him.
Couldn't let sad exit: "Wait! No hate, Mira-san!"
"Oh? For real?"
Grin-turn, tub-approach.
Door-to-tub? Meters.
Towel-clad? Catwalk sway—long pale legs lotus-step, hips hypnotic, allure overload. Heart-race paradise.
Rai whipped away, no stare.
Her smile widened.
Seated beside: "What, Little Hikaru hates auntie old? No shared baths?"
Solemn shake: "No! Love 'em—why hate Mira-san?"
"Then... scrub time?"
Nod frenzy: "Yes yes!"
World priorities slim: Tsubara Yuna/Rina, Mira; Takamine Rinka/Sumire.
Flesh-shared: Yukino Miyako, Natsuka.
Top? Mira—max care, warmth. Heaviest heart-weight.
Kin-like reverence—no hurt, no rejection vibe.
Her intent felt, lips curved sultry.
Ear-whisper: "Scrub incoming, Little Hikaru."
Towel grip loosened.
One hand gel-bottle, pump-squeeze—big milky dollop.
Skipped towel/balls—direct body-smeared.
Lean-forward, shoulder-grip, up-down back-rub.
Eyes shut, savor long-missed Mira scrub.
Nostalgic love—grown awkward, but her insist? Enjoy.
Soon, pro-massage bliss—low groan.
Odd vibe crept.
Curious: "Mira-san, what's scrubbing? No towel?"
Hunch throbbed head.
"Hehe, towel? Adult now—no kid method."
"Gal-pal trick—family bonding gold. Hate it, Little Hikaru?" Coo-laugh.
Ear-breath hot orchid, rub on—head ballooned.
"Uh... love it..."
"Love? Mouth shut, enjoy. Got it?" Laugh.
"Got it!"
Myriad gripes, mega-throb roast-urge—but zipped.
Any girl? Alpha mode.
Mira? Obedient good boy.
Enormous debt, flawless kindness—world's best to him.
Plus not surface-soft: cunning black-hearted fox.
Sole head-bow woman.
No defile thoughts.
Intent one thing—body another.
Deeper scrub? Throb surged.
Sigh—Mira's apex seduction, killer...
Chanting heart-sutra, blank-mind bliss-pain.
Time lost in haze.
Warm rinse, hand-rub clean—done.
Relief bittersweet—top-tier tactile heaven, but head-max? Gasp.
Longer? Unknown fallout.
Breath out—
Behind Mira rose.
Glance back: floor-towel, long dropped.
Mist-veil silhouette—he snapped front.
Mira unpredictable today—silent caution.
She laughed: "What, my scrub bad?"
Quick: "No, bliss! Why?"
"Your big head, brow-furrow—technique suck, uncomfortable?"
Quick: "Nah... hot, steamy room—dizzy ache."
"Oh? Solution here—listen?"
Ominous twinge, but: "W-What's it?"
"Simple. Long soak? Red-hot, swollen head—normal. Out. I'm chilly—my soak."
Out fast, eyes averted.
She tub-in, no tease.
Bad vibe—bathroom bolt.
Arm-snagged by tub-Mira.
"Hold—too hot, fever maybe—head that big."
"Stress buildup? Always throbbing—heartbreaking."
"Teen boy blues—massive pressure. Unvented? Snowballs, tanks grades, health."
"Got a fix pre-exit. Stay—or health crash? I'd ache."
Turned, tubside helpless: "Mira-san, what fix?"
No stress—fresh Wakaba-reliever.
Her words? Eerily familiar.
Mischief grin: "Closer, tub-edge—tell ya."
"Yaaawn..."
Sleepy? Stretch-yawn, head-tilt—silky cascade tub-dip.
Arms high, flawless pits bare.
Brain flashed: "I... love those pits!"
Ominous spike.
Her smile killer.
Finger crook.
"C'mere, Little Hikaru."
"Auntie'll... relieve your stress～"