A rap at the door. Damn it, damn it, damn it. At this second? Is that really warranted? When you're already very very very occupied with something altogether more compelling than work? And that's all it is.
Work. And work. And work. Oh, the awards! The income! The adulation! Meaningless; less than meaningless. Baubles to adorn the wall; a few sigils and seals and medals and wow, who could even imagine caring? The corner office? On the floor that your practice owns and operates? Who. Cares.
Entitled? Of course. But that's my, ah, entitlement. When you're one of the nation's very few first-time bar successes; when you're Queen of The Courtroom. Fine. Fine. But this... This is one of life's very, very, very true authentic pleasures.
Enough almost to stoke the tiniest little stirring of forgiveness for that pig in a man's skin. Almost. Almost enough. Maybe.
"E-Eri!" Was that a keen? Yes, yes, that was a keen. A lovely one; enchants, wheels, pirouettes with a sensual ballet through the ears. You can hear it; a quality like poetry in the voice's tremor, strange unknowable figures tinkling with chiming wet sexuality across every dust mote the sun splashing through the windows captures in its fugitive flit.
Delicious.
"That's Eri-sensei. Who the hell's at the door?" It's something murmured, numb to the sharp rattle, another, knuckles now very very impatient.
This is the priority. Remember what your therapist commanded? Take at least fifteen minutes every day to enjoy yourself without interruption.
Never any command about how.
Fingers slip deep, coil, twist, savoring the lavish hot skin in its intimate depths, the adorable thick lips trembling taut cinching around them.
"Don't you love my new manicure, Midori?" Peering up at her; taut gray pencil skirt hiked up to her hips over her creamy sleeveless blouse, jacket shrugged off, two or three buttons slipped open with a few insouciant strokes and it's credulity-defying how she manages to wad those colossal tits into such a modest bra. Oh, well.
Mysteries for the night's philosophical meditation. Or something. Three fingers deep now, and the only answer is a shudder, a quake, legs jerking out, heels drooping from stockinged ankles with a sudden sharp spasm when that soft luscious flesh is stirred with the wrist's quick twist.
"E-Eri-sensei," there we are. But not quite enough. The eyes huge and tumbling open and her nipples thick and lush and the areolae like five hundred yen pieces and the skin is soft, luscious. Translucent. The quintessential beauty.
Thighs yield under my fingers and there's only hunger, hunger, oh, a need for it. More. And more. And more. That's the simple refrain. Fifteen minutes for myself. And why not for lunch? Slip apart those delectable lips and eat.
Hah. Not a simple meal. It should be a feast, with tongue lolling out, wet and messy and still oh so prim. Not a single fiber of your own clothing displaced or disturbed, because that would just be indecent, wouldn't it?
While she's stirred, caressed, while soft fingertips stroke and brush and coax wails and quivers and keens from her with a conductor's gentle elegances and there's something absolutely unhurried in it. With Midori's sighs and sobs and the hair freed to spill in satiny auburn over her shoulders and it's a simple delectation in total candor.
That's an attorney's deepest responsibility, after all. To strike at the truth.
Once.
"Ah!"
And again.
"Ahn! Ahn!"
"Was that an ahn? Are you seriously ahning like some campy AV actress?" Peer up at her, and the eyes're just adorable, huge and muddled in a bleary gray wash of sexual delirium.
The lips pursed; it's almost a pout.
"I can't help it! It feels so good. It feels so good!" And now twisting open, any pretension of coherence just melting away at once with a stern firm stroke at that soft spongy flesh and there's the sense that her brain should just be sluicing down her cheeks, puddling in her collar.
Almost.
"E-Eri-sensei-"
"Who the fuck is knocking at the door? Can't they see I'm a little busy?" Well, not see. Even if that'd probably just be a boon to the practice.
"That's what I'm trying to t-tell you, Eri-sensei-"
"Who told you that you could talk, Midori? I'm asking a question; not asking you a question. Damn, you just can't find polite obedient help." Vanishing between her thighs now, and there's nothing like patience, delicacy.
To hell and deeper with anyone who's trying to interrupt my lunch.
"And now, humbly I receive this meal..." It'd be disrespectful not to be perfectly polite. Right? Closer, closer, plunging nearer nearer still to that delectation, wet sweet soft fragrances rolling from those lips splayed open with my fingers.
"You know, I have given you a dress-code, Midori. Part of that is proper hygiene, but you still have hair there. What's wrong with you? At least it's not something a charging rhinoceros could hide in, but it's about decorum. Respect for your employer.
"How am I supposed to appreciate eating you if I need to worry about your hair in my glasses?" There's... Well, I can forgive a breach of decorum. I guess. Little more than a mewling inscrutable little sorryerisenseipromisedomore.
"Eri-sensei, Eri-sensei, Eri-sensei." But she is very polite. Yes. All of that can be forgiven; and they're adorable, aren't they? Thick taut satiny curls. "It's- it's just-"
"Am I about to hear an excuse?" Well, this just will not do. A firm glance up at Midori and the eyes are enormous, weeping fat wet quavering tears.
"N-no, Eri-sensei. No excuses. No excuses!"
"Good." Tongue flitting out; slowly, oh so slowly. A patient little graze over skin reddened plump inflamed with that lust that reduces the mind to inarticulate babbling nothing.
That numbs the tongue and sends your sanity spilling through your nostrils.
"Then I want you bare tomorrow. I'll pay for the wax, if that's what you want. You are my secretary, after all, aren't you? I'm responsible for you." Because there's no selfishness lovelier than selflessness.
Or something.
Dragging the fingers from her now, and there're only tremors flitting up through the thighs, heels rattling at the desk, and I could discipline her for that, but who cares?
Pricey.
Trite.
Tedious.
It's... It's a moment of epiphany. Some distant instant and I can feel it. A wisdom huddled in my gut, deeper than deep, a nest of tangled anacondas breeding wet and sticky and messy and it plumes hot from them.
Who cares about this shit?
Was there a moment lovelier than that?
Transcendence. Not Buddhist; not Shinto; not Christian. Something... Mystical. Supernatural. Feel it flourish through me; feel its graceful flowers dappled with dew and there's something recursive in it, glimpsing the universe's twist and coil, the awareness that your consciousness is little better than ice encrusted upon a pebble wheeling through some distant nothing tossed with a giant's hand through space sprawling endlessly through the darkness.
This is my fifteen minutes.
"I- yes, Eri-sensei. That's- that's so good. So good. Your tongue feels soooo good, Eri-sensei." Giggling; it's a giggle.
"We're not in a manga-"
"I can't help it! You make me feel sooo good, Eri-sensei."
"Call me senpai, and you die." Fingers wheeling, rippling through her, helical undulations, and the knees are about a half-second from snapping into my temples and there's only a simple will arresting them a tension twanging through her and now, now, it is time to eat.
No patience, no delicacy. It's regarding a fine feast in its grandiose scope and not plucking at its dainty little morsels with a feminine restraint, the chopsticks just obligingly tucked into the sauces, through the motes and bits but just plunging your hands into it.
Feasting. Hungering.
"Eri, Eri-sensei, Eri-sensei."
Groans become squeals implode down into guttural deep gasps and snarls and the chest heaves and now, now, she's trembling, quaking, and the fucking building could be cradled in an earthquake's seismic shudder and who cares?
It's this that enchants me. Something sweet; treacly. Undefiled with a man because, well, who would who could ever crave that?
I'm finished with that man.
Impale her at once; tongue lolling rolling pitching swept through her thrashed between the lips and it's to be serenaded with a voice wrought in your own design. I am her goddess now; at this instant, I am creation for her, and I will give with one hand and destroy with another and she'll only be grateful and...
"What the fuck?! How am I supposed to concentrate on eating you out with that constant infernal knocking at my door?! What'm I, in The Telltale Heart? Did I kill anyone?" That you know, anyway. "Did I kill someone when I was sleepwalking or something?"
"T-that's what I was trying to tell you, Eri-sensei." Midori's voice a pathetic little mewl, fingers laced over her eyes like a child just barely tempting fate with a glance at something forbidden, something depraved, something mythologized beyond any hope of resistance with mommy and daddy's admonition.
Whatever it is.
For me?
It's a glimpse through the shoji at them, a tangle a confusion of arms and legs and it's mommy, daddy, what's happening to them, a glance up at sis, and her only answer's the lips quirked in a demented saw-toothed smile like a barracuda.
That's what grown-ups do, Eri.
Looks like a lot of fun.
Right?
Ah, ah, ah, ah. That crazed yowling refrain; the absolute candor in their nakedness and that huge straining flesh cradled between them, thick and palpitating and a sense that it's little more than a bit of orphan meat, swaying vacillating from mom to dad and dad to mom and whose. Is. It?
I need to know.
Mom's?
Or dad's?
Does it even matter?
"What, damn it, Midori? Do you ever want me to do this in the future-"
"Kudouyukikocalledandshesaiditwasurgentandshedbecomingatlunchandimsosososorrybuticouldntjustssayno-"
"Catch your breath, and try on some punctuation, Midori."
"Kudou Yukiko called and I tried to tell her that you were really really really busy with your lunch meeting, but she kind of talked over me and she was really crying a lot and she was acting crazy and said she'd need to see you today or she'd just kill herself and how was I supposed to refuse that?"
I guess spaces qualify as punctuation.
Anguished; a palm on her tits' heavy soft, damn, it's an escarpment, isn't it? A continental shelf. Delicious and plush and there's still that narcissistic self-indulgence, isn't there?
Jaw quivering with a finger's oh so unwitting graze across nipples thick and straining and begging for relief.
"Yukiko? You're talking about Kudou Yukiko?" And now that would be my head cocked like some inquisitive brain-damaged kitten. "Kudou Yusaku's neurotic trophy wife-slash-washed-up-actress?" Well, how can I not?
"Um, yes. That's right-"
"Damn it all." Head thrown back; peering up at the ceiling with Midori's luscious treacly juices still smeared over my lips.
Tongue flitting out to daub away the sticky stripes.
"All right. Dress, and send her in. What the hell could she possibly want?"
"I don't know. I'm- I'm so sorry, Eri-sensei-"
"You're damn right, you're sorry. Do you know what you tell a client as annoying as Yukiko when she threatens to kill herself?"
"Um-"
"Tell her there's a really tall tower. Right in the middle of the fucking prefecture. It even has the same name, just so she needn't be confused. She should take the elevator to the top floor? And jump."
"A-all right, Eri-sensei."
"Good. Damn, your tits... You know, I almost have the sense I just- I had this intuition about them when I hired you. That you must've been hiding something in that blouse."
"Thank you, Eri-sensei." Cooing; giggling. Damn, she's adorable.
Hair smoothed; the blouse is an exercise in cruelty, nipples tucked gingerly, oh so delicately, into the bra's taut crushing embrace, and now, now, that creamy bliss is just vanishing.
Melting away.
Away.
Away.
Skirt tugged down and panties eased up and why should she even be bothering?
There's a moment's terrible ugly epiphany. I understand him. My worthless bastard of a husband, I understand him.
As if that's not an invitation to opening up not only one vein but, hell, why not ten or twenty, and adorning my wall with a sanguine self-portrait.
The door's opening and now, well, there's only the usual wild-eyed hysteria.
She's...
You know, she's not as lovely as your humble narrator, self-evidently, but she's definitely one of the only women even a little near to those celestial heights. The long long long legs; vertiginous, that's the word, lunging up from a pair of stilettos, thongs lashed around elegant arching ankles, and that chest exploding through a blouse that's little more than just silk enameled on the curvaceous excess and the skin betrays a faint kiss of color from some whimsical little jaunt to something tropical.
Oh, yeah.
The eyes that're about a half-second from not only exploding from their sockets but doing so with a flourish like a professional tumbler. Probably auditioning for a bit of Olympic rhythmic gymnastics on an institutional carpet that's...
Just so gray.
Everything is gray; even the honeyed wood that should be steeped in the sun's sodden effulgences is gray with the ceiling and the wall panels.
Dammit, the floor could be mistaken for elephant-digested gravel.
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" I'm sure that at least half the country's dogs are now very very deaf.
Arms flung around me and there's the sense that I've just stepped onto the maglev's rails.
Lean, yes.
Well-cushioned chest, yes.
The arms are sinewy and athletic and the fingers are long, laced around my waist.
"Waaaah!" Yes, waaah.
Both yowled and still intelligible as a word.
She's a walking heap of onomatopoeia.
"Ah, Yukiko-"
"Eri, it's not fair! It's not fair! My life's over! My life's over! Oh, I can't take it anymore!" Baying, bawling.
Those would be tears seeping into my collar.
My bland gray blouse's bland gray collar.
My bland gray jacket, also, well, tormented with what...
Is that snot?
Nostrils smeared on the fabric.
"Dammit, Yukiko, what's wrong-"
"Eri, you didn't answer your phone!" Can't begin to imagine why. "And- and- and-and-"
"What is it, Yukiko?" The door closed.
Yeah, it's embarrassing. For both of us.
Palms clasped on her shoulders; peering into eyes humongous, trembling, not only wet but about half-obliterated with tears welling up in belief-beggaring sheets.
Smearing her cheeks.
At least the mascara and eyeliner are resilient, or I'd be entertaining a very statuesque Alice Cooper.
"Yukiko, deep breaths, okay?" Before I'm forced to administer a bit of Victorian shock-therapy to you.
Hell, why not?
That'd be... So gratifying. A palm on her cheek; a sharp crack, wet with the tears.
Gawping and goggling and incredulous.
"Deep breaths, Yukiko-"
"I- I- I- I can't breathe-"
"You screamed long enough that there's obviously some breath in your lungs." And those are very deep lungs. Har har har.
Oh, I'm just hysterical.
I'm a city-ravaging laugh riot.
They should send the Metro squad against me.
"O-okay. Okay."
"Sit down, Yukiko, all right? Would you like a drink?" Finally, a glimpse of Yukiko that ain't only fueled with memory's indelible impressions.
The familiar blouse; pencil skirt cut to knee-height.
And everything is...
Puce.
The hue's not that wicked.
But it still commands at least a bit of courage to wear a color that's only one letter away from puke.
Heaving into her palms. Fingers still immaculately manicured; the nails long, lacquered in fuchsia.
The makeup's predictably perfect.
The hair is...
"Since when is your hair black, Yukiko-"
"It's how I feel." She's evidently a fifteen-year-old now. "I feel black, all right, Eri? I- your hair's black." And this is her answer?
That triumphal flourish.
"My hair is naturally black."
"I thought you'd gone gray-"
"You know what? That's beside the point, Yukiko." Oh, she's just a marvel of tact.
"S-sorry, Eri. I- I forgot that you have a complex about that-"
"Yukiko, what's the problem now?" Thank you for reminding me about my complex, also. Just so fucking savvy.
"It's- it's... It's Yuuuuuussssssaaaaaaaaaaakkkkkuuuuuuu-"
Without the surplus syllables, please.
"Yusaku, huh?" Wow, that's just...
Can I even feign surprise now?
Wow!
Shock. Astonishment. Damn, isn't that one of the expressions mom promised you your face would freeze into?
Yukiko's lips a sulky quirk, a plump flare like cherry petals twisted in a cliff's jutting arc.
"That- that's right!"
"You know, that hair is really flattering for you, Yukiko." Not to be vapid, but it's true, isn't it? Heavy satiny ringlets spilling down over her shoulders, washing over the chest in beachy convolutions.
"D-do you think so? Thanks, Eri. Really. I... I think it looks nice-"
"What did Yusaku do now?"
"We're gonna get divorced! I just know it." Oh, please, not that pathetic squall.
The sharp shrill warble that's a serrated razor dragged across your cochlea.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"I-"
"It's all right for you! You're already divorced-"
"I'm separated." But who's really paying attention, right?
"Oh, really? I thought you and Kogorou- oh, I guess so." Damn, she's vacuous. Bubbling now into some dewy-eyed bit of apologia. "Hah. I feel so silly."
The word ain't silly.
Stupid, yes.
"All right, all right, why are you and Yusaku getting divorced now? You know, I don't want to sound cynical. I really don't, Yukiko." It's just, well, I am.
Defense attorney?
Please.
I couldn't be more cynical if I were a prosecutor. Well, maybe a bit. There is bondage-torture, isn't there?
"But why do you think this'll be any different-"
"Because- because- because he's a womanizer!" And why is this any different? It's remarkable that anyone can manage a flounce while they're seated, but there we are.
It's obvious why she's such a distinguished actress.
Oh, I'm sorry. No, no, not the performance. The chest; there're probably still ricochets of that quavering soft gelatin perfection, not plastic-fantastic but the authentic article, reverberating through the ether. Quite possibly enticing distant civilizations to stagger in a far-flung future through the door, slavering for a bit of the enchanting jiggling that's throbbed through their worlds.
What?
How long ago?
Did you at least clone her?
"A womanizer? Yusaku? He's a jerk, yes; he's a twit; yes; he's a self-satisfied-"
"He's still my husband!" Oh, please. And now the sulking about that?
"He's a desperately bad writer. I still don't understand how the hell he ever sold one page, much less that series. Oh, well. In a world where a boy wizard's merry misadventures can captivate adults who can dress and feed themselves..." How can you not?
"Why're you so mean, Eri? You're so mean today."
"I'm trying to be candid. I know, I know, honesty, that's kind of a departure for a lawyer, right? I'm just telling you the truth. Yusaku? He's a buffoon. But why do you think he's a womanizer? Now, Kogorou. He is a womanizer-"
"You're so- so blunt about that." About damn time someone was. "I'm not saying he's like Kogorou-"
"Gee, thanks, Yukiko. That's so helpful. So you always knew that he was about as disciplined as a brain-damaged dachshund on Viagra, huh?"
"Well, it's- he's a good man. You two aren't divorced yet. Are you?"
"Not yet. I'm thinking about signing the papers any day now." Finger brushed over the silvered band that's been more a self-inflicted shackle for about ten years. "Why?"
"It's just, um... I- I don't know-"
"Why? Wondering if you'll be all alone in your divorce? 'cept your fifty or sixty other happily divorced friends-"
"I'm worried about my son, all right?"
"About Shinichi? Please. What the hell would he know about anything? If you didn't tell him, I'm sure he'd deduce that in, oh, maybe about sixty or seventy years."
"What're you saying? That's mean." And now, now, the prolonged cartoonish buuuuu. Cheeks swollen. "Why're you being so mean to me and my family right now?"
"What happened to Yusaku being an ambulatory cock? Now I'm supposed to be kind about him and the fruit of his loins? He's terrible to my daughter, you know." Nails, newly manicured, what an indulgence for me, sharply-trimmed and still darkly lacquered in indigo, rapped at the desk. "I'm always telling her not to fall for a man like her father.
"What does she know? Twenty years, and nothing'll change. And then she'll be middle-aged and lonely and miserable and paying more for a shrink than groceries every week."
"Um, what?" Never mind. Wasn't that a little autobiographical? "Shinichi'd never do that-"
"Yeah, sure. Anyway, Yukiko, what did he do?"
"Well, I- I smelled a woman's perfume on him, and it wasn't mine. And there was lipstick on his collar."
Ah.
"Well, that was my first week of marriage with Kogorou after we came back from the honeymoon. I knew I should've asked for an annulment after he told me a ménage à trois was a romantic French tradition." Oh, well.
Memories, you know.
"I, um, I- I didn't know, Eri-"
"Oh, to hell with it. So, you're going to get divorced, huh? Well, bring it on, I guess. What the hell else can I tell you? Divorce him or not. If you'd like me to be your attorney, I wouldn't mind. The man's a moron, anyway.
"I'm sure he couldn't find anyone finer than our firm. And you know I'd represent you. No conflict of interest there."
"I just..." And, oh, now there's the sniveling. "You're so cold to me, Eri."
"Cold, Yukiko?"
"I just- I thought you'd have comforting words or something for me. Something nice to say-"
"Waitaminute." A palm on the desk's, well, it's not quite a slap so much as a passenger jet flattening itself against Mount Everest. "You came here, interrupted my day, are taking time that I could reserve for a real client, just so I could, what, comfort you?
"I only have fifteen minutes in an eighteen-hour day for myself. Fifteen minutes." Fifteen delectable minutes. "Do you get that, Yukiko? I don't live your charmed fucking life. Do you understand? Fifteen minutes-"
"Well, um-"
"Listen to me, Yukiko." Those dim ridiculous eyes. They're adorable; they are. Huge, quavering, rippling with tears, every one prismatic and distending the cartoonish perfect blue into something sharper and more brilliant than any natural hue. "I don't have your time.
"I don't have the luxury of just lazing around and carelessly living my life. Do you get that? You could just retire. From your income as an actress," oh, and that's a hilarious one, "Or from your husband's shitty novels.
"Divorce him and live off the settlement and alimony. But you're here. Complaining to me. Someone with a job. A hard job; a shitty job. I have the luxury of defending people, guilty or innocent, from the most stacked-against-the-defendant legal system on the planet outside of maybe Syria or Saudi Arabia.
"You got me?"
"Where?" And that long vacuous blink.
"I'm telling you that... You know what? No. No. I'm supposed to be serene. I have an ulcer huger than fucking Hokkaido that's taken up residence in my gut, and my gastroenterologist- goddammit, Yukiko, I have a gastroenterologist. Do you understand that?
"What it feels like to be a woman of my age with a gastroenterologist? Until lately? I haven't done anything but very very very intimately introduce myself to my fingers every evening. But, you know what? I won't let your careless idiocy bother me today.
"'cause I really have changed. You're right." Standing. Fingers still planted on the desk; that ridiculous desk.
An object of pride.
'cause I could squander heaps of cash on it.
Oh, how precious it is.
Validate myself in it. Thorstein Veblen, I should really burn offerings to you at an altar wrought from gold and child workers' bones.
"I've just- you know, that gastroenterologist? He told me that I'd die, pretty much bleed to death, internally, that something would just explode in my gut and I'd look like a one-woman vampire show if I kept at it.
"So he suggested someone to me. I thought it was bullshit. A mystic. Who believes in that crap nowadays, right? We're such progressive upright materialistic people. But it worked. I feel fine. That fifteen minutes every day.
"It's to center myself. So I can work. I don't even need sleep anymore. Do you know how liberating that is?"
"Um?" That's quite the cogent answer, Yukiko.
"Oh, I think you should. A Taoist mystic. Not a Buddhist; not a Shinto. A Taoist. Internal alchemy; things like that. I thought it was so goofy. That I was getting taken for a ride; and not only a prosaic one.
"A ride they'd give Old Yeller before they introduce him to a twelve-gauge."
"Who's old yeller?" Oh, never mind.
"Never mind, never mind. I'd forgotten how, ah, niche your education was, Yukiko." Closer. Closer. "Do you know what I do in my fifteen minutes?"
"Eat lunch?"
"That's pretty perspicacious of you, Yukiko. That means insightful."
"I know what perspi... Y'know what I mean! I know what that means, all right, Eri. You're so mean to me today." Hau... The cheeks swollen again like some campy anime cliché.
"You're right. I am. Let me ask you something, Yukiko."
"Ah, okay?" Peering up at me with those humongous eyes.
"Yusaku cheats on you, right?"
"Hauuu-"
"I'm being serious with you. You don't only suspect it, right?"
"He's- he's flirtatious-"
"Yeah, right. A man who's flirtatious around other women when his wife's there? What do you think he does when you're not? Kogorou was exactly like that. At least he bothered to shower afterwards so it'd only be stale perfume.
"The last time? I couldn't take it. That pig staggering home, with me just out of my cast, insulting my meal, reeking of perfume? No, no, no. No no no no no. So let me ask you something else." Knelt now; an elegantly lubricated tumble to a knee, eyes leveled with hers.
A sense of myself, of the aura, the nebulous shadowed presence, in her eyes.
The glasses' sharp glint.
"Um, Eri-"
"You know, have you ever?"
"Me?! Never! I'd never do that-"
"'cause you're such a good girl, right?" A fingertip, just one, faintly, oh so faintly, grazed along a slender knee.
They're beautiful. She is beautiful; everything. The legs enameled with crisp and gauzy stockings. Are they stockings, I wonder? Fragile and diaphanous black.
"Ah, what do you mean?" Blinking, blinking, so damn innocent.
"You know what I mean, Yukiko. Everything you do is just to be soo-hooo good, right? To be perfectly upright? For whom, though? Do you get it? What? For your reputation? You're rich; who cares?
"I'm serious. For me? It was something else. Something much, much different. I'm sure it's what's shackling you to this crap, too. This ring. The idea that... That if I'm such a sanctimonious little goody-goody, maybe everything will change.
"He'll see my virtue and be blinded by it. Right?"
No uuuus.
No hauuuus.
Brows knitting together.
"Oh, it seems like Eri-chan is right, huh?"
"You're mean today, Eri. I'm leaving-"
"You wasted my time, Yukiko." Snatching at her wrist; and there's only shock. Awe.
Hell, for both of us.
Her eyes gawping humongous; my jaw taut, straining. And there's... It's not only hunger. Hunger is something prosaic; hunger is the stomach digesting itself. This's frenzy, violence in the gut. It's esurience. Ain't that a delicious word?
"W-what?"
"You've wasted my time, Yukiko. You wasted my serenity time. My... You know, it's the fifteen minutes every day where I'm just allowed to be myself. I already needed, I imagine, to cancel an appointment with a real paying client.
"That's three hours. So I have three hours. All alone. To myself-"
"W-well, even better, right? I'll just be going." Ah ha ha ha. Giggling, tittering, struggling to peel herself away from the seat.
Arrested with a strength that no amount of her adorable jazzercise-whatever can exactly overtake.
"Ah, Eri, something's kind of holding me back-"
"That'd be my hand, Yukiko. Do you know the only real gift Kogorou gave me is?"
"Um, Ran?"
"No. Ran isn't a gift; Ran is a responsibility. It was his judo knowledge. I couldn't even lift ten kilos before our marriage started. But he just made me so angry, all the time, that... That I started to work out.
"A lot. Maybe it was just teasing my body." The words are deliberate, slow, patient. "Sublimating all that frustration... And, you know, for all of his womanizing, I didn't need to go without that often. Still too much.
"He turned me into a borderline nymphomaniac. I actually tired him out sometimes. And Kogorou, for all his faults, he is quite the lover. That's all he is, really. But it still wasn't enough for me. And now? I haven't even had that for ten years.
"But I have had a lot of time to train. To exercise. To sweat. And sweat. And sweat-"
"You're- you're really kind of hurting me, Eri." Fingers bite into fine slender wrists.
"I know I am. Because you're trying to stand, Yukiko. And that's not what I want. You're here. Do you know what I think you should do, Yukiko?"
"U-uh-uh, no-"
"I think you should be the one to take the first step with Yusaku. If you really want him to know he shouldn't take you for granted, well... If he's dumb enough to come home reeking of perfume and with lipstick on his collar..." Oh, how delectable she is.
To loom over her now. For fingers to settle over her shoulders like a spectacle of fine feathers wafting down, down, down, shed unnoticed by unseen birds.
Lips only an inch from hers.
"Why don't you do it, too?"
"W-what? Eri-"
"C'mon, Yukiko. Don't you remember the track club? Third year of high school?"
"Ngn..." It's not exactly revulsion; she's hardly jerking away. The eyes are humongous; you could probably serve a six-course meal on those eyes. "I- I don't know what you mean-"
"Yes, you do. When we were both just... Just a mess. Competing and competing and competing. Running; you'd win the hundred-meter, and then I'd crush you in the two-hundred, and we finally just fell back about half-crazy from the heat into the shower.
"And you put your hand on my chest-"
"Ngnn... Eri, that was just once. It was- we were both really silly-"
"I didn't think it was silly. Your lips tasted like peaches and sweat. That soft sweat only girls have. You understand, right?" And now, now, a kiss.
Once, yes.
But long. Lingering. Lips yield, luscious, plump, absolutely without resistance.
Tongues like wet satin in their coiling embrace; both of them.
No resistance from her.
Sticky; succulent.
"Ngnn..." And that's her answer; finally dragged away with the lungs' fickle feeble weaknesses. Pathetic breath. "E-Eri, you shouldn't do that."
And that's the reason her fingers offer little protest, laced with mine?
"No? I shouldn't do that? Do what, Yukiko? Do this?" Another kiss; and another; and another.
'til those humongous ridiculous eyes are little more than slits. 'til the thick lashes, heavy inky quills, simply imprison them, faltering wilting into darkness.
"Nng... It- you shouldn't do that. You shouldn't do that, Eri-"
"Why not? Will Yusaku be upset? Oh, he'll be so angry with his sexy trophy wife, won't he? He's never kissed you like that, has he? Don't be angry. Kogorou never kissed me like that, either. Men are pathetic, you know.
"It's an epiphany I finally had. After ten years? I went out on a date with a man. And it was pathetic. I have to say, it's either misty nostalgia finally meeting reality, or young men really are terrible nowadays.
"But he couldn't do anything right. This... Oh, this beautiful twenty-seven-year-old. A client's son. He asked me to dinner, and, well, what was I supposed to do? Refuse? But he was loutish and crude and when the time finally came?
"I was drunk enough not even to care. So I said, Sure! Let's go up to my apartment. And it was so sad. You'd be disappointed if you started sleeping around now. He was lazy and selfish and a terrible kisser. I just gave him a blowjob and sent him home.
"What do you think that says?"
"That, um... You did what?" Oh, is the innocent absolutely scandalized?
"Oh, c'mon, Yukiko-"
"B-but you and Kogorou-"
"We've been separated for a decade. We're divorced in everything but name. He sleeps around on me all the time; he slept around on me when we were still together, living in the same home." And another kiss. Another.
"Do you know what'd drive Yusaku crazy? If you came home stained with pussy-"
"Don't say that." Wriggling; and, still, still, those are her thighs clasped together. Still, still, that's a succulent sweet perfume in a woman's lust pluming from between them. Still, still, that's a faint wet sigh, isn't it?
"Oh, when you're so drenched I'm sure it feels like you wet yourself?"
"Don't be mean to me, Eri!" Palms clasped on mine; fingers trembling. How lovely they are. There's definitely a memory of that.
Fine, slender, a graceful swift quirk and twist and brush between my thighs. Those humongous tits, damn, even then, even jogging about three miles daily, settling on my belly.
A glimpse of those soft lips framed between perfect taut voluptuous thighs.
"I'm not being mean. You're the one who's just being pathetic-"
"Stop it! I'm not being pathe-"
"Yes, you are." And now, well, that's just patience vanishing. Fingers taste her throat.
Eyes gawping, trembling, flaring open and suddenly falling closed and, my, that's a little honest, isn't it?
"E-Eri-"
"What is it, Yukiko?" Admiring it. That candid lust. For both of us. Her cheeks not only reddening but darkening; a flush coiling up through them, heavy and lavish and serpentine and there's a sexual psychosis bubbling in the black velvet places behind my eyes and between my ears and I'm more than crazy right now.
I've tumbled well beyond crazy, back into perfect sanity, and off onto another magical mystery tour.
Coming to take you away.
"You like that, don't you?" Adoring it. My fingers in their almost cadaverous pallor against her darker skin; the flesh dimpling, yielding under the tips. Everything it its delicious soft sweet relief and even her pulse throbbing against my thumb.
"You shouldn't do that, Eri. Please. It's- you're scaring me-"
"I'm scaring you?" And that's another hand falling from hers. Stealing between the thighs that're vacillating between cinched together in delicious pretensions of chastity and something definitely a lot honester. "Yeah, right.
"This is fear turning your panties into a fucking swamp?" Dragging away fingers stained... No, no, not just stained. Sodden.
Lacquered with her.
Slathered with it; shimmering with it; smeared and enameled together and it's almost an ordeal to pry them apart with the lust hot and delicious and fragrant only with her.
"Wow, look at that. It's like someone melted Baccarat crystal and poured it between your legs. It smells so- so sweet, too. You and Yusaku haven't been fucking, have you? I can't smell a man. Don't tell me he still wants to use rubbers-"
"Noooo! It's been two months since we last did it!" Wow.
Two months?
Oh, honey, that's just the first step in your very, very long marathon if you'd like to have my relationship with Kogorou.
"Two months, huh? Why, you're almost a born-again virgin." And that would be my tongue darting out for a little lick.
A stroke swept through the juices.
"Wow, you are as sweet as I remember, Yukiko. And those panties you're wearing... It almost feels like you were expecting this. They were barely there-"
"Nya- that- that is, no!" Nya, huh?
Nya?
"Nya? You're serious? You're mewling like a cat on hormone therapy right now. Dammit, you're delicious. Okay. That's it. I've already decided for you, Yukiko. You're so weak, so damn anemic, so dainty and self-abnegating, I'll just decide for you.
"You can scream if you want, but the room's pretty much soundproofed." And there's not a great deal of screaming. No thrashing.
Only silence that melts off into gurgling insensate nothing the instant that I'm on my knees, admiring, adoring, nuzzling those delicious thighs clutched in tight cinching stockings and they are stockings.
The skirt hiked up to her hips; the seams define an elegant strata with her flesh, with that dusky soft grace, biting into the tiniest faintest most achingly delicate layer of fat poured in sleek tight youth over the muscle and she's absolutely. Fucking. Incredible.
"Time to eat, Yukiko." Staring down at me; there's no self-denial now, is there? "This's what you want. I think it's what you've always wanted, huh? Or maybe you take some liberties with women and tell yourself that it's still fidelity as long as you're not with a man, huh?"
"N-nyaaaa! I- I mean, no. No. No. I don't do this. I don't do this." Then it's more for me, huh?
Her pussy's...
"Wow, your pussy's totally bare. Look at that. It's perfect." Sleek; supple. The familiar luscious hot plump lips and they're definitely not stitched tight together but yawning open, a hungry unpretentiously ravenous mouth and it's a glimpse of those feminine elegances, the recursive concentric quality in the pinkness darkening reddening while it plunges deeper and deeper and deeper splayed open now with my fingers.
She's incredible.
Nostrils slathered with that hot wet perfume that defies language.
No word; no romance novel horseshit; no poetry, however convoluted, could ever even aspire to capture that. It's a fugitive and delirious and mesmeric thing. It could only fuel a simple animal compulsion to inhale.
To snort it down like cocaine.
Damn it, it's fucking incredible.
Splay her apart; let the tongue creep closer, and closer, and closer, and the skin's dewy with sweat, sodden with her, shimmering lambent with the sun flaring brilliant through the windows in their huge exposed sprawl and there's not even the tiniest kernel of intuition, is there?
Even with a telescope, no one could peer through those polarized panes.
A tragedy.
A kiss. The first kiss and there will absolutely emphatically be no fucking interruption.
"I'm billing you for this, y'know, Yukiko-tan?" Words little more than the tiniest murmur but they spear through her, more palpable than heard, aren't they? Pummeling up through every vein; lacing themselves through every nerve. "You love that, don't you?
"Feeling my voice against you? Yukiko-tan? I'm gonna bill you for all the time I'm eating you out; all the time you're going to go down on me; all of the time I'm going to fuck you senseless. Well, more senseless, anyway-"
"N-no, don't do that. Don't. I- I decided. I wanna-"
"Too bad. I decided for you. And this's what you want 'cause it's what I want, Yukiko-tan. I can feel how much you love it, anyway." A finger. One.
Just one.
Teasing.
Brushed between those lips, up and down and up and down and it's an elegant counterpoint with the tongue, swept and stroked and there's only a simple awe a bliss in another's flesh beneath your touch.
"Ah, ah, ah, ah." And that, that, a refrain that's not only your own sexual solipsism, that's not only your pitiful and faintly self-recriminating surrender to necessity. To the body's cravings without real outlet, as meaningful as a bit of cheap ramen when the lust is for a fifty-course meal that'll bloat your belly and distend your clothes and reduce you to wreckage but who fucking cares?!
I understand that bastard with a stray cat's sensibilities.
I need it.
A woman; a woman's skin; a woman's softnesses; a woman's roundnesses; a woman's firmnesses; a woman's everything. The long long long legs arching up now, dragged over my shoulders, rocking to and fro without anything like pretension now cradled in the too-expensive seat for my too-pretentious clients and the moans dragged torn with the tongue's sinuous serpentine flit up and down her pussy between the lips tearing them apart, well, nothing could be exchanged for that.
Not the AV sluts' play-pretend misery; not the tee-vee-rehearsed keens.
These are real.
Authentic.
Suddenly tumbling to a low and guttural pitch and that's one finger eased into her, now, now, without any restraint, nothing to arrest it but muscles that could probably administer a bit of uninvited impromptu amputation, and she's crushing around it.
"Eri, Eri, Eri, Eri! Eri! It feels- it feels too good. I'm- I'm gonna come." Duh.
Of course you are.
Which is why a second's being slipped inside and now it's a transition from going to, future tense, potential, to the present.
Coming.
Coming.
Why coming?
It's already here. Coming, going, crazed and wheeling and it's a worm lashed to a yo-yo, up and down and down and up and those dimensions are about as meaningful as a politician's promises and the knees are quavering and now it's not a hand but both hands palms on my crown and they should be worn as my regal raiments, shouldn't they?
"Eri, Eri, it feels so good. It feels so so sooo good I'm- I'm gonna come again I'm gonna come again stop it stop it stop it I can't come this much!" Punctuation, dear.
Punctuation.
Oh, well.
How can you be long-suffering when that delicious soft sweet skin's clasped against your mouth; when there's only madness, carnal mayhem, jaw wrenched open, your lips staining her there, oh, my, such an intimate kiss, with every brush, every caress, tongue lolling out to flit and swipe and stroke with a cadence like a butterfly's wings on amphetamine and...
"Ngn... It feels so good. Oh. Oh. Oh-"
"Doesn't it, Yukiko-tan? That's what water tastes like when you've been parched in the desert for a year? That's what life feels like when you've been dead.
"D'you really want that?" Tongue rolled again, slow, slow, oh so fucking deliberate, across her clitoris. It's swollen, engorged, curtained with a play-pretend modesty in a fragile little hood. Begging to be brushed away; for that exposed urgent honest lust to be stoked and stroked and, ah, ha, ha, stoked and stroked again.
"I- I want it. I want more. I want more. You're driving me crazy, Eri. You're driving me totally insane. I can't take it; I can't take it-"
"Well, that's not really a surprise, is it?" Standing.
Serenaded with a likeness of the planet's collective woe.
Every war.
Every act of violence.
Every lost love.
Every thing condensed into that long, slow, plangent waaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
"You stopped! I- I was just about to come again!" And now the tantrum, huh? "Why'd you do that? Mean! You're always so mean to me-"
"Oh, shut up." Awe. An arm outstretched, scribing a languid careless little arc, and there's something delectable in the sharp crack across her cheek.
"Y-you hit me!" Incredulity. Is there anything more adorable than that?
Than the enormous eyes; than the fingers suddenly still on her knees; than the orgasm-drunk dazed delirium still slackening her jaw?
"I know. It's incredible, right? I never imagined I'd love it so much! Oh, but I do. I've really started to like that. Look at that. Maybe I should again." Hand drawn back, and there's no resistance.
Another sudden slap on her left cheek.
And then for the right.
"Nnng... What're you doing-"
"Oh, you love it, don't you, Yukiko?" 'cause she's definitely not struggling. Not rearing up; not doing anything but just sitting, knees quaking.
Well, maybe not nothing.
"My, my. You really are a nasty submissive slut, aren't you, Yukiko? That's just what I thought. Y'know... Ever since I had my epiphany, I haven't exactly been just content with my fifteen minutes with Midori every lunchtime-"
"With Midori? Y-your secretary?" Eyes cast off at the door.
"Uh-huh. Oh, she loves it. Now she is quite the sub. Sort of. A substandard-sub?" Sub-standard? Ah ha ha ha ha.
Oh, I'm so uproarious.
Shoot me. Please.
"She definitely loves being dominated, at least. She whines a little about the pain sometimes. She just won't pierce her nipples for me. You just can't get good help these days, huh?"
"Y-you're crazy, Eri."
"And you're still sitting there, Yukiko. And- whoops." Damn, it's just irrepressible now.
Or maybe I should say implacable.
A sudden tension in my skirt. Straining through the panties.
"Oh, I couldn't keep it back anymore! That's just... Kind of what I wanted, honestly." Our eyes collectively torn down to it.
"Ah, Eri, what's that in your skirt?" Her head cocked like some inquisitive puppy; the sex-crazed eyes still manage a long befuddled blink.
"Well, I have been studying with a Taoist mystic. She's shown me... How to take control of all of my qi and jing-"
"Wha?"
"And how to take command of the yin and the yang in my body. Don't you see it? I know you'll love it. I could barely believe it when it happened. She really, really showed me everything I ever wanted to know about sex but Kogorou made me much too afraid to ask.
"That, and she's gorgeous. Oh, I haven't had that many orgasms... Ever. In my entire life. She could kiss me, and I'd come my brains out. There's a reason I have an appointment every week." Slowly, slowly. It's not a striptease.
Not workmanlike banality, either. Just... Slipping out of the panties that're a cruelty, a fucking straitjacket for psychotic desires. And it's there. Thick; bloating up through the skirt that can only be eased, eased, eased up.
Not so much hiked as scaled.
Yukiko's eyes are enormous.
"W-wow. You... You're totally crazy. I'm dreaming; I'm drunk. Or- or maybe I'm having... I'm having a fever-dream." A palm on her brow like some adorable American southern belle in the throes of a fainting fit.
"This's no dream, Yukiko. I promise, Yukiko-tan. This's real. Touch it. C'mon. Touch it. It's huge, huh?"
"It's way bigger than Yusaku." How candid she is, murmuring through fingers steepled on her lips.
"Bigger than Kogorou's, too. Oh, he'd just go fucking crazy if he knew his soon-to-be-ex-wife had grown something like this. And I can turn it on and off whenever I want. No medicines; no pills; nothing stupid like that.
"Just this." Not that I'd want to turn it off. "Sometimes, ah, it just comes by itself. Once, it happened in court. That was a little hard," so to speak, "To deal with. Touch. Touch it. C'mon. Touch it-"
"I- I dunno-"
"You're saying that to the woman that just went down on you?" And now, well, why not give her another shove to her own lusts?
Slipped against her hand and there's still a sense of awe with just how fucking giant it is. Not, well, not elephantine.
Not a cola can.
Quite.
But very generous. The length tumbles out unfurls and it's, well, it's beautiful. Not a man's ugly uncircumcised thing but pared to its fundamental necessity. Not a cum-drooling anteater like Kogorou's.
Peachy and swollen and hungry.
"W-wow. It's really really real, Eri?" Yukiko's eyes flit from mine to it.
And from it to my eyes.
"Uh-huh." Oh, even the tiniest touch is madness. "Yukiko-tan, oh, oh, that... Touch me. Really. Touch me."
"I- I shouldn't. That'd- that'd just be too far-"
"So, what, a bit of girly tonguing is okay, but this is too far? Or are... I see what it is. You're like so many of those chicks I've met since. They want aaaaaallll of the fun with none of the guilt, right? Bored housewives whose husbands don't even see them like sisters but just live-in maids; the girlfriends who can barely get it once every month; the fucking beauties who haven't had a date for years!
"What's wrong with me? Why why why blah blah blah. Here's the answer. Nothing. You want it. So just take it." So I will. Slip it against her palm, and now there's a faint sticky slathering from the flesh opened up beneath it. "I have both, y'know, Yukiko?
"This's just... A bit of a different clitoris and, dammit, it feels incredible." A woman's soft skin against the heavy hungry heat and it's nothing like your own. "Oh, I still feel like a virgin.
"You're not the first woman I've had, and I still feel like a virgin. I guess the one you share your first time with will always be your first, huh?"
"E-Eri, don't say that-"
"Pump it a little. C'mon." Dragging her up, up, up.
Not by the hand.
It's fingers laced through her hair; it's a sharp irresistible urgent tension and it's pulling her to her fullest height, and it's tasting her lips, hungry, crazed, tongues pouring together, mouths crushed against each other's, and there's definitely no complaint now.
And if it won't be with her hands, it'll definitely be between her thighs. Slathered with those treacly juices and ground along the fullest length and now, now, the thighs, soft, satiny, the seam where fabric bleeds away into skin and there's madness.
Oh.
Oh.
It's almost a prayer, a mantra.
Throw back your head and offer a few ah ah aaaaaahs!
Oh.
"Yukiko-tan-"
"You're- you're so mean, calling me that. You keep calling me- ahn!" An ahn.
That campy AV extravagance. Or maybe I am that fucking incredible. Whichever. A sharp jerk tugs back her head, and there's only her throat now, that succulent dusky allure, the collarbone's fine definition and the veins in their fragile relief and it's to kiss, to kiss, slather with your tongue, a stern suctioning tension.
Teeth nip, bite, sink into the flesh.
"Eri! Eri!" No complaints now. It's falling, falling, I'm falling and she is falling, and we're falling together, wheeling pitching away from the desk to one of the walls and that's her shoulders crunching cracking against it and there's absolutely no whinging.
Only begging for more.
"Eri, Eri, Eri-"
"I want it. Now. Yukiko." So I'll have it. Kiss her; kiss her. Almost taste her throat with my tongue; definitely her tongue, wheeling and whorling and now, now, there's not a great deal of anything but obedience, fingers in her hair and around her neck and dragging her down, down, down. "You haven't eaten today, right?
"You always starve yourself when you're depressed, right? You just keep reverting back to those stupid habits."
"I- I had some gin today-"
"See? Don't drink unless you're gonna swallow this." Down, down, down. On her knees. Oh, yes, yes, yes, this's what I want.
What I crave.
Lacing my fingers through that sumptuous hair that's something more like a raven's wings unfurled woven into silk and it's incredible. Pull her closer, closer, cock ground against her cheeks, faintly dusty with makeup.
"Ngn... Yukiko, you want to be made up again, huh? Not happy with your makeup artist? I think the technique's pretty fantastic. But you need thicker foundation, right?" Oh, oh, yeah. Oh, hell, yes. Yes. Yes.
"I- what? What're you talking about, Eri? Let's- let's just-"
"Are you trying to provoke me? Oh, you are, aren't you?" That adorable deep almost burgundy hue creeping into her cheeks. "You're just. So. Fucking. Cute. I want to torture you; I want to make you squeal." So why not?
Palm on her cheek once, and again, and again, and now that's absolute insanity overtaking her, tongue lolling out, jaws falling open, the second even the tiniest squeeze settles around her neck.
"Oh, you really really need it rough, don't you, Yukiko-tan? This's such a different perspective on Japan's beloved actress, huh? She's just Nihon's sweetheart, right? Oh, if only they could see just how much she loves being on her knees, her skirt more like a fuckin' choker, about to choke on a cock that she can barely get her mouth around."
"E-Eeeeri!" Was that a pout?
It is.
A little-girl petulant pout.
"You love this, don't you? You're sluttier than I ever thought you'd be. It's not Yusaku that's upsetting you; it's just deprivation. You need it rough, don't you? Is it just your fantasies, or do you and he have some kind of sleazy 'seventies arrangement?
"Reenacting The Ice Storm when you're out in America?" Jabbing it against her lips, and there's... Oh, damn, that's incredible.
The gloss faintly sticky against the peak swollen palpitating and there can only be madness here. Pure concentrated carnal insanity and my eyes are humongous hers colossal the lids leaden and half-closing and the lashes trembling with every breath that heaves up and down and up and down through those incredible tits.
Stealing down to tear open the blouse; don't bother with the buttons. Just feel them skitter away silent over the carpet and there's not a single complaint.
Tan-lines.
She has tan-lines. Oh, oh, oh, that's incredible. The bra slipped off and now, now, there's only the simple buoyant upturned bliss in her chest. They're not breasts; nothing as cartoonishly childishly bland as boobs.
Tits. It transcends the anatomical. They are tits; luscious and plump and more than generous. The divine, genetics, whatever bestows those whimsical concatenations of chemistry that dictate your future the instant your parents are stupid enough to conjoin their cells, she has been its adored beneficiary.
"Eri, Eri, please, please, take off your blouse, too. And- and let down your hair."
Rapunzel.
Rapunzel.
How can I not indulge her?
"Sure." It's an irresistible bliss, anyway, slipping the pins from that ostentatiously bitchy bun, feeling the tendrils in their elegant coil down, down, down.
Settling over the shoulders; flitting down to the small of my back.
Fingers ease open the buttons. One after another after another and Yukiko's, well, there's nothing like pretension now.
"You look just like a bitch in heat, don't you, Yukiko-tan?" Tongue tumbling from her lips; those perfect teeth like fangs from this vantage.
Drool traces lambent streaks across her jaw.
"Eri, Eri-"
"Touch yourself. And I'm not asking you to do it delicately; to be girly. Three or four fingers deep; jab your fucking fist into your pussy. Do it. Now." And that's one heel, sharp lancing stiletto, speared into her left thigh and the only answer is her head thrown back.
Is a yowl.
"Eri! Eri!"
"Yukiko-tan, you are nasty. Damn it, that's incredible. You love it, don't you?" Blouse and jacket shrugged off and puddling carelessly on the floor and there's awe in her eyes.
"Your boobs are even bigger than they used to be, Eri. How did you do that?"
"Magic." So to speak.
"You're so pretty. You're so pretty." The obedience is lovely; the mantra cooed from her lips while those fine lissome fingers slip between her thighs, and now, now, rearing over that is a wet squelching caress, stirring, stroking, impaling herself, and there are two fingers, and then a third, and...
"Ngnnnn... It's- it's really, really hard to get a fourth in right now, Eri-"
"When I'm finished with you, I think you'll be able to mount a fucking elephant without any real problems. But, first? I'm going to see if my little Yukiko-tan has a gag reflex." Oh, yes, yes, yes. Swallowing me.
Fingers twisted around her throat, tasting that hot rich sumptuous skin; stroking through her hair, and now claiming it like a fucking handlebar, pulling her closer, closer and it's not only the tongue brushed along its underbelly but her mouth her mouth her mouth and...
"Ah, Yukiko, Yukiko." Voice thick and guttural in my throat; jaw straining. "Yukiko, Yukiko. Deeper. Deeper. Take it deeper, damn it." Yes. Yes. Yes. And her mouth's being wrenched open her jaws wedged apart and there's something almost orthodontic in it, gouging 'em agape that humongously.
"You're- you look like you're waiting for me to give you a root canal or something." It's stupid, isn't it? Sex-drunk; manic and insane and it's only just pushing... Pushing deeper; and deeper; and... "P-put a finger inside me.
"Finger me while I fuck your mouth. If- if you can do that. I know you have a hard time walking and chewing bubblegum at the same time." Now that's an acquired talent, sulking while she's swallowing me, while she's adoring herself with those lovely long fingers, while others are easing up now and it's insanity.
Oh, this's incredible.
Eyes vast and regarding her and the entire universe, peeled apart and just bared like an overripe orange. Glimpsing her and the walls and the floors and everything in a vast grandiose whorl and wheel and it's sight smeared over the eyes and the senses and it's spittle's lovely wet scent on the nostrils and it's her lust, my lust, everything, and...
"Yukiko. Yukiko. Deeper. Deeper. Swallow it deeper. You love it, don't you? Being my whore, don't you, Yukiko-tan? But you're paying me. You take your payment in sex, right?" Oh, it's silly.
Maybe.
Who cares.
Dragging her down, down, down, and I'm only falling with her. Tumbling down, tumbling down, her throat straining distending with that humongous bulk, and I can feel it under my fingers through her neck.
The gagging straining wheeze rearing up through her and it's being spat out with me, racing up behind me, about a half-second from vomiting even with her very very very numb gag reflex if anything at all, colossal racking coughs and that thick deepthroat spittle spurting down over her jaw and it's- it was so fucking close.
"D-damn it, damn it, damn it. I was so fucking close, Yukiko-"
"E-Eri, I couldn't breathe!" With a few threads of saliva coiling from her nostrils. "Oh, ow, owwie-"
"Oh, don't be such a girl. How wet are you?"
"I- I'm-"
"Never mind. I forgot how poor your language skills are when you're distracted. Isn't that why they make sure you're always standing or sitting in one of your scenes? Didn't- didn't they have someone else even pretending to drive when you were filming your slutty policewoman movies?"
Pouting; pouting.
So why not jab it against her adorable dimpling cheeks?
Feel the heat pour through them; swipe it against those tear-stained eyes and the lashes are incredible, quick flitting butterfly kisses against the peak and... And her eyes, that coquettish little glint, the lust-dazed plea, the tongue flitting out to swipe along its heavy bloated shaft and her fingers' crazed pump between her thighs the stroke inside me suddenly oh so suddenly vanishing into that clutching clamoring flesh to be filled and to have filled her and...
"O-oh, oh, oh, Yukiko, Yukiko, you really need to decide now if you're made-up enough for today, 'cause... Oh, oh, oh." Maybe I am still essentially a virgin. Premature? A bit. I think.
Holy hell.
Fingers around her nostrils and the mouth torn open and it's pumping, pumping, already just... Just... It's the universe everything her fingers my fingers my hands her skin it's everything coalescing gathering condensing into one point not an atom not the motes flitting through them not the motes flitting within those motes but the universe ground into stardust and hammered down into one tiny morsel and then swallowed and digested and now, now, it's unfurling again, a pebble dropped into a well, something deeper and darker than senses could accommodate, a ripple unfolding, its shoulders growing and gathering and never ricocheting back upon themselves. Spreading to impossible breadth; head thrown back but only for an instant, because there's the need to see.
To see my fingers around her neck; in her hair; her hand on me, stroking, jerking, pumping, not warding away the flesh but just wringing every every drop from that straining swollen lust and it's... Oh, it's altogether too damn much.
Filling her throat; head ground against the palate and it's sloshing and spurting around me, flaring into her mouth, huge creamy thick threads drooling down her chin and there's still that relentless endless ravenous stroke and pump and she's swallowing, swallowing.
More and more and more.
A few faint languid spurts lashing out over her chin when even she can't cope with any more.
"W-wow, Eri. You... There was so much-"
"I don't think anyone would've recognized you, Yukiko-tan. I would've painted you completely white; I would've ruined that adorable tan. And look at your clothes. They're just drenched with me. Totally lacquered with cum.
"How'll you explain that to Yusaku?" Manic; I know it is. My voice, my eyes, everything totally insane.
Manic.
Maybe maniacal.
Dragging her up, up, up. Tongue flitting out over her chin and, well, why shouldn't I be a narcissist? Not Kogorou's rancid gin-jizz but just...
Purified perfection.
Femininity condensed into those fluids and there's the simple need to kiss her, kiss her; feed her another few drops and savor the creamy slick faintly greasy threads coil between us.
"Eri. Eri-"
"You need it, don't you? Don't worry. It'll never be like a man's. It obeys me; never selfish. Or at least, only as selfish as I want it to be."
"But you came so fa-aaaast." Cooing through even the fingers around her neck.
Giggling through the slap on her cheek.
The crack on her chest.
"Ahn!" Cooing; quaking.
"Holy hell, these are incredible. They're natural, aren't they, Yukiko-tan? They definitely feel natural. I don't think they would've gotten any tinier since high school, would they? Naturally?" Stroking, kneading, adoring them.
Incredible beneath my fingers.
"Uh-uh. They're totally natural, E-ri." Melodious and singsong.
"So, no more play-pretend?"
"I'm really horny. I think there's sake in your cum, 'cause I feel totally drunk. You should feed me more. We could do shots-"
"Now that's the slutty Yukiko I love so much."
"Choke me more. Be even rougher with me."
"Oh? Even rougher?"
"Uh-huh. Maybe Yusaku'll notice if I have a few bruises." Damn, that's just...
It's cheek.
Authentic aged concentrated spiced cheek.
"Oh, fuck him." And that's her cheek reverberating with a hand that's not just drawn in a flitting little slap across it but almost crunching on the jaw.
A sharp squeal from her lips and there's only a wish for more in the eyes.
"You love it, don't you, Yukiko-"
"Talk to me like that. Talk to me like that. Be rough with me; be nasty with me. Treat me-"
"You are my slut. You are my whore. I don't need your imprimatur to do it. That means permission, incidentally, Yukiko. I know you have a hard time with those words.
"Hell, anything more than two syllables-"
"Mean." Whining, vamping, that little-girl posturing.
"I know. I know. I am. And you're just so cute. Maybe I should just push my cock back between those sweet lips, 'cause you need something in your head, right? I know it's either that or the helium you usually use.
"What if I just squirt enough cum in you that it'll be coming out your ears?" She's crazed with it.
With the back of a hand snapped over her jaw and now, now, it's hunger. Tearing her against me and it's chest against chest, those fantastic fantabulous fucking tits and they're not even tits. Goddammit, is there a word for anything that delicious?
Titanic.
Ha ha.
Slipping between her thighs; the fabric and flesh and now, now, that sweet syrupy delirium and it's her body it's my body it's a confluence a communion it's bleeding into your lover, it's being pulled deep, deep, deeper than deep.
Lifting her.
"Wow, you are strong, Eri-"
"Eri-sensei."
"Of course, Eri-chenchei." Holy shit. It's stupid; I know it is. And still, still, there it is, almost exploding in an instant with that adorable breathy coo that flares the chest from humongous to obscene.
Well, probably not by my generous standards.
But more than incredible.
"Say that again. Say it again, Yukiko, you nasty slutty little bitch-"
"Eri-chenchei. Make me- make me scream, Eri-chenchei."
"You know I will, little Yukiko. You're such a delicious little whore, aren't you?" Hefting her against the wall; fingers dig into luscious thighs and ease up and down along her waist's trim roundness, taste the faintest whisper of softness layered over well-exercised firmness and it definitely ain't only starvation.
Inside her.
Inside her.
At long last, inside her. How many fitful furtive acts of dissatisfying sexual self-satisfaction has this image fueled, and she's here, now, now, she's here, and her ass yields a wet luscious slap against the wall, and those are our hips not only tumbling together but crashing, sodden with her and with me and it's deep so so so fucking deep.
"Kya!" And she's, well, it's probably not only the actress' flair for the dramatic, is it? 'cause that's a sincere flush darkening from garnet to fucking violet with my fingers biting into her neck and slackening a bit and the strain's only growing again, a delectable symmetry in her pussy's groping coils.
"Fuck, you're so tight, Yukiko. How can such a slut be so tiny-"
"'cause I exercise those muscles a lot, Eri-chenchei. I do it so much. I've thought about you, Eri-chenchei. A lot. A lot."
"Of course you have. How could you not?" Oh, the narcissism.
Her hair's mine; and mine's hers.
Almost pathetic, ain't it? If only I could exchange bodies with her.
Almost.
Writhing, rippling together, and there's a prayerful quality in this. In tasting the sweet soft skin wound around me, that serpentine caress, swallowed by her and swallowing her and we're some demented sapphic Ouroboros and who fuckin' cares about anything but just that immediacy?
"Eri-chenchei, Eri-chenchei-"
"Dammit, I'm- I'm going to fucking flood you."
"Do it. Do it. Come inside me if you caaaaan! Come inside me as much as you want-"
"I'll ruin you; I'll turn you into a cum-spattered wreck. You'll never be fuck anybody but me anymore. Do you understand, my little Yukiko slut?"
"Ah-huh." Feeling the words struggle out of her throat; the long slow nod and I'm fucking dying.
Pumping, pounding, hammering into her.
That's her cervix, isn't it? Something like a pair of lips cinched against the head and if I could? If I could? I'd be buried in her womb; I'd be grinding deeper than even that. She'd be feeling me jabbing through her belly but I guess I'll offer her a bit of forbearance today.
'cause I'm just so kind.
"I- I'm gonna come inside you. I'm gonna fucking floood you, Yukiko, you little slut. You're gonna get the pay you want."
"Do it. Do it. Do it, Eri-chenchei. Give me your perfume."
Oh, holy hell.
Yes.
Flooding her.
Drenching her.
Feeling it rear up from those deep and fanged places and it's implosive, settling down there, and exploding up again, and, dammit, this'll exhaust my qi. I know it. I. Don't. Care. So the yang'll be a bit uncooperative for a few hours.
Oh, what a tragedy.
Spurting around me, coiling thick and creamy over her ass, puddling on the floor, and there's only the will to continue, more and more and more.
Tossing her across the desk and it's thighs splayed, it's her high high heels jabbed into the carpet, it's a bubbly delicious ass and curvaceous hips and my fingers pulling her back by the hair, and now that is quite the handlebar, isn't it?
Palm cracking with a rhythmic quick regularity on her ass, staining those dusky cheeks darker.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" And that's her refrain.
This is the melody I crave.
"Pour more inside me, Eri-chenchei!"
"Oh, I will be, my slutty little Yukiko. Dammit. Dammit." Ground against her hips; straining pummeling pumping and now, now, she's twisted on her back, and this is what could only be craved.
The thighs slathered with us; with that sticky smeared lust and with cum in its creamy stripes encrusted on the stockings, rejuvenated with the heavy tendrils pouring down from her.
Tear it from her pussy and the lips still gawp apart; still confront me with that delicious crooked smile, yawning open.
"I've really broken you, haven't I, Yukiko-tan?"
"Uh-huh." The nod's only supersaturated exuberance. "You have, Eri-chenchei. But you're so good, it'd be horrible if you didn't. I'd be so disappointed. You're not being rough enough."
No?
"Where the hell did this nasty slutty need come from, Yukiko?" Who cares? Who cares?
Tear her closer, closer. Her spine in its elegant bowed grace arching now; ass on the table and cum smearing itself over promiscuously littered papers and, well, that'll just be the notary's problem, won't it? Ha ha ha.
Her ass splayed apart; her fingers imploring, scrabbling over my chest; hand laced around her nape, the other stealing between her thighs, digging into her pussy around the cock distending it.
"Yaaaaah!"
"What, you wanted more, didn't you, Yukiko-tan? You wanted more to fill your naughty pussy, right?" One finger. One finger, and it's a strain, the lips that coiling taut mouth crunching around me dimpling my cock with my own flesh and it's still a need for a second. "Too bad I haven't learned how to grow a second cock yet.
"Now that would be delicious, wouldn't it? Could you take two in your slutty pussy, Yukiko? Oh, why am I bothering to ask? I'd just jam it in. Your screaming's so lovely."
"Ah, ah, ah." Stroking her stroking me while the cock plunges pumps tears deeper, deeper, lavished with that heavy wet squelch in cum ripped with the thick bloated head's every scrape across her. "Eri, Eri, Eri!" And she's, well, broken.
Deliriously.
Eyes open huge and glazed and jaw slack and tongue lolling out and who can upbraid her about the honorifics now?
A second finger inside her with me.
And a third.
"Eri, Eri, Eri!" That's probably the threshold.
Still.
Still.
"Mmm... Soon, Yukiko. I'll show you that you can be a real slut. You'll love two in your pussy. Believe me. Believe me. Would I lie to you?"
"Y-you are a lawyer." Oh, now that was just nasty. Begging for discipline and she will have it.
Pull the hair and slap slap slap at her cheek and there's only the delectable yowls screams yodeling around me and now, now?
There's not even the strength for her to support herself, splayed out across the desk, jerking shuddering her nipples limning huge artful orbiting arcs with every pump and my hands're needed elsewhere, teasing and adoring her tits wringing sharp yips and long plaintive yowls from her mouth with twists and tugs at those pert peaks.
"Yah. Yah. Kyaaa." Kya, kya, kya.
Screaming and screeching.
"Yukiko, Yukiko-"
"M-mess me up like you promised. Don't just put the last one inside me." Holy hell.
The eyes flaring.
Begging.
"W-what-"
"Please, please, please, Eri. Eri. Pour it all over me. Stain me. Make me smell like spring; make sure he knows I'm covered."
Fuck.
"Put it in my hair; put it all over my face and my dress. Please, please, please. Make me look like I just came back from an AV audition-"
"Now you are quite the demented little bitch, aren't you, Yukiko?" Worn, ah, with pride.
"Uh-huh."
"Maybe I should film this."
"Q-Queen of The Courtroom and Kudou Yukiko? W- we'd make soooo much money-"
"Who the fuck cares about money. I was just thinking about for me. In those moments when I don't have your nasty pussy and your... Oh, I'm definitely fucking your ass when we do this again."
"A-again?" Is it possible for her eyes to be any huger?
No longer only platters.
They could probably be slipped comfortably around Jupiter.
"Ah, yes. You belong to me, now, Yukiko. You are my little whore; you are my cock-slave. My cock-sleeve. After all, I've put so much effort in breaking you around me. It'd be horrible to just let you go now.
"'sides, you're a junkie for me. I know it. I feel it. C'mon. C'mon." Pull her closer, closer, and it's lips, tongues, hair tangled together.
Sweat and skin and fingers and frenzy and now, now...
"P-pour it all over me! Mark me, and I'll be yours, Eri!" How can I refuse? Whatever the regret in dimming that wet hot clutching perfection, well, I am ultimately a servant of the greater good, aren't I?
Whatever that greater good is.
The deepest selfishness is selflessness. Blah, blah, blah.
And she's just slipping down, bone-weary, boneless, dreamy delirious, eyes humongous upturned imploring hands cradling her cheeks and beseeching.
"Paaaaint me, Eri. Please. Please."
"Right-"
"Give me a big facial. Right now. You need to make amends for ruining my makeup, after all." And it is ruined; the foundation ravaged, somehow, even immaculately airbrushed, the, ah, waterproof anything running and distorted and twisted in its elegant geometries into ragged black madness and the blush has just been displaced with a huge natural one and, well...
It's here.
Jabbed between her lips, a last one and two and three pumps and there's intuition now, pushed away, what a presumptuous bitch, fingers laced around me and jerking stroking begging and, well, there's something almost dazzlingly artful in this.
In the enormity that's suddenly springing from the flesh.
In a flourish that's as much sexual performance art as anything else.
Huge gobbets splashing spurting spattering over the cheeks; racing up through her hair, creamy highlights stitched into that lovely sweat-shimmering colorless obsidian sheen and enameling closed an eye completely, the other just draped with it, plunging from brow to cheek and now drooling down her jaw, across her chin, sloughing over her tits and vast pale smears coalesce on her skirt, her stockings, even paint her black heels nacre.
Holy hell.
Drained.
That's the word; knees trembling and crumpling down to kiss, kiss, kiss her. Tongue dragging heavy quaking threads between her lips and it's mine and it's absolutely delicious.
"Eri, Eri, Eri."
"Yukiko, Yukiko." Language isn't only fugitive but has made good its escape and is now sipping mai tais on platinum sands with some top-heavy bronzed goddess draped over its lap.
Only her name.
Only mine.
Savoring the cum; slipping spilling between us, gathered and thickening with spittle and she's just...
"Now that isn't fair, Yukiko." A long swallow.
"What?" Her tongue still stained with a few pallid streaks. "It's good; I wanted it-"
"You're such a greedy bitch, aren't you?"
"Uh-huh."
"You really going home like this?"
"Uh-huh. I've got a private driver, after all. It's not like I need to worry about anyone recognizing Kudou Yukiko like this. Even if that'd be...
"Oh, maybe I should audition for AV. Have so many young men-"
"And women."
"That's true, isn't it?" Not even a little self-satisfied. "Not just touching themselves fantasizing about me, but seeing it happen."
"Nah. It'd ruin the imagination, Yukiko."
"Fair enough. And you're enough for a one-woman gangbang."
"Why, I'm just scandalized that you'd say something like that, Yukiko."
"Gonna punish me again?" Oh, yes. "I need to go, though, Eri-chan. Come over later tonight?"
"Will he be home?"
Lips pursed.
Peering at fingers enameled more with cum than polish.
"Huh." Head nodded once, twice.
As if she's counting her fingers.
And then once again, just to be sure nothing's changed in the interim.
"Well-"
"I don't really think I care." Quite the conviction. A languid little chirrup; her shoulders thrown into an achingly glorious pivot and undulation that's only ostensibly a shrug in its bare geometries.
"Really?"
"Are you mad about that? Having me worship you, Queen of The Courtroom?" Oh, oh, oh, that smile. Those eyes through lashes still quivering and matted with cum.
"Hail to the queen."