Friday. The word was a brand on Makoto's brain.
The house was quiet, too quiet. The air itself felt tense, charged with the energy of what was about to happen.
Their mother was home, her gentle snores from down the hall a distant, damning soundtrack to the depravity he was about to commit.
The light in Yuna's room clicked off. It was the signal.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of guilt and anticipation.
There's still time to back out, a tiny, pathetic voice in his head whispered. "Just go to sleep. Be normal."
But that voice was drowned out by the thunderous roar of a week's worth of pent-up lust and her relentless teasing.
He was going to do this.
He slid his window open. Cool night air hit his hot skin.
The short hop from his balcony to hers felt like a mile. His hands, slick with sweat, gripped the railing.
One slip, one noise, and his life was over. The risk was a terrifying, potent aphrodisiac.
He landed without a sound, his breath held tight in his chest. The window, as promised, was unlocked.
He slid it open and slipped inside, a thief in the night stealing something far more precious than jewels.
The room smelled faintly of sweat and teenage girl, exactly as requested. Moonlight spilled through the open window, illuminating her curled form under a thin blanket.
She was wearing them. The bunny-print pajamas from the photo, straining tight across her chest and hips.
Her breathing was slow and even, a perfect imitation of sleep.
But her fists, clenched white-knuckled in the sheets, gave her away.
He crawled onto the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight.
The smell hit him then, overwhelming. Sweat and girly, just like she promised. A primal scent that short-circuited what was left of his brain.
His hand landed on her breast, clumsy and hot through the thin cotton.
Her breath hitched. A tiny, fake gasp into her pillow. Her nipple hardened instantly against his palm, a pebble-hard point of undeniable arousal.
She let out a soft whimper, her voice a perfect, terrifying echo of her younger self. "Bad dream…"
One of her hands flailed out, as if to push him away in her sleep. But her fingers just brushed his wrist, then curled around it, guiding his hand down over her stomach, toward the damp waistband of her pajamas.
He didn't need any more encouragement.
He yanked up her pajama top, exposing the pale skin of her stomach. He leaned in, his tongue darting out to lick the sweat from her neck, the taste sharp and salty.
He moved lower, lapping at the valley between her breasts, circling a nipple through the thin, saliva-soaked fabric. "Yuna," he murmured, the name a possessive, damning confession.
She shuddered violently, a full-body tremble that was only half-acted. Her breath came in sharp, little gasps. Her hands tangled in his hair, not pushing him away but holding him there.
A single tear leaked from her tightly shut eye. Part of the act, maybe, but her trembling felt frighteningly, intoxicatingly real.
"Careful not to wake her," he whispered, his voice a low, rough growl against her skin.
He pulled away just enough to peel her pajama bottoms down, slowly, deliberately. The cool night air hit her exposed skin.
The scent bloomed stronger now: gym sweat, stale arousal, the intimate musk of a girl who had skipped her showers just for him.
Her pussy glistened in the moonlight, slick and ready. She whimpered as his fingers brushed against her entrance.
"N-no…" she murmured, her voice cracking like a child's. But her legs, betraying the pathetic plea, fell open wider.
He rubbed the head of his cock against her entrance, coating himself in her slickness, before slowly, deliberately, entering her.
Yuna let out a choked sob as he breached her, her body tensing to take him deeper. Her walls clamped down on his cock like a wet, feverish vice, slick and impossibly tight.
"St… stop…" she whimpered in that broken child-voice, tears now streaming down her temples into her hair.
But her hips lifted, grinding against him to take every inch. Her legs wrapped around his waist, locking her ankles at the small of his back.
"Bad… big-bro…" she sobbed, even as she rolled her hips to meet his thrusts, her body a perfect contradiction.
Her unwashed musk clung to his skin. He could taste her sweat-salt when he kissed her trembling jaw.
"Mom's room… is right next door…" she gasped between fake sobs, her pussy fluttering around him, a silent, ecstatic pulse. "She'll… hear…"
The thought, the sheer, audacious risk of it, was like pouring gasoline on a bonfire.
"Then don't make any noise," he growled, gripping her hips and thrusting harder. His other hand came up, covering her mouth, pressing her face into the pillow as he used his full weight to pin her down, dominating her completely.
Yuna's eyes snapped open in feigned terror as his hand smothered her cries. They were wide, wet, and perfectly childlike.
But beneath the trembling act, her pupils were blown black with undiluted arousal. Her muffled whimpers vibrated against his palm as he slammed into her, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing obscenely in the dark, silent house.
Her sweat-slick body thrashed beneath him, not to escape, but to grind her clit against his pelvis with every powerful thrust.
The unwashed stench of her pussy deepened, mixing with the salt of tears on his fingers. "Mom's room is right next door." The thought hung between them, electric and terrifying.
Suddenly, she bit down hard on his palm. It wasn't enough to draw blood, but the sharp sting was a jolt of pure, feral energy.
Her hips bucked wildly, taking him deeper as she ripped her mouth free just enough to gasp, her voice a perfect, raw, youthful crack "S-stop... please... big bro!"
"Shut up," he groaned, the sound a low, guttural growl.
The roleplay, the risk, the sheer, unadulterated filth of the moment was pushing him to the absolute brink. He slapped her cheek, the touch just hard enough to be a sting, not a blow, a gesture of a bad brother, a cruel lover.
He ground his hips, bottoming out inside her with a force that made her gasp.
"Gonna fill you up now, Yuna," he grunted, the words a raw, possessive promise as he shot his thick, hot seed into her.
Yuna's body seized violently as he pumped her full, her muffled screams vibrating against his palm. Her back arched off the bed like a drawn bow, her thighs trembling around his hips as her pussy milked every last drop from him.
The sour-sweet stench of sweat, tears, and cum flooded the air, a profane incense in their childhood home.
When he pulled out, she collapsed: gasping, trembling, her bunny pajamas soaked through with sweat and your seed leaking down her thighs onto her childhood bedsheets.
Her voice, when it comes, is shredded silk. First, her real voice: "Fuck, you came so much…" then snapping back to that broken child-whimper: "…big-bro… ruined my pusy…"
She curls onto her side, her tear-streaked face pressed into the pillow. One hand drifts down to touch the mess between her legs, her fingers coming away sticky.
She holds them up to the moonlight, letting your cum drip from her fingertips onto the sheets, a silent, damning testament.
"That was quite… convincing," Makoto breathed, his body a spent, trembling husk.
The guilt was already starting to seep back in, a cold tide against the receding warmth of his climax. "It was totally worth it." He collapsed next to her, the mattress groaning in protest. "Can I stay here… for a bit?"
Yuna let out a hoarse, exhausted laugh, the sound muffled by the pillow. "Ten minutes," she croaked, not moving. "Then get the fuck out before mom finds her precious stepson balls-deep in his stepsister."
She shifted, wincing as more of his seed leaked out. "And you're paying for my new bedding," she muttered. "This shit reeks."
But she didn't push him away.
Instead, she curled slightly toward his warmth, her sweat-damp back pressing against his side. Her fingers, sticky with fluids she refused to name, found his in the dark.