Tenka was a woman of her word; that night belonged to Yachiho. Once dinner was over and the clean plates were stacked in neat rows, she dismissed Naoki to spend the night with Yachiho, sporting an unreadable smile.
"Don't keep her waiting too long, Naoki-kun. Yachiho-chin can get quite impatient."
Naoki simply nodded, leaving Tenka sitting in the dining room, sipping her warm tea with an expression of quiet satisfaction.
◆━⊰✿✧✿⊱━◆
*KNOCK-KNOCK!*
The door to Yachiho's room swung open after two quick raps. Stepping inside, Naoki found a space that was meticulously organized—perfectly reflecting its owner's personality. The scent was delicate, a blend of cherry blossoms and something subtly sweet, likely from a fresh mist of perfume.
And in the center of the room stood Yachiho.
She had donned an outfit specifically engineered to unravel a man's restraint. It was a maroon babydoll—a bold, passionate color—crafted from sheer lace that bordered on translucent. It was cut short, ending right at the curve of her thighs to showcase her long, well-groomed legs. Thin straps over her shoulders gave an impression of fragility, as if a single tug would cause the entire garment to unravel.
But the focal point was her chest.
In the center of the babydoll, right between her breasts, was a deliberate, oval-shaped cutout. This small window framed a cleavage that was more prominent than usual—Yachiho had clearly chosen a size a bit too tight on purpose. The result was her breasts being hoisted perfectly, pressed together behind the red lace, with the valley between them exposed through the gap.
Her signature twin-tails were let down tonight, cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. Her usually stern face was softened by light makeup—a hint of blush on her cheeks, slightly darkened eyelids, and lips painted a shade of red that matched her attire.
She stood with her hands on her hips, attempting an air of confidence, but Naoki could detect the faint tremor of nerves behind her sharp gaze.
"You're late. I've been waiting quite a while."
Yachiho stepped closer, her pace slow and measured. Once the distance between them was mere inches, she pressed her palms against Naoki's chest, shoving him backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he tumbled onto the plush mattress.
Yachiho followed him instantly. She planted one knee beside Naoki's hip, looming over him with her hands braced on either side of his head. Her loose hair fell like a silken curtain around their faces.
From her dominant position, she stared down at him with an arched brow.
"I saw the way you looked at Sahara." Her eyes flicked downward toward her own chest, visible through the cutout. "In the changing room. When Sahara stripped, your eyes nearly popped out of your head."
Naoki opened his mouth to protest, but Yachiho silenced him with a finger to his lips.
"Don't lie. I'm not stupid."
She shifted downward, her body sliding along his until her face was level with his chest. But that wasn't her goal. With a slow, deliberate movement, she pulled herself back up—but this time, she pressed her lace-clad breasts directly against Naoki's face.
"You really love breasts, don't you?"
She leaned in deeper, burying Naoki's head between the soft mounds. Through the hole in the babydoll, her bare skin made direct contact with Naoki's cheeks and lips.
"You have to keep your promise..." Yachiho whispered into his ear. "You have to make mine bigger. As big as you want them. So stop looking at other women."
Without waiting for a reply, she pressed harder, ensuring Naoki could do nothing but savor the softness overwhelming his senses.
Naoki took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her skin amidst the press of her breasts.
And in that moment of silence, he understood.
The girl above him was offended. She was stinging from the sight of his hands on Sahara in the bath earlier. Naoki knew there was no point in arguing with a woman—especially one as proud and stubborn as Yachiho.
So, he didn't say a word. He simply responded.
Since Yachiho's babydoll had that convenient opening, Naoki didn't even need to remove it. He simply tilted his head up, and before him lay warm, supple skin, her right nipple peeking through the red lace.
He opened his mouth and captured it.
It wasn't a gentle kiss or a light peck. Naoki nursed like a starving infant—strong, deep, and uncompromising. His tongue swirled around the hardened peak, pressing and teasing, while his lips pulled with a relentless rhythm.
Yachiho caught her breath sharply.
"Hng..."
The hands that had been pinning Naoki's shoulders now white-knuckled the bedsheets beside his head. Her dominant posture began to tremble, yet she didn't pull away. She let him take it; she let him seize the initiative.
"Hey..." her voice broke slightly, struggling to sound casual even as her breathing turned ragged. "No matter how hard you suck... there's no milk coming out, you idiot."
Naoki didn't listen.
Sucking wasn't enough; he began to bite. It was light at first, just the graze of his teeth around the sensitive areola, making Yachiho flinch. Then it grew firmer. Firm enough to leave a mark.
"Ah—!"
Yachiho squeezed her eyes shut, biting her own lower lip. She could feel the pressure of Naoki's teeth leaving a circular brand on her porcelain skin. The mixture of sting and pleasure sent a wave of heat racing from her chest down to her core.
When Naoki finally pulled away, a clear, red dental arch was stamped perfectly onto Yachiho's right breast.
Yachiho stared at the mark, then looked at Naoki with a pout.
"You're truly terrible."
But instead of being angry, a small smile played on her lips. Without another word, she grabbed Naoki's hand and guided it to her hip, granting him permission for the next act.
Yachiho shed the maroon babydoll with slow movements, letting the lace slide down her body before it pooled on the floor. Now she stood completely bare before Naoki, her porcelain skin glowing faintly in the dim lamplight.
She didn't give him a chance to get up. Keeping her hands on his chest, she lifted her hips, found the heat waiting for her, and lowered herself slowly.
Both of them exhaled a sharp, synchronized breath.
Yachiho closed her eyes for a moment, adjusting to the fullness within her. When she opened them again, they held a spark of triumph.
"You just lie there and enjoy it. I'm going to milk you dry!"
She began to move. It was slow at first, a rise and fall that she controlled entirely. Her small hands braced against Naoki's chest, her manicured nails lightly raking his skin every time she reached the apex of her stroke. Her loose hair swayed with the rhythm, occasionally brushing against Naoki's face with that intoxicating floral scent.
From Naoki's perspective, Yachiho looked like a queen—holding total command, deciding the depth, the speed, the duration.
However, her own body soon began to betray her. Her breath hitched, and her thighs trembled whenever she descended too quickly. Naoki saw the opening.
As Yachiho reached the top of a stroke, Naoki gripped her hips—not to stop her, but to assist. He arched his own hips upward, adding a depth that made Yachiho let out a high-pitched cry.
"Hey—this—ah!"
Naoki didn't let her finish the protest. He rolled her forward gently but firmly, pinning her against the mattress. In an instant, the roles were reversed.
Yachiho was now on all fours, her back arching beautifully, her face buried against the sheets. Naoki was behind her, one hand anchoring her hip, the other pressing softly into the small of her back.
"You... you cheater..." Yachiho murmured through gasps, though there was no real heat in her voice.
Naoki didn't answer. He began to move with a deeper rhythm than before, sending jolts through Yachiho's body. Small sounds began to escape her lips—whimpers she initially tried to stifle, but eventually abandoned to the air.
She surrendered to the sensation. Her bowed head, her hair fanned across the bed, her back glistening with a fine sheen of sweat—it all combined into a sight that awakened the most primal side of Naoki.
But he didn't rush. He slowed his pace, then gently turned Yachiho over. Now she lay beneath him, her face flushed, her lips parted, her usually sharp eyes hazy and wet.
Naoki lifted Yachiho's legs, hooking her ankles over his shoulders. The "hovering butterfly" position—it shifted the angle, making every movement far more intense.
From below, Yachiho looked up at him with a gaze that no longer tried to hide a thing. No more games of dominance. No more teasing. All that remained were two bodies in need, moving in perfect harmony.
Naoki closed his eyes, feeling the warmth enveloping him. He felt Yachiho's arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, creating an airtight seal of skin against skin. He felt her fingers digging into his back, leaving scratches he would carry until morning.
Tonight, Naoki used no protection. Nor did he pull away at the end as was his habit with Tenka. The goal tonight was different—this was insemination, an effort to create new life.
When the final wave hit, striking them both with a force that made them forget where one ended and the other began, Naoki felt Yachiho's body go rigid beneath him. He felt her arms squeeze tighter and her breath catch for a long, trembling moment before it finally broke in a ragged exhale.
He let everything flow, giving her everything without holding back.
When it was over, Yachiho lay beneath Naoki with her eyes closed, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. The bite mark on her breast was still visible—a sign she might regret tomorrow morning, or perhaps one she would carefully hide.
"It's my high-fertility day..." Yachiho murmured weakly as she felt the warmth filling her, a sign that both her mission and her desire had been fulfilled that night. "This time... I'm definitely getting pregnant!"
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