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toshisdecadence · 10 months ago

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Another Notch on Her Belt

PAIRING(S): sub!yuta okkotsu x dom!fem reader (descriptions of: reader x suguru geto & reader x satoru gojo)

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon, watersports, humiliation, yuta is a virgin, reader gets massive play, rich girl!reader, cherry popping, nipple play (m receiving), forced orgasms, overstimulation, slut shaming, spitting, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dacryphilia, riding, 69ing, public car sex, spitting, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, stepping, trampling, cum eating, footjob, oral sex (m and f receiving), breathplay, yuta is satoru gojo’s cousin, smoking, alcohol consumption

WORD COUNT: 16.8k

SUMMARY: You, the resident maneater of the university, set your hungry eyes on none other than the shy and bumbling Yuta Okkotsu.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

There’s many things that Yuta was afraid of. Of all the things, they consisted of heights, public speaking, the ocean, his Algebra II teacher, Kanji lessons—you name it. If there were phrases a person should rightfully be frightful of, it should be along the lines of “you’re no longer eligible for your scholarship.” Perhaps “you have diabetes and we have to cut your leg off.” Or, his personal greatest fear—as he presumes to be what other people also fear: “We're so sorry, Mr. Okkotsu, but both of your parents have died in the car accident.”

But “pleasure to meet you”? It was just four simple words and yet Yuta felt the sensation of unmistakable dread and anxiety travel through his limbs.

It had been quite some time since Yuta had felt this nervous. The last time he felt this unsettled was right before his university entrance exam. He was banking on achieving a specific score in order to qualify for the full-ride scholarship for the psychology department. At that time, it was a matter of life and death to Yuta. He supposed others within the same testing room as him felt the same. Or at least, the ones who needed to worry about money. Despite his more comfortable upbringing, he did not come from money. Nowhere near it. His parents had to ask their absurdly wealthy relatives, the Gojos, to borrow extra money in order to cover Yuta’s prep school costs during high school.

Yuta did not pass the qualifying score for the full-ride, but he did achieve a score that qualified him for a partial scholarship, and his parents were happy for him. They worked hard to support and cover the tuition for their son, insisting that all Yuta had to worry about was his studies and his well being.

His university days had gone by rather peacefully. He had a small and closely-knit group of friends. He did well enough in classes to keep his scholarship, and he got to learn more about the mind as a student of the school’s psychology department.

Yuta was a very warm and friendly person. He was shy, yes, but he always meant well, and that caused him to be surrounded by people who enjoyed his company. Many people had often called him an angel. He was not only adorable, but he was also a good friend. He never had anyone he hated, nor anyone he wasn’t on good terms with. Yuta was the type of person who got along with anyone because of his gentle personality, and nobody could ever get mad at—

“Yuta?”

Your voice incites that panic and fear within him once again, and Yuta is reminded of the reason why he feels such a visceral reaction towards you. The reason why he feels so scared of you.

Right now, Yuta’s stomach felt like it could collapse in on itself. The large space of his cousin Satoru’s mansion suddenly feels infinitely smaller, like it would cave in and push him closer towards your body. The thought of this constricts his throat to the size of a straw. Yuta’s skin was warm from the beer running through his system, but somehow, he felt a cold draft come over him before you. Was he about to break out into a cold sweat? He didn’t even feel this tense even as he prepared to go up for public speaking. Or for when he debated on going up to the waiter at a restaurant and telling them they forgot his side of fries.

And yet you were looking at him with a blasé stare, as if nothing of importance had transpired between the both of you. You might as well have asked him to grab you some booze from the kitchen when he was on his way there. Yuta finds himself avoiding your gaze, finding interest in the stray spills of alcohol on Satoru’s marbled floors. You don’t budge. You continue to gaze into Yuta’s face, folding your arms over your chest.

Yuta felt like an ant beneath your lofty gaze. Like you were scrutinizing him, picking apart at his expressions and seeing through his feelings. Like you were waiting for the perfect moment to raise your pretty heeled designer boots to stomp on him.

“Sorry,” Yuta finally musters out, still avoiding your gaze. His slender fingers fiddle with his short nails, his head lowered.

“You’re pretty shy,” you hum. It wasn’t meant to be an observation, it was more of a statement, as if you had decided how you viewed his personality. Uncrossing your arms, you reach for the pockets of your brown vintage leather jacket, fishing out an opened pack of black cigarettes. Taking one and placing it between your glossy lips, you outstretch your hand with the pack of cigarettes to Yuta.

His trembling hands gesture to decline, his dark eyes widening. “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but you tuck back the cigarettes in your pocket. You take out a silver lighter afterwards, bringing the flame to the butt of your cigarette and putting it away. You inhale, your cigarette’s embers burning bright red before you pluck it from your lips. A billow of smoke spills from your mouth, and Yuta looks into your eyes. He’s drawn into that indifferent gaze of yours that he’d caught in an accident once before, and the memory forced him still once again.

“Don’t apologize for things like that,” you say in that pleasant and even tone, in that same calm hum as if you have him all figured out. “You should stop doing that.” A puff of smoke billows in the air, and your eyes flicker over to him, pinning him with your dismissive gaze. “It makes your apologies seem less genuine.”

He looks into your pretty eyes, those irises glinting with mirth that makes him feel as if you view him as someone that brings amusement to you. He thinks his knees might buckle under your direct attention.

Nonetheless, Yuta finds himself at a loss for words. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about you yet. But he was certain that it wasn’t a positive emotion. He looks into your eyes—those same blank eyes that makes him feel as if you view him as someone beneath you, and for the first time, he speaks with a less than civil tone.

“You talk like you’ve known me all my life.”

The small smile deepens on your lips, and somehow it changes the fear that bubbles within his stomach to one of slight indignation.

“I don’t need to know you all your life to understand you as a person,” you state, bringing the cigarette to your lips once again. The embers burn bright as you inhale, never once breaking eye contact with Yuta. “It’s as clear as day. You’re one of those good boys. You never color outside the lines.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, but his eyebrows pinch together.

You don’t add any further commentary.

Not long after, a friend of yours swings by and drags you along to meet some friends, leaving Yuta to gaze at your retreating figure, disappearing within the crowds of people, the trail of your smoke leaving a sour crinkle in Yuta’s nose.

The first time Yuta saw you was a moment he’d never forget.

He recalls it vividly. God, how could he ever forget that? It took place an hour after his lecture had ended and Yuta was passing by the empty hall. It was a Friday, late in the afternoon, and by this time, this area of the building was usually empty as no professors liked to occupy this spot. The halls were quiet, the only sounds coming from Yuta’s faint footsteps as he walked. His face was weary from a long day, bags decorating the skin beneath his face, his lips almost chappy.

The moment Yuta peeked through the doors of the lecture room at the end of the hall, his steps halted to a stop when he heard a faint sound. He turns to the direction of the sounds, his brows pinched together. It was coming from the lecture room. He thought it was weird, who else would be here at this time of the day? There were no more classes left on this floor.

He steps forward with trepidation. His hands grip the cool metal handle of the door, and he twists it, cracking the door open slightly to allow one eye of his to peek in.

The visage he was greeted with was one of utter debauchery, his breath stilling in his throat.

You were straddling a large man’s thighs with your black skirt hiked up your thighs. He catches the shimmer of black tights pulled taut over your shapely legs. You were fully clothed, almost pristine, save for the half-naked man beneath you. The man looked like a positive mess, his pants pulled down to his knees, his button up shirt wrinkly with a few buttons popped open. Your attention was focused on the man before you, dipping your manicured nails into his mouth.

“Suck,” you order, and the man follows. His tongue laps up at your fingers, moaning around your fingers with teary eyes, gazing up at you in need. A scoff leaves your plush lips as you let your free stray hand trace the well-sculpted planes of his broad chest, your fingers lingering on his puffy nipples.

“Look at these,” you coo, harshly grabbing the man’s perky nipple and twisting it. This earned a sharp intake of breath from the man around your fingers. “Don’t you think you need a bra, hmm?” A muffled moan comes from the man’s mouth. “You’re sucking my fingers even harder now.” A humorless laugh leaves your lips, your head cocked to the side. “You like to be treated like a bitch? You like being my slut?”

The man gives frenzied nods.

His response seems to disappoint you, and you pluck your fingers from his mouth, a wet squelch echoing throughout the lecture room. Lifting yourself from him, you fix your skirt and stand tall, looming over the seated man. His dick stands erect, flushed and red, twitching pitifully, and you gaze at it with indifference.

“Men like you don’t deserve to get anywhere inside of me,” you say with disinterest. “Men like you just take what I give you, and count yourself blessed because I even looked at you. Do you understand?”

The man nods, panting heavier. “Yes, ma’am.”

You seem satisfied, so you lift your leg, pressing your heeled feet against his erect dick.

“I should reward you for being so good,” you hum, rubbing his dick with the fine leather of your heels. “Cumming just from my feet, hmm? God, look at you, all worked up for me like a needy bitch in the fucking classroom.” The man’s cock twitches as your foot continues its work, stroking him with your heels, watching in sick satisfaction as the sharp heel digs into the flesh of his heavy balls. This earned a pathetic whine from the man’s lips, his hips twitching. “Careful not to cum on my shoes,” you warn in a stern voice, stilling the movement of your foot, “or I’ll make you regret it.”

The man cries out, his hips stuttering. You take a step to the side, watching as the man cums on himself and on the floor. A sneer stretches on your lips, gazing down at the man.

“Did you just cum from being stepped on?” Ridicule laces your voice. You glance down at the cum stains on the floor, and you return your attention to the flushed face of the man, who was gazing at you like you were some sort of goddess.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he exhales, coming down from his high.

You nod your indifferent head toward the floor. “Get on your knees and lick up the mess you made. Don’t miss a spot.”

The man smiles dreamily, nodding his head. He kneels on the floor, on all fours like a dog as he lowers his face to the floor. Yuta’s eyes widen as he sees the man’s tongue stick out, licking up his cum from the dirtied floors. There’s a sick expression spread on your pretty face. You take a step forward, and you press down a heeled foot on the man’s upper back, forcing him to go lower.

“Do it properly,” you order. This earns a muffled groan from the man, and he continues, lapping up lazily at his own liquids, a man lost in the hazy pleasure.

By this time, Yuta’s breaths stutter, and he realizes he has unconsciously held his breath in fear of being discovered. Unfortunately for him, as if you read his mind and readily wish to go against his desires, you look towards the crack in the door.

Yuta feels all the air leave his lungs when your gaze bore directly into his.

For the first time, since he’s encountered you having your way with the man in the studio, he is finally allowed a good look at your face. You were ridiculously pretty, Yuta immediately thinks. You had one of those memorable faces. Pretty features, pert lips, with those void eyes that feel as if they were sucking him in the longer he gazed into them. The pretty features were fixed in an icy manner given your less than friendly disposition, and Yuta felt immense fear with the utter lack of warmth in your eyes.

You break eye contact with him first, not seeming to care if you had an audience as you bent the man before you to your will. Yuta takes this as his chance to retreat, his hands shakily closing the door shut before running toward the elevators to leave.

Yuta never tells any of his friends what he’d seen. Fazed, he returns to his shared dorm with his best friend, Toge Inumaki. The male looks up at Yuta’s approaching figure, noting the odd expression on his roommate’s face.

“Hey,” Toge says from his bed with pinched brows, his laptop sitting on his lap as he did some assignments. Toge became acquainted with Yuta because of Yuta’s cousin once again, Satoru Gojo. It was through Satoru’s vast friendship circle that Yuta had the fortune of meeting the man. Yuta and Toge hit it off as good friends since the beginning of high school, remaining as friends and attending the same university. When deciding on a dorm, both of them needed a roommate, and the rest was history.

“Hey,” is all Yuta says before he crashes into his bed. He relishes in the cold sheets, his body having been warm in the hot and humid weather outside. He feels grateful to have a roommate that knows him so well. Toge always kept the air conditioning system turned on so their dorms were cold and chilly.

“I ordered some chicken, it’s in the fridge so just heat it up if you’re hungry,” his friend supplies.

“I’ll eat some in a bit, thank you,” Yuta mutters out. “I’m just a little out of it.”

“Did something happen?” Toge asks, glancing over at him with a blank face. The staccato of his fingers tapping down on his laptop’s keyboard fill the relative silence of the dorm. “You don’t lie down immediately in bed after coming from outside because you hate the outside germs.”

“No,” Yuta murmurs, burying his face in his pillow, his soft voice almost muffled, “nothing happened.”

An unimpressed scoff comes from the man. “If you’re going to lie, at least do it better.”

Yuta groans, grabbing his sheets and hiding his face. If there was one thing he lamented, it’s his inability to hide his emotions. His friends pointed out how easy it was to see his emotions. He didn’t have a filter. He said what he felt, and if he didn’t, his face would show it. Or his ears. He had the unfortunate tendency for his ears to redden whenever he felt embarrassed.

“So?” Toge probes, his attention still focused on his laptop as he types away. “What’s got you like this?”

“Have you ever met a woman who scared you?” Yuta finally blurts it out. He does so after carefully considering how he felt about you based on his first impression. As far as first impressions go, he could argue that he had the worst one anyone could possibly experience with you. He can still feel it. The chilly gaze of yours that bore into his eyes through the crack of the door. That emotionless stare. It unsettled him. He hadn’t seen anyone so . . . uninterested. In anything, or anyone. Yuta tightens his grip on his comforters at the sudden shiver that travels through his body at the recollection of you.

Toge pauses to consider this. “Hmm. No one except my mom when she found out I stayed up playing games instead of sleeping.”

“Not like that,” Yuta sighs. “I mean, like, someone you don’t know. A woman your age that just scares you from the first impression.”

“. . . I don’t get it. Every woman is scary.”

“Then I don’t know any other way to explain it,” Yuta murmurs.

“Wait, so you met a girl?” Toge sounds surprised, shutting his laptop to properly turn to the direction of his friend. Yuta internally chastises himself for being so open to his friend about his romantic experiences. His friends—Satoru and Toge, basically—had wasted no expense in trying to set him up with girls, but he was never really interested. Some of them also did not like how shy he was. How he stumbled over his words and couldn’t meet them in the eye properly. Yuta was also not keen on the college hook-up world. He didn’t understand how someone could just have sex with someone they just met, and then act as if they don’t know each other afterwards. “Are you finally joining the hook-up world?” Toge probes, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Downloading Tinder?”

“No!” Yuta huffs out with a scandalized expression on his soft features. “Never that!”

Toge’s face falls, turning back to face his laptop, opening it again. He’s typing his password once again. “I should’ve known you’re a forever virgin,” he grumbles. “We’re the same age but how do I get more pussy than you?”

“Because I don’t feel comfortable h-having sex with women I’m not dating!” Yuta protests in a whisper, his ears dusted red.

“Whatever you say, Mother Theresa.”

Yuta falls momentarily silent. His roommate for the past year has been witness to his love life—or lack thereof. College was the time people hooked up, drank, smoked, and had fun. One could argue Yuta was the weird one for not participating, but he was firm in his beliefs. He wasn’t really a ‘wait-until-marriage’ type of guy, but he did believe in reserving those things for someone he’s in a relationship with, hence his inexperience with girls. He’s only ever had one serious relationship during high school, but even then, they never did anything further than kiss. Toge almost dropped his bowl of cereal the morning when Yuta disclosed he was a virgin. With renewed vigor, his roommate sought to help “rid him of his problem,” in Toge’s words, and had also employed the help of his other friends to introduce girls to him. Despite how many girls have been interested in him and attempted their shot, Yuta still finds himself yet to reciprocate any of their advances.

Yuta has a rather innocent belief about love. He wanted to have a girlfriend he truly adored. He wanted to cherish her and kiss her, and make love to her. He wanted her to shower him with kisses. He wanted to whisper words of love into her ear, hold her hand, and feel the warmth of her embrace. He wanted to love only her and to dedicate himself to her. He wanted to marry her in the future, to wake up to the sight of her next to him in bed every day for the rest of his life. He wanted a pure and timeless love.

But his traitorous mind flickers over to thoughts of you back in that lecture room. He ponders silently. You seemed to be completely the complete opposite of his ideal. You treated the man like you hated him. Like he was beneath you. Insulting him by calling him a bitch and a slut, stepping on him without remorse, ordering him to lick the dirty floor, and you seemed to find a sick joy in it. Dominating the helpless man beneath you as if it came as easy as breathing. Like it was second-nature. He didn’t understand it. There was no love in that type of lovemaking. It was just . . . humiliation. Yuta didn’t know how anyone could be into that.

The image of you shoving your fingers into the mouth of the naked man, shutting him up as you straddled him without a care in the world through the crack of the door that Yuta peeked at flashes once again in his mind. The twisted glimmer in your eyes and your plush lips curled in a cruel sneer.

I should reward you for being so good, your low drawl resounds in his head.

Yuta was unfamiliar with this feeling. That feeling that swirled within his stomach seemed to be an odd amalgamation of curiosity, fear… and excitement.

He wonders if you would recognize him just from that brief glimpse through the door.

It becomes apparent to him on the third time you meet, once again at another party, that you do remember him.

Yuta is finding his way to the bathroom, skirting around people. He’d drunk too much iced tea, after Toge had made some when his mother sent over some tea leaves and a family recipe with it. It tasted perfect. Yuta was happy to have it as an alternative to alcohol at this party. He was now lamenting that decision as he was ready to piss any moment.

He does find a bathroom, and he opens it and slips inside immediately, only to find you inside, sitting on the countertops with your skirt hiked up and a man between your thighs.

The man between your thighs immediately protests at the intruder. “What do you think you’re—” he begins.

“Get the fuck out,” you interrupt.

Yuta’s ears turn red, and he stumbles back slightly. What the fuck was going on? He feels his breathing speed up. His surroundings all of a sudden feel small and cramped. He’s glancing at the man who’s glaring at him, then to you who has that same signature blank stare. There it was again. That look. Like you could care less if he stayed to watch you. His hands shakily feel for the doorknob, turning it and getting ready to leave before you—

“Not you,” your voice speaks out, and Yuta freezes. He turns back to see you looking down towards the man between your legs, who you push away with your heels, your shoes pressing painfully against the man’s chest. The man’s back reaches the bathroom’s walls with a grunt at the impact.

“You,” you assert, staring dead into the eyes of the other guy. “You get out. Not him.”

The guy looks alarmed. “What?” he huffs out. “But we were just—”

“And I just changed my mind,” you state, voice so chilly that Yuta shivers in his spot.

The man questions you no longer and scrambles to get out of the bathroom, muttering curses under his breath before he slams the door behind him.

Silence and the muted boom of the loud R&B music blasting outside fill the space of the bathroom. You finally turn to look at Yuta, hiking your skirt down, but remaining on the counter. You didn’t seem to have any plans of leaving. A moment of awkwardness settles in the bathroom, and he couldn’t handle it any longer.

Yuta bows his head apologetically, unable to lift his head to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry for intruding,” he murmured out softly. “I’ll find a differe—”

“What for?” you deadpan, pushing your skirt back down to maintain some decency. “If you need to piss just do it in this bathroom. That’s what you came here for, right?”

Yuta is at a loss for words. He shifts on his feet uncomfortably. Were you that open-minded? Did you not have a concept of personal space? Was it normal for you to just watch strangers piss? Was that also a kink? What the hell was going on?

“If you’re worried about your dick, don’t be,” you state, fishing for something in your jacket’s pockets once again. “This is your second time seeing me like this after all.” Yuta gulps at your words, his eyes widening. So you do remember him.

A small satisfied smile tugs at the corners of your plush lips upon seeing his expression. “I doubt that seeing your dick would make a difference in our relationship,” you drawl. You produce that same cigarette pack, grabbing one and placing it between your lips. “Or lack thereof,” you add with a light cock of your brow. You light it in that same way, and Yuta briefly thinks to himself about your particular scent. It was a signature one that he was beginning to familiarize himself with. A chilly mint with a hint of smoke. Hot and cold. Distant yet . . .

You suddenly lean in closer, face mere inches away from Yuta’s, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your glossy lips.

. . . close.

“You apologized again, though,” you say, now looking particularly unimpressed. “I thought I told you not to do that?”

Yuta frowns at this. He was beginning to grow irate. His bladder was screaming. His panic was setting in by being in such close proximity with you. He needed to be alone.

“Uh, I need to use the bathroom, so…” he mutters out. “If you could . . . um.”

You lean back at his words. There was no particular change in your expression, but you pluck the cigarette between your lips and exhale a puff of smoke towards Yuta’s face, causing his face to scrunch. He attempts to fan away the fumes from his face. It only makes his need to piss even more urgent, and by now Yuta was biting down on his lip trying to hold it in. He couldn’t piss in front of some random girl. Especially you. He wouldn’t let himself.

“I’ll consider it if you ask nicely,” is all that you say, an amused curl on your lips, crossing your legs on the counter. Yuta’s eyes betray him as they follow the motion. You smile at him, and the little twinkle in your otherwise void eyes tells him you noticed. “I told you I don’t mind if you pissed while I’m in the bathroom.”

“But I mind,” he lets out between gritted teeth, his voice still soft. “. . . Please? I need to use it.”

Your eyes gaze at him with mirth. You cock your head to the side, inspecting him. “You’re cute,” you coo.

You uncross your legs, getting off the counter. Plucking the cigarette from between your lips, you reach for his mouth, parting his lips to slot in the lipstick stained cigarette between his lips. Your hands ghost over his face for a bit, and he notes the color of your nails. Bubblegum pink. He almost thinks it’s cute, but your unreadable expression renders him quiet. Your face is so close. Yuta swears he can count your individual lashes, see the expanse of your eyes, feel your warm breath against his skin. He can smell the mint much more intensely at this proximity. He detects the barest traces of vanilla mingled in. His senses are filled with you; your skin, your face, the heat of your body, your lips, your eyes, the lingering taste of your cherry lipstick on the butt of your cigarette between his lips. Your stray hand reaches towards his furrowed brows, as if to attempt to smooth them; your other hand reaches for the corner of his lips to tug it up slightly.

“Though you’re cuter when you’re smiling,” you finish, eyes faintly crinkled in a fond manner. You open the door behind him and slip out, shutting it gently behind you.

His cheeks heat up, frozen still in the bathroom. Yuta is left by himself, your cigarette stuck between his lips, and the phantom grazes of your fingers on his skin.

Yuta knows nothing about you but your name.

He’s on a quest to find out more, walking down the stairs, trying to locate his friends to find answers. He easily spots Satoru’s snowy hair among the sea of drunk bodies and makes his way to his group of friends. He shimmies in, waving his hands as they recognize him and call out his name.

Noritoshi, Satoru, Aoi, Toge, and Suguru are all gathered together. Aoi immediately heads over next to Yuta to put his beefy arms over the younger man’s shoulders as a greeting.

“Yuta,” Aoi greets him with a smile, a red solo cup in hand. His dark hair was pulled up in a neat bun at the back of his head, the scar on his face peppered with a few lipstick marks. “What’s up, man? We were looking for you everywhere earlier.”

“I was in the bathroom,” Yuta replies. “I drank too much iced tea.”

The tall and burly man leans in to sniff him. “Oh?” Yuta tenses at the playful lilt of Aoi’s deep voice. “Did you smoke there too?”

Noritoshi’s brow rises. His dark hair framed the look of confusion that crossed his calm features. “Yuta, you smoke?”

The other guys look equally as puzzled.

Satoru gasps in offense at the thought of his little cousin hitting a blunt without him present. “Since when?” His widened blue eyes fix themselves on Yuta, his jaw dropping. He places his hand on his hip in offense. “And why haven’t you told me? We could’ve dragged you out for Weed Wednesdays!”

“No, it wasn’t me who smoked,” Yuta supplies, smiling awkwardly, raising his hands to wave them dismissively. “It was some other person in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Satoru frowns, his parted mouth turning to a lopsided frown, then he shrugs. “Well, you’re still invited to Weed Wednesdays.”

“Thank you, Satoru,” Yuta chuckles, his focus a bit scattered as he thinks back to you. His lips pressed into a straight line, debating whether he should ask the question to his friends. He clears his throat, his expression pensive. The other men had fallen quiet, waiting for Yuta to speak. “I . . . actually had a question for you guys,” he murmurs.

With a soft exhale, Yuta finally utters your name and asks about you.

A small silence settles between the men, before Satoru speaks.

“I know her,” the snowy-haired man affirms, now fixing Yuta with that suspicious glint in his large crystalline blue eyes. “She’s a family friend.”

“All I know about her is that she’s loaded,” Toge supplies, shrugging. “She’s pretty. Don’t know too much about her though.”

“Yup,” Satoru affirms next to Noritoshi with a nod. “She’s a looker. Probably one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever met.” He kisses his teeth as he cocks his head to the side. “Love her and all. Known her since we were kids. Problem is she’s kind of a slut like I am.”

“And that’s saying a lot,” Noritoshi adds with a sigh, his dark eyes flickering over to the white-haired man next to him. “Satoru’s Instagram account pops up if you Google the word ‘slut.’”

Satoru hums along, taking a sip from the beer in his hand. “I like to call it being charming,” he clarifies with a grin.

“I don’t talk to her much, so I don’t really know,” Noritoshi adds on, ignoring Satoru. “I do see her occasionally at parties. She’s closer to Satoru and Suguru, so she’s more of a friend of a friend for me.” He hums for a bit, pensive. “She knows Aoi too.”

“Not intimately,” Aoi clarifies. “Our only close encounter was when she fingered my ass in the backseat of my car.”

Yuta is scandalized, and so are the other guys. So far, he had seen and heard about your involvement with three guys. Who knows how many there are? Yuta couldn’t believe that someone would be capable of being so . . . open.

Satoru frowns at his friend’s words, taking a respectable step away. “Wouldn’t you argue that being fingered in the ass is rather intimate?”

“No,” Aoi shook his head, looking completely sincere. “She never spoke to me after.”

“Ass game must’ve been weak,” Toge clicked his tongue.

“You try being fingered by her!” Aoi protests with a frown. He reaches over to steal Toge’s solo cup for himself, slotting it over his own cup that was empty by now, earning a complaint from the short man. “I don’t know what type of witchcraft she did but that was the first time I came just from having my ass played with. Say what you want about her but she knows what she’s doing.”

“Oh, right,” Satoru suddenly frowns, turning towards Suguru who had been suspiciously silent this entire time. He points an accusatory finger at the man. “Aren’t the two of you fucking, too?”

‘Too’? Yuta’s gaze shifts between Satoru and Suguru. What the hell?

“Not exclusively,” Suguru clarifies in that playful lilt of his smooth voice. He’s smiling in a charming way. “We fuck here and there.”

“Does she finger you, too?” Satoru asks curiously.

“Does she use toys?” Aoi pipes in.

“Alright!” Noritoshi interrupts, growing tired of his infantile friends. He exhales, pinching the bride of his nose, fixing the other men a flat stare. “Enough of Suguru’s sex life.” The other men glance away, seeming to be chastised. He turns towards Yuta. “The question is: why are you asking this?”

Yuta hesitates in answering long enough for Satoru to fill in the blanks himself.

“Don’t tell me that you’re interested in her,” he gasps. Before Yuta can open his mouth and explain that is not the case, Satoru is already talking in that dramatic voice of his. “Yuta, as your older cousin, I am warning you that she’s the witch they warn us about in the fairytales we read when we were kids! I advise you to stay far, far away from her.”

Aoi whistles in amusement, a teasing smirk on his lips. He leans in to give Yuta a nudge with his elbow. “Maybe Yuta's interested in breaking his virginity spell at last.”

“You’re not helping my case here,” Satoru deadpans, staring in disapproval.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Aoi sing-songs. “And perhaps Yuta”—he pats the younger male’s shoulder—“like all men with fine taste do, like his women grown.”

Yuta is left speechless. Sure, he did, to some extent, find you attractive. He had working eyes. He can see all the appeal about you. You were pretty and rich. And a good lay in bed, apparently. But he wasn’t looking for that. He was sure as hell that he wasn’t the type of guy you messed around with. And he was certain that you weren’t the type of girl he was interested in.

“You have the wrong idea,” Yuta sighs, gently peeling Aoi’s large hand away from his shoulder. “Besides, you guys already know what I’m looking for in a relationship. I want something that’s—”

“We know, we know—you want pure love, marriage, a blue collar job, 5 kids, yeah, we get the picture,” Satoru finishes the sentence for him with a sigh, reciting it as if it came from his memory. “But seriously. I mean it. Don’t fall for it. For her. She’s bad news.”

Yuta nods absentmindedly, smiling awkwardly. Sure, Satoru had exaggerated some of the details, but he wasn’t entirely wrong. Yuta gathers his thoughts, trying to place what exactly it was that he felt about you. Fear? Fascination? Attraction? Were you a novelty that Yuta was simply trying to wrap his head around?

Spring break came, and he hasn't seen you since that encounter in the bathroom.

Yuta forgets you for a while. He went on about his life. Classes. Studying. The same old. But he unexpectedly meets you once again this time through Satoru’s spring break party at one of the Gojos’ beachside villas. Only a select group of people were invited. Close acquaintances of Satoru, including his friends and best friends, but even with the party being more selective, there were still easily 30 people at the party. Satoru Gojo was practically friends with everyone. Yuta often marveled at how the guy could keep up with all his friends.

Within the tall, three-story, Mediterranean-inspired architecture of the beachside villa. Yuta made his way to the kitchen. And there he finds you.

You were leaning against the marble kitchen island, a mimosa nestled between your manicured fingers. They were dyed a dark cherry red this time. You wore a white backless silk halter top, tied at the back of your neck with a silk bow that drooped, with a tiny white skirt. Your hair was tied up, and your lips shimmered with a cherry red that complimented the color of your nails. You wore complementary white kitten heels, and you were surrounded by a small group of people.

One of the faces Yuta could make out was Suguru, who was leaning on the kitchen island next to you, his hand resting intimately at the small of your back. You were deep in conversation, occasionally sipping from your drink, leaning in closer to Suguru whenever he whispered something to you.

“Who are you looking at?”

Yuta jolts from his standing position, yelping in surprise before he turns to see Aoi standing beside him. The older male was dressed in some casual distressed jeans, black platforms, and a cream button up shirt that exposed a generous amount of his collarbones.

“What are you . . . ?” Yuta’s tiny voice trails off in surprise.

Aoi’s expression has settled into one of those expressions. He’s wiggling his eyebrows playfully before glancing over in your direction and back at Yuta.

“It’s not like that!” Yuta leans in to whisper.

“Really?” Aoi raises a brow, suspicion dripping in his voice. “You mean it?”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” he shrugs, leaning forward to wrap his arm around Yuta’s back. “Let’s go over there and say hello, then.”

Yuta begins to panic. He protests quietly, but to no avail.

Aoi raises his spare hand, grinning brightly. “Suguru!” he calls out.

You and Suguru look back towards their direction, and Yuta swears he can feel himself momentarily stop breathing. Your gaze was fairly unreadable, but yet you were so pretty tonight that he couldn’t bring himself to care. Yuta wasn’t sure whether he wanted to drag Aoi to the beachside and toss his LV shoes in the chilling and dark waters out of anger, or to take the man out for a meal for being given the opportunity to look into your face.

“Aoi,” Suguru’s face lights up. His charming smile stretches further when he catches sight of Yuta. “And Yuta! Come on over.”

You simply sip at your mimosa, not saying a word, and Yuta lets himself get dragged by Aoi towards the group surrounding you. You continue to look impassively at Yuta, before your attention is swept away by Suguru who once again leans in to whisper something into your ear.

You chuckle at whatever it is he said. Your hands reach over behind Suguru’s head. Gazing into the male’s eyes, your fingers massage the back of his head, running your fingers through his chestnut hair. Everyone else seems to acknowledge that you and Suguru are set to disappear somewhere soon, but they pay no mind and continue to talk.

Yuta finds himself drawn to you. The visage of you, clad in all white. The kitchen’s lights and the way they dance against your features makes you seem angelic. He’s still not sure what this feeling is exactly. He’s never felt anything like this before. Did he want to be in Suguru’s place? Did he want your pretty fingers playing with his hair? Did he want your pretty eyelashes fluttering up at him?

You place your unfinished mimosa down on the kitchen island. Your hand reaches to grab Suguru’s wrist before you start to walk away, and he follows you in that practiced manner. As if this was something that always happened.

As you walk, you spare Yuta a small sideways glance, the barest of smiles graces your lips. You look away just as fast, and you disappear in the crowd.

“Look at them slipping away,” Aoi mutters next to Yuta’s ears. “They look like they’re leaving. Probably going to one of their cars and start fucking.”

“Does this always happen?” Yuta asks, furrowing his brows.

“Hmm,” Aoi pauses to think. “Not often? Well, at least, I don’t know everything that goes on. I see her in parties with Suguru and all and since they’re fucking it’s not weird that they slip away once in a while.”

Yuta can’t help but imagine what Suguru’s perspective would be in a few minutes’ time. Would you be straddling Suguru’s thighs in the backseat of your car? Would Suguru get to see your hooded eyes, looking down as you grind those hips on him? Would you let Suguru undo the ribbon of your halter top and play with your breasts? What sounds would you make if he did that? How would you look with your skirt hiked up, panties rubbing against his—

But Yuta quickly stops that thought, exhaling shakily.

Yuta must be afflicted with some odd illness, he decides. Because otherwise, he would not have followed you.

The hood of your deep red convertible was pulled up, and from the distance that Yuta was at, he could see you sitting on Suguru’s lap through the car windows. Your halter top is undone, breasts freed as Suguru suckles on your breasts desperately. Your head is thrown back, little sighs escaping your lips.

Yuta doesn’t risk going any closer so he doesn’t get caught. So he remains at a distance, peeking just above the gate of the beachside villa to peer at the activity going on inside your parked convertible. He doesn’t hear any sounds due to the closed windows, but he does witness your body moving atop Suguru. You were smiling down at the dark-haired man, and Suguru’s head was thrown back against the seat.

You grab a pair of what seemed to be a tiny piece of black fabric, before you stuff it into Suguru’s mouth. Yuta watches with bated breath as he sees Suguru’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Not long after, you seem to be doing something with your hands that Yuta can’t quite see, causing the man beneath you to thrash around.

Was it from sensitivity? Yuta wondered. He’d never had sex so he never knew how it would feel. He’s jerked off, the usual, and he thought he was satisfied with that until he met his first girlfriend during high school. The furthest they’d ever gone was a kiss. Yuta was satisfied with that back then. He was content to wait until he found someone he truly loved. He wanted to have sex for the first time with his beloved girlfriend. He aspired for something pure. But since he’s met you, he finds his image of the future blurring. Now, looking at you, and how the men with you react in such a crazed way whenever you handle them—when you degrade and humiliate them—it stirs up an odd feeling within Yuta’s stomach. A feeling that’s familiar but he can’t quite place.

Now, he was certain that he was sexually attracted to you. That was the only possible way to explain why Yuta’s hands were trailing towards the tent in his pants, attempting to soothe it, find some sort of friction, to seek release.

Yuta wonders how good you’d make him feel if you ever allowed it. How good you’d feel straddling him. How good you’d smell. How good you’d look. How you’d speak to him. How you’d bend him to your will. He’s chasing that faint mint and cigarette smell. He wonders what it’s like when it’s mixed with sweat and the heat of your bodies. He wonders what it’s like for you to shove those pretty nails into his mouth to shut him up. He wonders what it’s like to let go and let you handle everything. He wonders what it’s like to peer up at your downturned face while trapped between the deathly grip of your plush thighs.

Yuta’s thoughts cease immediately when he glances at your direction. Your eyes bore into his once again through the window of your car. Those same hypnotizing eyes. Hazy, with the mimosa, maybe smoking, maybe with the high of sex, maybe with the high of being watched—or a mixture of everything. Yuta is too stunned to process the situation or move. Once again, you don’t seem to care if he moves or continues watching.

A small lingering smile that doesn’t reach your eyes tugs at the corners of your glossy lips.

“You seem to have a habit of watching me.”

Yuta freezes in his position on the sidewalk by Satoru’s beachside villa. You’re driving your convertible, cigarette hanging at the corner of your lips, the embers burning bright as you inhale. You seem to be waiting for an explanation, and when Yuta doesn’t immediately provide one, you exhale the smoke right at his face.

He begins coughing, his hands rising to swat away the smoke from his face. You watch him passively as he does so. Yuta doesn’t know how to begin. How does he even explain the fact that he followed you and Suguru to a spot where he could see the both of you fuck? You must have thought he was a weirdo. But wait, aren’t you the weirdo too for not seeming to mind the presence of an audience? What the fuck was going on?

“So,” you probe, breaking his train of thought, “you like watching people have sex?”

Yuta lets out some sort of strangled noise. The notion you just suggested causes him to start coughing, and he’s bringing his fists to his mouth to muffle the sound of his coughs. You look unimpressed.

“You’re not even responding back,” you say, sounding somewhat bored, dangling your left arm on the sides of your convertible.

“. . . I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly, his head lowered. He couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. He was certain his cheeks were flushed red. “I’m really sorry,” his voice was so faint and shaky, “I didn’t . . . mean to. I don’t know what went over me.”

You pause to consider this, inhaling your cigarette. Yuta knows this is just an excuse. A desperate one, but you don’t address it. Thankfully. After you exhale, you tap your cigarette against the side of your car to get rid of the excess.

“You don’t sound awfully sorry to me though?” you muse, a faint smile dancing on your glossy lips.

Yuta’s lowered head shoots up at your words. His cheeks flush red, and he’s sputtering over his words. His mind is blanking. His trembling lips part, opening and closing as if to say something, but nothing ever came out.

Your eyes narrow in mirth, your smile turning into a conniving one. “I like you,” you hum in amusement. “You’re cute.”

And that just about sent Yuta over. His ears were reddening now too, just a bumbling mess of a guy on the sidewalk. You? Liking him? A girl as pretty as you? There was no way.

Yuta’s mind is a mess. Confusion soon settles on his face, and he’s at a loss for words. “What?” he manages to stutter out.

“You heard me,” you hum cooly. Then you nod your head toward the direction of your passenger’s seat. “Hop in.”

“But—”

“But what?” you ask, glancing up at him. “You don’t have any plans tomorrow, do you?” You drop the cigarette in your free hand onto the pavement. Yuta stares at it as the embers die out, blending into the dull gray of the pavement.

Yuta finds his body moving immediately. He’s heading towards the passenger seat next to you, opening the door and settling himself inside. He’s conscious of the groups of people outside, who probably noticed the whole exchange between you and him. He wonders what they think, but that thought is immediately shut down as you’re stepping on the accelerator without a word.

Yuta is surprised by the sudden speed. Panicked, he’s clutching tight to the car door’s handle and carefully reaching for the seatbelts despite the gust of wind pushing his body back. A quick glance to your side shows that you’re not wearing a seatbelt, and before thinking, Yuta leans in and grabs the seatbelt from your side to fasten it.

“Seatbelt!” Yuta attempts to yell as much as he can despite the strength of the wind whipping past the both of you, rendering hearing more difficult than usual. To his chagrin, his voice came out more as a broken squeak.

You’re staring at him now, with that slight curl at the ends of your lips. Yuta reaches for your face and directs your head to face forward in panic, before he returns clutching onto the sides of the car for extra support.

A mere chuckle is all that leaves your lips. Nonetheless, you tap the button for the convertible hood to rise up once again. The car slows down significantly from its former speed, the chill breeze slowly fading away, the loudness of the cold night wind all disappearing as the convertible’s hood shuts. Silence fills the car, and you quietly raise both the windows before turning on the air conditioning.

You drive in silence for a bit, not going near the radio to turn on any sort of music. This vacancy of noise leaves Yuta with own thoughts to brew.

What was this situation? He finds himself pondering. Frantically searching for an answer. And where were they going? Were they just going to leave without letting Satoru and the others know? What was your intention?

“I can almost hear your thoughts, you know,” you say suddenly, reaching for another cigarette and slotting it between your lips. With your free hand, you grab a black lighter and quickly light the butt of your new cigarette, inhaling and exhaling the puffs of white. “Why? Do you not trust me?”

Panicked, Yuta stares at you as if you were some sort of weird creature. “Can you read minds?”

You crack a smile. “What do you think?” you probe, glancing over towards him, faintly fixing the cigarette in your lips with your fingers. “Of course, I can’t. But you might as well say your thoughts because your face is damn awful at hiding it.”

Yuta hesitates. “Where are we going?” he finally asks.

“Back to my place.”

Yuta is at a loss for words, stuttering. “W-Why are we—?”

“I’m going to fuck you, aren’t I?” you interrupt casually, glancing towards him. Yuta’s lips part in disbelief at your nonchalant words. Almost as if you were asking him a simple question instead of telling him you planned to fuck him. “Unless you wanted me to do that in Satoru’s villa?”

His ears begin to heat up at your blunt words. Yuta still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Were you always this blunt? Was this okay? Was he really going through with this? With someone he barely knew? Someone who he wasn't in a relationship with? Someone he didn’t love? Were you really going to . . . ?

You take his silence as an answer in itself.

“Thought so,” you seem pleased. “I much prefer the comfort of my own place. The car could’ve been an option.” You glance at him before returning your gaze towards the road. “But I decided against it.”

Yuta doesn’t say anything, but he quietly ponders. Were you being considerate of him since he saw you riding Suguru just a few hours ago in the very backseat of your car? Or did you just want to go back home? Was he ready for whatever it was you were about to drag him into?

You arrive at your apartment complex some twenty minutes later. It was in a high-scale urban area, the most expensive in the city, with you driving up towards a guardhouse beneath a very tall swanky apartment complex. You pull your window down, showing your face, and the guards immediately open the gates for you, allowing you to drive into the parking lot.

Yuta was in awe as you drove towards a parking spot next to numerous nice cars. Was this normal for swanky apartments? Yuta had never lived in the city so he had never experienced apartments located in the heart of the city, surrounded by all the buzz of nearby people in hot malls, expensive restaurants, flagship stores of designer brands, parks, museums, you name it.

You park safely, and step out of the car. Yuta hesitantly follows, closing the car door behind him. He glances up at you, a black bag of sorts slung on your shoulder. No doubt designer. Yuta just wasn’t fashion-savvy enough to pick up what brand because it didn’t have any logos, or if it did, he didn’t recognize it.

“Come,” is all you say, nodding your head towards the direction of the lobby.

Yuta follows you into the well-lit lobby. Marble floors, tall ceilings, gold fixtures on the walls, carefully curated plants. The lobby smelled nice as well. Like crisp sandalwood and fresh mint. It smelled somewhat like you.

The silence between you makes Yuta feel the need to break it.

“Your place is . . . nice,” he lets out in a soft mutter.

You glance over towards him, raising a brow, before you let out a small laugh. “Yeah?” you probe, though you sound disinterested, almost as if you’ve heard this numerous times. “You like it?”

He nods, just as the elevator opens.

“Good,” you hum, seemingly satisfied. You start to walk into the elevator, with Yuta in tow.

The elevator was similar to the lobby. Tall and gold fixtures. A glance up revealed a vaulted ceiling with ambient lighting and a modern lighting fixture similar to a chandelier hanging in the center of the elevator. The elevator had a mirror wall with deep cerulean velvet designs, and Yuta could see his reflection in the mirror, standing next to you. He was aware that he was fairly tall, and he felt a small sense of confidence with how you were at the perfect height to nuzzle your head into his neck.

You scan some sort of card in the elevator. It must be a resident access card. Yuta’s stare lingers, widened. Yuta wasn’t rich by any means, but he knew enough to discern what was rich. Growing up with Satoru as his cousin, Yuta knew a lot about prominent wealth signifiers. His eyes follow your manicured fingers, reaching up to press the highest floor, of the 50 floors, called P.

It was a quiet elevator ride, and Yuta allows himself a close look at you. You look even prettier up close. His eyes settle and focus on your eyes, the curve of your nose, and the glossy surface of your lips.

The elevator opens before his thoughts stray any further, and Yuta is floored when he sees an apartment sprawled out before him instead of a hallway leading to the apartment. You step out, stretching a bit as you leave your purse on one of the couches laid around the spacious space.

Yuta follows slowly, and the elevator closes behind him. A quick look around the place shows Yuta a very large and spacious apartment. Bi-loft too, he guessed by the glass stairs on the other side, as well as the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave the apartment panoramic views of the night skyline.

“You have a floor to yourself?” he mutters to himself in astonishment, and you don’t say anything. You probably didn’t hear, you were making your way to the kitchen.

The kitchen looked like it came straight out of those luxury interior design magazines. A big island with five stools stood in the center of the kitchen. Dark marble countertops, top-of-the-line silver appliances, and a cabinet fridge? Yuta gawks as you open your very large fridge whose exterior blends in with the rest of the dark wood cabinets. You grab two bottles of water, placing them on the island.

“Want some water?” you suggest to Yuta, and the male walks over to you.

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

“Sparkling or still?”

Yuta pauses momentarily, stares up at you and blinks. “Uh, just regular water?”

A smile tugs at your lips. “Still it is.”

You grab the bottles of water, putting them back inside the fridge. You take out two Evian bottles, handing him one.

“If you need to use the bathroom, it’s over there.” You point towards a direction near the stairs. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Yuta nods hesitantly. Somehow he feels even more nervous. He empties the bottle you had handed to him, trying to rid himself of the dryness in his throat.

He follows your directions afterwards, starting to amble over to the bathroom. He thought he needed to collect himself before anything eventful happened. He still couldn’t believe it. How was he in this situation with a woman like you? You were so pretty. One of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen. And now he was alone with you. In your apartment. He doesn’t know how anything is supposed to progress. You did briefly mention earlier that you had plans to fuck him. What exactly did that entail? Was it going to be like the time he saw you handling that man in the lecture hall by accident? The idea constricts his throat. He’s not certain whether he’s fearful or anticipating it. This wasn’t what he had envisioned.

By the time Yuta makes it into your very spacious and large bathroom, he’s looking into the mirror, attempting to fix his appearance as best as he can. He’s grabbing his shirt, smelling it. He hopes he doesn’t smell bad. He reaches for the faucet, trying to shake off his anxiety.

“Her bathroom is the size of my dorm with Toge,” he mutters to himself, pumping foam into his hands. He finds himself looking around the bathroom. How much does this place even cost?

He wipes his hand off on one of the towels. He attempts to fix his appearance one last time before stepping out of the bathroom. When he steps out he hears the sound of the television running, and he walks over to the living room.

You’re sitting on a leather couch, still in the same clothes as before. There was a glass of what seemed to be red wine nestled between your slender fingers. The white halter top exposing your delicate back, that white miniskirt that shows a generous amount of your thighs.

You don’t say anything, eyes fixed on the television before you as you pick out a song to play. Yuta doesn’t know what it was, but he finds his eyes lingering at the hem of your skirt. He’s afforded a very generous view of your thighs, and he finds himself gulping away a lump in his throat that he hasn’t been aware was there.

“You’re back.”

Yuta jolts in surprise at your voice. You glance back at him, and he shifts on his feet uncomfortably. “Um, yeah,” Yuta murmurs.

You cock your head to the side, raising your glass. You eye him as he stands across from you, his body stiff. “Want some wine?”

He makes a gesture to decline. “No, thank you.”

You shrug, not pushing the issue further. You sip on your wine, your fingers tapping your phone screen to change the music. The sound of your nails tapping against your screen and the faint thrum of the jazz music you were playing resounds in your large apartment for several moments, until you completely shut it off.

You close and then toss your phone to the other side of the couch you were on, exhaling. Then, your eyes regarded him as you crossed your legs.

“You’re a virgin, I take it?”

Yuta’s body froze at your sudden question. His eyes are large as they gaze back at you, his fingers tensing. His head lowers, his ears dusted red.

". . . Yes,” he admits softly.

A smile blooms on your face. “What’s the furthest you’ve gone, then?”

“A kiss with my first girlfriend,” Yuta murmurs.

“Cute,” you hum, setting your glass of wine down on the small table beside the couch. “Did you like it?”

He raises his head and blinks at you.

“The kiss,” you clarify.

". . . I did,” he murmurs. “I really liked her. I was happy that we kissed.”

“Yeah?” you hum, cocking your head to the side. You gesture for him to approach. “Come here. Why are you standing so far away?”

Yuta follows with a hesitance in his steps, stopping just a foot away from you. You gaze up at him expectantly, a pleased curl on your lips.

“On your knees,” you hum.

Yuta glances at you, and he doesn’t utter a word. Quietly, one knee of his sinks, before the other follows, until he’s kneeling before you. He gazes up at you with those big hazy eyes, as if you hung the stars. You reach out a hand, cupping the side of his face. His face leans into your palm, his eyes closing in contentment. Your thumb caresses the smooth skin of his face, and his sleepy eyes open, gazing up at you reverently.

Your thumb presses harder, caressing the plushness of his lips. You part his lips with your thumb, sticking it in. He gazed up at you, his tongue lapping up at your finger. You hum in satisfaction, digging your thumb in deeper and pressing your sharp nail down on his tongue. You relish in the prick of pain that pinches at his brow, and he gazes up at you, almost pleading, but he doesn’t pull away.

You lean down until your face is merely inches away from his own, relishing in his sad pretty eyes. “Is this what you’ve been dreaming about?” you whisper. “Being treated like this?”

Unable to speak a word with your thumb in his mouth, Yuta settles for a nod of his head. The sight has you exhaling in satisfaction. You pluck your thumb away from his mouth, strings of drool connecting from your thumb to his soft lips.

He’s dazed, still not believing that this is happening. That he’s here, kneeling before you, your hands on him, his face mere inches away from your own. Was he actually liking this? Being with a woman he didn’t love and didn't love him back. Being with someone he wasn’t dating. Being subjected to degrading treatment. You lean in towards his neck, inhaling his scent as your hands travel from his chest to his arms.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” you coo, your heeled feet rubbing through the fabric of his jeans.

Yuta’s breath hitches, your words dawning on him. Was this seriously about to happen? You’re right before him, waiting for him.

Hesitantly, his hands reach for the waist of his jeans, unbuttoning them before he’s pushing them down to his knees. You don’t assist him, opting to remain to gaze at him, silently studying his expression. He’s left in his shirt and his dark gray boxers, kneeling before you.

“Go on,” you hum.

Yuta begins to reach for his crotch, hands pushing down his boxers so his erect cock slaps against his stomach. His shirt covers part of his cock, and you reach for the shirt, tugging it up.

“Remove your shirt,” you order. “Show me how pretty you are.”

The shirt’s tossed to your floor not long after, and Yuta kneels before you, his toned body on display before you. He finds himself wanting to shrink, unsure what to make of that perpetual smile of amusement on your lips. Do you like what you see? Are you making fun of him? Yuta wants to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Your hands reach for his face, commanding his attention back to you. Your fingers trace the strands of his hair, playing with them in a way Yuta enjoys, despite how he doesn’t want to admit it.

“Touch yourself,” you order, gaze drifting down to his hardened cock.

Yuta doesn’t know why his dick isn’t deflating from this situation. Does he just enjoy having you watch him? Is it because you’re so close to him? Was he secretly an exhibitionist?

His hands begin to trace his cock, grabbing the base before he begins pumping his fingers. It was a bit difficult with not much lubrication to help him out, so Yuta reached for his mouth, spitting into his mouth before redirecting the spit onto his cock. It makes pumping his cock a bit easier, and Yuta lets himself relax more.

“Who do you think of when you touch yourself?”

The question from you is unexpected, slowing down the strokes of his fingers. Yuta is quiet, at a loss for what to say. You’re looking at him expectantly, awaiting an answer. Like you’re certain he has one.

“Do you think of me?” you probe, grinning. “Do you imagine your hand as my hand, jerking you off? Maybe it’s my mouth?”

Yuta lowers his head, avoiding your gaze. He considers his current position. He was in your apartment. Almost butt-naked. Kneeling down before you in your living room with his hand wrapped around his dick. He didn’t see how he could lie to you given how his cock was quite obviously rising just at the sight of you.

“. . . I do,” he quietly admits, turning his head to the side to avoid your heated gaze.

“Did you ever think this would happen?” you ask him, letting your manicured nails run through the tufts of his dark hair. “Being in my apartment, touching yourself off in front of me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

A meek response. “I just don’t think I’m your type,” he admits. “I heard that you’re . . . with Suguru.”

There’s a grin on your lips. “You’ve asked about me.”

His cheeks burn. “I don’t mean to be creepy about it! I was just curious about—”

“No need to stress about it,” you interrupt him, fingers caressing his thigh. His hands tighten around his cock. “Suguru and I just fuck occasionally. Do I look like the type to date?”

Yuta shakes his head. “I heard from Satoru that you’re not the type,” he admits breathily, gazing up at you. “He told me I should stay away from you.”

You throw your head back in laughter, a pretty little laugh leaving your lips. “That bastard’s always cockblocking me.”

Yuta finds himself admiring your face. The way the smile reaches your eyes this time. He’s momentarily dazed.

“So?” your voice pulls him back to the present. “Are you planning on staying away?”

He’s staring at you, the swell of your lips, and the amused twinkle in your eye. His hand slows to a stop around his cock.

“I don’t know,” is all Yuta was able to say.

“Yuta,” you murmur softly, in that low tone that has him hypnotized. “If you really wanted to stay away, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Yuta doesn’t respond for a few moments. His throat feels dry, and he’s unable to rebut your statement. Your fingers reach for his lips, your thumb ghosting over his bottom lip as you gaze at his lips. Yuta attempts to read your face. He finds it unsettling how you don’t allow any readable emotion to settle on your face. That is until he sees a satisfied smile stretch across your lips.

Satisfied with his silent acquiescence, you dip your heeled feet down, caressing his cock. With a grin on your lips, you watch as Yuta twitches in his kneeling position as you begin to stroke him with your foot, teasing his sensitive tip. Yuta pulls his own hand away from his base, gazing up at you with a hitch in his breath.

“So cute,” you coo appreciatively, gazing down at his pretty cock. The tip was slender and flushed an adorable pink, with some veins decorating the shaft. The thatch of dark hair at the base of his cock is trimmed neatly. He was cute. A decent size and girth.

Yuta clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle the gasps leaving his lips. You begin to apply more pressure to his cock, and he peeks down to see that the sole of your heels fully presses down on the base. The pressure earns another round of moans from him, which are muffled by his hand.

“Continue covering your mouth and I’ll gag you myself,” you threaten.

Yuta reluctantly lets his hands fall to his thighs, gripping them hard as he moans from the mixed pain and pleasure of your feet on his cock. You resign yourself to stroking his cock with your feet, smiling in amusement as you continue your strokes.

Yuta can’t believe how he’s actually enjoying this. Such a degrading act. Your heels practically step on his hardened cock, as if you couldn’t bother touching it yourself. As if he didn’t deserve even being touched by you.

“So sensitive,” you muse as you play with his reddened tip, caressing it languidly as you stare at his flushed face. “Your girlfriend never touched you like this?”

Yuta nods, his chest heaving up and down.

You scowl. “Answer me with your voice.”

Yuta answers in between stuttered gasps. “N-no, you’re the first one.”

“Good,” you hum pleasantly. “Does it feel good? Being stepped on like this?”

Another meek nod, and a shaky whisper. “Yes.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, leaving Yuta to wonder if that turned you off. Then, he glances up, noticing you gazing down at him with something he can’t read simmering in your eyes. Then, your hand reaches for the back of his head and you pull him in for a kiss.

The kiss is completely unlike what he had experienced before. If the kiss he shared with his first girlfriend was brief and chaste—almost innocent—then the only way he could describe kissing you was intoxicating.

Yuta can taste a mixture of cigarettes, red wine, and cherry from your chapstick. He feels your warm tongue moving, swiping against his bottom lip. His mind blanks, his lips moving against yours automatically. You kiss like you want to deprive him of air. Like you want to swallow him whole until he’s nothing but a putty mess. Your hands travel down to grip the sides of his face, and Yuta finally allows his hands to travel. With your guidance, his hands settle on your plush thighs, gently squeezing it. He groans into your lips as he touches you. He still can’t believe it. That this is happening. That he’s actually touching you. You’re impossibly soft. He swears he’s in heaven.

Yuta chases after your lips when you briefly pull away. He wasn’t aware that a kiss could be like this. Why was he suddenly aware of what to do? You taste so good. You smell divine. He feels like he’s drowning in you. He wants to drown in you. He wants to receive all of your affection. He wants to be the object of your attention.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he finds himself muttering against your lips.

You chuckle into his lips, pulling away with a pop as you pause to undo the ribbon holding your halter top up. Yuta gawks as the fabric falls and reveals your bare breasts to him. You reach for his hands and direct them to grab your breasts. Yuta’s hands were rather large, and they effectively cupped most of your breasts. He gently squeezes them, earning a small sigh of pleasure from you.

He’s tentative in his movements, gazing up at you to check whether you’d stop him. He fondles them gently, before his movements before firmer, his hazy eyes focused on the way your supple skin moved under his fingers.

“How eager,” you comment, your hands stroking his hair, your fingers tangling through the dark tufts of his hair. You pull his hair back, forcing him to gaze up at you while he knelt before you. A glimmer of satisfaction flickers in your irises, before you push his head down to your thighs.

Yuta is puzzled, but his eyes follow the very short hem of your skirt. The sight of your bare thighs makes his cock ache, and with a little grin, you spread your thighs, revealing your bare cunt. He freezes as a realization dawns on him. You didn’t have panties on since this entire time. Yuta is too stunned to say anything. He thinks back to the time in the car. Through the entire exchange.

“Let’s see exactly how eager you are, hmm?” you propose with an amused glint in your eyes. “You’ve been hungry all this time, I’d be a bad host if I didn’t let you eat.”

Yuta hesitantly grabs the smooth surface of your thighs. His chest is heaving up and down. He still can’t believe this is happening. You’re so warm. You smell divine. Your cunt looks so pretty. He wants nothing more than to dive in.

“Never eaten pussy before, right?” you query, gazing down at him.

Yuta doesn’t respond, his mind almost blanking.

“That’s okay,” you hum. “I’ll lead you through it. You begin by teasing the clit.” Your fingers go down to demonstrate, pressing down and massaging it in circles. A small sigh leaves your lips, before you continue. “Use your saliva. The wetter the better. It’ll make it easier for later.”

Your fingers reach towards Yuta’s mouth, doused with your slick.

“Suck,” you order him.

He obeys, wrapping his lips around your fingers.

“Spit.”

Yuta follows suit, and your eyes narrow fondly.

“Good boy.”

Your fingers, now slicked with Yuta’s spit, move towards your clit, and you massage it in, your head thrown back as your fingers dip inside your sopping cunt. “You do it just like this,” you say between heavy breaths. Your fingertips rub over the delicate nub of your clit, flicking over the hood of the bud. “Slowly. Take your time.”

Yuta is mesmerized. His saliva was on your cunt. You were touching yourself in front of him, mewling softly, exposed all for him. He watches your red nails dipping inside of you, and he finds his fingers reaching further up your thighs.

“Can I?” he asks, his weeping cock pulsating.

Pausing, you regard him with a look, before pulling your fingers away from your clit. You gaze down at him expectantly.

“Go on then.”

Yuta leans in closer after you give him permission, his fingers ghosting your cunt, before he starts to massage the bud, his finger occasionally dipping inside. You’re evidently wet by now. Yuta still can’t wrap his head around what was happening. You were gasping before him, with his fingers inside of you.

The slow, squelching sound of his fingers going inside of you is obscene. Your sounds are sweet and angelic, and they only serve to further encourage Yuta in maintaining his pace as his finger pumps into you. He’s leaning down now, burying his head between your cunt and licking at it. He’s sucking and nibbling as his fingers bring you to your high. He is clearly inexperienced, but the desperation in his tongue’s movements more than made up for it. You gaze down in arousal, seeing his pretty puppy eyes gazing up at you in adoration as his needy mouth laps up at you. He was a starving man partaking in your essence. Your thighs quiver at the sight, and you wanted nothing more than to ruin Yuta Okkotsu.

Your fingers tangle in Yuta’s dark hair. “Keep going.”

That encourages Yuta further. By now his nose is digging into your cunt, continuing his relentless sucking and fingering. He swears you’re intoxicating. He wasn’t aware that pussy tasted like this. Or was it just you? He was finally getting a taste of what he’s thought of before. The sight of you gazing down at him with his head buried between your heavenly thighs. Yuta doesn’t even know what’s happening to him. He was desperate for you. Desperate for your approval. He believes he can have this one experience and jerk off to it for the rest of his years.

One particular suck causes your thighs to clench around Yuta’s head, a melodic moan leaving your lips. You grip his head, pulling him to your cunt. You moan softly as you grind your hips onto his starved mouth. His spare hand travels down your thigh, massaging them before they settle on the swell of your hips. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’m close,” you let out in stuttered gasps. “Keep going. Don’t speed up or slow down.”

Yuta obeys. His tongue continues at that same pace, sucking on your clit as his fingers stuff themselves in your cunt. His tongue flicks at the pearl of your clit, lapping at it like a starving puppy. True to your word, your grip tightens on his hair, and you cum on his tongue. Yuta stops and gladly drinks up your cum, earning moans from you as you squirm in his hold.

Yuta licks you clean, and he looks up, panting heavily. He looks like a delicious mess. Puppy eyes widened, hazy with arousal, eager for your approval and praise. Face smeared with your slick, his sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead.

You offer him a tired smile, leaning down so you can kiss him properly. Yuta obliges, closing his eyes as you suck on his tongue, your heeled feet gliding down to his hard cock. His hands settle at your waist, before they move down to your ass, squeezing them as you smile against his lips.

Pulling away from him, your fingers run down the fabric of his shirt.

“Take this off,” you order.

He obliges with a nod, shedding the fabric on your living room floor, leaning his body under your watch. Your eyes admire his build appreciatively, not having expected him to be this well-built. Your hands reach for his shoulders, fingers slowly trailing down the expanse of his toned chest and arms. Your hands settle at his nipples, smiling up at him before you press a kiss to them.

“So cute,” you murmur. “You’re only good for me, aren’t you?”

God, Yuta will only be good for you if you let him. He nods obediently, opting to keep his mouth shut so moans don’t leave his lips.

“I asked you a question.” The smile drops on your pretty face. Your voice is more clipped this time. Your hands grip his chin firmly, harsh enough that the crescents of your nails etch themselves onto his supple skin. “When asked a question, you give an answer.”

“Y-yes,” Yuta manages to utter out in a voice barely above a whisper. His pretty eyes gaze up at you reverently. “I’m only good for you. Wanna be your good boy.”

You hum, seemingly satisfied. “I know,” you coo softly, your soft hands running through his hair. “Tell me, what do you want me to do?”

His pleading pretty eyes, widened and glassy from arousal. His face rests on your plush thighs, gazing up at you like a needy puppy. His hips buck desperately into the air, his weeping cock twitching.

His lips part, his words almost a whine.

“P-please,” he pleads. “Let me feel you.”

Mirth dances in your eyes. “Feel me how?” you whisper. “Use your words.”

“Please let me make love to you,” he whispers, his ears flushing red.

“Make love?” There’s an amused lilt to your voice. “You’re going to make love to me, pretty boy?”

“If you’d let me,” he exhales breathily, gazing up at you. His body trembles, thrumming from anticipation and arousal all at once.

“Up on the couch,” you hum, patting the seat next to you.

Yuta nods his head, immediately rising and sitting down on the couch. He gazes at you with dilated pupils, breaths heavy as you push his pants down, letting it pool at his feet.

You rise before him, pushing your skirt up. Your head cocks to the side, gazing down at him in amusement as you straddle him. Your sopping wet cunt brushes against his flushed cock, and Yuta’s body is trembling at the brief contact.

“Is this what you wanted?” you coo softly, rubbing the lips of your cunt against his cock.

Yuta’s body trembles beneath you on the couch. His chest heaves up and down, his eyes glistening as he gazes up with you.

“Y-yes,” he babbles out breathily. “P-please. Please. Want you. Want to feel you. Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” you whisper into his ear, leaning down to pepper feathery kisses on his neck. Your soft hand reaches down, gripping his base, aligning him properly.

Yuta’s stomach dips in anticipation, his thighs quivering as he feels his tip pressing against the slick lips of your pussy. You smile wryly into his neck as you slide down onto him.

All the air is knocked out of Yuta’s chest. His dreamy eyes roll into the back of his head. Warmth. Overwhelming warmth. It wraps around everywhere. And so tight. It grips him so tight he swears he's ascending. It was nothing compared to his hand. The weight of your body on top of him. The tickle of your hair. The sensation of your soft lips pressing to his neck. You smelled divine. You felt divine. It was too much. Your walls are pulsing around him. It was warm. Yuta swears he’s on fire.

Yuta whines.

You hum softly at the stretch, pulling back to look at his face. Yuta’s face is flushed red, his eyes glassy and lost, utterly debauched.

“Feels good?” you coo softly.

He nods his head weakly. “Y-yes,” he mumbles faintly, almost incoherent. He sounds like he’s on the verge of sobbing. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” you whisper softly, resting your hands around his neck, tangling in the locks of his hair.

Without giving him a chance to respond, you’re moving your hips. You watch in delight as Yuta’s mewling and gasping beneath you. His hands shakily hold onto your gyrating hips. White hot pleasure fills his vision. He’s sputtering, mewling, whining like a needy puppy. It’s too much. Way too much. Hot tears prick his blown out eyes. That heat simmers in his stomach, a familiar coil snapping.

He cries out pathetically as he cums immediately. Your sneer deepens as you feel the thick strings filling you.

Yuta’s head slumps back on the leather couch, exhaling heavily.

Your hand rests at the juncture of his throat, pressing down. Your voice is a low snarl. “Did I give you permission to cum?”

Yuta’s glassy eyes flicker up to you in panic. His soft lips part, his body flushed prettily.

“‘m s-sorry,” he whispers out, his voice cracking faintly. “I couldn’t—it was too g-good—I’m sorry I couldn't hold back.” He’s crying now, tearing up as he gazes up at you. “P-please forgive me.”

You roll your hips. Yuta’s eyes widen, a sharp gasp leaving his lips. Extreme sensitivity runs through his limbs, sending him into overdrive. He whines, his hips stuttering as you ride his poor cock.

“I-it’s too m-much,” he whines out, crying so pathetically, so prettily. “P-please, I can’t–hah!”

“You’ll shut up and take it,” you scowl, riding him. You bounce on his cock, moaning softly. “You wanted to cum without telling me? This is your punishment.”

“F-forgive me,” Yuta mewls softly, his hands trembling in a weak attempt to slow down the movement of your hips. But he’s lost at this point. “Please. I-I just wanted to be—ngh—good for you.”

“Yeah?” you whisper breathily. “Wanna be good for me? Then stay fucking still. You wanted to cum, didn’t you? Go on.” Your hands pull at his hair. “Cum again.”

Yuta’s sobbing by now, his hands gripping onto the flesh of your hips as you rode him. Used him like a fucking dildo. It was too much. Way too much. Yuta’s mind was blank. It was overwhelming. The clamping of your walls. The slick pooling down his shaft. The creamy mess of his cum swirling inside of you.

“I-I can’t!” he cries out.

Your hands tighten around his neck, applying pressure to the juncture of his windpipe. Yuta’s eyes roll back into his head. His stomach was tensing. His chest heaving. His cock being hugged by the tight and plush embrace of your cunt’s walls. It was so good it was bordering on painful. This isn't making love. This was far from it.

“You’re going to fucking cum,” you snarl.

Yuta’s hot tears stains his flushed cheeks, his lips trembling as soft gasps left his lips. Your hand continues to press down at his throat, before you lean in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Yuta feels faint. He’s lightheaded. He’s whining, gasping, mewling. He can’t breathe. It’s like you’re intent on draining everything out of him. All he can feel is the warm embrace of your cunt. The softness of your body. Your fingertips pressing down on his throat. Your lips, your tongue swirling against his own. The taste of wine on his lips. The sweet powdery scent tinted with cigarettes. The beads of sweat forming between your warm bodies.

With a cry, Yuta cums again. He’s sobbing, and you pull away from the kiss. He breathes in oxygen, whining pathetically as his cock twitches inside of you, filling you. You moan softly, clamping down on his walls.

Yuta’s head slumps back against the couch. The fringes of his dark hair stick to his forehead, beads of sweat running down his face. His eyes are blurry, both from his tears and sweat.

You admire the sight of him. So weak. So pathetic. So pliant.

He looks so pretty like this. Crying. Those pretty puppy eyes, lined by bags, irises blown wide, gazing at you as if you were a walking goddess.

You lean in, licking up the tears on his cheek. You relish in the salty taste, the faraway haze in Yuta’s eyes. How his thick lashes flutter slowly.

Slowly, you lift yourself off of him. Yuta hisses in sensitivity as his cock drags out of your walls, gazing down at his spent cock. It’s covered in a thin sheen. The patch of trimmed hair at the base of his cock is smeared in cum.

“Lay back,” you hum.

Sluggishly, Yuta nods. He shifts on the couch, laying down on his back. His pretty eyes gaze up at you. You smile at him, moving to hover your cunt over his face.

Yuta’s breath hitches at the sight of your cunt under your skirt, smeared with his cum. You kneel on the sides of his shoulders, facing his stomach. You gaze over your shoulder, lowering your cunt to his lips.

“Clean up your mess,” you order.

His mouth moves automatically, his tongue lapping up at the frothy mess of your cunt. His lips are shiny, kissing and flicking his tongue. You moan softly, grinding your cunt onto him.

Your soft hand reaches down, reaching for his soft cock. You wrap your hand around it, your fingertips brushing against the tender skin. You can feel Yuta’s body jolt briefly upon your touch, his tongue halting momentarily as he whines into your pussy. You sneer in satisfaction, leaning in to kiss the tip of his soft cock. It twitches in your hand, the tip a pretty shade of pinkish red. You lick your lips, leaning in and dragging your tongue up the shaft.

Yuta gasps into your cunt, his soft hands gripping onto the flesh of your thighs. His thighs quiver as your tongue laps at him. Your hands pump him, relishing in how he whines into your pussy.

You tighten your grip around his cock when he stops moving his mouth. Yuta gasps, and despite the tears pricking his eyes, he laps up at your pussy in a daze. He’s certain he must be drunk. Drunk on you. On the feel of you.

You smile as your hands pump his cock, watching as it twitches, soft and spent. It looks so pretty. One of the prettiest cocks you’ve seen.

You lift yourself off of Yuta’s mouth. He gazes up, dazed, confused at the sudden loss of contact with you.

“Sit up,” you order.

His trembling body obeys, sitting up on the couch. You settle behind him, pressing your breasts against his back. Your hand wraps around his cock from behind, pumping him as your lips graze his ear. You can feel Yuta shiver from your touch, melting into you.

“I-I’m still sensitive,” he whines out in between stuttered breaths. “I can’t—”

“You can’t?” you mock him. “Should I stop touching you then?”

“No!” His protest is quick, a sob that bleeds into a whine. Despite the burning sensitivity and the flicker of pain, he finds that the thought of you pulling away is more painful. “P-please, don’t stop.”

“No?” you sneer.

His breath is shaky, his hips quivering. It was too much. The sensitivity was bordering on pain. His muscles are taut. His chest heaving up and down.

Your free hand reaches up to cup his chest, your fingertips brushing against his nipple. You pinch it, twisting. Your hand continues pumping his cock, your thumb playing with the slit of his tip.

This earns a shudder from Yuta, who mewls at the sensation. “N-no more, please,” he mumbles out, exhaling, his entire body trembling. “‘s t’much—mph!”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you whisper, your warm breath brushing over his glistening neck.

Yuta’s mind is foggy. There was too much going on. Your fingers pinching and twisting at his nipple, your soft hand pumping his cock and thumbing at his leaky tip, your soft lips on the curve of his neck, the low whispers into his ear.

His lips are parted, soft whines constantly slipping out. His eyes are scrunched shut, his lips trembling. He was moaning, his head tipping forward. He was drooling at this point, his lips and chin smeared with the sticky trail of saliva.

“So fucking pathetic,” you coo, your tone almost a sneer. “I haven’t even finished and you’re already fucked out?”

His glassy eyes gaze back at you, tearing up from the overstimulation. He tries to say something, but it slips out as a weak murmur, an unintelligible whimper.

Then he feels it. The tense coil in his lower stomach. That familiar pressure. His face heats up. He’s shaking his head weakly, the stuttering of his hips increasing. His muscles are contracting, his cock feeling almost painful.

“N-no—ah!—stop,” his airy voice protests, “p-please—’m gonna p-pee!” He sobs out.

Something close to surprise crosses over your features for a split second, before it’s replaced by a malicious curl of your lips and the pleasant narrowing of your eyes.

Yuta expects you to let go of him. He surmises that he’ll be embarrassed, running over almost butt-naked to your bathroom so he can pee and awkwardly interrupt the both of you. He wants to disappear, to crawl into a whole. He’s certain he’s absolutely blown it with you. Made a fool of himself all because he can’t control his fucking bladder. He’s crying freely, warm tears decorating his flushed cheeks, sniffling.

But your hold tightens even more around his cock. Your breasts press against his back, feeling the trickle of his sweat.

“Do it,” you purr into his ear. “Make a mess.”

Yuta’s stomach dips.

“Nonono, p-please no, I can’t!” he cries, coming close to the precipice. He can feel the pressure on his bladder. He’s doing his damnedest best to hold back. “‘s too m-much! I’m not—”

“You will,” you never ask, you demand.

Yuta sobs out, his tears trickling down his cheeks onto his chest as he finally breaks. The stream of liquid shoots out, and you grin in mischief as you watch him make a mess on the leather couch. The warm liquid trickles down to your fingers that were wrapped around his cock. His body is trembling, his cheeks and ears red, wailing softly.

You grin in sick satisfaction, a shiver running through your body at the sight of Yuta putty in your arms, crying. Wrecked. Absolutely humiliated.

“So fucking dirty,” you chuckle, pressing your lips against his ear from behind him.

Yuta’s eyes are closed shut, his face burning furiously. His body is trembling, his soft cock drooling. Your damp fingers grip his chin, almost bruising.

“Open your eyes and look at the mess you made,” you scowl.

Yuta’s eyes peel open. His rich dark lashes are bunched together with his tears, his eyes swollen and reddened, gazing down at the mess he made of the couch. His piss, soaking the throw pillows, collecting on the leather of the couch. His eyes are blurring with a new onslaught of warm, salty tears.

“How’s it feel, hm? Pissing all over my couch like a damned dog?” you hum, letting go of his chin and playing with the slit of his tip with your fingertips.

Yuta shivers under your touch, with the sensation of your body pressed against his back. “‘m s-sorry,” he whispers out, so faint you could barely hear it. His traitorous body was acting on its own. “I-I’m so sorry. I—“

“You don’t sound all that sorry to me,” you muse, feeling his cock harden under your strokes. Your thumb runs down a vein on his shaft. “You’re getting hard after that?” A sneer. “You like pissing on yourself?”

He shakes his head limply, sniffling softly as he cries. “N-no,” he protests weakly. “I didn’t m-mean to. I—“

“For a virgin, you’re such a slut,” you murmur into his neck.

Yuta shivers at your voice.

You shift positions, pulling away and shoving him down to lay on his back on the couch. He falls back with a soft thud, his wide teary eyes gazing up at you. His cock stands tall, and you regard him with a sneer as you hover above him, gripping his cock and aligning it with your cunt. You rub his flushed tip against the lips of your pussy, relishing in how his expression falters, how soft sighs leave his lips.

“You’re so pretty like this,” you coo, watching how his pretty eyes gaze up at you, misty with tears. “So pathetic.” You sink down on him, gasping softly at the intrusion, but your eyes remain trained in how Yuta’s eyes blow wide, how his lips part, how his brow furrows, how his hand balls into fists.

“‘m n-not—“

“You like this, don’t you?” you purr, his words dying in his throat as you roll your hips, watching how he thrashes in sensitivity, his thighs stuttering under you. “Being used like a dildo.”

You throw your head back, moaning softly as you rock your hips. You drag his cock through your spongy walls, relishing in how it curves and bends, sticking and rubbing against you. Yuta whimpers beneath you, gasping out as you use him without a care. He’s throbbing with sensitivity, but he can’t bring himself to stop. His eyes drink up the sight of your pleased expression, your soft lips parted as you moan softly, dragging his weeping cock in and out of your walls with slow strokes.

This isn’t making love, Yuta thinks through teary eyes, but it felt heavenly. His hips buck up into you as you ride him, addicted to the feeling of your warm and tight cunt.

There’s no love in this, but he thinks he just might grow to love you. The sight of you riding him, how your pretty breasts bounce, how your pretty face twists as you use him for your own pleasure—it was too much. His spent, misty eyes gaze up at you, white prickling his vision from the extreme sensations.

There’s no love in the way you ride him, the way your fingers come down to grip his beaded face. His dark fringes stick to his forehead, his body glistening. You lean down, continuing to fuck yourself using his cock, parting his mouth with your thumb. A cruel smile stretches on your lips, and even through the hazy pleasure, Yuta thinks you look beautiful. You spit in his mouth, watching as the glob of spit gathers on his tongue. Yuta cries out softly, still tearing up, but you see the way his throat swallows. How he takes it all. All that you give him.

This isn’t making love, but Yuta’s cumming again, sobbing out your name as he comes deep inside of you.

“—to Yuta? Earth to Yuta? Hello?” A voice slowly fades in from a dull ringing in his hazy head, snapping Yuta out of his reverie.

He blinks rapidly, rousing himself from his disoriented state, suddenly remembering that he was at a cafe near the university with his roommate, Toge. Yuta glances down at his opened laptop, the cursor of an opened Word document blinking back at him. He was doing an assignment for one of his elective classes, though he didn’t have much progress done.

“Dude, your coffee’s been ready at the counter for like ten minutes,” Toge says, his brows pinched together. His face is illuminated by the screen of his own laptop before him. He tilts his head, appraising his friend who sat across from him. “You okay?”

Yuta slowly nods his head. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” He rises from his seat, trying to offer his friend a reassuring smile. “I just haven’t slept well because of the exams coming up.”

A half-truth, really. He was both occupied with both the exams looming over him, and the haunting visage of your pretty face gazing—no, sneering—down at him as you sank down on his cock.

Toge gives his friend an odd look, but to Yuta’s relief, doesn’t press further. Yuta exhales, making his way over to the coffee counter, apologizing softly to the worker who he presume has been calling his name periodically for the past several minutes as he retrieves his warm cup of coffee.

It’s been a week since he last saw you. Since that fateful evening occurred. Yuta hasn’t stopped thinking about it since then. He also hasn’t heard of you since. Your social media accounts were all private. You hadn’t offered him your number, either. He had no way of contacting you.

He sighs softly to himself, ambling back to sit across his friend with his hot caramel macchiato. He blinks at his dark laptop screen, and he logs in again. He brings his lips to his coffee cup, his tired eyes gazing out at the window of the booth they sat next to.

His lips still, his breath catching in his throat as he catches the familiar white snowy tufts of hair belonging to none other than his cousin, walking on the street.

Satoru Gojo was dressed in a black turtleneck, stretched around his broad shoulders and toned frame, dark gray slacks adorning his long legs, to black leather loafers. He had one strong arm wrapped around the waist of a woman walking next to him. They slow to a stop, and the woman takes her ringing phone out of her purse. When the woman turns to the side, pulling away briefly from Satoru’s clingy touches, Yuta’s throat dries up.

It was you.

Your lips were moving, speaking to the person on the phone. Satoru’s large hands trail down from behind you, resting at the swell of your hips. He’s almost clingy, a small pout on his face as you continue your phone call. Yuta can almost hear the complaint tumbling from the snowy-haired man’s lips. Your face is passive as he does so, gazing out to the side. Your lips part, conversing absentmindedly, before your eyes bore past the window of the cafe.

Yuta stills on his seat in the cafe’s booth as you make direct eye contact. Your pretty eyes widen slightly for the briefest moment at the sight of him, before they narrow fondly. A small, languid smile stretches on your plush lips. Yuta’s chest pumps erratically, his stomach sinking.

Satoru stands behind you, none the wiser to the clandestine look you were exchanging with Yuta, his head lowering into your neck. His long fingers toy with the belt loops of your mini skirt.

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