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[Fuyumi's Apartment — Bedroom |
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The scent of cheap convenience store coffee and something sweeter—maybe her strawberry body lotion—hung thick in the cramped six-tatami room.
Fuyumi Sasaki spoke while his hand pressed firmly into Sato Ruri's thigh, kneading the flesh with deliberate force. The sensation against his palm was exquisite—not too soft, not too firm. That perfect in-between where his fingers could sink just slightly before meeting the supple resistance of toned muscle beneath baby-smooth skin. Warm. Elastic. Like handling heated silk stretched over something impossibly plush.
God, she feels better than any of the girls in those doujins I've read.
He couldn't stop touching.
On that exact stretch of pale thigh, his signature remained—scrawled in glowing psychic ink only he could perceive. The Desire Marker. A relic-grade item he'd pulled.
Now, as his fingers worked directly over those invisible strokes, Ruri's amber eyes went glassy almost instantly. A wet sheen coated her gaze like morning dew. Her thoughts—whatever remained of them—seemed to dissolve.
"Nnh... hahh..."
Soft, breathy sounds escaped her parted lips. Cherry-pink and glistening. Then her mouth opened wider, and a small pink tongue slipped past her teeth, extending toward him like an offering.
Fuyumi's throat tightened. A hard swallow.
Fuck.
He bent down before conscious thought caught up. His lips sealed around that offered tongue, drawing it gently into his mouth.
"Mmm—!"
Ruri whimpered. A single, instinctive sound vibrating against his lips. Her head tilted backward into the pillow, exposing the slender column of her throat, her tongue stretching further outward as if desperate to give him more, to make herself easier to taste.
She's really doing it. She's actually feeding me her tongue like some scene straight out of a hentai.
Fuyumi's cock strained painfully against the front of his joggers. The pressure was becoming unbearable—a thick, insistent throb that demanded relief.
Part of him wanted nothing more than to rip off those tight jeans. Spread her legs. Sink inside and watch her expression shatter.
But the rational fragment of his brain—small, persistent—kept that impulse leashed.
Not yet.
Her compliance was chemical. Temporary. Entirely dependent on the signature marking her skin. If he took her now, while she floated in that mindless haze, what happened when she woke up? When clarity returned and she realized what had been done to her body?
Police. Assault charges. Maybe worse—maybe she'd hurt herself. He'd read enough yandere stories to know how badly a broken girl could spiral.
I don't want one night. I want forever.
I want her addicted.
The Desire Marker's effects lasted ten full days. Only his touch activated the overwhelming pleasure response. Her own fingers could graze those signed areas and feel something—a tingle, an itch—but never satisfaction. And anyone else touching her? Nothing at all.
Which meant, eventually, he would become irreplaceable.
Imagine it. She's lying in her room at night, desperate, fingers sliding between her legs because she can't stop thinking about me. But it's not enough. It'll never be enough. And she'll realize the only way to feel complete is to come back to me.
That's not just ownership. That's worship.
The fantasy made his pulse hammer in his ears.
Right now, her tongue writhed against his. Hot. Slick. Tasting faintly of melon soda and something uniquely her. Their saliva mixed, spilled past their connected mouths, and he felt her small hands climb up to loop around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss.
She's clinging to me. She doesn't even know she's doing it.
Fuyumi allowed himself another thirty seconds—swirling his tongue against hers, feeling her moans vibrate into his throat—before forcefully pulling back.
A strand of shared spit stretched between their mouths, catching the dim light before snapping.
Both of them gasped. Desperate, ragged breaths.
Ruri looked destroyed. Her chest heaved beneath her oversized hoodie, pushing her modest curves up and down in a hypnotic rhythm. Her lips were swollen, slicked wet, parted as she panted audibly. Tears beaded at the corners of her eyes, and her cheeks burned crimson from hairline to jaw.
Ahegao. She's making actual ahegao face.
This is insane.
Fuyumi's hand never left her thigh. His fingers continued massaging, pressing, circling—keeping her tethered to sensation even as her mind struggled to reboot.
"And you said you weren't a pervert," he murmured, voice deliberately mocking. "Who was it that stuck her tongue out first? Who shoved it into my mouth? Pretty sure there's a word for that kind of kiss." He made a show of wiping his lips with his free hand. "Gross. Now my whole mouth tastes like you."
Like strawberry and desperation.
Ruri stared at him. Glassy. Lost. Slowly—agonizingly—comprehension flickered back into her amber irises.
She remembered.
The thigh-squeezing. The command to open her mouth. His lips. His tongue. Her tongue pushing past his teeth because she wanted to be deeper inside him.
Her face, already red, somehow darkened further. Scarlet spreading down to her collarbones.
Oh god. Oh no. What did I—why did I—
Fuyumi pinched her thigh, hard enough to leave a mark.
"Hyahn—!"
Her body jerked. The pinched spot flared with pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, and before she could stop herself, a shamefully cute sound ripped free from her throat.
"Do you like it when I touch your leg?" Fuyumi leaned closer, his face hovering centimeters from hers, eyes predatory. "Answer me."
"Uu... y-you're too close..." Ruri whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. Her voice trembled with embarrassment.
"Open your eyes and look at me."
A command. His hand squeezed rhythmically as he spoke, never letting her escape the sensation.
Ruri shook her head violently, refusing. Her expression crumpled—desperate, humiliated, unwilling to accept what her own body was telling her.
Fuyumi paused.
He lifted his hand away.
Ruri's eyes snapped open immediately. The absence hit her like a physical blow—a hollow, aching emptiness that made her chest clench and her core throb with something uncomfortably close to need.
No—why did he—bring it back—
She caught herself. Caught the expression on Fuyumi's face. That infuriating smirk.
"You want me to touch you again, don't you?"
"N-no!" Ruri shook her head fiercely, biting her lower lip hard enough to turn it white.
"Really? Then what was that reaction just now?" He poked her thigh once—a single, brief jab.
"Nnh—!"
Ruri's hands flew to her mouth, muffling the sound that escaped. Her eyes were wide, panicked, utterly bewildered.
Why does it feel so good? Why does his touch feel like THAT?
I'm not... I'm not some h-game heroine who melts from being groped...
But she was.
She absolutely was.
"I knew it." Fuyumi's grin widened. His palm returned to her thigh, kneading once more—slow, deliberate, almost lazy. "Let's play a game, Ruri-chan. If you're really not a pervert, you shouldn't have any problem keeping quiet while I do this, right? Go ahead. Prove it to me."
Ruri clamped her hands over her mouth with renewed determination.
I won't make any weird sounds. I WON'T.
But the sensation—it was wrong. Impossible. Each press of his fingers against her thigh sent sparks racing up her spine, coiling in her belly, pulsing between her legs in ways she'd never felt before. Her breathing quickened despite herself. Her small chest rose and fell rapidly beneath the hoodie's fabric. Her inner thighs squeezed together unconsciously, seeking friction.
Fuyumi watched. Drinking in every tiny reaction. The way her nostrils flared. The way her knuckles whitened. The way her hips shifted minutely against the mattress.
She's so close to breaking already.
He pressed harder.
Something in Ruri snapped.
Her body convulsed. Her hands fell away from her mouth, slapping against the bedsheets and twisting the fabric between her fingers. A high, shuddering moan tore from her throat—nothing restrained about it now.
"Ahhnn~! Nnh—hahh—!"
Her eyes rolled back slightly, glazing over with that same drugged look from before.
She's completely gone.
Fuyumi leaned in, lips brushing the delicate shell of her ear. His warm breath washed over sensitive skin as he whispered:
"Tell me the truth. Do you like it when I touch your leg?"
Ruri trembled. Her voice came out ragged, broken, barely recognizable as her own:
"I like it... I like it so much... please... please don't stop..."
Perfect.
"Well, since you're begging so sweetly..." Fuyumi let out an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose I'll spoil you just this once."
His touch gentled. Long, slow strokes up and down her thigh, no longer teasing but rewarding. Ruri melted into the bed, her expression slack with pleasure, completely unaware of what his other hand was doing.
Fuyumi palmed the Desire Marker—that deceptively ordinary-looking pen he'd kept hidden in his pocket. With practiced ease, he reached for the waistband of her jeans. Her brain was too scrambled to register the click of the button unfastening. The denim parted just enough to reveal a sliver of porcelain-pale stomach, flat and soft and utterly unguarded.
New territory.
He positioned the marker's tip against her lower abdomen—just above the hidden band of her underwear, in the sensitive dip below her navel.
And signed his name for the second time.
The ink sank in. Invisible to her. Permanent for ten days.
Two signatures now. Her thigh. Her belly.
By the time I'm done with her, she won't be able to think about anything but my hands.
Ruri's glazed eyes stared at the ceiling, still trembling from the phantom echoes of pleasure, completely unaware that the leash around her soul had just tightened.