Her wine glass was empty, but the alcohol had done the opposite of what she'd hoped. Instead of dulling her senses, it sharpened them to a painful clarity.
A clarity that let her feel, with agonizing precision, the black hole called "emptiness" slowly devouring her from the inside.
She stopped pacing and stared at the wall.
It was still covered in those old photos. Some of the clippings had yellowed. Some of the printed screenshots had faded. Every one of them had kept her company on countless lonely nights.
Like a child playing in the mud who'd suddenly been handed a diamond.
"How can you... how can you be so cruel..."
Minami reached out and traced the blurry photo of Seiji Fujiwara on the wall, murmuring to herself.
Last night, the sounds from her daughter's room echoed through her mind again.
I want it too...
Once the thought surfaced, there was no pushing it back down.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
The woman staring back was flushed, eyes hazy, her silk nightgown clinging to a body that was lush, ripe, and radiating the allure of a peach at the peak of ripeness.
But this beautiful body was empty.
Empty enough to drive her mad.
She tried what she always did, letting her hand drift downward.
Not enough.
Nowhere close to enough.
Her own fingers could only scratch the surface. They couldn't fill the void.
She needed a man.
She needed the one with inhuman stamina, the one who'd torn through her daughter the same way, who could shatter her completely and piece her back together.
"Fujiwara-sensei..."
Minami whispered the name to her reflection.
She stared at herself for a long time.
Then, with trembling hands, she picked up the phone from the desk.
She'd already been seen through anyway.
So be it.
To hell. Or to heaven.
...
...
Minato Ward apartment. The study.
Buzz...
The black phone on the coffee table vibrated.
Seiji Fujiwara glanced at the caller ID, then turned to Mutsumi Wakaba in his arms with a smile that said I knew it.
"Look."
He tilted the screen toward Mutsumi.
The name pulsing on the display: Minami Mori.
Mutsumi looked at it and sighed softly.
She'd expected this. But now that the moment had actually arrived, it felt profoundly absurd.
Her mother.
Calling a man at eleven at night.
"Shh."
Seiji pressed a finger to Mutsumi's lips and answered on speaker.
"Hello, Ms. Mori."
His voice was perfectly even, betraying nothing of the intimacy he'd been sharing with Mutsumi moments ago.
"It's quite late. Is something urgent?"
Silence on the other end. Several seconds of it.
When Minami's voice finally came through, it was as poised as ever, but laced with the faintest tremor.
"Fujiwara-sensei... it's me, Minami Mori. I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour."
"Not at all." Seiji's finger traced idle circles on Mutsumi's waist. "I'm still working. What is it? Have some thoughts on that magazine you'd like to share?"
Naked provocation.
The breathing on the other end hitched.
"The... the magazine arrived safely. Thank you very much for the... gift." Minami's voice went dry, like her throat was on fire. "Actually, I wanted to discuss some details about the Sunset Afterglow script. Your direction on set was incredibly helpful, but there are a few things I... don't quite understand."
"Script details?" Seiji's smile widened. "You're quite dedicated, Ms. Mori. But can't this wait until tomorrow on set?"
"There are too many people on set." Minami's voice dropped, heavy with implication. "And besides the script... I have some personal matters I'd like your advice on."
"Personal matters?" Seiji asked, playing dumb. "What kind?"
Another silence. Longer this time. More agonizing.
Mutsumi closed her eyes.
She could picture her mother's face right now. That expression of someone backed to the edge of a cliff, torn between shame and surrender.
Finally, Minami spoke again.
This time, she seemed to have discarded every pretense. Nothing remained in her voice but raw honesty.
"Fujiwara-sensei... are you free to come over tonight? I think we could have... a pleasant evening."
After those words, only heavy breathing came through the speaker.
Seiji smiled. "If Ms. Mori is requesting a house call, how could I refuse? I am, after all, a dedicated teacher."
"Please make sure you're freshly bathed, Ms. Mori."
He hung up.
Silence returned to the study.
Seiji tossed the phone back onto the coffee table, lowered his head, and pressed a kiss to Mutsumi's collarbone.
"See? I told you."
"...I know." Mutsumi gave a non-answer, slipping off his lap and turning away.
...
...
Twenty minutes later.
The Wakaba residence.
Seiji Fujiwara pushed open the second-floor bedroom door, left deliberately ajar, with practiced familiarity.
This time, he didn't need to peek through any cracks.
The room was lit by a warm standing lamp. The air smelled of rose essential oil.
Minami wasn't lying on the bed.
She sat on a vanity stool in a deep purple silk nightgown, legs crossed, her back to the door.
When she heard it open, she turned slowly, revealing a face caught between coy and defiant.
In that instant, Seiji's eyes blazed.
Minami Mori was breathtakingly beautiful.
Alcohol and desire had painted her cheeks a rosy flush. Her eyes shimmered with open invitation. One strap of the nightgown had slipped, baring a generous sweep of pale, flawless skin.
But what pleased Seiji most was her gaze.
Not the guarded, calculating look she wore on set. Not the untouchable empress facade she projected in public.
This was the gaze of a woman in want.
Minami watched Seiji walk in. A slow smile curved her lips.
"Fujiwara-sensei..."
She rose gracefully, her figure a silhouette of curves beneath the gown.
"...Welcome."
Seiji didn't speak. He kicked the door shut behind him.
He crossed the room, pulled her in by the waist, and pressed her body flush against his.
"Ms. Mori..."
His gaze swept the old photos on the wall before settling on the magazine lying on the floor.
"Looks like photos aren't enough for you anymore."
Minami was forced to tilt her head back, bearing the full weight of his predatory stare.
"No..." She admitted without a shred of pretense, eyes drinking him in. "Photos are cold. I want something warm."
"Good."
Seiji grinned, wild and arrogant.
"Then let's see just how hot this desire-starved body of yours can get."
Riiip...!
The silk nightgown tore apart in his hands.
Minami gasped. Before the sound finished leaving her mouth, his lips crushed against hers.
Not gentle. Not polite. He kissed her like he was taking something owed, his tongue shoving past her teeth, one hand gripping the back of her neck to hold her still. Minami grabbed his shirt with both fists, knuckles white, and kissed him back with thirty-eight years of pent-up hunger.
He broke the kiss and shoved her onto the bed. She landed on her back, naked except for her underwear, chest heaving, hair fanning across the white sheets. Her breasts were full and heavy, nipples already hard, her stomach flat, her hips wide. A woman's body at its peak, maintained with obsessive care and untouched for years.
Seiji pulled his shirt over his head and climbed on top of her.
"Fujiwara-sensei..." Minami reached for him, fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest, his abs. Her touch was hungry, greedy, the restraint she'd held for weeks gone in an instant.
He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other cupped her left breast, squeezed, and his mouth closed over the nipple.
"Ah..."
Minami arched into him. His tongue circled the stiff peak, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and she squirmed under him, thighs pressing together. He switched to the other breast, biting down just hard enough to make her cry out, then soothing it with his tongue while his free hand slid down her stomach and hooked into her underwear.
He pulled them off in one motion and tossed them aside.
His hand pressed between her legs. She was soaked. Wetter than she'd ever gotten from her own fingers, wet enough that his palm was slick the moment he touched her.
"Years of nothing," Seiji said, looking down at her. "And you're this wet before I've even started."
"Don't talk..." Minami turned her face away, flushed to her ears. The pride she'd carried her entire career was crumbling by the second. "Just... do it."
"Do what?" He slid two fingers inside her and she bucked, a sharp moan punching out of her. "Say it properly, Ms. Mori."
"You..." She glared at him, eyes wet, jaw clenched, the last scraps of her dignity fighting a losing battle against the fingers curling inside her. "Fuck me. Please. I can't take it anymore."
The words cost her everything. Decades of turning men down, of keeping herself above it all, of being the untouchable national treasure — gone in three sentences.
Seiji unzipped his pants.
He lined up and pushed in.
"Ohh... god..."
Minami's back arched clean off the mattress, her mouth falling open. He was big, stretching her in ways her fingers never could, filling the emptiness that had been eating her alive for years. Her pussy clenched around him immediately, tight from years of disuse, and Seiji groaned as he bottomed out.
He didn't give her time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a hard, steady pace. The bed frame hit the wall with every thrust.
"Yes... there... harder..."
The award-winning actress who never broke character on set was begging underneath him, legs spread wide, hips rising to meet every stroke. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red welts. She was loud — louder than she'd ever been in her life — and she didn't care.
Seiji grabbed her thighs and pushed them up toward her chest, folding her nearly in half. The angle drove him deeper and Minami screamed, her hands clawing at the sheets, pussy squeezing his cock in spasms.
"More... don't stop... please don't stop..."
He didn't. He fucked her through her first orgasm and kept going. Minami's cries broke apart into sobbing gasps, tears streaming down her temples, but her arms locked around his neck and refused to let go.
He flipped her onto her stomach, grabbed her hips, and drove back in from behind. Minami buried her face in the pillow and screamed into it, ass pushed back against him, taking every thrust.
"Fujiwara... sensei..."
Her voice was wrecked. Hoarse and raw and nothing like the composed woman who'd greeted him at dinner hours ago.
He pulled her head back by her hair, leaned down, and spoke against her ear. "Still think you're not easy to win over?"
She couldn't answer. Her mind was blank. All she could do was moan and push her hips back harder.
He went for hours.
Every position. On her back, on her knees, riding him with her hands braced on his chest, pressed against the headboard with her legs around his waist. Each time she thought it was over, each time her body went limp and she gasped that she couldn't take anymore, he was already hard again, already pulling her back, already inside her.
By the end, Minami Mori was a shaking, tear-streaked mess on the ruined sheets. Her throat was raw from screaming, her thighs trembled uncontrollably, and her pussy was sore and swollen and still clenching around nothing.
But her arms stayed locked around Seiji's neck the entire time, refusing to let go for even a second.
Years of emptiness, finally and completely filled.
...
...
Several days later.
Winter morning light slipped through the curtains of the Wakaba master bedroom.
Seiji woke to something warm and wet on his cock.
He didn't open his eyes. Just groaned, low and lazy.
The mouth on him pulled off with a soft pop.
"Awake? Fu. Ji. Wa. Ra. Sen. Sei!"
Playful. Teasing. A voice that belonged to a woman who'd stopped pretending she didn't want this.
Seiji opened his eyes.
Minami Mori was draped across his chest, naked, grinning at him like a cat that had gotten into the cream. Her hair spilled down her bare back in thick waves. Days of getting fucked properly had done something to her — she looked ten years younger, skin flushed and glowing, the tension gone from her face entirely.
"What do you want for breakfast?"
The sharp, calculating eyes that used to size up every person in a room now looked at him with open, shameless adoration.
"Chinese? Western? Japanese? Thai?"
She licked her lips slowly, watching his reaction.
"Or would you rather eat me?"
Her fingers traced down his abs and wrapped around his cock, still slick from her mouth. She stroked him lazily, thumb circling the head.
"To thank you for last night... I thought I'd start with a wake-up service."
The woman who'd blushed when he flirted on set, the one who'd masturbated alone to a magazine photo, was gone. Somewhere in the past few nights of being pinned down and fucked until she couldn't walk straight, that woman had died.
This one knew what she wanted and wasn't ashamed to ask for it.
"Didn't I feed you enough last night, Ms. Mori?" Seiji laughed.
"Mm..."
Minami tilted her head, letting out an adorable hum. "As long as it's from Fujiwara-sensei... I can never get enough."
"Then I'd better keep trying."
Seiji flipped her beneath him in one smooth motion, pinning that lush, inviting body to the mattress.
In the morning light, the room soon filled with the sounds of a woman's joyful satisfaction.
...
...
10:00 AM. Toho Studios.
The Sunset Afterglow set.
The moment Minami Mori stepped onto the lot, everyone noticed the change.
Days ago, she'd still been beautiful, but there had been an unmistakable tension between her brows, a fatigue that bled into her performances and made them feel over-engineered.
Today was different.
Her step was light, her whole being luminous.
That glow didn't come from makeup. It came from vitality itself, from the loose, easy confidence of a woman whose body and soul were thoroughly satisfied.
"She's gorgeous..."
Even the lead actress, who usually seethed with jealousy, caught herself whispering when Minami walked in.
...
Today's shoot was demanding. An emotionally explosive scene.
Minami's character, a fallen noblewoman, discovers her husband's betrayal and her family's ruin. She needed to convey the journey from suppression to breakdown to calculated darkness, all in one take.
"Action!"
Director Sakamoto called it.
Minami transformed.
Her eyes were no longer hollow imitations.
She drew on the terror of being pressed against a wall by Seiji. The humiliation of the magazine. The ecstasy of drowning in desire.
She poured every real emotion into the character.
Minami smiled while tears rolled down her face.
Crying, yet her lips held a thin edge of cruelty.
That devastating beauty blooming from despair, that ruthlessness born of survival, seized every person on set by the throat.
The soundstage went silent.
Only the faint whir of the camera.
Minami finished her lines.
"Cut...!!!"
Director Sakamoto leapt from his chair, ecstatic.
"Perfect! Absolutely perfect!!!"
He paced back and forth, hands clapping, barely coherent. "That's what I've been looking for!"
"Ms. Mori! That look in your eyes, that darkness rising from the bone... it was divine! How did you do it?!"
Minami accepted a towel from her assistant and dabbed the tears from the corners of her eyes.
"Thank you."
She looked at the elated director, a mysterious, coquettish smile playing on her lips.
"I simply found the feeling. It came naturally."
...
In the corner, a few young crew members watched Minami and blushed involuntarily.
"Hey, don't you think... Mori-senpai looks especially beautiful today?"
"Totally."
"Yeah, like a flower that had wilted... blooming all over again."
...
...
Evening.
Mutsumi Wakaba walked home slowly.
Every step felt like dragging shackles.
The villa that had once been called "home" now looked like the lair of some heart-devouring beast.
She opened the front door. Those conspicuous men's slippers sat in the entryway again.
But this time, they weren't neatly placed by the shoe cabinet. They'd been kicked carelessly near the door, lying next to a toppled pair of her mother's heels. An ominous but entirely expected atmosphere washed over her.
"..."
Mutsumi pressed her lips together, changed her shoes, and walked into the living room.
The moment she entered, sounds that made no effort at concealment drifted down the staircase.
"Right there..."
"Don't hold back, do whatever you want..."
"Kiss me..."
Her mother's voice.
The woman who had taught her to be ladylike, poised, mindful of appearances, was now using a tone Mutsumi had never heard before, in the master bedroom, begging a man for more.
Mutsumi stood at the foot of the stairs, gripping the banister until her knuckles went white.
Nausea churned in her stomach, bile rising to her throat.
But her face remained expressionless.
"..."
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pair of noise-canceling earphones, and put them on.
Her thumb swiped across the phone screen, selecting a song and cranking the volume.
Crashing drums. Screaming distorted guitars. The sound detonated against her eardrums, forcibly severing her from the filthy world outside.
She walked forward, through the corridor thick with the smell of sex, eyes straight ahead as she passed the master bedroom door that hadn't been fully closed.
Through the gap, tangled silhouettes and images no one should have to see.
She chose not to look.
This was her survival strategy.
In this broken home, the only thing she could do was refuse to think about it.
Even when Seiji sometimes emerged from her mother's room, shirt half-open, and knocked on her door to seamlessly continue with her... she couldn't refuse.
...
...
Meanwhile.
Shinjuku. Deep in Kabukicho.
Inside a high-end ryotei called "Black Dragon."
[Read 50+ chapters ahead on Patreon: patreon.com/NiaXD]