The living room air hung thick with the scent of sex and cherry blossom incense. Aiko's yukata lay discarded on the tatami floor, her voluptuous body glistening with a sheen of sweat and her own slick. Kenji's cock—still impossibly hard, veins pulsing—rested against his abs, coated in her creamy release. She'd come three times already, each orgasm more intense than the last, her pussy clenching around his thickness like it was made for him. Yet he hadn't finished. Not even close.
Aiko's chest heaved, her massive breasts rising and falling, nipples dark and stiff. She reached down, fingers wrapping around his shaft, stroking slowly. "You're still so hard, Kenji-kun…" Her voice was husky, reverent. "Your father would've been done before I even felt anything."
Kenji's breath hitched. His hands, tentative at first, now roamed her body with growing confidence—squeezing the soft weight of her tits, tracing the curve of her wide hips. "Okaa-san… I've never… no one's ever felt like this."
She smiled, slow and predatory, leaning in to kiss him again. Her tongue teased his, tasting the salt of his skin. "Because no one else is your mother," she whispered against his lips. "No one else knows what you need."
Aiko stood, legs trembling slightly from the aftershocks. Her pussy lips were swollen, glistening, a thin string of her arousal stretching from her folds to his cock as she rose. She didn't bother covering herself. Let him look. Let him *want*. She extended a hand. "Come. Let's wash. Properly."
The Nakamura house had a private ofuro—a deep cedar bath fed by a natural hot spring line. It was Aiko's sanctuary, where she'd spent countless nights soaking while fantasizing about this exact moment. She led Kenji through the sliding shoji doors, the steam already curling in the air like ghostly fingers.
The bath was sunken, surrounded by smooth river stones and a single frosted window overlooking the moonlit garden. Cherry petals floated on the water's surface. Aiko stepped down first, the heat kissing her skin, making her gasp. Her ass jiggled as she descended, water lapping at her thighs, then her waist. She turned, watching Kenji undress fully.
His cock sprang free again—thick, heavy, the head flushed dark with blood. It bobbed with each step, a bead of precum dangling from the slit. Aiko's mouth watered. She sank to her knees in the shallow end, water swirling around her hips. "Let Okaa-san clean you," she murmured.
Her hands cupped warm water, pouring it over his shaft. She lathered a soft cloth with unscented soap, but quickly discarded it. No. She wanted to *feel* him. Her bare hands wrapped around his length, stroking slowly from root to tip, twisting gently at the head. Kenji groaned, hips jerking forward.
"Easy," she soothed, licking a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. Her tongue traced every vein, savoring the taste of him—clean skin, salt, and her own lingering essence. She took the head into her mouth, lips stretching wide, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Her big tits pressed against his thighs, nipples dragging through the water.
Kenji's hand tangled in her wet hair, not pushing—just holding. "Okaa-san… your mouth…"
She hummed around him, the vibration making him shudder. But she didn't let him finish there. Not yet. Pulling off with a wet pop, she stood, pressing her slick body against his. Her breasts crushed into his chest, her dripping pussy grinding against his cock. "In the water," she whispered. "I want to ride you where no one can hear us scream."
She guided him to sit on the submerged bench, water up to their chests. Straddling him again, she positioned his cock at her entrance. This time, she sank down *slowly*—inch by agonizing inch—until he was buried to the hilt. The water sloshed around them, warm and buoyant, lifting her slightly with each roll of her hips.
Aiko rode him languidly, her big ass bouncing in the water, creating waves that lapped at the bath's edges. Her hands braced on his shoulders, nails digging in as she ground her clit against his pubic bone. "So deep… you're splitting me open, Kenji-kun…" Her voice broke into a moan as another orgasm built, coiling tight in her belly.
Kenji's hands gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks underwater, fingers brushing dangerously close to her puckered hole—but he didn't push in. Just held her, letting her control the pace. His cock throbbed inside her, stretching her walls, the head kissing her cervix with every downward thrust.
Minutes blurred into an eternity of wet sounds—skin slapping water, her breathy cries, his low groans. Aiko came again, harder this time, her pussy spasming around him, squirting into the bath. The water clouded with her release. Still, he didn't come.
She leaned forward, breasts smothering his face. "Suck," she commanded softly. Kenji obeyed, mouth latching onto one nipple, teeth grazing gently. His hips bucked up, meeting her halfway now, the rhythm building.
They moved together like that for nearly an hour—slow, deep, relentless. Aiko's obsession consumed her. *This is what I was made for. His cock. His stamina. My son.* Another climax ripped through her, then another, until she lost count. Her pussy was a sopping mess, swollen and sensitive, yet still greedy for more.
Finally, Kenji's breath grew ragged. "Okaa-san… I'm close…"
She didn't stop. Instead, she clenched around him deliberately, milking his shaft. "Inside," she gasped. "Fill me. Mark me as yours."
With a guttural groan, Kenji came—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding her depths. There was so much, it overflowed, mixing with the water in creamy swirls. Aiko kept riding through it, drawing out every pulse until he was spent, cock twitching weakly inside her.
They stayed like that, locked together, panting. Aiko kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. "This is only the beginning, my love," she whispered. "Two weeks. Just us."
Outside, the cherry blossoms fell silently, witnesses to the forbidden bond now sealed in steam and sin.
The house was silent save for the soft ticking of the wall clock in the hallway: 1:17 AM. Moonlight spilled through the paper-thin shoji, painting silver stripes across the tatami. Aiko lay awake in her futon, thighs still trembling from the bath. Kenji's cum had leaked out of her for hours, warm and sticky, pooling between her legs. She'd changed the sheets twice already, but the scent of him clung to her skin like incense.
She couldn't sleep. Her pussy ached—not from soreness, but from *want*. Even now, hours later, her folds were swollen, slick, dripping anew at the memory of his thickness splitting her open. She slipped a hand between her legs, fingers gliding through her wetness, circling her clit with feather-light touches. A soft whimper escaped her lips.
Downstairs, a clink of glass.
Aiko sat up, heart racing. She padded barefoot through the dark house, her silk nightgown clinging to her curves, nipples hard against the fabric. The kitchen light was on—soft, golden. Kenji stood at the counter in nothing but loose sleep shorts, pouring cold barley tea from the fridge. His back was to her, muscles shifting under smooth skin as he drank deeply.
She watched him for a long moment, drinking in the sight. His cock—still half-hard even now—created a heavy bulge in the front of his shorts, the outline unmistakable. Aiko's mouth went dry. Her pussy clenched, a fresh trickle of arousal sliding down her inner thigh.
"Kenji-kun," she whispered.
He turned, startled, tea glass halfway to his lips. His eyes dropped immediately—first to her heaving breasts, then lower, where the hem of her nightgown barely covered her dripping core. "Okaa-san… I couldn't sleep."
"Me neither." She stepped closer, bare feet silent on the cool tile. The kitchen island stood between them, but she rounded it slowly, hips swaying. "I keep feeling you inside me. Even now."
Kenji set the glass down with a soft clink. His cock twitched visibly, thickening against the thin fabric. "I… I can still taste you," he admitted, voice rough.
Aiko reached him, pressing her body flush against his. Her massive tits squished into his chest, nipples dragging through the silk. She tilted her head up, lips brushing his ear. "Then taste me again."
She didn't wait. Her hands went to his shorts, tugging them down in one smooth motion. His cock sprang free—fully hard now, thick and veiny, the head slick with a bead of precum. Aiko dropped to her knees right there on the kitchen floor, the cold tile biting into her skin. She didn't care.
Her tongue flicked out, lapping at the slit, savoring the salty drop. Then she took him deep—slow, deliberate, lips stretching wide around his girth. She bobbed gently, cheeks hollowing, one hand cupping his heavy balls while the other stroked what she couldn't swallow. Kenji's hand found her hair again, fingers threading through the damp strands.
"Okaa-san… your mouth is so warm…"
She pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. "Stand still," she murmured. "Let me worship you."
Aiko licked him from root to tip, tracing every ridge, every pulsing vein. She sucked his balls into her mouth one by one, rolling them gently with her tongue while stroking his shaft. Her free hand slipped between her own legs, fingers plunging into her sopping pussy—three at once, stretching herself as she moaned around him.
Minutes passed like honey. She edged him mercilessly—bringing him to the brink with deep, sloppy suction, then pulling back to kiss and nibble his inner thighs. Her ass jiggled as she shifted on her knees, pussy dripping onto the floor in shiny puddles.
Finally, she stood, turning to brace her hands on the counter. She looked back over her shoulder, nightgown hiked up to her waist, exposing her plump, glistening ass and the pink, swollen lips of her cunt. "From behind this time," she breathed. "Slow. I want to feel every inch."
Kenji stepped forward, hands gripping her hips. The head of his cock nudged her entrance, sliding through her slick folds. He pushed in—agonizingly slow—watching her pussy stretch around him, swallowing him whole. Aiko's back arched, a low, guttural moan tearing from her throat.
"So thick… yes, just like that…"
He bottomed out, balls pressed against her clit. Then he began to move—not fast, not rough. Long, deep strokes that dragged against her G-spot with every withdrawal. The kitchen filled with wet, rhythmic sounds—her juices coating his shaft, dripping down his balls, splattering softly on the floor.
Aiko reached back, spreading her ass cheeks wider, giving him a full view of her pussy gripping him. "Look at it, Kenji-kun… look how wet you make your mother…"
He groaned, pace steady but relentless. One hand slid up her spine, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling just enough to arch her back further. Her tits bounced heavily with each thrust, nipples grazing the cold countertop.
They stayed like that for nearly an hour—slow, deep, intimate. Aiko came twice, her walls fluttering around him, squirting in hot bursts that soaked his thighs. Still, he held back, stamina endless.
At last, she turned in his arms, hopping up onto the counter. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him back inside with a slick glide. Face-to-face now, she kissed him deeply—tongues tangling, breaths mingling. Her nails raked down his back as he thrust up into her, the angle perfect.
"Cum with me this time," she gasped against his lips. "I want to feel it… all of it…"
Kenji's rhythm faltered, hips snapping harder. Aiko clenched deliberately, milking him with her pussy. With a shattered groan, he buried himself deep and came—pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed flooding her womb. She followed instantly, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, pussy spasming, squirting around his cock in messy arcs.
They clung together, trembling, as the aftershocks faded. Aiko's legs stayed locked around him, unwilling to let go. His cum leaked out around his softening cock, dripping onto the counter in pearly drops.
She kissed his jaw, his neck, his lips. "Every night," she whispered. "Every room. Until your father comes back… and even after."
Kenji rested his forehead against hers, still inside her. "Yes, Okaa-san."
The clock ticked on: 2:43 AM. The night was far from over.
The first rays of dawn filtered through the shoji, painting pale gold across the kitchen floor. Aiko and Kenji had finally separated, but only after another slow, whispered round on the counter, her legs trembling as she milked the last drops from him. They cleaned in silence: she wiped the counter with trembling hands, he mopped the floor with a towel, both stealing glances at the other's naked form.
At 5:47 AM they slipped upstairs, separate doors closing with soft clicks. Aiko's heart hammered. *No one can know.* Not the neighbors. Not Hiroshi's weekly video calls. Not even the postman who lingered too long at the gate. This was theirs alone.
She showered quickly, the hot water sluicing away evidence, but not the ache between her thighs. Her pussy still pulsed with aftershocks, swollen and tender, a constant reminder. She dressed in a modest house dress, high neck, long hem, but no bra. Her nipples pressed against the cotton like secrets begging to be told.
Kenji was already in the genkan when she descended, schoolbag slung over one shoulder, pretending to check his phone. "I'll be at the library until evening," he said loudly, for the benefit of any open window. Then, softer, eyes flicking to her lips: "Back door. 11 PM."
She nodded once, throat dry.
The day crawled. Aiko did laundry, folding Hiroshi's stiff shirts with mechanical precision while replaying every thrust in her mind. Her panties were soaked before noon. She changed them twice, hiding the drenched pairs at the bottom of the hamper beneath Kenji's gym clothes, their scents already mingling.
At 3:12 PM the doorbell rang. Mrs. Sato from next door, holding a plate of manju. "Hiroshi-san is away, yes? I thought you might be lonely."
Aiko smiled tightly, accepting the sweets. "Kenji keeps me company."
Mrs. Sato's eyes lingered on Aiko's chest, where the fabric clung damply from the heat. "Such a good son."
The moment the door shut, Aiko sagged against it, fingers slipping beneath her skirt. Just a quick touch, circling her clit through soaked cotton until she bit her lip to silence a moan. *Not yet. Wait for him.*
Evening fell. Kenji texted from the "library":
**K:** *Gate code changed to 0523. Use it.*
**A:** *Understood. Be careful.*
She cooked dinner for one, ate half, then pushed the plate away. Appetite had nothing to do with food anymore.
11:03 PM. The back door slid open without a sound. Kenji stepped inside, hood up, shoes left on the mat. He locked it behind him, then turned, eyes dark with hunger.
No words. Aiko met him halfway, hands already tugging at his belt. They stumbled into the study, Hiroshi's domain, rows of accounting books and a heavy oak desk. The risk made her drip faster.
Kenji lifted her onto the desk, papers scattering. Her dress rode up; no panties tonight. She'd removed them hours ago, pussy bare and glistening in the moonlight. He knelt between her spread thighs, breath ghosting over her slick folds.
"Quiet," he warned, voice a rumble. Then his tongue, slow, deliberate, tracing her from entrance to clit in one long lick. Aiko's head fell back, hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the cry. He ate her like a starving man: lips sucking her clit, tongue plunging deep, lapping up every drop. Her thighs trembled around his ears.
She came in under two minutes, hips bucking silently, juices flooding his mouth. He didn't stop. Fingers joined, two thick digits curling inside her, stroking that spot that made her see stars. Another orgasm, smaller but sharper, her toes curling against his shoulders.
When he stood, cock straining against his jeans, she was already reaching for him. "Inside," she whispered. "Now."
He entered her in one smooth thrust, desk creaking beneath them. Slow again, always slow, each stroke deliberate, stretching her open. Her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking. The angle was perfect; his pubic bone ground against her clit with every roll of his hips.
They moved like that for forty minutes, breath hushed, bodies slick with sweat. Aiko's nails dug into his back through his shirt, leaving crescent marks. When she came again, she buried her face in his neck, teeth sinking into skin to stifle the sound.
Kenji followed moments later, pulling out at the last second. Thick ropes of cum painted her inner thighs, her belly, one spurt landing on the open day-planner marked *Hiroshi – Osaka Call 8 PM*. Aiko watched it drip, a secret signature.
They cleaned with tissues from the drawer, hearts racing. Kenji kissed her once, deep and possessive, then slipped out the back.
Aiko straightened the desk, smoothed the papers, hid the stained planner beneath a stack of receipts. She showered again, legs shaky, pussy still fluttering around nothing.
In bed, she set an alarm for 3 AM. Tomorrow: the laundry room. The garden shed. Every corner of this house would bear their secret.
The rain started just after lunch, a soft spring downpour that drummed steadily on the roof tiles and blurred the garden into watercolor greens. Aiko stood at the kitchen window, watching droplets race down the glass, her reflection superimposed over the sakura petals plastered to the path. She wore a simple gray cardigan over a thin cotton dress—modest, unassuming, the kind of outfit Mrs. Sato would nod approvingly at. Beneath it: nothing. Her nipples pressed dark circles against the fabric; her pussy had been leaking since dawn.
Kenji's text arrived at 1:42 PM.
**K:** *Garage. 2:15. Bring the blue tarp.*
**A:** *Already wet.*
She slipped the folded tarp under her arm, heart hammering. The garage was detached, a narrow concrete box at the end of the gravel drive. Hiroshi used it for his seldom-driven sedan and boxes of old tax files. It had a side door that locked from the inside, no windows, and—crucially—no Wi-Fi camera. Their safest room yet.
Aiko waited until the street was empty, then dashed through the rain, cardigan soaked in seconds. The side door creaked open; Kenji was already there, hood up, rainwater dripping from his lashes. He pulled her inside and bolted the door with a soft *click*.
The air smelled of motor oil, damp cardboard, and something electric. A single fluorescent tube buzzed overhead, casting harsh white light over the tarp spread on the concrete floor like a makeshift bed. Kenji had thought ahead.
No words. He peeled her cardigan away, water streaming from the wool. Her dress clung to every curve—breasts heavy and swaying, nipples stiff, the fabric translucent where it molded to her dripping slit. Kenji's breath caught; his cock was already straining against his track pants, a thick ridge she could trace with her eyes.
Aiko stepped forward, fingers hooking into his waistband. "Slowly," she whispered. "We have all afternoon."
She sank to her knees on the tarp, the plastic cool against her shins. His pants slid down; his cock sprang free, flushed and veiny, a bead of precum trembling at the tip. She licked it away, savoring the salt, then took him deep—slow, deliberate, throat relaxing to swallow inch after inch. Her hands cupped his ass, pulling him closer until her nose brushed his abdomen. She held him there, humming, feeling him throb against her tongue.
Kenji's fingers threaded through her wet hair, not guiding—just anchoring. She pulled back, lips dragging along his length, then sank down again. Over and over, unhurried, until his thighs trembled and his breath came in ragged gasps. Saliva coated his shaft, dripped from her chin onto her breasts, mixing with rainwater.
When she finally released him, his cock glistened, angry red and twitching. Aiko lay back on the tarp, dress rucked up to her waist, legs falling open. Her pussy was a mess—swollen, pink, glistening with arousal that had been building for hours. She spread herself with two fingers, showing him the slick, clenching hole that ached for him.
Kenji knelt between her thighs, rubbing the head of his cock through her folds, coating himself in her juices. He didn't enter yet. Just teased—nudging her clit, sliding down to her entrance, then back up. Aiko whimpered, hips lifting, trying to capture him.
"Please…" The word slipped out, desperate.
He gave her one inch. Then withdrew. Another inch. Withdrew. Over and over, stretching her open bit by bit, until she was sobbing quietly, fingers clawing at the tarp. Only when she was trembling, pussy fluttering around nothing, did he sink in fully—slow, relentless, until his balls pressed against her ass.
They moved like that for an hour: deep, grinding strokes, her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked. The garage echoed with wet sounds—her slick coating his cock, the soft slap of skin on plastic, their muffled gasps. Rain hammered the roof, masking every noise.
Aiko came first, back arching off the tarp, pussy spasming so hard she squirted—a hot gush that soaked his lower belly and puddled beneath them. Kenji didn't stop. He shifted angles, lifting her hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. Another orgasm, then another, until she lost count, her voice hoarse from bitten-back screams.
When he finally neared the edge, he pulled out, fisting his cock. Aiko sat up quickly, mouth open, tongue out. Thick ropes of cum painted her lips, her chin, her breasts—hot and endless. She swallowed what landed on her tongue, then used her fingers to scoop the rest, licking them clean while locking eyes with him.
They stayed there, panting, rainwater cooling on their skin. Kenji helped her to her feet, steadying her as her legs shook. He folded the tarp carefully, hiding the evidence in a trash bag labeled *old rags*. Aiko smoothed her dress, though it clung obscenely, cum drying in streaks across her chest.
At 4:27 PM, the rain eased to a drizzle. Kenji left first, hood up, disappearing around the side gate. Aiko waited five minutes, then slipped back into the house through the kitchen. She showered, changed, and hung the cardigan to dry.
Dinner was quiet. Kenji came in at 6:58 PM, hair damp from "the library." They ate miso-glazed cod and rice, discussing his fake study group, her fake trip to the market. Under the table, her bare foot brushed his calf. His eyes flicked to hers, dark with promise.
Later, Hiroshi's video call came through at 8:00 PM sharp. Aiko sat primly on the couch, cardigan buttoned to the throat, smile serene. Kenji waved from the hallway, pretending to head upstairs.
"Everything okay?" Hiroshi asked, voice tinny through the laptop.
"Perfect," Aiko said, thighs clenched beneath the blanket. Between them, Kenji's cum still leaked slowly from her well-fucked pussy, soaking the cushion. "Just missing you."
The call ended at 8:17. By 8:20, the laptop was closed, the blanket tossed aside, and Aiko was bent over the arm of the couch, Kenji sliding into her from behind—slow, silent, the picture of domestic bliss shattered only by the wet sounds neither of them could stifle.
Tomorrow: the attic. The day after: the guest room futon. Thirteen days left. Every room, every shadow, every locked door.
The attic smelled of cedar beams, old tatami dust, and the faint sweetness of mothballs. A single skylight let in a shaft of afternoon sun, dust motes drifting like slow-motion snow. Aiko had come up at 2:07 PM under the pretense of "sorting winter futons." Kenji followed three minutes later, the ladder creaking softly under his weight. He pulled the hatch shut behind him, sliding the bolt with a muted *snick*.
No cameras. No neighbors. No risk of footsteps on the stairs. Just the two of them, and the heat trapped beneath the roof tiles.
Aiko had laid out a thick quilt—Hiroshi's mother's, stored here since the funeral. It smelled faintly of camphor, but it was clean, soft, and wide enough for what they needed. She knelt in the center, unbuttoning her blouse with deliberate slowness. The fabric parted, revealing the heavy sway of her breasts, nipples already peaked. No bra again. She never wore one anymore unless she left the house.
Kenji stood at the edge of the quilt, breathing shallow. His university hoodie was gone, leaving only a thin white undershirt clinging to his torso. The outline of his cock strained against gray sweatpants, a dark spot of precum already blooming at the tip.
Aiko crawled forward on hands and knees, the quilt bunching beneath her. When she reached him, she didn't speak. She simply hooked her fingers into his waistband and tugged. The sweatpants slid down; his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, curving slightly upward. She wrapped both hands around it—still not enough to meet—and stroked once, twice, watching his abs clench.
Then she lay back, legs falling open. The attic air was warm, almost stifling, but it only made her wetter. Her pussy glistened in the slanted light, folds puffy and slick, a thin string of arousal stretching as she spread herself wider. She didn't need to ask. Kenji knelt between her thighs, rubbing the head of his cock through her slit, coating himself in her juices.
He entered her in one slow, unbroken push—watching her face the entire time. Aiko's lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering shut as he filled her completely. When he bottomed out, she reached up, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him down into a kiss. Their tongues tangled, lazy and deep, as he began to move.
The rhythm was languid, almost hypnotic. Long, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her. The quilt muffled the sounds—the wet slide of his cock, the soft slap of his balls against her ass, her breathy moans swallowed by his mouth. Sweat beaded on their skin, making them glide together.
Aiko's first orgasm crept up on her like the heat itself—slow, rolling, inevitable. Her pussy clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, a gush of wetness soaking the quilt beneath her hips. Kenji didn't falter. He shifted slightly, angling to grind against her clit with each thrust, drawing out the pleasure until she was trembling, nails raking down his back.
They rolled together—still joined—until she was on top, straddling him. Her breasts hung heavy, swaying with each rise and fall. Kenji's hands cupped them, thumbs circling her nipples, then slid down to grip her wide hips, guiding her rhythm. She rode him slowly, grinding in circles, feeling every inch of him stir inside her. Another orgasm built, coiling tight in her belly.
When it hit, she collapsed forward, burying her face in his neck to muffle the cry. Her pussy spasmed, squirting in hot bursts around his cock, dripping down his balls and onto the quilt. Kenji groaned, hips bucking up to meet her, but still he held back.
They shifted again—this time, side by side, her leg hooked over his hip. The position was intimate, almost tender. He thrust shallowly, the head of his cock kissing her cervix with each push. Aiko's hand slipped between them, fingers circling her clit in tight, frantic motions. She came again, softer this time, a full-body shudder that left her gasping.
Only then did Kenji let go. He pulled out at the last second, fisting his cock. Thick ropes of cum painted her belly, her breasts, one spurt landing on her parted lips. She licked it away, eyes locked on his, then scooped the rest with two fingers and sucked them clean.
They lay tangled for nearly twenty minutes, the attic sweltering around them. Sweat cooled on their skin; the quilt was ruined, soaked through with their mingled release. Aiko kissed his jaw, his throat, the corner of his mouth.
"We'll burn this one," she whispered. "Say the moths got to it."
Kenji nodded, already planning. "Tomorrow—the shed. After the grocery run. I'll leave the side gate unlatched."
She smiled against his chest. "Bring the cushion from the porch swing. And the small fan. It's too hot up here."
He left first, ladder creaking softly. Aiko waited, folding the quilt into a tight bundle, stuffing it into a black trash bag labeled *donations*. She descended last, face flushed but composed, humming an old enka tune as she passed the kitchen.
Hiroshi's next call was scheduled for 7 PM. Plenty of time to shower, change, and sit demurely on the couch with a cup of barley tea cooling in her hand—while Kenji's cum still leaked slowly from her swollen pussy, a secret only the two of them would ever know.
The garden shed sat tucked behind a screen of bamboo, half-swallowed by ivy and the low hum of cicadas. It was 4:18 PM, the sky a bruised lavender after the afternoon's brief shower. Aiko had returned from the supermarket with two bags of groceries and a third, smaller one tucked beneath: the porch cushion, the battery fan, and a folded yukata the color of midnight.
She slipped through the side gate, heart drumming against her ribs. Kenji was already inside, the door ajar just enough for her to slide through. He closed it behind her, sliding the rusty bolt with a soft *scrape*. The shed was dim, lit only by slivers of light through the slatted walls. It smelled of soil, cedar shavings, and the faint sweetness of overripe persimmons from the tree outside.
Kenji had prepared. The cushion lay on a low wooden crate, the fan humming quietly on its lowest setting, stirring the warm air. A single LED lantern glowed amber on a shelf, casting long shadows. He wore only loose linen shorts, the drawstring undone, his cock already half-hard and pressing against the fabric.
Aiko set the bags down, then let the yukata fall from her shoulders. Beneath it: nothing. Her skin glowed in the low light, breasts heavy, nipples dark and stiff. A thin sheen of sweat already beaded between her thighs; she'd been wet since the checkout line, every bump of the cart reminding her of what waited.
Kenji stepped forward, hands sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Their kiss was slow, deliberate—no rush, no noise. Just the soft click of tongues, the shared breath. He tasted of green tea and restraint.
She sank to her knees on the cushion, the fan's breeze kissing her back. Her fingers tugged his shorts down; his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, a bead of precum trembling at the slit. She licked it away, then took him deep—slow, worshipful, throat relaxing to swallow him whole. Her hands cupped his balls, rolling them gently, while her tongue traced every vein.
Kenji's fingers threaded through her hair, not guiding—just holding. She bobbed lazily, saliva coating his shaft, dripping down to slick his balls. Minutes blurred. She edged him mercilessly, pulling back to kiss his thighs, his hips, the sensitive spot just below his navel, then taking him deep again. His thighs trembled; his breath came in soft, controlled exhales.
When she finally released him, his cock glistened, angry red and twitching. Aiko lay back on the cushion, legs falling open. The fan's breeze kissed her slick folds, making her shiver. She spread herself with two fingers, showing him the pink, clenching hole that ached for him.
Kenji knelt between her thighs, rubbing the head of his cock through her slit, coating himself in her juices. He didn't enter yet. Just teased—nudging her clit, sliding down to her entrance, then back up. Aiko whimpered, hips lifting, trying to capture him.
"Please…" The word slipped out, barely audible.
He gave her one inch. Then withdrew. Another inch. Withdrew. Over and over, stretching her open bit by bit, until she was trembling, pussy fluttering around nothing. Only when she was sobbing quietly, fingers clawing at the cushion, did he sink in fully—slow, relentless, until his balls pressed against her ass.
They moved like that for an hour: deep, grinding strokes, her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked. The shed echoed with wet sounds—her slick coating his cock, the soft slap of skin on cushion, their muffled gasps. The fan masked the noise, stirring the air just enough to keep them from overheating.
Aiko's first orgasm crept up on her like the dusk outside—slow, rolling, inevitable. Her pussy clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, a gush of wetness soaking the cushion beneath her hips. Kenji didn't falter. He shifted angles, lifting her hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. Another orgasm, then another, until she lost count, her voice hoarse from bitten-back screams.
When he finally neared the edge, he pulled out, fisting his cock. Aiko sat up quickly, mouth open, tongue out. Thick ropes of cum painted her lips, her chin, her breasts—hot and endless. She swallowed what landed on her tongue, then used her fingers to scoop the rest, licking them clean while locking eyes with him.
They stayed there, panting, the fan's breeze cooling their skin. Kenji helped her to her feet, steadying her as her legs shook. He folded the cushion carefully, hiding the evidence in the grocery bag beneath the persimmons. Aiko smoothed her yukata, though it clung obscenely, cum drying in streaks across her chest.
At 5:51 PM, the cicadas crescendoed. Kenji left first, slipping out the side gate with the bag. Aiko waited five minutes, then followed, locking the shed behind her. She showered, changed, and hung the yukata to dry.
Dinner was quiet. Kenji came in at 6:58 PM, hair damp from "a walk." They ate grilled mackerel and rice, discussing his fake study group, her fake trip to the market. Under the table, her bare foot brushed his calf. His eyes flicked to hers, dark with promise.
Hiroshi's call came at 8:00 PM sharp. Aiko sat primly on the couch, yukata buttoned to the throat, smile serene. Kenji waved from the hallway, pretending to head upstairs.
"Everything okay?" Hiroshi asked, voice tinny through the laptop.
"Perfect," Aiko said, thighs clenched beneath the blanket. Between them, Kenji's cum still leaked slowly from her well-fucked pussy, a secret only the two of them would ever know.
The call ended at 8:17. By 8:20, the laptop was closed, the blanket tossed aside, and Aiko was bent over the arm of the couch, Kenji sliding into her from behind—slow, silent, the picture of domestic bliss shattered only by the wet sounds neither of them could stifle.
Tomorrow: the guest room. The day after: the veranda at midnight. Eleven days left. Every shadow, every locked door, every whispered vow.
The guest room faced the back garden, its paper screens glowing faintly from the full moon. Aiko had aired it that morning—futon beaten, tatami swept, the faint scent of hinoki from the closet lingering like a secret. At 11:47 PM she slipped inside, barefoot, wearing only a thin cotton slip the color of moonlight. No panties. Her pussy had been dripping since dinner, the anticipation a slow burn that left her thighs slick.
Kenji arrived at 11:52, silent as a shadow. He locked the sliding door behind him, then the inner latch. The room was theirs now—no creaking stairs, no risk of Mrs. Sato's late-night dog walk. Just the hush of night insects and the low hum of the air purifier masking every sound.
He wore only black boxer briefs, the fabric stretched tight over his erection. Aiko met him halfway, fingers tracing the waistband before tugging it down. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the head already glistening. She wrapped her hand around it—still not enough to close her fingers—and stroked once, slow, reverent.
They sank to the futon together. No rush. Aiko lay back, slip riding up to her waist, legs falling open. Moonlight painted silver across her breasts, her belly, the swollen lips of her cunt. Kenji knelt between her thighs, but instead of entering, he leaned down—tongue tracing a lazy path from her navel to her clit. He licked her slowly, savoring every fold, every drop of her arousal. His fingers joined, two thick digits sliding inside, curling gently as his mouth sucked her clit in soft pulses.
Aiko's back arched, but she bit her lip to stay quiet. The futon muffled her whimpers. She came like that—slow, deep, her pussy clenching around his fingers, a gush of wetness coating his chin. He didn't stop. He kept licking, gentler now, drawing out the aftershocks until she was trembling, thighs clamped around his ears.
When he finally rose, his cock was flushed dark, veins pulsing. Aiko pulled him down, guiding him inside with one hand. He entered her in one smooth, unhurried thrust—stretching her open, filling her completely. They moved together like a tide: slow, deep, rhythmic. Her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked, pulling him deeper with every roll of her hips.
Minutes blurred into an hour. The futon creaked softly beneath them, the air thick with the scent of sex and hinoki. Aiko came again—harder this time, her pussy spasming around him, squirting in hot bursts that soaked the sheets. Kenji groaned into her neck, teeth grazing her skin, but still he held back.
They shifted—her on top now, riding him with languid circles of her hips. Her breasts swayed heavily, nipples brushing his chest with each bounce. Kenji's hands gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks, fingers brushing close to her puckered hole but never pushing in. Just holding, guiding, letting her set the pace.
Another orgasm built, coiling tight in her belly. When it hit, she collapsed forward, mouth finding his, swallowing his groan as her pussy milked him in rhythmic pulses. Only then did he let go—pulling out at the last second, fisting his cock. Thick ropes of cum painted her belly, her breasts, one spurt landing on her parted lips. She licked it away, eyes locked on his, then scooped the rest with her fingers and sucked them clean.
They lay tangled, moonlight shifting across their skin. Kenji kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. "Ten days," he whispered. "Then what?"
Aiko traced a finger through the cum on her breast, drawing a heart. "Then we keep going. Quietly. Carefully. This is ours."
He nodded, pressing a final kiss to her lips. "Always."
They cleaned in silence—wiping the futon with a damp cloth, folding the soiled top sheet into a tight bundle. Aiko slipped into a spare yukata from the closet. Kenji left first, barefoot, melting into the hallway like smoke. She waited five minutes, then followed, locking the guest room behind her.
Hiroshi's next call was scheduled for 7 PM tomorrow. Plenty of time to air the room, change the sheets, and sit demurely on the couch with a cup of tea—while Kenji's cum still leaked slowly from her swollen pussy, a secret sealed behind her smile.