The week had been strange for Mafuyu: quiet domestic bliss at Makoto's home, in contrast to the sickening dread she felt at Tatsuya's apartment. Her boyfriend has been attentive, almost too attentive. Bringing her flowers, taking her to dinner, playing the perfect, charming fraud she'd first fallen for.
Through it all, Mafuyu played her part: his grateful, adoring girlfriend. But she never let him touch her. "Let's wait until your birthday, dear." The excuse was being used every time Tatsuya wanted her.
Then, the day finally came.
When Mafuyu's message came through with the time and address, Makoto rushed to the location.
The building tried hard to look discreet: A "boutique hotel" in a quiet, slightly seedy part of town. No real lobby, just an automated check-in kiosk and an elevator that smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals and desperation.
The room number was on the top floor. Thick carpet muffled his footsteps in the silent hallway. Makoto knocked softly. The door opened almost immediately.
What welcomed him wasn't Mafuyu. Tatsuya stood there. Tall, with slick gym-toned handsomeness that was all surface. He wore an expensive silk robe, open just enough to show off his waxed chest. He smiled, a slow, arrogant smirk.
"Ah," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "You're the bull[1], aren't you?" He blocked the doorway, eyes sweeping over Makoto with cold appraisal. "You're not what I was expecting. A little... doughy."
He stepped aside with exaggerated generosity. "Well, don't just stand there. Come on in. She's been waiting for you."
Makoto murmured something noncommittal and entered. "Fine, let's see if you can keep that composure later."
The room was exactly what he expected. Red velvet curtains, a heart-shaped bed with satin sheets, too many mirrors. It smelled of stale champagne and overpowering air freshener. In the center of the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, was Mafuyu-nee.
She looked terrified. She wore a sheer black lace negligee that left nothing to the imagination. The cheap, tacky garment seemed wrong on her, like a doll dressed in someone else's clothes. Her hair was down, her face pale, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears.
She clutched a pillow to her chest. When she looked up and saw Makoto enter, something like hope flickered in her eyes. Then she saw Tatsuya standing behind him, still smirking. The hope vanished, replaced by that familiar haunted fear.
"Well?" Tatsuya walked to a plush armchair in the corner, directly opposite the bed and the one-way mirror. He sat, crossing his legs with smug confidence. "Don't be shy. The show is about to begin."
Makoto sat next to her on the bed, a gentle smile on his face. He ran his hand through her hair and patted her back softly. "Just ignore him! You can pretend he doesn't exist, Mafuyu-nee."
Mafuyu-nee flinched when Makoto sat beside her, a tremor running through her body. She clutched the pillow tighter, knuckles white. His touch startled her at first. But as his hand stroked her hair, something shifted.
He looked at her, eyes gentle and mischievous, reminding her of that innocent Makoto years ago. "Don't worry, Mafuyu-nee, I won't bite. Well, maybe just a little bit." His voice fumbling with nervousness and... something like excitement.
His clumsy joke seemed to cut through the thick fog of her fear. A small sound escaped her lips: a soft, wet chuckle. "You're crazy," she whispered, her voice raw. She finally looked at him, and her eyes shone with something wild and adoring. A slow smile spread across her face.
The rigid tension in her shoulders eased. Her breathing, which had been shallow gasps, deepened. She leaned into his touch slightly, a silent plea for comfort.
From the corner, Tatsuya let out a sharp, impatient cough. "Are you going to get on with it? Or are you going to just sit there and hold hands all night?"
Mafuyu-nee flinched; the fragile bubble shattered again. Her fear returned, cold and undeniable. But this time, something was different. She didn't look away or try to cower. She just looked at Makoto, a new defiant spark in her eyes. Then she let go of the pillow.
Makoto gently caressed her body, trying to suppress his anger when he saw the marks. "You look gorgeous, Mafuyu." He looked at her intently. "Look at me. Only me." He leaned in and kissed her lips softly.
Mafuyu melted into the kiss with a contented sigh. It was both tender and desperate, a frantic search for connection, for peace in the middle of a storm. When he pulled away, her eyes shone with deep gratitude.
"Okay," she whispered. "Just you. I can only see you now." She took a shuddering breath. Then, with slow, deliberate grace, she began to move. She straddled his lap, hesitant at first, then more confident as she found her rhythm. Her hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in as she arched her back in silent invitation.
From the corner, Tatsuya let out a low whistle. "Now that's more like it."
Mafuyu flinched like she'd been struck. But she didn't stop to look at her boyfriend. She just looked at Makoto, eyes wide and pleading. "Please," she whispered. "Don't let me hear him."
Makoto chuckled as he removed the rest of her negligee, then pushed Mafuyu onto the bed. He leaned between her legs and started eating her out. "By the time this ends, you won't even remember he exists, Mafuyu."
A sharp, strangled cry tore from Mafuyu-nee's throat as Makoto's mouth found her. A lightning bolt of pleasure that short-circuited her nervous system. Her back arched off the bed, hands flying to his hair. Not to push him away, but to clutch, to anchor herself against the overwhelming wave of sensation.
Makoto looked up at her with wicked eyes. "I bet your boyfriend can never eat you like this."
"N-No..." she gasped. "He... he says it's unhygienic..." The confession was small and pathetic. But then the shame, the fear, the years of repressed desire melted away in the face of his raw, unapologetic skill.
Her hips began to move. A tentative grind at first, then more confident as she rediscovered a part of herself she thought was dead. Her moans were soft and desperate, broken and triumphant.
From the corner, the silence broke. "Hey," Tatsuya's voice was dangerous. "What the hell are you doing? I didn't say you could do that."
But Makoto didn't stop, ignoring the man. And Mafuyu-nee didn't seem to hear him at all. He kept slurping on her cunt, his mouth sucking her clit before sliding his tongue into her. "There's nothing unhygienic about it, Mafuyu. Your cunt tastes so delicious. I bet he's bad in bed, too, hmm."
Mafuyu-nee let out a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. It was sharp, almost hysterical. "He is," she gasped, her voice raw and broken but threaded with newfound defiance. "He's… he's really terrible."
Her hips moved faster now, grinding against his mouth in a rhythm that felt both desperate and liberated. She was dripping wet, her juices coating his chin and cheeks. She tasted of salt and something sweet, of her own musk, and of a freedom that made his chest ache.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Tatsuya's voice cut through the air, sharp and angry. The leather chair creaked as he shifted. "You're supposed to be fucking her, not… not eating her out like a goddamn dog!" But his voice seemed distant now, like a mosquito buzzing at the edge of a hurricane.
Mafuyu-nee was close. Her breath came in short, desperate gasps.
"I'm... cumming! You're... making me... cum, Makoto." Her body went rigid, thighs clamping around his head as her orgasm tore through her. She shuddered silently, trembling and boneless.
In the stunned silence that followed, the only sound was Mafuyu-nee's ragged breathing.
[1] The slang term bull refers to the dominant man who has relations with the cuckold's partner.