Yuko shook her head so violently that strands of hair whipped against her wet cheeks.
"No—no, I swear. I would never. Never again. I—" Her hands clenched on her thighs. "Please. I'll do anything. Anything to prove it?"
I let the silence stretch a heartbeat longer, then spoke—voice deliberately thin, fragile, cracked at the edges from supposed exhaustion.
"Aunt Julie... please don't blame Sister Yuko." I let my eyelids flutter, as though even speaking cost me. "It wasn't... all her fault. I should have told her sooner. I should have explained everything from the beginning. I let her believe—I let her think—" I exhaled, shaky. "I'm at fault too."
Julie's gaze flicked to me.
For the briefest instant—less than a second—her right eye closed in a deliberate, conspiratorial wink. Then the mask snapped back into place: protective fury, maternal outrage.
"Jack." She made my name sound like both a caress and a reprimand.
"You're too kind. Far too kind for your own good. She's standing here playing the victim card, batting her lashes, and you're already making excuses for her. After what she did. After the names she called you. After she walked away and left you bleeding—literally bleeding."
She turned back to Yuko, voice dropping to something dangerously soft.
"She's taking advantage of your heart, Jack. And you're letting her."
I shook my head weakly against the pillow.
"Aunt Julie... please. I've already forgiven her."
Julie exhaled through her nose—a sharp, impatient sound.
"Hmph." She studied Yuko for a long, measuring moment. "Jack may have forgiven you, Yuko. That's his choice. But forgiveness is not mine to give. Not yet."
She stepped closer—close enough that Yuko had to tilt her head back to meet her eyes.
"I'm allowing you to stay. You can take care of him. You can bring him water, adjust pillows, and hold his hand if he wants it. You can atone, if that's really what this is." Julie's voice hardened.
"But understand this very clearly: I will be watching. Every second. One hint—one single hint—that you're anything less than gentle with him, that you raise your voice, that you make him feel small again... and I will have security here in under ninety seconds. After that, the police. And I promise you, sweetheart, I know exactly which officers to call."
Yuko's lips trembled, but her voice came out steady—small, but fierce.
"I'll never hurt him again. Never. Ever. I swear on everything I have left."
Julie held her gaze for another long beat.
Then, finally, she gave one curt nod.
"Fine. You stay."
Marina—who had remained silent until now—shifted her weight and crossed her arms tighter across her chest.
"Julie," she said quietly, almost under her breath, "we shouldn't trust her. Not even a little. Look at what she already did to him."
Julie didn't turn.
"I don't trust her, Marina." Her eyes stayed locked on Yuko. "Not even a little. But I trust Jack. If he says he forgives her—if he wants her here—then I'll give her enough rope." A
pause. "Not much. Just enough to see whether she hangs herself with it or actually uses it to climb back into his good graces."
She finally looked at Marina.
"Words are cheap. Tears are cheaper. Let's see what her hands do over the next twenty-four hours."
The room fell quiet.
Not peaceful and quiet. Watchful. Electric. Four people breathing the same recycled hospital air, bound together by half-truths, guilt that may or may not be sincere, forgiveness that might be a strategy, and the unspoken agreement that—right now, in this room—power did not belong to the person wearing the hospital gown.
Yuko stayed on her knees a moment longer, head bowed. Then, very slowly, she rose. Her movements were careful, almost reverent, as though any sudden motion might shatter the fragile permission she'd just been granted.
Yuko reached for the water pitcher on the side table. The plastic handle creaked faintly under her grip. Her fingers—still unsteady from everything that had happened in the last hour—tilted the jug.
Water glugged into the glass, a few drops spilling over the rim and sliding down the outside to pool on the scratched laminate tabletop. She wiped the base absently with her thumb before holding the glass out to me.
Our eyes didn't quite meet. Hers stayed lowered, fixed somewhere on my collarbone.
I took the glass. Deliberately slow.
Our fingertips brushed—hers cool and damp from the condensation, mine warmer. She flinched. Just barely. A tiny, involuntary twitch of her wrist, gone in half a second. But she didn't pull away. She let the contact linger until I had a secure hold, then only then did her hand retreat.
Julie watched every millisecond of it from her perch on the edge of the visitor's chair. Her expression was calm, almost serene, but her eyes were sharp as scalpels.
So were mine.
Julie broke the silence first. She glanced sideways at Marina, voice casual but edged with command.
"Marina, go start preparing for tomorrow. Luggage, flight confirmation, and call the driver for pickup at the airstrip. I'll stay here."
Marina hesitated—only for a heartbeat—then gave a short nod. She shot one last narrow-eyed look at Yuko before turning on her heel and slipping out. The door sighed shut behind her.
I took a slow sip of water. The liquid was lukewarm, faintly metallic from the hospital pipes, but I let it sit on my tongue anyway.
When I lowered the glass, Yuko was already there—reaching without being asked. Her fingers closed around mine again as she took it back.
This time, there was no flinch. Just quiet acceptance. She set the glass down with care, then scanned the side table until she spotted a small folded towel among the unopened supplies.
She dampened it under the tap at the tiny sink in the corner. The water hissed briefly; the towel darkened. When she returned, she knelt again—this time beside the bed rail rather than at my feet—and began to wipe my face.
Gentle. Methodical. Like someone who had done this a thousand times in daydreams.
The cool cloth moved across my forehead first, smoothing away invisible sweat. Then my temples. My cheeks. Down the line of my jaw.
She was careful around the fading bruise under my left eye, dabbing instead of wiping.
When she reached my hands, she turned them palm-up one at a time, cleaning between my fingers with the same soft focus a wife might use after a long day. Or a penitent trying to erase sins she could never quite reach.
I let her.
Julie watched from the couch now, legs crossed, one elbow resting on the armrest, chin propped on her knuckles. She looked like she was enjoying a private performance.
After a minute, she rose—slow, graceful—and came to the bedside. She didn't sit. She simply leaned in, close enough that I could smell the faint citrus of her perfume cutting through the antiseptic air.
"Yuko," she said lightly, almost sweetly, "why don't you cut some fruit for him? There's a bowl of apples and oranges on the tray. He needs something fresh."
Yuko nodded at once. No hesitation. She rose, fetched the small plastic bowl from the rolling tray table, and carried it to the narrow counter by the sink. The paring knife she found in the drawer was blunt from years of use, but she made do.
Each slice was careful, precise—thin crescents of apple arranged in a neat fan on a paper plate. She peeled an orange next; the sharp, bright scent bloomed instantly, cutting through the stale hospital smell like a promise.
While Yuko worked, Julie moved closer still. She lifted the edge of the thin hospital blanket just enough to expose my forearm and part of my chest. Without a word, she took a fresh wipe from the pack on the tray, moistened it, and began cleaning my skin in slow, deliberate strokes.
Her touch was firmer than Yuko's. More proprietary.
She leaned down until her lips were beside my ear—close enough that her breath stirred the fine hairs there.
"After a little while," she whispered, voice so low it was almost only vibration, "pretend you need to pee. I'll tell Yuko to help you. It'll be... illuminating to see exactly how far she's willing to go to prove herself."
A tiny thrill slid down my spine—not from the suggestion itself, but from the casual cruelty wrapped in velvet. Julie's games were never loud. They were surgical.
I gave the smallest nod, barely a dip of my chin. Enough for her to feel it.
She straightened, face perfectly composed again, and returned to wiping my shoulder as though nothing had been said.
Yuko finished with the fruit. She carried the plate over like an offering—both hands cradling it, head slightly bowed—and set it on the over-bed table. She adjusted the height so it hovered just above my lap, then stepped back half a pace, waiting.
"Eat something, Jack," Julie said warmly, as though she hadn't just planted a small bomb in the room. "You need your strength for tomorrow."
I picked up an apple slice. The flesh was crisp, faintly tart. I chewed slowly, letting the moment stretch.
Yuko hovered nearby—close enough to help if I needed it, far enough not to crowd. Her eyes kept darting to my face, then away, then back again. Searching for forgiveness. For anger. For anything that would tell her where the ground was.
Julie settled back onto the couch, one leg crossed over the other, and picked up her phone. She scrolled absently, but I knew she wasn't really looking at the screen. Every few seconds, her gaze flicked up—first to Yuko, then to me—like a predator tracking two small animals in the same cage.
Minutes passed in that strange, suspended quiet. The only sounds were the low hum of the air conditioning, the occasional beep from the monitor beside the bed, and the soft, wet scrape of Yuko peeling another orange she didn't need to peel.
I finished the last apple slice. Set the plate aside. Then—right on cue—I shifted under the blanket. A small wince. A hand pressed lightly to my lower abdomen.
Julie noticed instantly.
"Jack?" Her voice was all gentle concern. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
I let my voice come out thin, hesitant.
"I... I think I need to use the bathroom."
Julie's mouth curved—just the faintest suggestion of a smile.
"Of course." She turned to Yuko without missing a beat. "Yuko, darling, would you help him? He's not supposed to get up alone yet. The nurse said full assistance."
Yuko froze for half a second. Color flooded back into her cheeks—brighter this time, almost painful. But she didn't protest. Didn't question.
She nodded.
"Yes, Aunt Julie."
Yuko stepped closer, so close I could smell the faint orange zest still clinging to her fingertips from the fruit she'd cut earlier. Her face was flushed again — not the angry red of embarrassment this time, but something softer, warmer, almost feverish. The blush started at the hollow of her throat and climbed steadily until even the tips of her ears glowed.
She stopped just inside my personal space, eyes flicking nervously between my face and the floor.
"Can you stand up?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "If not... I can ask the nurse to bring a wheelchair."
I let a small, tired smile touch my lips — the kind that made people want to take care of me.
"I feel like... I can stand up," I said slowly, letting my voice waver just enough. "Sister Yuko... let me try."
Her expression softened instantly — relief mixed with something deeper, almost desperate. "Let me help you."
She moved without waiting for permission. One careful step forward and her arms were around me — not tentative anymore, but purposeful. She slid one hand behind my back, the other across my chest, hugging me close as she guided my upper body forward. I let my weight settle against her, just enough that she had to tighten her hold to keep me steady.
With a gentle tug, she pulled me upright until I was sitting on the very edge of the hospital bed, legs dangling over the side. The thin mattress dipped under us both. Her breath came faster now, warm against the side of my neck.
"Your wound isn't opening up, right?" she asked, voice trembling with worry. Her fingers hovered near the bandage taped across my lower ribs, not quite daring to touch.
I shook my head slowly. "No... It's alright."
She exhaled — a shaky little sound — and nodded to herself as though confirming something important.
Then she rearranged us with careful determination. She lifted my left arm first, draping it across her shoulders so my forearm rested against the warm curve of her neck.
My right arm followed. Her skin was soft there, slightly damp from nerves or the stuffy hospital air.
She wrapped both arms around my waist — one hand flat against my lower back, the other curling around my side — and pressed the length of her body against mine for leverage.
"Ready?" she murmured.
I nodded.
She pulled.
We rose together in one slow, shared motion. My legs found the floor; hers braced wide for balance. I leaned into her heavily — more than necessary — letting my chest mold against the soft swell of her right breast. The thin fabric of her blouse did almost nothing to dull the warmth, the gentle give. Every small shift of her breathing pressed her closer.
We took the first shuffling step toward the bathroom door. Then another. The linoleum was cold under my bare feet, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was her — the steady thump of her heartbeat against my ribs, the faint tremor in the arm wrapped around my waist, the way her fingers flexed and unflexed against my back like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go.
Halfway there, I dipped my head until my lips were beside her ear.
"Sister Yuko..." I whispered, letting my voice come out rough and grateful. "Thank you."
She stumbled — just a tiny hitch in her step — and the blush that had started to fade roared back across her cheeks.
"It's... " It's my fault," she answered quickly, almost frantically. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be injured like this. You don't need to thank me. Please don't."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I let silence answer for a moment — let her feel the weight of my body against hers, the way I was trusting her completely.
"But I want to," I said softly. "You're taking care of me now. That matters."
She didn't reply right away. Just kept us moving — slow, careful steps — until we reached the bathroom doorway.
The fluorescent light buzzed to life when she nudged the switch with her elbow. Harsh white light spilled over the small space: white tiles, stainless-steel grab bars, the toilet just two steps inside.
I was standing facing the toilet seat. Then she hesitated — only for a second — before her hands moved to the ties at the back of my hospital gown.
"I'll... hold it open," she said, voice so quiet I almost didn't catch it. "Just... tell me when you're finished. Or if you need anything else."
Her fingers worked the knot loose with surprising steadiness. The gown parted down the back; cool air brushed my skin.
She gathered the fabric carefully in her hands, holding it away from my body without looking — eyes fixed somewhere on the wall tiles, cheeks burning.
I glanced down.
My cock stood rigid, thick and unyielding, lifting slightly with each insistent heartbeat. It was fully engorged now—veins bulging prominently along the shaft like twisted rivers under taut skin, mapping out the length from base to tip in dark, pulsing ridges.
The thickest vein snaked up the underside, swollen and pronounced, throbbing visibly with every rush of blood.
The head was flared wide, a deep flushed purple, smooth and glistening with a bead of precum that caught the harsh fluorescent light and shimmered like dew.
It twitched upward involuntarily—once, twice—demanding attention, the full girth straining against the air, hot and heavy, easily seven inches of solid, veined muscle that made the thin hospital gown seem laughably inadequate.
I let out a small, embarrassed-sounding exhale.
"Sister... Yuko..." My voice came out low, rough, hesitant. "I can't pee... like this."
She stiffened instantly. Still staring at the wall.
"What happened?" Worry flooded her tone. "Is it hurting there? Did I pull too hard? Should I—"
I shook my head quickly, letting my face flush—the perfect picture of shy mortification.
"No... It's not hurting. I just..." I swallowed, made my voice drop even quieter. "It's... hard. I can't pee when it's like this."
A tiny, startled sound escaped her throat.
"What?"
Before she could process it fully, Julie's voice drifted in from the main room—calm, amused, perfectly timed.
"Are you two okay in there?"
I answered without hesitation, keeping my tone light and casual.
"Yeah, Aunt Julie. We're fine."
Silence for two heartbeats.
Then Yuko finally—finally—let her gaze drop.
Her eyes locked onto it, and time seemed to freeze. Her pupils dilated instantly, blowing wide as saucers in the stark light. A sharp, involuntary gasp tore from her lips—half shock, half something she couldn't name—as her free hand flew to her mouth, fingers pressing hard against her trembling lips.
Her cheeks ignited in a blaze of crimson, the flush spreading like wildfire down her neck, across her collarbones, disappearing under the collar of her blouse.
She couldn't look away; her stare was transfixed, tracing the bulging veins that pulsed with raw, primal energy—the way they wrapped around the shaft like cords of steel under velvet, each one standing out in stark relief, feeding the impossible hardness that made the whole thing curve slightly upward in defiance of gravity.
"So... big..." The words tumbled out in a breathless whisper, unfiltered and raw, before she clamped down harder on her mouth. Her knees buckled just a fraction—she shifted her weight to steady herself, but I felt the tremor run through her whole body where she still held me. "Oh my god... those veins... why is it... hard like that? It's... throbbing..."
Her voice cracked, high and disbelieving, as if she were seeing something forbidden, something that shattered the fragile illusion of control she'd been clinging to.
Her chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, making her blouse strain against the rise and fall; her other hand tightened on the gown's fabric until her knuckles went white, like she was anchoring herself to reality.
Shock warred with guilt in her eyes—widening them further as they flicked from the veined length to the slick, swollen head, then back again—as if memorizing every ridge, every pulse, against her will.
I turned my head just enough to catch her profile—the way her lashes fluttered wildly, the tiny beads of sweat forming at her temples.
I let a small, rueful smile touch my lips.
"Sister Yuko... It's all your fault."
She whipped her head toward me, eyes huge.
"How is it my fault?" she whispered fiercely, voice cracking between embarrassment and indignation. "It's obviously you... Who's thinking dirty thoughts!"
I leaned in a fraction closer—just enough that my breath brushed the shell of her ear again.
"How can I not be like this..." I murmured, "...when you're holding me like this? When you're pressed so close? When can I feel every inch of you against me? When you're being so gentle... so careful... taking care of me like I'm yours to protect?"
Her breath hitched audibly. The hand still clutching the gown trembled harder; the fabric rustled faintly.
"Hmph..." she managed—a weak attempt at defiance—but it came out more like a whimper. Her eyes darted back down, then away again, as though looking too long would burn her.
I let the silence stretch. Let her feel the heat of my body, the insistent throb only inches from her hip now. Let her wrestle with the cocktail of guilt, shame, responsibility... and something hotter she was trying desperately not to name.
After a long moment, she swallowed hard.
"I... I didn't mean to..." she whispered. "I just wanted to help. I didn't think—"
"I know," I cut in softly. "But you are helping. More than you know."
Her lashes fluttered. She bit her lower lip—hard enough that the skin blanched white for a second.
"Do you... need me to... do something?" The question came out so small, so reluctant, I almost didn't catch it.
I turned my head slowly.
Yuko's face was incandescent—deep crimson spreading from her cheeks down her throat, the blush so intense it looked almost painful under the unforgiving fluorescent light.
Her lips were parted, still trembling from the shock of seeing me fully exposed, from the way her own whispered "so big" still echoed between us like a confession she couldn't take back. Her eyes—wide, glassy, shimmering with unshed tears and something far more dangerous—darted between my face and the throbbing, veined length that refused to soften.
I softened my voice, made it gentle, careful.
"Sister Yuko... I know you hate men. I know you don't like coming into contact with them because of... that incident you told me about." I paused, letting the weight of her past settle between us. "So if you're not comfortable—if even being this close is hurting you—I don't want to force you. I would never want to force you, Sister Yuko."
Her breath caught. For a second, she looked like she might shatter.
Then she shook her head—small, frantic.
"No..." The word came out shaky, but certain. "I... I hate coming in contact with other men. But not you, Jack." Her voice dropped to something raw, almost reverent. "I don't know why... but when I'm with you... I don't have that feeling. At all."
She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet my eyes even though her whole body was trembling.
Her next words came out in a serious, determined tone—completely at odds with the furious blush still burning across her face.
"I am willing to do anything to help you. Anything." She swallowed hard, stammering now. "But I... I don't... know much about... these things. So please... teach me."
The way she stood there—still holding the back of my gown open behind me, still pressed close enough that I could feel the frantic rise and fall of her chest against my side—she looked every inch like a young Japanese wife from some old drama: demure yet resolute, blushing furiously, ready to serve, to give, to learn whatever her husband asked of her. The image hit me harder than I expected.
I shook my head slowly, letting regret color my voice.
"I don't want Sister Yuko to do these things just because she feels guilty about hurting me. I—"
She didn't let me finish.
In one sudden, impulsive movement, she spun me toward her—careful of the bandage on my ribs, but firm—and wrapped both arms around my neck. Then she surged up on her toes and kissed me.
Hard.
Amateurish. Desperate. Lips crashing against mine with more emotion than technique—teeth clacking once, a tiny whimper escaping her when she realized how clumsy it was. But she didn't pull back. She pressed closer instead, molding her body to mine like she was trying to fuse us together.
My erection—still achingly hard, veins standing out like cords—pressed directly against the soft mound of her crotch through her skirt and my thin gown. The sudden friction dragged a low, broken groan out of her throat, muffled against my mouth. Her hips jerked involuntarily, chasing the pressure for one helpless second before she froze in mortified realization.
She broke the kiss just enough to speak—lips still brushing mine, breath hot and ragged.
"I'm not doing this because I feel guilty," she whispered fiercely, voice cracking. "I really do love you, Jack. Please believe me." Another trembling breath. "I am willing to do anything... even if you want... that. I'm willing to give it to you. Right here. Right now. If that's what you need."
Her words hung in the small, bleach-scented space like smoke.
I lifted one hand—slowly, gently—and threaded my fingers into her dark hair. I caressed the strands behind her ear, then down the nape of her neck, feeling the fine tremor that ran through her.
"I know," I murmured against her lips. "I believe you."
I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes—searching, serious.
"But I don't want to push you. Not like this. Not rushed, not in a hospital bathroom because of some stupid injury and some stupid guilt." I brushed my thumb along her jaw.
"I want to take my time with you, Sister Yuko. I want to go on dates. Real ones. Walks in the park. Late-night ramen stands. Holding hands under the table at family dinners. I want to court you properly... so there's no regret. Not for you. Not for me."
Her eyes filled—tears brimming but not falling.
"You... you really mean that?"
I nodded.
"More than anything."
For a long moment, she just stared at me—searching my face like she was trying to find the lie and couldn't.
Then she let out a small, watery laugh that turned into a sniffle.
"You're... impossible," she whispered.
She rested her forehead against mine, closing her eyes.
"Okay," she said softly. "Then... take your time. I'll wait." A tiny, shy smile curved her lips. "But... I'm still going to help you pee. Because you still can't pee."
She opened her eyes again—still flushed, still nervous, but steadier now.
"So... tell me what to do. Teach me. Slowly."
I smiled—small, real this time.
"Turn me back around," I said quietly. "Hold the gown like before. And... maybe just stay close. Talk to me. That'll help more than anything."
She nodded.
Carefully—tenderly—she guided me back to face the toilet. Her arms came around me again from behind this time, one hand steady on my hip, the other still clutching the parted gown. Her cheek pressed lightly against my shoulder blades. I could feel her heartbeat against my spine—fast, but calmer now.
"Breathe," she whispered against my back. "I've got you."
Then her hand moved.
Her right palm—still trembling—slid down the outside of my thigh, slow and deliberate now, no longer pretending it was accidental. Fingernails grazed skin, raising goosebumps. When her fingers curled inward, she didn't stop at the base this time. She wrapped her small, warm hand fully around my cock—right at the thick, veiny root—squeezing once like she was testing how much give there really was.
"Let me help you hold it..." she breathed against my shoulder, voice husky and wrecked. "So you can... let go. I want to feel it soften in my hand... or get even harder. Whatever you need."
The instant her fingers closed—tight, possessive, slick already from the precum she'd smeared earlier—I sucked in a sharp hiss.
My hips bucked forward on reflex, shoving the swollen, veined length deeper into her fist. The thickest vein on the underside pulsed violently against her palm like it was trying to fuck her hand.
I groaned low and filthy. "Sister Yuko... fuck... you're making it so much worse."
She gasped—half shock, half thrill—and her grip instinctively tightened. "Why... why is it getting bigger?" Her thumb dragged up the underside in one long, curious stroke, pressing right along that fat, throbbing vein. "It's... swelling so much... look how the head is leaking all over my fingers..."
She wasn't wrong.
Another fat bead of precum welled at the slit and rolled down, coating her knuckles. The head was an angry, glossy plum now—flared obscenely wide, glistening, twitching every time her heartbeat echoed through her palm into mine.
The whole cock looked obscene in her small hand: veins bulging like ropes, skin stretched tight, curving upward with shameless need.
"Because you're jerking me," I rasped, voice gravel. "Because your soft little hand feels like sin wrapped around my cock. Because you just kissed me like you wanted to swallow my tongue, and now you're holding the dick you made rock-hard. That's why it's getting bigger, Sister Yuko. It wants to fuck your fist until it paints your pretty fingers white."
Her breath hitched—ragged, needy. She let out a tiny, broken whimper and pressed her forehead harder to my back like she was trying to hide how soaked her panties must be right now.
"I... I didn't mean to..." she stammered, but her hand betrayed her—starting to move again. Slow, experimental pumps.
Up to the slick head, twisting once around the ridge as she'd seen in some secret video, then back down, squeezing the base until another thick rope of precum oozed out and dripped onto her wrist. "It's so hot... so thick... I can feel every vein pulsing... it's jumping in my hand like it has a heartbeat..."
"Keep going," I growled softly. "Stroke it. Milk it. Make it leak for you. You said you'd do anything—prove it. Jerk your big brother's cock until it calms down... or until it explodes all over your innocent little hand."
She moaned—quiet, muffled against my skin—and obeyed.
Her strokes grew bolder. Wetter. The obscene, slick schlick-schlick filled the tiny bathroom, louder than the buzzing light, louder than the drip of the faucet. Her other arm stayed locked around my waist, holding me up while she worked me from behind—cheek pressed to my spine, tits crushed against my back, nipples hard enough I could feel them stabbing through her blouse.
"Does it... feel good?" she whispered, voice shaking with lust and shame. "When I twist my wrist like this... right under the head? When I squeeze the fat vein? Tell me... please... I want to make it feel so good..."
"Fuck yes," I hissed. "Just like that. Faster now. Grip it tighter. Pretend you're trying to choke the cum out of me. You're doing so good, baby sister... so fucking filthy and perfect."
Her rhythm faltered for a second at the "baby sister"—then sped up, desperate. Her hand was drenched now—precum and her own nervous sweat making everything slippery, messy. Every upstroke, she dragged her thumb over the slit, collecting the steady leak and smearing it down the cock until my cock gleamed under the harsh light.
"It's... dripping so much," she panted. "There's so much... it's running down my wrist... onto the floor... oh god, Jack, it's making such a dirty sound..."
I leaned my head back until my lips brushed her ear.
"Keep jerking me," I ordered quietly. "Let her hear how sloppy you're making my cock. Let her hear how much you love being my dirty little nurse. Don't you dare stop until I tell you."
She whimpered—high and needy—and resumed pumping. Faster. Filthier. Hand flying now, slick sounds echoing off the tiles like wet slaps in the small, echoing space.
Her voice cracked against my back: "Jack... it's throbbing so hard... I think... I think it's going to..."
I cut her off, voice low and urgent. "Sister Yuko... It's not working. We have to make it quicker. Otherwise, Aunt Julie might get suspicious... or come check on us."
Yuko froze mid-stroke, hand still wrapped tight around the slick, veined cock. Her eyes flicked up to mine—wide, glassy, pupils blown with a cocktail of shame and arousal. The blush that had never really left her face deepened to an almost violent scarlet.
"What... what should I do?" she whispered, voice trembling.
I turned slowly in her grip—careful of the IV line still taped to my arm—and looked down at her.
"Sister Yuko... can you get on your knees?"
She didn't hesitate.
Her knees hit the cold tile with a soft thud. My cock—still rigid, glistening with her spit and precum, veins standing out like angry cords—bobbed inches from her flushed face. She stared up at me, lips parted, breath coming in shallow pants. Strands of dark hair had fallen across her forehead; she looked wrecked already, and we hadn't even started.
"Do... you want to..." she started, voice barely audible, eyes darting to my length then back to my face.
I didn't let her finish.
"Sister Yuko... I want to put it between them."
I nodded downward—pointing with my chin at the deep valley of her massive tits straining against the crisp white blouse of her lady suit. Even buttoned and professional, the fabric was stretched taut across her chest, the outline of her bra cups visible beneath. She followed my gaze. Realization hit. Her mouth fell open on a tiny, shocked exhale.
But she didn't protest.
Instead—blushing so hard I thought she might pass out—she lifted both hands to the front of her blouse. Trembling fingers worked the top two buttons open, then a third, exposing the lacy edge of a pale pink bra and the creamy swell of her cleavage.
I stepped closer. She stayed perfectly still on her knees, like an offering.
I reached down—slow, deliberate—and cupped both heavy breasts through the open shirt. Fuck, they were perfect. Overflowing my palms, soft and warm, the weight of them makes my cock twitch harder in anticipation.
I squeezed once—firm, possessive—thumbs digging into the plush upper swells until she let out a low, throaty moan that vibrated straight to my balls.
"Jack... oh god..." Her voice was wrecked, a mix of shame and raw want, her hips shifting subtly on the tile as if her pussy was clenching around nothing.
"Do you... " Want me to remove the bra?" she asked shyly, voice quivering, eyes locked on my throbbing cock where it bobbed inches from her lips.
I shook my head, voice rough. "No. Keep it on. I want to fuck your tits with the bra squeezing me... making it tighter... dirtier."
Her moan deepened—high and filthy, echoing off the bathroom walls—as I pushed her breasts together harder, mashing the soft flesh into a deep, plush channel. The lace edges scratched teasingly against my skin as I guided my cock forward.
The swollen head—dark, leaking—nudged the warm valley between her tits first, smearing a sticky trail of precum across the inner curves.
I thrust—slow and deliberate—shoving my thick, veined length straight through the open buttons of her shirt and sliding it deep into her bra.
The underwire resisted at first, elastic digging in like a vice, but I forced it anyway—feeling the satin cups stretch and hug the sides of my cock while her silky cleavage swallowed the rest.
It was so fucking tight: the bra's constriction milking me from all angles, veins pulsing against the lace, her soft tits molding around every ridge like a custom-fitted sleeve.
I could see the head peeking out from the top of her cleavage—glistening, angry red—then disappearing again as I pulled back.
On the next shove forward, I went deeper, the full girth stretching her bra to its limits, the fabric creaking faintly under the strain. Yuko gasped—a sharp, needy sound—then moaned long and low, her hands flying up to press her tits even tighter around me.
"It's... so big... filling me up between them... I can feel it throbbing against my skin..." she whimpered, voice breaking into tiny, shy moans every time the head bumped the underside of her chin.
I couldn't hold back anymore.
My left hand slid up, fingers threading into the dark silk of her hair at the nape of her neck. I gripped firmly—not cruel, but possessive—tilting her head back just enough so her eyes met mine. Wide, glassy, shimmering with lust and surrender. Her lips parted on a soft, trembling exhale.
"Eyes on me, Sister Yuko," I growled low. "Watch what your tits are doing to my cock."
Then I started moving my hips in earnest.
Short, rolling thrusts at first—testing the slick, spit-drenched channel—then longer, deeper strokes that made her massive breasts bounce slightly with each impact. The bra cups strained, lace edges digging into the sides of my cock, creating delicious friction that had me groaning through clenched teeth.
Every forward plunge buried my length completely between her tits; every pull-back dragged the veined underside along the warm, wet valley until only the swollen head remained trapped, glistening with her drool and my precum.
Yuko's shy moans spilled out in broken little bursts—high-pitched, embarrassed, but unmistakably aroused.
"Ah... nnh... Jack... it's... so deep... mmmh..." Each thrust punched a new sound from her throat—soft, needy whimpers that grew louder, more desperate as I picked up speed. Her hands squeezed harder, mashing her breasts together until the pressure was almost painful—perfectly milking every inch of me.
The wet schlick-schlick-schlick of cock sliding through spit-slick cleavage echoed louder than our breathing, louder than the buzzing fluorescent light overhead.
I tightened my grip in her hair, using it as leverage to angle her head exactly where I wanted—keeping her gaze locked on the obscene sight of my thick cock disappearing and reappearing between her tits.
The head kept bumping her chin, her lower lip, leaving shiny streaks of precum across her skin. She didn't flinch. Instead, her tongue flicked out again—tentative at first, then bolder—lapping at the leaking slit every time it emerged, tasting the salty mix of us both.
"Fuck... good girl," I rasped, hips snapping faster. "Lick it. Taste how hard you make me."
Her moan turned into a muffled whine against the head on the next upstroke. "Mmmph... salty... hot... your cock... ruining me..."
The pace turned brutal—short, punishing thrusts that made her breasts jiggle and slap together around my girth.
The bra was soaked now—dark patches spreading from her spit, my precum, the sheer friction heat. Every stroke dragged obscene, wet noises from the tight channel; every pull-back left strings of saliva and precum connecting her tits to my cock like filthy webs.
I felt it building—low, heavy pressure coiling in my balls, the base of my spine tingling.
"Yuko... I'm close," I warned, voice gravel. "Gonna cum all over these perfect fucking tits."
Her eyes widened—pupils blown, lashes wet—but she didn't pull away. Instead, she pressed her breasts even tighter, whimpering shyly, "Please... Jack... do it... mark me... make them yours..."
That did it.
I yanked her head back a fraction more—enough to see her flushed face, parted lips, trembling chin—and slammed forward one last time, burying myself as deep as the bra would allow. My cock pulsed violently between her tits, veins throbbing against the satin and lace.
Then I came.
Hard.
The first thick rope erupted from the slit, shooting up and splattering across the upper swell of her left breast, painting a white stripe over pink lace. She gasped—high and shocked—but her hands kept squeezing, milking me through it.
The second spurt hit her right tit, thick and hot, dripping down the inner curve and soaking into the already-drenched fabric. Rope after rope followed—hot, heavy jets that coated her cleavage, streaked across the tops of her breasts, ran in slow rivulets down the valley between them, pooling in the creases where bra met skin.
Her blouse was ruined—white stains blooming across the open front, semen seeping through lace and satin until the cups clung transparently to her nipples. Cum dripped from the underside of her tits, sliding down her stomach, spotting the tile between her knees.
Yuko moaned—long, broken, trembling—her whole body shaking as she felt the warmth spreading across her chest. "Oh god... so much... it's... everywhere... hot... sticky..." Her voice was small, shy, almost reverent. "You... you came so hard... all over me..."
I kept shallow thrusts through the aftershocks—milking the last drops out between her cum-slick tits—until my cock finally softened slightly, still nestled in the messy, dripping channel.
She looked up at me—face flushed, lips swollen, chin glistening with a mix of spit and semen—eyes glassy with awe and lingering lust.
Her breasts were a complete, filthy masterpiece: completely wet, glazed white, the bra translucent and clinging, every curve and valley marked with my release.
I released her hair gently, thumb brushing a streak of cum from her lower lip.
"Good girl," I murmured. "Now... let's see if I can finally piss."
She let out a shaky, embarrassed laugh-moan, still on her knees, tits heaving with every breath, utterly claimed.
Yuko stayed frozen on her knees, chest heaving, the ruined blouse plastered to her skin like a second, filthy layer. My cum had already begun to cool in sticky patches across her heavy breasts, but the heat from her body kept it tacky and glistening.
The bra underneath was completely translucent now—darkened lace clinging wetly to every curve, her hard nipples jutting out like desperate little peaks, dark and swollen, begging for more attention even as shame burned across her flushed face.
I looked down at the obscene masterpiece I'd painted on her professional translator's look and let a slow, teasing grin curl my lips.
"Sister Yuko..." I murmured, voice low and mocking, "Haruna's tits might even be bigger than yours."
Her head jerked up instantly. Eyes wide, fresh crimson flooding her cheeks so violently that it spread down her neck and disappeared beneath the drenched fabric.
"Hm... don't—don't talk about her..." she whispered, voice cracking with guilt and something darker. "I feel so guilty... thinking of stealing my little sister's man... nnh... It's wrong... but I can't stop wanting you..."
The words hung there—sweet, broken, deliciously conflicted—when I relaxed the last shred of control.
A thick, forceful jet of piss exploded from the head of my cock—still half-buried in the cum-slicked valley of her cleavage—and slammed straight against her sternum with hot, unrelenting pressure.
Yuko's whole body convulsed.
A high, surprised, utterly filthy moan tore from her throat—"AHHH—!!"—sharp and involuntary, echoing off the tiles before she could even try to stifle it.
"N-no—Jack—wait—!" she gasped, but the protest melted instantly into a long, trembling whimper as the golden stream kept pouring. "Ohhh... it's... so hot... pouring right between them... nnhh...!"
The piss hit the already cum-drenched lace first, turning the pink satin a deep, piss-soaked amber in seconds. Thick rivulets cascaded through her deep cleavage, mixing with the white ropes of semen into a nasty, frothy slurry that ran down her torso in warm, sticky sheets.
Every powerful spurt made her massive breasts bounce and quiver; the stream battered her stiff nipples directly—making them glisten and twitch obscenely under the onslaught—then flooded downward, soaking her stomach, drenching the front of her skirt until the fabric clung transparently to her thighs and the swollen mound between them.
The smell bloomed instantly—sharp, acrid piss mingling with the musky, salty tang of cum, heavy and inescapable in the small bathroom. It clung to her skin, her hair, the ruined blouse—filling the air with raw, animal degradation.
Yuko's nostrils flared. Another broken moan escaped her—"Mmmph... ahh... the smell... it's so strong... so dirty... nnhh... why does it make me throb even more...?"
I angled the stream higher for a heartbeat—letting a short, hot burst splash across her chin and lower lip—before redirecting it back to her tits. She flinched but didn't pull away; instead, her hands flew up to cup the undersides of her breasts again, lifting them like an offering, letting the warm flood cascade more freely.
"Ahh—Jack... it's running... inside my bra... soaking my nipples... oh god... hnn... it's dripping down my stomach... between my legs... my panties are... completely flooded..." Her voice cracked into shy, horny little whimpers with every fresh jet. "Nnh... it's so nasty... the smell is everywhere... clinging to me... but I... I can't stop moaning... mmmh... it feels so wrong... so good..."
The flow kept coming—strong, endless—until her entire front was utterly saturated. The blouse was no longer recognizable as white; it was a dark, clinging wreck of piss and cum stains, the material so heavy and wet it squelched faintly with every tiny movement of her chest.
Her skirt hung sodden from waist to knees, dark patches spreading outward, the fabric plastered obscenely to her skin, outlining the shape of her soaked panties and the slick heat between her thighs. Golden puddles spread on the tile beneath her knees, sticky and reeking, mixing cum, spit, and piss into a shameful, pungent pool.
Finally, the stream slowed to thick, lazy dribbles that slid down my cock and plopped onto her already-drenched cleavage, adding final glistening drops to the mess.
Yuko was trembling violently now—whole body shaking, face flushed crimson, lips parted on panting, needy breaths. Cum and piss dripped steadily from her chin, her swollen nipples, and the hem of her skirt. The nasty, pungent smell enveloped us both, thick and inescapable.
She looked up at me with glassy, humiliated eyes, voice small and quivering but thick with arousal.
"I... I just knelt here..." she whispered, another shy moan slipping out as a fresh droplet slid down her inner thigh. "And let you... piss all over me... like I'm nothing but your filthy little urinal... nnh... and I'm still... so wet down there... throbbing... ahh... why does the smell make me want more...?"
I reached down, thumb smearing a warm mix of cum and piss across her swollen lower lip.
"Because you're mine now, Sister Yuko," I said softly, voice dark with possession. "Every drenched, stinking inch of you."
She shivered hard—nipples tightening even more visibly through the transparent, ruined bra—then let out one last, broken, horny whimper.
"Mmmh... yes... I'm yours... even like this... covered in your cum... and your piss... nnh... I can still feel it dripping inside my skirt... please... don't make me clean up yet... let me wear it... let it soak into me..."
I smiled down at her ruined, glistening form.
"Button what's left of that blouse," I ordered quietly. "Let it cling. Let it stink. Let everyone on the flight tomorrow wonder why the pretty translator smells like sex, cum, and piss."
Her fingers—shaking—fumbled to close the few remaining buttons over the completely saturated, reeking mess of her chest and stomach. The wet fabric squelched softly with every movement, the smell rising stronger with each breath.
She looked up at me again—eyes shining with humiliated devotion.
I chuckled darkly at the sight of Yuko — a dripping, reeking mess on her knees, blouse plastered transparently to her cum-and-piss-glazed tits, nipples stiff and obvious, skirt heavy and dark with my mark.
The sharp, musky stench of piss mixed with thick semen hung thick in the air around her like a filthy perfume.
Right then, Julie's voice cut through the door, sweet but laced with suspicion.
"Are you guys done in there? Did something happen? Why is it taking so long?"
I forced my voice to sound hoarse and embarrassed.
"C-coming, Aunt Julie..." I stammered loudly, adding a fake little cough for effect.
Yuko's eyes snapped up in pure terror. She stared down at herself — the soaked, see-through blouse, the yellow-tinged wet patches running all the way to the hem of her skirt, the way droplets still slid down her inner thighs. The smell was impossible to hide.
"How am I supposed to go out there like this...?" she whispered frantically, voice cracking. "Aunt Julie will smell it... she'll see the stains... she'll know exactly what you did to me..."
I gave a low, amused chuckle and helped her up.
Yuko pouted hard, cheeks burning crimson. "Don't laugh at me..." In a sudden, bratty burst, she slapped my half-hard cock, making it swing heavily between my legs.
"Aah—!" I hissed theatrically, clutching my chest as she'd wounded me.
Yuko instantly panicked. She dropped back to her knees, small hands gently cradling my cock like it was precious.
"Did... did I hurt you...?" she whimpered, eyes huge and worried.
I nodded like a sulky child. "Yeah... it hurts a lot now. Only Sister Yuko's kiss can heal it..."
She rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway, pressing the softest, shyest kiss right to the sticky head.
"Hmm..." she murmured, nose wrinkling as she inhaled deeply. "It smells so bad... piss and cum and... you..." She took another slow, greedy sniff, lashes fluttering. "But why do I want to smell it even more...?"
"Because Sister Yuko is a dirty little pervert," I teased.
She gave one final gentle kiss, then stood quickly.
"Quickly — wear your gown. I'll take you out before she gets suspicious."
She helped me back into the hospital gown with shaky fingers, tying the strings while trying not to press her drenched body against me. Then she wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me out.
The moment we stepped into the main room, Julie's head snapped up from the couch. She sniffed once... twice... then fanned her hand dramatically in front of her nose.
"What on earth is that smell...?" Her eyes narrowed, raking over Yuko's ruined appearance — the soaked blouse, the dark wet skirt, the unmistakable yellow streaks mixed with white stains.
"Yuko... your dress... how did it become so completely wet? And why do you smell like... like a dirty bathroom?"
Yuko froze, mortified.
Before she could speak, I jumped in smoothly.
"Aunt Julie, it's my fault," I said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Sister Yuko was helping me wash my hands at the sink. My feet slipped on the wet floor... I grabbed her to steady myself without thinking... and the faucet splashed everywhere. She got completely soaked."
Julie studied Yuko for a long, piercing moment, clearly not buying the whole story, but she let it slide for now.
"Yuko," she said, voice deceptively sweet, "why don't you go take a nice long shower? I'll have fresh clothes brought for you."
Yuko nodded quickly, face burning, and practically fled into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Seconds later, the shower started running.
Julie pulled out her phone, called Marina, and spoke in a calm tone. "Marina, send Ema up with a full change of clothes for Yuko — sweats, t-shirt, underwear, everything. She had a little... accident."
The moment she hung up, her entire demeanor changed.
She turned to me with a wicked, jealous glint in her eyes and climbed straight onto the bed — straddling my hips boldly, knees on either side of my thighs. Her short skirt rode up as she settled her weight directly on my lap, grinding down once, slow and deliberate.
"Husband..." she purred, voice dripping with possessive heat as she leaned down until her lips brushed my ear. "I'm so fucking jealous. You marked that little Japanese slut with your cum and piss while I was waiting out here like a good wife? That's so unfair..."
Her hand slipped under the hospital gown, fingers wrapping around my cock and stroking it firmly.
"Look what you did to her... drenched her big tits, ruined her professional blouse, pissed all over her like a filthy urinal... and now she's in there showering with your scent still on her skin. Makes my pussy ache."
She lifted her skirt higher with her free hand, showing me her bare, shaved pussy — puffy lips already spread and glistening, a thick string of her arousal dripping slowly onto the front of my gown, leaving a dark wet spot right over my cock.
"See how wet I am, husband? Just from imagining you using her like a toilet. My jealous little cunt is dripping for you..."
She rose up on her knees, reached back, and lined the swollen head of my cock against her tight asshole. Without hesitation, she pushed down — slow, greedy, moaning loud and shameless as the thick head breached her ring.
"Ahhh... fuck... yes..." she groaned, eyes fluttering. "So thick... stretching my dirty little asshole open... nnhh... just like you stretched Yuko's tits..."
She sank lower, inch by inch, until half my cock was buried in her hot, clenching ass. Her dripping pussy hovered right above my gown, lips spread wide, clear nectar dripping in long strings onto the fabric with every shallow rock of her hips.
"Mmmh... jealous... so jealous..." she panted, riding me with filthy little bounces. "That shy little translator got your cum and piss all over her huge tits... and I get your cock in my ass like a dirty secret. But I love it... ahh... fuck me deeper, husband... use my asshole while she's in the shower..."
I reached around and smacked her ass hard — the sharp crack echoing in the room.
SMACK!
Julie yelped, then moaned louder, her pussy clenching visibly as more juices dripped onto my gown.
"Harder!" she demanded, voice bold and naughty. "Smack your jealous wife's ass while you fuck it! I don't care if Yuko hears... I don't care if Marina walks in... let them see how wet and slutty I get when you mark other girls..."
I smacked her again — harder — watching her ass cheek jiggle.
SMACK! SMACK!
"You're not even afraid of getting caught, are you?" I mocked, thrusting up into her tight ass. "Straddling me in the middle of the hospital room, asshole swallowing my cock, pussy dripping all over my gown like a whore... while Yuko's right in the next room."
Julie threw her head back, moaning shamelessly — loud, throaty, unashamed.
"Ahhh—yes—! I'm not afraid... nnhh... let her catch me riding your cock... let her smell my wet pussy while she still reeks of your piss... mmmh... fuck, I'm so jealous and so turned on... pound my asshole, husband... make it gape... make me squirt all over your gown before she comes out..."
Her hips rolled faster, ass clenching greedily around my cock, her dripping pussy lips dragging wetly over the fabric with every bounce. The wet sounds of her asshole taking my cock mixed with the running shower and her shameless moans.
She leaned down, biting my lower lip.
"Tell me again how you pissed on her big tits..." she whispered hotly. "I want to cum while you describe every filthy second..."
The shower was still running.
Yuko could step out at any moment.
And Julie didn't care — she just rode me harder, bolder, wetter, jealous, and dripping and completely shameless.
I hugged Julie tightly, crushing her voluptuous body flush against mine so her heavy, full breasts mashed against my chest, her hard nipples scraping through the thin fabric of her blouse like they were trying to burn holes in it.
My arms locked around her waist like steel bands, one hand sliding down to grip a handful of her plump ass cheek and spread it wide.
Julie looked up at me with that bold, seductive, pure-fuck-me gaze — eyes half-lidded and smoky with lust, lips parted in a wicked, knowing smile that screamed pure sin. She bit her lower lip slowly, deliberately, letting me see the glossy sheen of her tongue as she whispered hotly against my mouth.
"Fuck your jealous wife standing up, husband. Right here. Right now. While that little Japanese cum-rag is still washing your piss off her tits in the shower."
She didn't wait for permission.
Reaching back with one manicured hand, she boldly grabbed my thick, veiny cock — still slick and glistening from her earlier spit and Yuko's mess — and lined it up herself. She pressed the swollen, angry-purple head right against her tight, puckered asshole, rubbing the leaking slit in slow, teasing circles over her twitching ring.
"Look at me," she purred seductively, eyes locked on mine, voice dripping with filthy confidence.
"Watch your slutty wife feed your massive cock into her dirty little shithole. I'm so fucking jealous of Yuko's big tits getting drowned in your cum and piss... so I'm gonna take every inch in my ass like the greedy whore I am."
She pushed down hard at the exact same moment I thrust upward.
The thick head forced its way past her resistant ring with a wet, obscene schlup — stretching her asshole wide open in one brutal, surprising thrust.
Julie's eyes flew wide, mouth dropping open in a shocked, high-pitched scream of pleasure-pain.
"AHHHH—FUCK—!!"
Her entire body jolted violently in my arms as half my cock speared deep into her tight, scorching asshole. The sudden invasion made her sphincter clamp down like a velvet vice around my girth, rippling and fluttering desperately around the thick, veined cock buried inside her.
"Too big—nnhh—surprise—oh my god you rammed it in so deep—ahhh—my asshole is splitting open around your cock—fuck—yes—!"
I didn't give her a second to breathe.
I lifted her entire weight off the bed in one powerful motion — hands gripping the soft, jiggling flesh of her ass cheeks, spreading them obscenely wide — and stood up fully. Her legs instinctively locked tighter around my waist, heels digging into my lower back. Her short skirt was bunched uselessly around her hips, leaving her completely exposed.
Her pussy — swollen, puffy, and dripping like a faucet — hovered right above my gown. The outer lips were fat and flushed dark pink, spread wide from arousal, revealing the glistening inner folds and her throbbing clit peeking out like a hard little pearl. Clear, sticky nectar poured from her hole in thick, continuous strings, dripping heavily onto the front of my hospital gown and leaving long, wet trails down my thighs.
I started moving her.
Up.
Down.
Hard.
Every time I dropped her full weight onto my cock, my entire length slammed balls-deep into her asshole with a loud, wet plap-plap-plap. The filthy sound of her stretched ring swallowing my veiny cock filled the room — louder than the shower still running in the bathroom.
Julie's head fell back, mouth open in a constant stream of dirty, broken screams.
"Ahhh—yes—fuck—ram it—nnhh—deeper into my jealous asshole—! Your cock is so thick—stretching me so wide— I can feel every vein rubbing inside my shithole—oh fuck—harder—!"
I bounced her faster, using her entire body like a fleshlight — lifting her until only the head remained trapped in her gaping ring, then slamming her down until my balls slapped wetly against her soaked pussy lips. Each brutal drop made her asshole gape wider around my girth, the pink inner walls visibly stretching and clinging to my cock every time I pulled back.
Her pussy was an absolute mess — lips swollen and puffy, clit engorged and twitching, dripping so heavily that every bounce sent fresh squirts spraying out in messy arcs. Long, glistening strands of her cunt juice swung from her slit and splattered across my gown, my stomach, the floor — creating puddles beneath us.
"Look at your greedy cunt leaking everywhere," I growled, smacking her ass hard.
SMACK!
Julie screamed in delight, her asshole clenching violently around my cock.
"Yes—spank your jealous slut—punish me for being so wet while Yuko's in there scrubbing your piss off her fat tits—ahhh—my pussy is squirting just thinking about it—nnhh—fuck my asshole harder—make it gape—!"
I lifted her higher and slammed her down even more brutally, bottoming out with every stroke. Her asshole was stretched obscenely wide now — a perfect, pink, cock-sleeve gripping and milking my veiny length. Every time I pulled her up, her ring stayed slightly open, winking and fluttering, before swallowing me whole again.
Julie's moans turned into raw, animalistic screams.
"I'm—ahhh—I'm squirting—your cock in my ass is making me squirt like a fucking whore—look at the floor— it's soaking—nnhh—yes—yes—use me—fuck your wife's shithole while that translator is still tasting your piss—ahhh—I'm cumming—!"
Her whole body seized violently.
Her pussy exploded.
A massive, powerful gush of clear squirt erupted from her swollen cunt — spraying in forceful arcs across my gown, my chest, the bed, and the floor in hot, messy jets. Her asshole clamped down rhythmically around my cock like a fist, milking me with desperate spasms as she came undone, screaming in my arms.
"FUUUCK—husband—I'm cumming so hard—my ass is throbbing—my pussy won't stop squirting—ahhh—fill me—ruin me—!"
I kept bouncing her through the orgasm — relentless, merciless — drawing out every shuddering wave until her screams faded into hoarse, trembling whimpers and her legs shook uncontrollably around my waist.
Finally, I lowered her slowly back onto the bed, still buried balls-deep in her twitching, gaping asshole. When I eventually pulled out with a wet pop, her hole stayed wide open — a perfect, ruined, pink gape pulsing and leaking her own juices.
Julie collapsed back against the pillows, legs spread obscenely wide, chest heaving, pussy still dripping in slow, lazy pulses, asshole winking open and closed like it was begging for more.
She looked up at me with that same bold, seductive, completely fucked-out smile — eyes glassy, lips swollen, face flushed with pure satisfaction.
"Mmm... husband..." she purred breathlessly, reaching down to spread her pussy lips wider so I could see how soaked and ruined she was.
"Now, when Yuko walks out... I want her to see exactly what a real jealous wife looks like after you destroy her asshole and make her squirt all over the floor."
The shower was still running in the bathroom.
Julie was panting hard, her chest heaving in deep, shuddering waves that made her full breasts rise and fall under the half-unbuttoned blouse. Sweat shimmered on her collarbone and trickled between her cleavage, her skin flushed a deep, aroused pink. Her eyes—dark, glassy, still blazing with possessive fire—locked onto mine as she suddenly grabbed both my arms in a fierce grip, nails digging in just enough to sting.
"I'm not done with you... yet..." she growled low, voice thick and dripping with unsatisfied hunger. "Not even close, husband. You think you can wreck my ass and leave my pussy starving? No fucking way."
With that, she reached down between our bodies, fingers wrapping around my still-throbbing cock—slick, veiny, pulsing hot in her palm as it had never gone soft.
"This bad boy still wants more..." she purred, giving it a slow, possessive squeeze that made me hiss through my teeth. "Hmph... look at him. Already leaking again after flooding my asshole. Such a huge appetite... just like his filthy owner. Can't get enough of your jealous wife's holes, can you?"
She shifted her hips, spreading her legs wide on the bed and using both hands to part her swollen pussy lips in the most shameless, obscene display.
The sight hit like a punch: outer lips fat and flushed, dark rose, inner folds glistening and slick with thick arousal; clit engorged and standing proud like a hard little button; a long, sticky string of her juices stretching from her twitching entrance down to the already-soaked sheets.
"Husband..." she whispered, voice husky and seductive, eyes never leaving mine as she held herself open for me. "Look how hungry my pussy is... see how it's drooling for you?"
"How it's clenching on nothing, begging to be filled? I can't take it anymore... please... stuff me full... ram that thick cock back where it belongs... make your wife's cunt happy again..."
She aligned the swollen, leaking head of my cock to her entrance—rubbing the fat ridge up and down her slick folds, coating me in her slippery heat, teasing her own clit with every slow glide.
But instead of letting her sink down, I held her hips steady and let my cock slip and slide against her—gliding over her opening without pushing in, the thick head catching on her tight ring again and again but never breaching.
Julie's breath hitched sharply. Her hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing the stretch she craved.
"Jack—stop fucking teasing—nnh—put it in already—!" she whined, voice cracking with irritation and raw horniness. "You're driving me insane... my pussy is aching so bad... it's throbbing... dripping all over your cock... ahh—don't do this to me—!"
I smirked and answered with action: I lifted my hand and slapped her soaked pussy once—sharp, wet smack—right over her swollen clit.
Julie gasped, body jolting. "AHH—FUCK—!"
Then I slapped my heavy cock down onto her mound—once, twice, three times—letting the thick shaft bounce off her clit with meaty, wet thwack-thwack-thwack.
Each impact sent fresh squirts of her arousal spraying out, splattering across my thighs and the sheets.
Julie's moans turned high and desperate, filthy and unfiltered.
"Oh fuck—yes—slap my cunt—slap that greedy little hole—nnh—make it sting—make it beg—ahhh—your cock feels so heavy smacking my clit—mmmph—do it again—harder—!"
I leaned down and kissed her hard, tongue plunging deep into her mouth, claiming her while my hands found her tits. I grabbed both heavy mounds roughly, pushing them together until her dark, swollen nipples met in the middle—rubbing against each other like they were kissing.
Then I lowered my mouth and sucked them both at once—hard—drawing the sensitive peaks deep between my lips, teeth grazing before biting down just enough to make her arch violently off the bed.
"JACK—! Ahhh—bite them—harder—mark your wife's tits—nnh—make them hurt so good—mmmph—yes—suck them as you own them—!"
She retaliated by sinking her teeth into the side of my neck—hard—sucking and biting until I felt the sharp, stinging bloom of a fresh hickey under her lips.
At the same moment, her hand shot down between us, fingers wrapping around my cock and guiding it—shoving it—straight into her waiting pussy in one fierce, impatient thrust.
The head popped past her entrance with a loud, wet schlurp, then the rest of my thick length followed in a single, deep glide—her walls stretching wide around me, hot and slick and impossibly tight.