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Chapter Eleven: Inventory

For a while, my school life stabilized. One day followed the other without much drama. Our daily SOS Brigade meetings came and went without a hitch. Even though Haruhi had sucked me off and ridden me cowgirl-style, you never would have noticed. In her mind, those were unavoidable accidents best to be forgotten.

But did she forget? I wondered. The incidents stuck out in my mind like fireworks in a starry sky. Despite all the sex I was having, my memory wouldn't let go of those two episodes with Haruhi.

Since my penis remained irresistible, I tried my best to dilute the Suzumiyan fireworks' intensity by setting off lots of firecrackers of my own. I expanded my schedule to better serve my dick's four biggest fans.

Every morning before homeroom, I took a leisurely shower with Ruma Stretta in the men's locker room. Normally, the gym locker rooms remained locked until the teacher showed up with his keys for first period, but Ruma had key copies so we had access whenever we wanted. The tattooed sanitation expert excelled at scrubbing my body sparkling clean, particularly my beloved appendage. This schedule change pleased Miss Miyazawa to no end since I was finally coming to class on time.

I also continued my post-lunch dessert dispensing sessions with a certain busty redhead. "Just a second," Mikuru would say after I tapped our secret code on the door. A minute later, the locking mechanism released.

In the past, opening the clubroom door revealed a sweet, conservatively dressed maid slaving away at her tea station. Nowadays, it revealed a beaming naked beauty on her knees, cupping her breasts in anticipation of performing yet another titty-fuck on the most irresistible penis in the world. Each time my cum filled her mouth and overflowed onto her lovely globes, I couldn't get over the fact that Mikuru got as much out of it as I did — hell, maybe more.

Getting her daily fill of cock cream kept Mikuru happy, but it also made Yuki jealous. Not that she would show it. As a human interface, she had a ton of self-control, but at her core, she was still a girl. Unfortunately, between classes, club time, and my responsibilities at home, I only had so much penis-time to spare.

Thanks to her mastery of advanced technologies, I was able to give Yuki more dick-time than my other two weekday girls combined. How did I manage this?

In contrast to the cramped school desks decorating all my standard classes, the expansive wooden drawing table I sat at during my last-period Art class afforded Yuki plenty of room to plant herself and move about. A high-tech butt-plug hologram generator kept her presence under my desk completely hidden, while reading glasses fitted with special polarizing filters granted me a full view of her activities from above.

"Since nobody will be able to see you under there but me, why don't you audit my Art class sans clothing?" I asked her when we formulated our plan. After all, Ruma and Mikuru serviced me in the nude. Though Yuki had a different body type — champagne-glass breasts and the sweetest little heart-shaped ass — she was hot as hell. Why not make it three-for-three? She didn't have a problem with my request and opted for the anally fitted hologram generator instead of the necklace model because it offered additional coitus-enhancing features.

Yuki's oral inspirations led me to produce some of the best artwork I'd ever created. "You're drawing so much better now than last semester," my art teacher Miss Kakumatsu explained. "Your style is borderline erotic."

Little did my teacher know that a ridiculously competent naked nymph had my dick in her mouth when she told me that. In fact, my dick remained in Yuki's talented mouth throughout most of the class, although we did mix things up now and then.

Tilting the desk and drawing from a standing position allowed a bent-over Yuki to back into me so I could do her doggy-style. In an effort to keep things clandestine, her hips did most of the work. But vaginal sex was rare. As Mikuru had informed me, most girls enjoyed simply looking at the thing, so Yuki spent most of the class on her knees cross-eyed with my dick on her tongue.

She generally unzipped me right after I sat, and kept me on the edge of climax till five minutes before the closing bell, at which point she teased my balls with the tip of her tongue as a warning that she was about to drive me over the cliff. Maintaining a straight face during my end-of-class killer climaxes was next to impossible, so I developed the strange habit of massaging my face with both hands to hide my O-expression.

I almost got caught once, when Miss Kakumatsu stood behind me as I gushed into Yuki's mouth. From her vantage point, she totally heard my muffled emanations of pleasure.

"Are you okay, Kyon?" she asked as I groaned.

"You bet I am." I worked to catch my breath. "You know something, Miss Kakumatsu? Making great art can be downright orgasmic."

She shook her head and walked away.

Since Art was the last period of the day, I took my sweet old time getting my stuff together. Yuki and I were always among the last people to leave the room. Walking hand-in-hand to the SOS Brigade club room with the human interface beside me became part of my late-afternoon routine. Though we strolled through semi-busy hallways, nobody noticed the comely nude coed walking beside me.

Our daily treks felt surreal. When I looked forward, my peripheral vision registered empty space, but when I turned my head to the right and looked through the glasses, Yuki appeared in all her naked splendor. When she turned into the ladies' room down the hall from the clubroom to exchange the butt plug for her clothes, it always saddened me.

Getting serviced by three gorgeous schoolgirls, three times per day was a fantasy I wouldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams. Living the dream took its toll on me, though. Thankfully, I had Saturdays to recuperate.

But then Sundays arrived.

Yeah, I know. That's the elephant in the room. What the hell happened with Karate-girl?

I'll be honest. My relationship with Tsuruya messed up my brain like a scrambling fork through egg yolks. If my incidents with Haruhi were fireworks lighting up a starry sky, my meetings with Tsuruya were black holes darkening an empty cave.

In a word, our dynamic was fucked up. (Yes, I know that's two words. See what I mean?)

I had an inkling to this state of affairs when we met for the first time in the Yokohama Love Hotel — in the S&M room. Yes, that was the room she'd reserved for us, and we both felt totally at home there.

Something in our minds had snapped the day of our battle. My memory wouldn't let go of that episode either.

What had I done?

I know that many of you will say, "That's easy, Kyon. You viciously ass-raped that wonderful girl before beating her ass beet red. You're a fucking monster." And I'll grant that you might have a point.

On the other hand, we agreed to play it by ear and she never asked me to stop. Sure, she complained a lot, she hinted at her discomfort, and she called me a never-ending series of ugly names, but she never said, "Untie me, and stop fucking and beating my butt."

"Your irresistible dick made that impossible," you'll counter. "She really didn't have a choice. She was under its spell."

But was she?

She still had the ability to make conscious choices. She could have stopped me at any time. But she was a proud girl who'd been trained to take a beating by her Karate Sensei. If she would have screamed at the top of her lungs, it might have knocked me out of my vengeance trance. Then again, I might have shoved her panties into her mouth and kept on going. I guess we'll never know.

In the end, she enjoyed the hell out of our encounter, as did I. But at what cost?

I'd placed Tsuruya in an impossible situation. Something heinous was being done to her. But she knew that if she complained, the consequences — never seeing my dick again — would be worse, so she willingly took it like a trooper. The intensity of the humiliation mixed explosively with the ferocity of her desires — and her brain fried.

I don't think she was a natural masochist, but that's what I'd turned her into. In the same way, my dick had turned me into a sadistic asshole Boss. The power had fried my brain as well and turned me into a deviant.

So on Sundays, we indulged our psychoses. Imagine a room enclosed by walls lined with restraints, whips, paddles, and gags, and floorspace covered with wedge-horses, X-platforms, stockades, and racks. The bruises I drew on Tsuruya's bound naked body each Sunday didn't always fade by our next meeting. Which was fine with her, because she wore them like a badge of honor.

Our weekend meetings let us vent our pent-up anxieties and frustrations. On weekdays, everything reverted to normal. When we ran into each other in the halls, which turned out to be often because we learned each other's routes, our typical exchanges made bystanders cringe.

Tsuruya would scowl. "Hey Boss, screw any goats today? You sheep-fucking pansy."

"You're going to pay for that, bitch." I mimicked the sound and motion of wielding a whip. "In spades."

"Bring it on, ass wipe."

It was our way of saying, "I love you," and "I love you too" — in the most dysfunctional way you can imagine.

I don't know if Tsuruya and Mikuru ever traded notes about me. For reasons of their own, I'm pretty sure they kept that part of their lives to themselves.

So that was my life, and those were my four regular ladies.

It took Haruhi Suzumiya two entire months to inject herself into this loop. And when she did, she handed me the key to the prison of indescribable sexual bliss that I'd locked myself into.