Konoko shut the door behind her, heart pounding so hard it rattled her ribs. The memory of Kazuo's warm, heavy hands on her back still clung to her skin like ghostly heat, every inch of her trembling as if she were still beneath his touch. She collapsed onto her bed, pressing her palms to her burning face, but the pressure only reminded her of how sensitive she'd been—how easily she had gasped.
Her thighs pressed together, but it was useless. The ache had grown too sharp, too consuming. With a whimper, she slid a hand downward, fingertips trembling as they grazed the waistband of her shorts.
Schlk… schlk… The sound was immediate, humiliatingly loud in the silence of her room. Her breath hitched, stuttering out as her fingers slipped deeper, slickness coating them at once. The wet strain in her wrist with each motion only confirmed how drenched she already was.
"N-no… I… I'm…" she whimpered, burying her face into the pillow as her hips bucked against her hand. "I'm… m-maso… ahh… masoquist…" Her voice cracked, caught between terror and desperate pleasure.
Her body writhed, each motion making the sheets damp beneath her, slrp… schlk… schlk… filling the air, mingling with her ragged breathing.
"I… I'm a masoquist… I'm… I-I like it…" she confessed in a broken whisper, as though the words themselves hurt, each one spilling out faster as her fingers worked harder, the pillow muffling the sharp, wet gasps spilling from her lips.
Her shame was overwhelming, but her body refused to stop. Heat radiated through her belly, her chest, her trembling thighs, each movement dragging her closer to the edge she swore she shouldn't reach—but couldn't escape.
Her pace grew frantic, wrist straining with each movement, the wet sounds beneath the blanket filling the room, schlk… slrp… schlk… louder and louder, mingling with her ragged, broken breathing. Her thighs trembled, clamping tight as if to trap the heat swelling inside her.
"Ahhh—! N-no, I can't… I-I shouldn't—" she whimpered into the pillow, but her body betrayed her, hips rolling upward in desperate rhythm against her own hand. Every thought blurred, every memory of Kazuo's heavy hands only stoked the fire higher.
The tension snapped all at once. Her back arched, mouth gaping open in a soundless cry before a strangled moan tore free, muffled by the pillow. Splrchhh… schlk… slrp… slickness gushed around her fingers, sheets soaking beneath her as she writhed uncontrollably.
"I-I'm… ahhh… I'm a masoquist…!" she choked, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as the confession broke out again, trembling, ashamed, but unstoppable.
Her body finally collapsed, chest heaving, skin flushed and slick with sweat. Her fingers slipped free with a schlp, the soaked fabric clinging to her thighs, the room filled with the undeniable scent of her release.
She lay trembling in the silence, horrified at what she had done—at how loud she might have been. The thought of Kazuo hearing any of it made her throat close in dread, even as aftershocks rippled through her body.
Her chest was still heaving, her body humming with overstimulation, when the silence of the house suddenly felt oppressive—too heavy, too sharp. Every creak of wood, every faint shift in the pipes made her jolt.
Her eyes widened.
What if he heard me…?
Her pulse spiked again, this time from fear. The wet sheets beneath her clung uncomfortably, sticky with the evidence of her release, schlp when she tried to move her thighs apart. She slapped both hands over her mouth, biting down hard to smother the memory of her own moans—moans that had been anything but quiet.
The thought of Kazuo, just down the hall, hearing the obscene schlk, slrp, splrchh that had echoed in her room moments ago made her want to disappear into the mattress.
"No… no, no… h-he didn't… right? He couldn't have…" she whispered, voice trembling, terrified at her own words.
Her shame burned hotter than the lingering heat between her legs. She scrambled up, tugging the soaked blanket away from her body, wincing at the heavy flop it made when it landed on the floor. The damp patch on the sheets glistened under the faint moonlight leaking in through her window.
I have to wash them. I have to hide this.
She fumbled with the fabric, clutching the balled-up mess to her chest, but the squishy weight of it made her face burn hotter. Her legs wobbled beneath her as she crept toward the door, pressing her ear against it, listening—waiting.
Nothing.
The house was quiet, but to her every silence felt like proof that he had heard, and was pretending not to.
Her hand froze on the doorknob, trembling.
Would you like me to carry this into her trying to sneak into the laundry at night, terrified Kazuo might catch her with the sheets?
The shrill ring of her phone cut through the haze of exhaustion. Konoko jolted awake, the sheets still damp and tangled around her legs. Panic rushed in as she sat up—her alarm clock flashed the time. She was late.
Her throat went dry as she answered, forcing her voice steady.
"H-hello…?"
It was her manager. His tone was clipped, professional, but merciless.
"Konoko, this is unacceptable. You've only just started here, and you're already failing to show up on time. We have a zero-tolerance policy for new hires. You're done."
Her stomach dropped.
"W-wait, please! I—it won't happen again, I—"
But the line clicked dead.
She sat frozen, the phone slipping from her hand onto the damp sheets with a dull thud. The silence afterward was deafening.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. Shame from the night before mixed with the fresh sting of rejection. Tears welled up in her eyes as the reality sank in—no job, no paycheck, and no way to prove herself.
The house around her felt suddenly too big, too quiet. She pressed both hands against her burning face, muffling the small, broken sound that escaped her lips.