Chapter 1: A Question

14 years old . . .

It was when his gut started squirming that he knew something was wrong. The girl beneath him kept giggling, clearly enjoying herself, but he couldn't share that feeling. He didn't feel anything, except a mild discomfort that continued to grow with every minute that ticked by. He intended to please her, but by so doing he assumed that he could also please himself. Evidently, that was not the case, and it unsettled him; of all the things that could've happened, he had not anticipated this.

The girl belonged to a family in charge of a well-known manufacturing company—one that (rumor had it) intended to merge with the Ootori Group for a lump sum. It was a questionable move, to say the least, and so Yoshio Ootori had ordered his youngest son to investigate. The girl, the daughter of the family head, was notoriously fond of courting young gentlemen. And so Kyoya had decided to capitalize on that asset, which had landed him in his present position, straddled atop the young lady in question.

He knew he couldn't let her see his discomfort, and so he continued to mechanically stroke down her sides, trailing his fingers over her soft, exposed belly. He'd studied up for tonight, so he felt assured as he slipped his hand beneath her rose-pink panties. She arched slightly toward him, and he slipped his middle finger between her labia and began to rub over her clitoris, increasing the pressure gradually. Her breath came out in quick puffs, her face beginning to flush and contort in pleasure. His finger stroked faster, and she arched further, making little whining sounds. Then she grabbed the back of his head, chunks of black hair slipping between her fingers, and began to press him downward. He understood immediately: she wanted him to use his tongue.

He resisted his desire to push back against her hand, and let her guide him, gently slipping her panties down her thighs as she did so. He hesitated, then opened up her labia with two fingers; she gripped his hair roughly as he rapidly tongued over her clitoris, and she gasped and arched as he fought a gag reflex. He felt her body shudder against him as she cried out, and then she collapsed back to the sheets, panting.

Seeing his work was done, he pulled away and leaned back on his heels. Her cheeks flushed pink, she laid there for a moment, catching her breath. After a few seconds ticked by, she rose and began to crawl slowly toward him across the bed, her panties now twisted around her knees. She reached out and unbuttoned his pants with delicate fingers, then started to wiggle the zipper loose, until his hand caught her wrist. She looked up at his face in surprise, her eyebrows scrunched.

"Don't you want me to please you as well?"

He hesitated. "No," he said, then smiled lightly. "Tonight was for you."

"Oh," she said, flushing. "How very generous of you."

How very generous, indeed.

The hot water burned its way pleasantly down his back, and he reached for a sponge, saturating it with body wash. Roughly, he began to scrub all over himself, working from his shoulders to his chest and belly, all the way down to his feet. He let the scalding water rinse the soap away, then started again, until his skin burned pink and raw. He found it difficult to look down at himself, so he quickly stepped out of the shower and wrapped his body up in a large white towel.

The steamed mirror glared at him dully, so he reached out and swiped a clear spot right over his eyes. His own face came into focus slowly, staring back at him with a blank expression. Unsure of what he was supposed to feel, he looked away, picking up a comb and gently beginning to work through the knots in his hair. He focused on the pull of each clump as he untangled them bit by bit, then let the comb clatter to the counter.

He met his own gaze again, and felt nothing but a mild disgust and an unsettling sort of emptiness. It was nothing like the usual emptiness of a completed task; this time, it stung. He felt betrayed, betrayed by his own body. Why hadn't he been able to feel any pleasure? Was there something wrong with him? Was it all some kind of sick joke?

He cast his towel aside and took himself in, in his entirety.

He was a perfectly healthy young man. What the hell was the matter with him?