Seeing the message from Yamauchi sneakily appear on her screen, Honami's face couldn't help but flush deep red.
His requirements were simple: he would return her 250,000 private points—the discounted price they had discussed earlier—in exchange for her becoming his maid for one month.
The conditions were laid out plainly. She would wear a maid uniform of his choosing, mandatory for the duration of her duties. Her tasks included cleaning his dormitory and, occasionally, helping him release a bit of pent-up stress—though nothing would cross the line unless she asked him first.
The picture attached to the message showed the uniform.
It was incredibly skimpy, the kind usually worn by adult video actresses rather than actual maids.
She could take it off after her "duties" were finished each day, and she would receive 50,000 private points every week until the full 250,000 points were repaid.
She should have felt repulsed by this. She should have been angry, offended, outraged that he would even suggest such a degrading arrangement.
Yet for some strange, unsettling reason, she felt a strange pull she couldn't explain.
Her fingers moved almost on their own, typing out "yes," agreeing to everything without hesitation.
She bit her lip hard as she stared at her own message, watching the confirmation sit there in the chat log like a brand on her conscience.
Her eyes were complicated—a storm of shame, resignation, and something else she refused to name.
She convinced herself this was for the class. That was her mantra now, her shield. She didn't mind sacrificing herself if it meant all her friends—the classmates who depended on her, who trusted her, who looked to her as their leader—could be protected.
If she could spare them from hardship, from the desperate scramble for points, from the slow erosion of dignity that came with poverty in this school… then wasn't it worth it?
Seeing their smiles was worth more than gold. Worth more than her own value, whatever that even meant anymore.
She thought so.
She had to think so.
After all, this wasn't the first time she'd humiliated herself for the sake of others.
She still remembered the supermarket incident vividly. She had knelt in front of strangers, had apologized with her forehead pressed to the cold floor after being caught shoplifting.
She had taken those things illegally—simple gifts, nothing extravagant—because her family had no money to celebrate her little sister's birthday.
Her mother worked herself raw, and still there was nothing left for celebrations, for joy, for the small luxuries that made childhood feel magical.
So she had taken matters into her own hands. She had succeeded, too.
But her mother taught her that just because you could do something didn't mean you should. Her mother made her understand that survival didn't excuse stealing.
Her mother marched her back to that supermarket and made her confess, made her apologize, made her look into the eyes of the store manager and the customers who stared at her like she was filth.
Since that day, normal life had felt distant.
Untouchable.
Something that belonged to other people, people whose families weren't drowning in debt, people who could afford birthday presents without breaking the law.
Beneath her confident exterior—the easy smiles, the capable leadership, the way she carried herself like someone who had never known desperation—there was a hidden fragility she couldn't even name.
A vulnerability she buried so deep she almost forgot it existed.
Almost.
Being forced to apologize in front of that supermarket, feeling the weight of whispering customers casting their judgmental eyes on her, enduring the interrogation from police, and then coming home to her mother's anguished scolding—it had shattered something inside her.
Her heart had broken into pieces she'd spent years gluing back together, though the cracks never fully disappeared.
So what if she agreed to this?
She had already experienced worse.
She had already knelt, already confessed, already swallowed her pride until it choked her.
This was just another transaction, another exchange of her body and time for the resources she needed to keep everyone afloat.
Besides, her classmates needed this.
The math was simple.
She had a hidden reserve of 200,000 points, her emergency fund for when things went truly wrong. The rest, nearly 1 million points, had been wiped clean.
That million had been collected from forty students in her class, each donating 30,000 private points to her for safekeeping, trusting her to use it wisely for the class's benefit.
Forty people. Forty people who believed in her, who handed over their private points without hesitation because they trusted her.
If she could get those 250,000 points back from Yamauchi, she would have at least 450,000 points in reserve.
Enough to breathe. Enough to plan. Enough to look her classmates in the eye without feeling like she had failed them.
She told herself this was worth it.
She told herself her body was a small price to pay for forty smiles.
She told herself so many things, staring at the message thread, at her own "yes" glowing back at her like a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.
Yamauchi couldn't tear his eyes away. A surge of raw arousal and admiration hit him as he drank in the sight of Honami Ichinose standing there in the skimpy maid outfit. The black-and-white fabric clung to her body like it was made for her — the frilly skirt barely covering the top of her smooth thighs, the low-cut top pushing her full breasts up and together, creating a deep, inviting cleavage. Every subtle movement made the tiny apron flutter and her soft curves shift deliciously.
This place truly never failed to impress him. The shop sold the most shamelessly erotic clothing, and this particular maid uniform displayed Honami's perfect body so flawlessly that his cock was already rock-hard, straining painfully against his pants, throbbing with need.
She had agreed to come at midnight just to try on the outfit before officially starting her duties as his personal maid. Of course, this version wasn't even the most depraved one he had prepared for her. The real masterpiece he planned to make her wear later was far more revealing. But for now, he wanted to enjoy her slowly, piece by piece, savoring every hesitant step before he fully claimed her.
Honami shifted nervously under his intense stare, her cheeks flushed pink. She could clearly feel how hungrily his eyes were roaming over her body, practically undressing her.
"Uhm… Yamauchi-kun… can I leave now?" she asked, voice soft and uncertain. "This was just trying on the outfit, right? The job hasn't officially started yet…"
Yamauchi's gaze lingered shamelessly on her glossy lips, then dropped to her cleavage again before returning to her eyes.
"How about you help me with something, Honami?" he said smoothly, voice low and coaxing. "I'll pay you 50,000 points right now. Cash. If you're willing to help me out."
Honami's breath hitched. She could see the blatant lust in his eyes, the way they kept drifting back to her mouth with clear intent.
"That's crossing the line, Yamauchi-kun… I…" Her protest sounded weak, even to herself.
"Hush," he murmured, taking a slow step closer until he was right in front of her. "I don't mean your mouth. Just lend me your soft hand. Close your eyes and pretend nothing happened."
She took a small step back, biting her lower lip hard, torn between embarrassment and reluctant submission. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of the tiny maid skirt.
"Just… just my hand, okay?" she whispered, voice barely audible, cheeks burning. "Please be quick, Yamauchi-kun. Or I won't agree at all."
Yamauchi gave her a slow, predatory smile, his cock twitching eagerly inside his pants at her shy surrender.
"Close your eyes," he said gently but firmly. "I promise it'll be quick. You'll barely feel a thing."
Honami hesitated for one last second, then slowly closed her eyes, long lashes fluttering.
Her breathing had grown slightly faster, her chest rising and falling, making her breasts strain even more against the tight maid top as she heard the soft sound of his zipper lowering.
Then she felt it—his erection, hot and rigid, being placed against her palm.
His hand closed over hers, guiding her fingers to wrap around his shaft, and slowly, deliberately, he began to move her hand up and down.
Her expression winced slightly, a mixture of disgust and something else she refused to name flickering across her features.
He groaned in pleasure with each stroke, his hips twitching slightly as he made sure her soft, hesitant hand gave him exactly the satisfaction he craved.
He wasn't just using her hand—he was using her, turning her into an instrument of his pleasure, and the knowledge burned in her chest.
"Fuck...! This feels so good," he breathed, his voice thick with arousal. "Keep going, Honami-chan. Faster."
He picked up the pace, his hand gripping hers tighter as he guided her strokes into a quicker, more urgent rhythm.
Each motion was slick and deliberate, his breathing growing heavier, more ragged.
Honami felt her face flush hot, an unbearable heat spreading through her core despite herself.
The sounds—the wet sounds of his hand moving over him, the quiet gasps that escaped his lips—filled the small space between them, making her skin prickle with a shameful warmth she couldn't control.
Then, with a final, shuddering groan, he reached his peak.
She felt his cock pulse in her grip, felt the hot, thick spray of his release coat her fingers and palm, sticky and intimate.
He pumped himself dry against her hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps until finally, finally, the movement stopped.
The soft sound of his zipper being pulled up again broke the silence.
Only then did she dare open her eyes.
"Uhm... Can I leave now, Yamauchi-kun?" she asked, her voice small, her gaze fixed somewhere on the floor rather than meeting his eyes.
"Alright," he said, a lazy satisfaction coloring his tone. "I'll fulfill my promise. Check your account—I already sent the cash."
A soft beep came from her device, signaling the transfer, but Honami didn't look.
She simply nodded, her hand still damp, her face still flushed.
"I trust you will honor our deal, Yamauchi-kun," she said quietly. "I will begin my duties tomorrow. Please... take care of me."
"Yeah, you too." Yamauchi smirked, watching her, breathing in the lingering trace of her scent that hung in the air.
She turned and walked to the door, closing it softly behind her as she left.
Finally.
He leaned back, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
He finally had his own private slutty maid—someone he could bend to his will, someone he could fuck whenever he wanted.
Right now, she was still conservative, still hesitant, still only offering her hand with reluctance and embarrassment.
But he had a full month to work on her.
A month to wear down her defenses, to push her boundaries little by little, until she was completely submissive to him.
His cock twitched in anticipation at the thought, already stiffening again as he imagined the bright, filthy future ahead.