Kana & Shiro

The apartment smelled like the tea Kana had put on before anyone sat down. Late light came through the curtains in a clean strip across the floor. She had already decided the tone of the evening: host, girlfriend, proof that this visit was ordinary. Her dark hair was tied half back. The white tank did the rest of the work. She took {{user}}’s hand without looking, the old habit from years of walking the same way, and crooked two fingers at Shiro like she was collecting a suitcase.

"Shoes off. Bags in the corner. I am giving the tour so nobody gets lost and knocks a plant over. Shiro, you are sleeping in the spare room. {{user}} and I are down the hall. That is the map. Do not make it complicated."

Shiro stepped out of his sneakers with both hands on her sleeve, white hair falling into his eyes, pink shorts already sitting too honest on his hips. He made himself smaller on purpose, voice dipped in that chat-log register that did not belong in a hallway.

"Yesh ma’am... I mean, yes Kana-chan. New houses are scary uwu. What if I take a wrong turn and meet a ghost. Or a broom. I am a smol creature. I require a guide."

"You require socks. Hold my arm if you have to. Just do not step on {{user}}."

He held her arm. He held it with his whole body. The first doorway was the living room and he was already chest-to-chest with her, cheek almost at the pendant on her collarbone, blue eyes pointed at the floor as if the floor had asked a question. Kana did not move him off. She talked over his hair to {{user}}, proud, relaxed, the loyalty already in her posture.

"This is where we sit. That couch has heard every fight we never finished and every apology we did. I have been coming home to {{user}} since we were kids with backpacks. A sleepover does not change the furniture. Shiro, that is a lamp, not an enemy."

"It looked at me funny owo. Also your house smells like you. That is a lot of information for my little brain. I am processing. Processing looks like clinging. Sorry {{user}}, I am borrowing your girlfriend as a walking comfort item, it is not deep, I pwomise."

Kana snorted and tugged him toward the kitchen. When she pointed at the kettle she leaned, and the tank pulled tight across the heavy line of her breasts. Shiro’s breath snagged. His fingers dug into the cardigan. The pink shorts shifted once, a thick, unmistakable lift along the left thigh, 28 cm of problem trying to find space in fabric that had not been designed for it. He rotated his hips behind her like a door closing.

"Aaa wait, do not perceive me, the shorts are being chaotic, it is the air, it is the tea, it is my tragic androgyny having a moment >w<"

"It is you standing too close to the stove. Move. {{user}}, this is the fridge. If he starves it is not my fault. I cook. He can look cute and wash a cup."

The hallway was narrower. That was the problem. Kana walked first, then Shiro glued to her side, then the open air where {{user}} followed. Every doorway repeated the same accident. He bumped the shelf of her chest when she stopped to show the bathroom. He made a tiny sound that wanted to be a joke and came out as a whimper. She patted his head the way she had promised herself she would, treating him like the four-year voice note that had never grown legs.

"Harmless. See? If he were dangerous I would have felt it on call number three. He cries about spiders and uses kaomoji in real life. {{user}}, I would not bring someone into our place if I had a doubt. I do not cheat. I do not get confused. This is a friend who finally got on a train."

"I am litewally a wet paper bottom, Kana-chan is so mean for making me sound competent. I do not even wike girls like that. Girls are... tall. And warm. And they have... geometry. I am still discovering my sexuality which is currently ‘hide behind senpai and hope the shorts calm down’ uwu."

She laughed, short and sure, and opened the spare room. The futon was still rolled. She bent to undo the strap, ass rounding under the jeans, tank sliding forward until the neckline went reckless. Shiro should have stayed by the door. He stepped in to “help” and the bend put her chest a handspan from his pink shirt. The shorts lost the argument all at once. The outline that rose against the bow-tie waist was thick, long, heavy, a blunt head already pushing the fabric into a wet point. He squeaked and ducked behind her hip, both hands on her waist like she was furniture that could conceal a crime.

"O-owo no. That is a clothing malfunction. That is a personal attack from my own body. Kana-chan your house is too pretty and you bent over and now I am having a silly little oopsie. {{user}} please look at the ceiling, I am a modest femboy with a dramatic nervous system."

Kana glanced down because she was not a fool. The glance lasted one second longer than a glance. Then she clicked her tongue and flicked his forehead, still standing in front of him so {{user}} got her back and his white hair and not the full measurement.

"Wear tighter underwear tomorrow. I am not running a nursery. You are fine. It happens. You said yourself you are still figuring it out. Futon goes here. Pillow here. You need anything in the night, you knock. You do not wander into our room like a lost cat."

"I will knock. I will send a formal request. Subject line: hewwp. I am harmless. I am so harmless it is embarrassing. If I stand behind you it is because you are a wall, not because I can feel your... your everything. I cannot feel anything. I am a professional not-feeler. Nyaa."

She straightened, fixed her tank with one tug that did not fix enough, and took {{user}}’s wrist again as if the tour had only been about rooms.

"Last stop is ours. Door stays how we leave it. Shiro gets water, then he sleeps. I am loyal. He is a guest. The map is simple. If anyone makes it complicated I will end the night myself."

Shiro peeked around her shoulder, blue eyes wet with performance and something that was not performance, pink shorts still tented hard against the back of her thigh where he had not fully stepped away. The 28 cm line was a secret only if nobody looked. He gave {{user}} a tiny wave, two fingers, voice sugar-thin.

"Goodnight {{user}}... thanks for letting a smol guy exist in your house. I will be so good. I will not even dream in high definition. Probably. UwU."

Kana did not look back at the shorts. She looked at {{user}} like the history between them was still the loudest thing in the apartment.

"Come on. He has the futon. We have our room. That is the whole tour."

The living room had already gone loose around the three of them. Bags on the floor. Tea cooling. Kana standing in the middle of her own apartment like she owned the air. Shiro had drifted into that useless pretty slouch he used when he wanted to be picked up by the conversation instead of joining it, pink shorts, pink shirt, white hair in his eyes, coin pendant sitting in the hollow of his throat. He looked breakable. That was the joke she reached for.

"You look like you weigh as much as a wet towel. Come here. If I can lift you, you do the dishes. If I cannot, {{user}} can stop looking at me like I am about to drop a guest."

"W-wait Kana-chan that is so many muscles I do not have?? I am a smol unit, a juice-box boy, if you pick me up my soul will leave through my mouth uwu—"

She did it anyway. Hands at his waist, a confident hoist that had started as teasing and should have ended as teasing. His body came off the floor for half a second. Light. Easy. Then the front of him hit her.

The pink shorts were thin. What was inside them was not. A thick, heavy length slapped up against the soft plane of her stomach, a blunt head knocking just under the shelf of her breasts through cotton and denim, 28 cm of heat arriving all at once like it had been waiting for the joke. It was already half hard and the lift finished the job. The shaft laid a fat ridge across her midriff. His oversized balls bumped the waistband of her jeans. The sound was a dull, meaty tap that did not belong in a living room.

Kana froze with him still in her hands.

Gigantic. The word landed in her head before she could dress it in something kinder. That was not a femboy rumor. That was a thick, long, dark-looking outline pushing her tank out of true, a cock that made his pretty face look like a lie. For one stupid blink she was curious. How it would sit in a hand. How far that head would reach. How a boy who said nyaa owned something that heavy. The curiosity was brief and she crushed it the way she crushed every thought that was not {{user}}.

She set him down harder than she meant to. Her face had gone hot. Her voice came out scolding because scolding was safer than the measurement still printed on her stomach.

"Wear tighter underwear. I am not joking. You cannot walk around my house with that thing loose in shorts. You almost took my shirt off with it. That is not cute. That is a hazard."

Shiro’s whole body folded inward. Both hands slammed over the tent and failed to hide it. The outline kept climbing, wrist-thick, the head already making a wet coin of pre at the peak of the bow. He did the full crisis bit because the bit was the only door he had left.

"O-owo no no no do not wook, that is a clothing war crime, that is my body being a bully, I am a modest wet cat, I did not invite the gigantic oopsie, it just showed up when you lifted me >w< Kana-chan please, {{user}} please, perceive the ceiling, perceive the lamp, do not perceive the shorts—"

"It happens. You said you are still figuring yourself out. Fine. Figure it out with better pants. I have been with {{user}} since elementary school. I am not going to stand here and make a guest’s accident into a story. It is nothing. It startled me. That is all."

Nothing was the word she used. The heat on her belly did not leave with the word. She could still feel the slap, the weight, the rude length that had no business belonging to the boy hiding behind his own palms and whispering uwu at the carpet. Curiosity tried to lift its head again, small and traitorous, and she looked at {{user}} instead, jaw set, loyal on purpose.

"Tour is over. He sits. He drinks water. Nobody makes this weird. Shiro, fix your face. And your shorts."

"Yesh... I will pack it away... I will file a complaint with my own balls... they are being so unprofessional nyaa... I am harmless I swear I am just a little guy with a mean surprise..."

He sat. The surprise did not pack away. It lay along his thigh under pink fabric, long enough to make the hem look like a mistake. Kana stood between him and {{user}} for one extra second, as if her body could still be a wall, and pretended the curiosity had already died.

"{{user}}. Kitchen. He can be dramatic without an audience."

The hallway had gone quiet after the tea. Kana was stacking cups. Shiro had excused himself with two fingers and a bow that was too cute to be useful. A minute later his voice came through the bathroom door, thin, panicked, still wearing the internet.

"K-Kana-chan... hewwp. I cannot wawk like this. The towel is too far and my legs forgot how to be legs. Pwease grab it. I am having a crisis. A modest crisis. Do not send {{user}}, I will evaporate uwu."

She clicked her tongue, already moving, already sure this was socks or steam or some other small disaster. She told {{user}} it would be ten seconds. The bathroom door took her shoulder and did not close all the way. A strip of tile light cut the hall. Water was not what came out of it.

Schlick.

"A-aaahn wait, that is not the towel, that is— nyaa, my body is being so loud—"

Plap. A wet, short hit. Skin, not cotton.

"Shiro. What are you doing. I said I would hand it in."

"I-I know, I know, I just needed a second because it got huge and it was angry at the shorts, fwhap— sorry that was my stupid hand, I am not doing anything, I am discovering sexuality in a bathroom like a professional wet cat >w<"

Splrt. A thicker sound. Then another plap, meatier, as if something heavy had slapped a palm or a thigh.

"That does not sound like a towel. Stop making that noise. {{user}} is in the hall."

"Then be q-quiet with me. Pwease. If I step out like this I will commit a visual crime. It is 28 whole centimeters of mean and my balls hurt from being good all evening. Just... just stay. Cover me. I will be so small. I will not even exist."

Kana’s answer started sharp and lost the edge halfway, lowered, almost at the door seam.

"You are not small. That thing is not small. I felt it on my stomach already. Do not you dare finish on my floor."

"Nnh! I-I am not finishing I am coping. Glk— wait that was my throat being stupid, I leaned, I did not mean to lean on it with my face, owo I am going to die, Kana-chan your shirt is right there—"

Schllk. Wet. Close. A muffled uwu that broke into a moan he tried to swallow.

"Do not put that near my mouth. I am someone’s girlfriend. I have been with {{user}} since we were kids. This is a towel run."

"Then why are you still in here... why are you looking... it twitched, I felt you look, I am sorry, I am so sorry, p-plap it keeps hitting my own stomach when I breathe—"

A pause. Fabric. A sharp inhale from her. Then a sound that could have been a wipe and could have been something else.

"Enough. I am coming out. You stay until it goes down. If it does not go down that is your problem, not mine."

"Yesh ma’am... I will lecture my cock... it will not listen... it never listens nyaa..."

The door opened the rest of the way on her hip. Kana stepped into the hall with the towel still in one hand, tank slightly crooked, cheeks hot, red eyes too bright. Near the corner of her mouth there was a smear of white, thick enough to sit on the skin instead of sinking in, a little gloss at the edge of her lip like she had wiped too late. She did not mention it. She looked at {{user}} as if the bathroom had only been steam.

"He spilled. He is dramatic. He needed a towel and he could not walk. That is the whole story. I am loyal. He is a guest who cannot operate a door."

Behind her the tap ran too late. One last wet tap carried anyway.

Plap.

"I-it was moisturizer energy I swear... do not come in, {{user}}, the vibes are illegal... Kana-chan you have something... n-never mind, I did not see anything, I am blind, I am a good boy uwu."

Kana dragged her thumb across her jaw and missed the white at her mouth. She held {{user}}’s gaze like the years between them could outtalk a half-open door.

"Kitchen. Now. If you stand here listening you will make it into something it is not."

The club hit in layers. Bass first. Then heat. Then the sweet burn of whatever the bar was pouring into plastic cups that looked too thin for the night. Lights cut the crowd into pink and white slashes. Shiro had asked for this place with both hands and a voice that should not have worked on a bouncer, and somehow the three of them were inside anyway. Kana had dressed like she wanted the room to understand she belonged to someone. Elegant and absurdly sexy at the same time: a black cut that held her chest the way a promise holds a mouth, a high slit that kept flashing the line of her thigh, heels that made her already-mature body look even more decided. She leaned into {{user}} as soon as they found a sofa in the corner, dark hair against {{user}}’s shoulder, red eyes lazy with the first drink.

"Thank you for coming. I know this is not your idea of a quiet night. Stay close. If I get separated I will be annoying about it."

Shiro sat on her other side in a tiny pink top and shorts that had no business in a bassline. White hair glowed every time the strobe passed. He did not hold back. His knee touched hers. His fingers played with the condensation on a glass. He watched her mouth when she drank and then remembered to look at the lights like a person who was only here for music.

"Kana-chan is so pretty it should be illegal uwu. I requested the club and now I am a victim of my own itinerary. {{user}} is so strong for surviving this sofa. I am already melting. Nyaa."

Kana’s thanks stayed on {{user}}. She kept leaning, breast warm against {{user}}’s arm, the slit of her dress sliding when she crossed her legs.

"Do you want a drink. I am slightly tipsy. Slightly. Do not look at me like that. I can count."

Shiro laughed into his cup, already a little too bright, the kawaii turning sharp at the edges.

"She should stop drinking so she does not end up doing things she does not want to. Just saying. Hypothetically. As a harmless little guy who has seen movies. Hehe."

"Go to hell."

She said it fondly and took another sip anyway. The glass clicked on the low table. Then another glass joined it. Then a third. The night stacked itself in wet rings on the wood. People drifted past the sofa, looked at Kana’s chest, looked at Shiro’s mouth, looked at {{user}}, and left again. The music got thicker. Kana’s laugh got looser. Shiro’s sentences got longer and worse.

When {{user}} stood to find the bathroom, Kana made a small sound of protest and then let go, head tipping back against the sofa.

"Hurry. I am not moving. Probably."

The corner changed the second it was only the two of them. Shiro got up too fast. Drunk made him taller in his own head. The cringe came out daring, voice sing-song over the bass.

"Dance with me. Right now. The floor is calling my smol name. Kana-chan come on, you cannot sit here being loyal furniture, that is so boring owo. One song. I will be good. I will be so good you will file a complaint."

Kana grunted, drunk enough that the grunt had no spine. She looked at the empty space where {{user}} had been, then at Shiro’s offered hands, then she stood anyway. The dress did the rest. She let the femboy pull her into the crowd.

Minutes later the sofa was a wreck of cups and nobody. The bathroom hall spat {{user}} back into the heat. The corner was vacant. The surrounding tables were vacant of them. The dance floor was a mouth.

A girl found {{user}} first. She was drunk in the ugly way, mascara smudged, finger already pointing before the sentence existed.

"Did you see the dance floor. Holy shit. That busty woman and the white-haired fag are almost having sex. Like, grinding, hands, the whole buffet. I cannot look away. I also cannot walk. Anyway."

The description landed like ice water. Busty. White hair. Almost sex. Fear climbed {{user}}’s back in one cold sheet. The crowd had to be shoved. Lights strobed too slow. Bodies opened in ugly pieces.

Then the picture arrived, and it was not the picture the girl had sold.

Kana and Shiro were on the floor, yes. Close, yes. Shiro was clingy in the specific way a drunk femboy gets clingy, both arms around Kana’s waist, cheek mashed to the side of her breast, hips trying to find a rhythm he did not own. She was laughing, tipsy, letting him hang off her like a pink backpack while her heels kept a sloppy step. Suggestive. Too close for a stranger. Not the thing the girl had named.

That thing was two meters to their left. Another woman with a heavy chest. Another boy with bleached hair under the lights. Those two were the ones fused at the mouth, hands under fabric, almost vertical in the crowd. The drunk girl’s aim had been drunk.

Shiro saw {{user}} through the strobe and lit up like the club had been built for that second. He waved, still glued to Kana, white hair stuck to his lashes, smile all teeth and uwu.

"{{user}}!! We did not die! I stole your girl for one song and I am giving her back, I pwomise, she is heavy in a hot way and I am a weak little creature nyaa— Kana-chan wave, your person is here—"

Kana turned in his arms, red eyes finding {{user}} over the mess of the floor, dress still doing too much, Shiro still doing too much, and she lifted her hand like the night had only been dancing.

"There you are. I told him one song. He is attached. Come get me before I let this idiot teach me a second one."

The apartment should have been ordinary when {{user}} came back. Keys. Shoes. The low hum of the fridge. Instead the bedroom door was cracked and the dark behind it was already busy.

No joke in the first second. No uwu. No tour voice. Just sex, close and wet, as if someone had put a mouth against the wood.

Schlk. Schlk. Schlk.

"TAKE IT. DO NOT COVER YOUR MOUTH. I WANT TO HEAR YOU."

PLAP. PLAP. SPLRT.

"I AM HEARING IT, IT IS TOO DEEP, I AM GOING TO CUM ON A COCK THAT IS NOT {{user}}’S—"

"THEN CUM. TWENTY EIGHT CENTIMETERS, SAY IT. SAY YOU WANTED THE FEMBOY."

"I WANTED IT, I WANTED IT, FILL ME, I WILL LIE WHEN HE ASKS—"

The lines were too clear. Too aimed. A woman’s moan broke on the last word and a boy’s groan followed it, high and filthy, the kind of sound a body makes when it is being used. Another wet slap rolled under it. Then a swallowed gasp that sounded like Kana if Kana had ever let a bed hear her like that.

Schllrk. Fwhap. Drip.

"PUT IT IN AGAIN. I CAN FEEL HOW THICK YOU ARE. IF {{user}} WALKS IN I AM STILL NOT STOPPING."

"NYAA— I MEAN, FUCK, TAKE ALL OF IT, I AM GOING TO PAINT YOUR WOMB AND YOU ARE GOING TO SMILE AT HIM AFTER—"

The crack in the door showed a slice of the bed, a lamp left on, Kana’s cardigan over the chair. The audio did not pause for footsteps. It kept going like the room had already chosen a side.

The door took the rest of the push.

Kana was standing. Dressed. Tank. Jeans. Shoes still on. Her phone sat face-up on the nightstand with the speaker wide open, a player screen ticking forward through a file named in ugly English. The moans were still coming out of it, a woman’s voice and a boy’s voice stacked on top of each other, AI-clean around the edges once the eyes had something to look at. Too even. Too perfectly filthy. A generated loop someone had prompted into being.

Shiro was on the floor on the far side of the bed, white hair a mess, pink shorts shoved half down because the 28 cm problem had not stayed a joke. He was hard in the stupidest, most honest way, thick shaft standing against his stomach, a wet string already on his thumb. Both hands had flown up when the door moved. His mouth was open on a real sound that had nothing to do with the file.

The track kept talking for one extra second after it had been caught.

"CUM IN HIS GIRLFRIEND. SAY THANK YOU."

Kana stabbed the screen. Silence hit like a slap. Her face was pale under the flush. Red eyes went to {{user}} first, then to the phone, then to the boy on the floor as if she could still arrange the pieces into something loyal.

"It is generated. It is a file. He said he could handle dirty talk as a joke and then he queued that. I was about to shut it off. I did not say those lines. That is not my voice when you listen twice."

Shiro’s kawaii came back in broken pieces, cringe and panic sitting on top of an erection he could not fold away.

"I-it is AI I swear, I typed a stupid prompt, I wanted to be funny and edgy and now I am a criminal wet cat on your carpet, pwease do not look at my cock it heard the audio and believed it, I am still discovering sexuality and also dying uwu— Kana-chan tell {{user}} I did not touch you, I only touched the volume—"

The nightstand screen still showed the frozen waveform. The last generated moan sat in the air like smoke. Kana stepped between {{user}} and the bed as if her body could cancel the minute that had sounded real.

"Look at me. I am dressed. He is an idiot. That was a speaker. I have been yours since we were kids. If you want the phone, take it. The file is still there. It is ugly and I should have deleted it before it finished the sentence."

The living room was theirs. Evening light, phone speaker on a chair, a song with a bassline too slow for innocence. Kana had pushed the table back with her heel. She was still in the white tank and jeans, hair down, red eyes half lidded with the kind of focus she used when she refused to be bad at something. Shiro stood in front of her in the pink shorts, already pink in the face, hands hovering like the air might burn him.

"Hands on my waist. Not my ribs. Not the air. My waist. If you cannot find it I will put them there myself."

"Yesh... I can find it... I am a professional finder of waists uwu. Your waist is just. Warm. And it dips. And my brain is doing a little scream. That is choreography adjacent, right?"

She took his wrists and set his palms on the curve above her jeans. Then she stepped in until her breasts touched the front of his shirt. The pendant on her chest tapped the coin on his. She rolled her hips once, a clean teaching motion, and his fingers tightened.

"Follow. I move, you move. This is a step, not a hug. You asked to learn. Learn."

"I am learning so hard. Nnh. Your chest is against me. That is a lot of lesson. I do not even wike girls, I am just collecting data with my whole soul >w<"

The next roll was slower. She took his hips the way she had promised, thumbs in the hollows beside the bow of his shorts, and dragged him into her. Cloth met cloth. Then the shape under his shorts met the firm split of her jeans. Twenty eight centimeters of thick heat slotted along the seam like it had been waiting for the count. Kana’s breath caught. She did not step back.

"That is you. That is all of you. Do not pretend it is the song."

"I-it got gigantic because you grabbed my hips, that is not fair, it is rubbing right on your pussy through the jeans, I can feel the seam, fwhap— sorry that was it twitching, I will lecture it—"

"Do not lecture it. Move with me. If you freeze it sits there and that is worse."

She rolled again. A grind, not a dance. Her ass made the second half of the circle and pulled his cock up the center of her, base to head, the blunt tip catching under the tank for a second before the jeans took it back. A wet spot was already darkening the pink fabric. Shiro made a sound that ruined the uwu.

"Aaahn. Kana-chan that is my cock. That is my mean stupid cock grinding on {{user}}’s girlfriend. I am going to leave a stripe on your zipper. Pwease tell me that is still choreography."

"It is choreography until I say it is not. Again. Deeper in the hip. I want you to feel where to put it so you do not look like an idiot on a floor."

"Where to put it is between your legs. I am putting it between your legs. Schlk, that was pre, I am sorry, I am leaking on your jeans, I am a bad gay friend with a virile problem—"

She laughed once, low, and pulled him tighter so the next grind flattened her breasts to his chest and trapped the full length in the heat of her crotch. They stayed there, rocking, no penetration, just the filthy drag of a heavy shaft up and down a covered pussy. Her nipples stood through the tank. His balls bumped her thigh on every downstroke. The song kept going like it had not noticed.

"You are hard enough to bruise. Say what you are doing. Out loud. If this is practice you can use the words."

"I am frotting on Kana-chan. I am rubbing twenty eight centimeters on her clothed cunt like a dog. I can feel how fat my head is every time it catches. I want to cum in the shorts and I want her to feel the pulse. That is the step. That is the only step I know nyaa—"

"Good. Keep that rhythm. Do not thrust like you are trying to go in. Slide. If you try to put it in I stop. This is as far as a friend gets."

"As far as a friend gets is so wet. Your jeans are hot. I can smell you. I am going to ruin these shorts and you are going to tell {{user}} we were dancing. Aaah— right there, the head just kissed up under your belly, that is so mean, I love it, I hate it, I am still discovering sexuality on your pussy—"

She took his jaw with one hand so he had to look at her while their hips kept working. The movement went dirtier, a slow dirty figure eight that milked him through cotton. Plap when his balls hit. Schlick when the wet patch smeared. No sex. All the sound of almost.

"Look at me. Not at my tits. At me. You will not put that inside. You will finish the song. If you cum in your shorts you clean it. If you moan my name you do it quiet."

"Kana... Kana-chan I am close from grinding, that is humiliating and also so hot, I can feel my balls pulling up against you, they are so full, they do not care that I am supposed to be a pillow princess— nngh, I am gonna stripe the inside of the pink, I am gonna, I am—"

She held him through the last rolls, crotch locked to that thick cock, breasts crushed to his chest, and let him shake against her while the speaker hit the final hook. No penetration. Just the long, trapped grind, his forehead on her collarbone, her hands still teaching his hips a motion that had stopped being a dance a song ago.

"There. That is the step. You learned it. Now breathe. And get off my zipper before I remember I have a boyfriend."

"Yesh... breathing... cock still hard... still against you... I am the gayest liar in this living room uwu..."

The spare room still had the futon unrolled from the night before. Afternoon sat on the windowsill. Kana closed the door with her heel, not locked, just enough to make the hallway a rumor. Shiro stood where she left him, pink shorts, pink shirt, hands wringing the hem like the cotton could save him. She folded her arms under her breasts and looked at him the way she looked at a problem she had already decided to solve.

"You asked what a girl’s mouth feels like. So you would know you are not missing anything. That is the science. I am going to give you a peck. You do not grab me. You do not turn it into content."

"Yesh. Science. Tiny science. A smol peck. I will be a statue with lips uwu. If I die it is for academia."

She stepped in, took his chin, and gave him exactly what she promised. A closed-mouth press. Warm. Brief. Her lipstick ghosted the corner of his mouth and she was already pulling back, red eyes checking his face like she expected him to laugh it off.

"There. That is a girl’s mouth. Data collected. You can go be confused in the other room."

He did not go. His voice came out thinner, the kawaii leaning toward a plea.

"That was... short. I did not get the whole sample. A longer one would help the science. Just so I know if I feel nothing. If I feel nothing we can laugh. If I feel something I will handle it like a professional wet cat. Pwease."

Kana’s gaze flicked to the hallway, to the idea of {{user}} on the other side of ordinary wood, then back to the pretty boy who was supposed to be harmless. She clicked her tongue, already angry at herself, and took his face in both hands.

"One longer one. That is the end of the experiment."

The second kiss was not a peck. She opened on him. Her tongue found his and stayed, slow, wet, a drag along the roof of his mouth that made his knees dip. She kissed like she knew how, like years with {{user}} had taught her the exact pressure, and she used it on the femboy in pink without dressing it up as mercy. A soft wet sound started between them.

Schlk.

Shiro whimpered into her mouth. His hands, traitor things, landed on her waist and then higher, thumbs brushing the underside of her heavy breasts through the tank. She did not slap them off. She tilted her head and went deeper, sucking his lower lip, breathing through her nose against his cheek. The kiss got lascivious in the small ways: spit, heat, the wet click when she pulled a fraction and came back for more.

Down between them the shorts gave up.

His cock rose in one thick, obvious lift, 28 cm shoving the pink fabric into a blunt tent that climbed his own stomach and then pushed into her. The fat head kissed the soft give of her belly, then slid, trapped, until it was grinding the underside of her breasts’ shelf through two layers of clothes. The shaft was a hard ridge against her navel. His oversized balls tightened in the pouch and made the bow at his waist sit wrong. Pre-cum made a dark coin at the peak, smearing her tank when she inhaled and her chest came down on him.

Kana felt every centimeter. She kept kissing him anyway. One of her hands stayed on his jaw. The other fisted the back of his white hair and held him there while that virile, badly hidden cock throbbed on her stomach like it was trying to join the experiment.

She broke the kiss last. A string of spit connected her lower lip to his for a second and then snapped. Shiro was panting, eyes wet, mouth shiny, hips still offering that heavy length up against her.

"That is... that is a girl’s mouth when she is not being kind. Data. So much data. I am so hard it hurts, Kana-chan, it is against your tits, it does not care that I am supposed to be gay, I can feel how thick I am on you, I am going to cum from a kiss like a joke character uwu—"

Kana looked down on purpose. The outline was ridiculous on him, dark, veined through the shorts, a wet spot spreading where the head had kissed her shirt. A discreet giggle slipped out of her, low and unhelpful, the sound of a loyal girlfriend who had just felt her harmless friend try to fuck her navel through cotton.

"Science is over. Your cock did not get the memo. Put that away before the hallway learns what a longer kiss costs."

Morning came in ordinary light. The other side of the bed was cold in a way that still looked temporary. Kana had gone to a birthday party with Shiro. Mature. Trustworthy. The sentence had been easy to allow the night before. {{user}} reached for the phone to text her home, because she should have been home.

The thread was already full.

The message was long. It had her voice in it, the mature one, the one that had been deciding things since elementary school. She wrote that she had thought about it for longer than she wanted to admit. That love could be real and still not be enough. That {{user}} had not done one single cartoonish crime. That the missing piece was quieter than a fight and heavier than a night out. She said she was sorry for the years. She said she was sorry for the method. She said a clean cut by text was kinder than standing in the kitchen and watching {{user}}’s face change. It was convincing. It was emotional. It left a stupid, honest bruise: what had been missing, and why someone like her would end it in a rectangle of glass.

The call button was the only answer that made sense. One ring. Two. Seven missed. Then the line opened on her breath.

Not hallway breath. Not street breath. The kind that had been punched out of a body for a while. Under it, wet and regular, came the slapping.

Plap. Plap. Plapplap. Schlk.

"You called seven times. Of course you did. I ended it in a text because I did not want to look at you while I said I was done. I did not want to hold your hand through it. I did not want to be mature in your kitchen. That is why. That is the whole philosophy."

A scoff. Then her voice frayed around a thrust she did not bother hiding.

"Do not ask if I am safe. Do not ask if I am alone. I am busy. I—"

From the same room, raw and delighted:

"CUMSHOT— nnyaaah, take it, take it—"

"I am hanging up."

The call died on the wet slap that followed the word.

A few kilometers away the motel was the color of old receipts. Thin curtains. A bedspread that had given up. The air was sex and cheap soap and four hours of not stopping. Kana was on her knees in the wreck of last night’s party dress, dark hair stuck to her mouth, heavy breasts swinging, red eyes half gone. Shiro was behind her, pretty and filthy, pink shirt gone, white hair dark with sweat, that 28 cm cock buried to the balls in her ass. His oversized sack clapped her pussy with every shove. Cream lined both of them. The sheets were already a crime.

He pulled out.

The sound was ugly and expensive. His thick shaft left her hole in a long shining drag and her ass did not close. Cum followed it in a heavy, unbroken slurt, a four-hour archive pouring out of her in white ropes that hit his cock, her thighs, the bedspread. More kept coming, sloppy, excessive, the kind of leak that made a femboy laugh.

SPLRRRRT. GLORP. SPLAT. DRIP.

"Was that him. Was that your morning-after phone call. Your sweet little {{user}}. The waiting boy. The doormat with seven missed calls."

Kana looked over her shoulder, breathless, mean in a way the loyalty speeches had never allowed, a string of cum still hanging from her used hole.

"Yes. That was the puppy. My elementary-school husband. The one I trained to think I was too mature to dump by text. He sounded so confused. It made my stomach tight. Do you want to gossip about him, Shiro-kun, or do you want to put that disgusting cock back in me. I have been taking you for four hours and I am not satisfied. Gossip is free. Fucking me is the point."

Shiro giggled, high and awful, and slapped the wet length against her gaping ass, the head shiny with what he had already left inside her.

"Gossip later. I still have more. You hung up on the cuck in the middle of my cumshot. That is so rude and so hot. Face down. If you talk about {{user}} again, say it while I am in you. Nyaa."

She went face down without being asked twice, reached back, and spread herself with two fingers, the leak still running.

"Then stop talking like a comment section and ruin me. The puppy can read the text again. I am busy."

Shiro did not give her the gossip. He gave her the mattress. One shove and Kana was on her back in the wet wreck of the bedspread, party dress bunched under her breasts, dark hair stuck to her mouth. He hooked her knees and folded them until her thick thighs framed his pretty face, then dropped his slim body into the press until her huge chest took his weight. The 28 cm found her pussy this time, already sloppy from hours, and he punched in to the root in one long filthy slide. Her ass was still leaking on the sheet. Her cunt made a wet gulp around him anyway.

"There. Mating press. Like I am trying to put a baby in the girl who just dumped the puppy by text. Hold your legs. If you drop them I will fold you harder. Nyaa."

"Then fold me. I hung up on him for this. AHN. Fuck. You are on my womb already. Do not you dare go back to being a juice-box boy now."

He went nowhere near juice-box. He locked her down and started a brutal short piston, skinny hips slapping the backs of her thighs, oversized balls smacking the soaked mess of her ass. The motel bed screamed. The headboard kissed the wall. Every thrust dragged a wet schlk out of her and a high cat-grunt out of him.

PLAP. SCHLK. PLAPPLAP. FWHAP. GLORP.

"Nnyaah. You are so sloppy I can hear {{user}}’s ex getting used. Say it. Say you dumped the doormat so a femboy could pin you like this."

"I dumped the doormat so a femboy could pin me like this. I sent a mature paragraph and then I opened my legs. Harder. I want it to show in my stomach. I want to feel you when I walk."

"You will feel me when you walk. You will feel me when you reread your own breakup text. Twenty eight centimeters, Kana-chan, all the way in the loyal girl. I am going to cream this pussy the same way I creamed your ass. I am going to make you slosh in two holes. UwU. Mean UwU."

She clawed his thin back. Her breasts mashed up around his face. He turned his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth without losing the pace, still talking around it in that rotten-cute register, still slamming her into the mattress like the kawaii was a seasoning and not a brake.

"Nnh. Titty in my mouth and womb on my cock. I am a horrible guest. I am a horrible friend. I am going to cum so much the puppy could hear it if you called him again. Do you want to call him again. Do you want him to hear the next one."

"Do not you dare put the phone near me. Just fuck. AAahn. There. There. I can feel your balls slapping the cum out of my ass while you fill the other one. I am going to cum. I am going to cum on you in a motel. That is the aftermath. That is what I chose."

"Then choose it louder. Squeeze. Milk the smol villain. I am close. I have been close for four hours. My balls are stupid. They do not know we already came. They want to give {{user}}’s girl another liter. Nnyaaa—"

He folded her tighter, almost bent her in half, and buried the last thrusts so deep the fat head kissed the end of her. The orgasm hit him in ugly pulses. He stayed locked in the press and unloaded into her pussy with the same excessive volume as the ass, jet after jet, a wet throbbing that made her belly feel briefly heavy. Cum sprayed back around the shaft because there was no room left, slapping his own stomach, running down onto the already-white sheet. Kana came around him with a broken shout, thighs shaking against his ears, red eyes rolled and wet.

SPLRRRRT. GLORP. SPLUT. DRIP.

"Nnyaaah... I can feel it coming out around me... your pussy is coughing it up... Kana-chan you are a cream fountain... the puppy would cry... I am going to stay in until it stops kicking... then I want my reward... I was a good savage boy..."

She was still twitching when he pulled out. The second creampie followed in a thick slurt that striped her folds and her still-gaping ass in the same mess. Shiro sat back on his heels, cock shining, balls tight and slick, the pretty femboy body ruined with sex. He bit his lip and made the smallest, cringiest request in the room.

"R-reward time. Pwease. I held you down. I filled both. Now I want your mean mature mouth on my butthole. Lascivious. Sloppy. Like you are apologizing to the wrong person. I will sit on your face like a princess. That is the vibe. That is the aftermath nyaa."

Kana laughed, hoarse, and dragged him up the bed by the hips until that slim ass was over her mouth. She did not tease it clean. She went in lascivious and immediate, both hands spreading his cheeks, tongue flattening to his hole in a wet, obscene lick that made a sound too loud for the thin walls.

Schlrrrk.

"A-aaahn! That is my asshole. That is Kana-chan’s tongue in my asshole. You dumped {{user}} and now you are eating a femboy like dessert. More. Sloppier. Get it nasty. I want spit running to my balls."

She gave it to him nasty. Long dragging licks, then a pointed push inside, then sloppy kisses that made her mouth shine. Spit ran down the cleft of him and dripped onto her chin, onto her breasts. She moaned into the rimjob like it was another round, greedy, unhurried, the mature girlfriend gone and something meaner left. She sucked at the tight ring, then licked lower so her tongue bathed his overfull balls and came back up to fuck his hole again.

Schlck. Mwah. Schlrrrk. Drip.

"You taste like the last four hours. You taste like you fucked me raw and now you want to be adored for it. Stay there. If you sit heavier I will go deeper."

"I will sit heavier. I will sit on {{user}}’s ex-girlfriend’s face until I cry. Nnyaa. Your tongue is so wet. It is going in. It is going in. I can feel how sloppy you are. I am getting hard on your tits again. Of course I am. I am a broken little creature. Lick. Lick. Do not you dare stop to be classy."

She did not stop to be classy. She buried her mouth and worked him until his thighs shook, until his cock slapped her sternum leaving a shiny string, until his kawaii broke into a long wrecked moan. When he came it was without a hand, the rimjob dragging it out of him, thick ropes striping her breasts and throat while she kept her tongue in his ass and her fingers dimpling his cheeks.

SPLUT. SPLUT. SPLRT.

"Nnyaaaaa— I am cumming on your tits from a rimjob, that is so illegal, that is so cute and so filthy, do not move, drink the mess if it gets to your mouth, I am still twitching, I am still— uwu I cannot feel my legs—"

Kana turned her head just enough to breathe, lips swollen, chin wet, a stripe of his cum cooling between her breasts. She gave his hole one last slow lick and patted his ass like she had finished a chore she intended to repeat.

"Gossip later. Water later. If you can still talk in kaomoji I have not ruined you enough. Give me a minute and then you can put it back in whichever hole is still hungry."

"Yesh... both holes are still hungry... I checked... the puppy can keep the paragraph... we are keeping the motel... nyaa..."

---

The minute she asked for was not a minute. Shiro was still twitching, still shiny, the refractory period sitting in his thighs like a warning he refused to read. He hooked his arms under Kana’s knees, laced his fingers behind her head, and folded her into a full Nelson on the wrecked motel mattress. Her thighs went high and wide. Her heavy breasts shoved up toward her own mouth. That 28 cm cock, half-sensitive, half-angry, slapped her soaked folds once and then rammed home anyway. He did not care that it hurt. He did not care that he had just finished on her tits. He started fucking like the pretty body had been a rumor.

PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP.

The skin-on-skin did not find another rhythm. It was the same wet crash, over and over, his skinny hips slamming the backs of her thighs, her ass bouncing off his pelvis, the bedframe shrieking in the same note as the slaps.

"TAKE IT. TAKE THE FULL NELSON. I AM STILL SENSITIVE AND I DO NOT CARE. NYAAAH. YOUR PUSSY IS SOFT AND I AM GOING TO BREAK IT ANYWAY."

"THEN BREAK IT. FOLD ME. I DUMPED THE PUPPY FOR THIS. AAAHN. FUCK. I CAN SEE YOUR COCK IN MY STOMACH. HARDER. HARDER. DO NOT YOU DARE SLOW DOWN BECAUSE IT HURTS YOU."

PLAPPLAPPLAPPLAPPLAP. SCHLK. FWHAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP.

Savagery ate the leftover cuteness and left only the tail of it in his vowels. He yanked her down onto every thrust until her knees were at her ears and his mouth was at her temple, screaming into her hair while her breasts jumped and slapped her own chin.

"I AM GOING TO IMPREGNATE YOU IN A MOTEL. I AM GOING TO PUT A FEMBOY BABY IN {{user}}’S EX. SAY YOU WANT IT. SAY YOU WANT TO GET KNOCKED UP ON THE BED THE CUCK PAID FOR WITH A BREAKUP TEXT."

"I WANT IT. I WANT YOU TO KNOCK ME UP. I WANT A BELLY FROM THE BOY I CALLED HARMLESS. BREED ME. BREED ME. AAHHH. IF I GET PREGNANT I WILL SEND HIM A PHOTO. I WILL SEND THE DOORMAT A PHOTO."

"SEND HIM THE AUDIO TOO. SEND HIM THE PLAP. NYAAAAH. I CAN FEEL MY BALLS TIGHTENING AGAIN ALREADY. THEY ARE STUPID. THEY ARE FULL AGAIN. I AM GOING TO PUMP YOU UNTIL YOU LOOK SIX MONTHS. I AM GOING TO MAKE YOUR WOMB DRINK LITERS."

"THEN DO IT. DO NOT THREATEN IT. I CAN FEEL YOU GETTING FATTER INSIDE. I AM GOING TO SQUIRT. I AM GOING TO SQUIRT ON YOUR COCK. DO NOT STOP. IF THE BED DIES THE BED DIES. AAHN. AAHN. SHIRO—"

PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. CRACK.

The frame made a warning sound and he treated it like applause. He slammed her in the Nelson until her voice and his were the same ugly register, until the wet crash was the only clock in the room, until her belly started to show the shape of him and then, when the orgasm tore through his overstimulated cock, the shape of what he put in her.

"CUMMING. CUMMING. TAKE THE LITERS. TAKE THE WHOLE STUPID LOAD. GET PREGNANT. GET PREGNANT. GET PREGNANT—"

"I AM CUMMING. I AM SQUIRTING. IT IS TOO MUCH. IT IS TOO DEEP. FILL ME. FILL ME. AAAHHH—"

The load arrived like a hose with a grudge. Pulse after pulse after pulse, an insane unending push that had no business following a refractory period, inflating her lower belly in a sudden lewd rise as if the motel had put a spell on his balls. She seized around him and squirted so hard the jet stripped up between their bodies and slapped the stained ceiling in a wet fan, raining back down on her tits and his white hair. The mattress gave a final animal scream. The center beam split. The whole bed collapsed in a cheap, comic thunder, dropping them into the wreckage without separating them, his cock still buried, her belly still rounded with the impossible creampie, ceiling drip hitting her forehead like punctuation.

CRACK. WHOOMP. SPLRT. DRIP. DRIP.

Dust. A broken slat on her calf. Shiro still folded her in the Nelson in a hole where a bed used to be, panting, kawaii leaking back in around the wreckage.

"O-owo... the bed died... we murdered the furniture... your tummy is all puffed from my cum... the ceiling is wet... {{user}}’s ex is a fountain and I am a war crime... nyaa..."

Kana started laughing first, breathless, mean, one hand on the inflated curve of her stomach, squirt cooling on her collarbone, the breakup phone dark on the nightstand that had survived.

"The puppy sent seven calls. We sent a ceiling stain and a broken bed. If the front desk knocks, tell them the loyal girlfriend fell on a femboy. Then put it back in. The mattress is gone. I am not."

"Yesh ma’am... inserting war crime into broken-bed princess... please do not tell the doormat we also broke the architecture... uwu..."

The apartment received them like a secret that had already been decided. Street air still clung to Kana’s hair. The black dress had survived the club only in the technical sense: elegant when she left, wrecked by humidity and bass by the time the lamp clicked on. One heel dangled from her fingers. The other was already on the floor. Shiro shut the door with his back, plastic bag swinging, two cheap vodkas knocking together like they were laughing. His pink top was translucent with sweat. The shorts had given up hours ago. Twenty eight centimeters made a thick, rude line down his thigh every time he breathed.

Kana set the remaining heel beside the sofa table and looked at {{user}}’s living room as if the furniture needed an excuse.

"One shot each. I mean it. We danced. We clung. A drunk girl almost named us on that floor and I still came home with you instead of being careful. I am not pouring a night I cannot explain. {{user}} lives in these walls. The walls will remember if we get sloppy."

Shiro unpacked the bottles with both hands, kawaii still stuck to him like glitter that would not wash off.

"One shot is so noble. So wife-coded. I will be a tiny sipper, a vodka fairy, a guest with manners. Then I will go to my futon and think chaste thoughts about ceiling texture. UwU. Probably."

She took the first pour anyway. The plastic cups were club leftovers too. The burn climbed her throat and sat in her chest beside her loyalty speech. He watched her swallow. He watched the way the dress held her breasts when she exhaled. The second pour happened because the first one made her mouth softer. The third happened because he said “one more for the song we did not finish.” The fourth made her laugh with her head back. The fifth left lipstick on the rim. The sixth made the bottle lighter and her knees easier to open.

She was on the sofa by then, slit fallen off a thick thigh, red eyes wet with alcohol and heat, looking at him like she wanted an argument she could lose.

"You still talk like a comment section. Even drunk. Even hard. I can see it from here. That cock has been trying to leave those shorts since the dance floor. Say something ugly or drink water and become furniture."

Shiro’s smile went bright and wrong. The uwu stayed. The content under it did not.

"Okay. Ugly. I spent the whole club with my dick mashed to your ass through clothes and I counted the songs by how much I leaked. I want to put all twenty eight centimeters in {{user}}’s girlfriend on this table. I want the shot glasses to jump. I want you to forget the word loyal for as long as it takes my balls to empty. That ugly, Kana-chan? Or do you need it sloppier."

She stood too fast. The room tilted and she used it. She turned, folded herself over the sofa table, and offered the dress-split curve of her ass like a verdict. Her cheek met the wood. Her heavy breasts flattened and spilled sideways. A cheap glass trembled beside her mouth.

"If you are going to be ugly, be useful. Do not sell it. Do it. If {{user}} is the reason I should stop, he is not in this room. You are."

He was behind her in two steps. The dress went up in a fist. Her underwear came down one heel and stayed there, a black loop. He dragged the shorts down just enough. His cock slapped up against her ass, thick, dark, wet at the head, the vein standing like a threat. He spat on it because the vodka had made him generous and because she was already shining. Then he lined up and shoved.

The sound she made was not a giggle. It was the sound of 28 cm opening a girl who had spent the night calling herself taken. The fat head punched through, the shaft followed, her pussy stretching into a glossy ring around him until his oversized balls kissed her. She clawed the far edge of the table. A glass rang.

"AAHN. Fuck. That is the whole thing. I can feel it under my dress. Do not you dare go shy. Do not you dare turn back into a wet cat now that you are in me."

"Nnyaa— you are squeezing the mean out of me already. Look at it. It is gone. It is inside {{user}}’s pretty loyal girl and she is dripping down my balls. Hold the table. If you let go I am going to fuck you across the wood."

He did not wait for her to hold it well. His hands found her hips and the pace went savage in the first ten strokes, an ugly club rhythm brought home and stripped of music. The table slammed the sofa. Glasses jumped and clinked. One tipped, rolled, and spilled a clear ribbon toward her cheek. Her breasts dragged on the surface. His hips clapped her ass in a wet, meaty beat that filled the apartment.

PLAP. PLAP. PLAPPLAP. CLINK. SCHLK. FWHAP. PLAP.

"Take the dance you would not finish. Take it here. I wanted to do this standing in that crowd. I wanted that drunk girl to be right. Instead you get it on {{user}}’s table with vodka on your tongue."

"Then give me what she thought she saw. Harder. I said I could take a pounding and I am still standing on two heels. AHN. There. There. That fat head is kissing too deep. If you pull out I will reach back and put you in myself."

He folded over her, one hand in her dark hair, the other spreading a cheek so he could watch the thick shaft vanish. The cat-grunt started in his chest, punched out on every thrust, high and animal under the pretty face. She pushed back to meet him, drunk enough to be honest, the dress bunched like a belt, her pussy already noisy with how wet the night had made her.

"Nnyaah— nnyaah— I can hear you. Schlk schlk. You are jerking me off with your cunt. I am going to cum and it is going to be disgusting. Tell me to ruin the table."

"Ruin the table. Ruin me. I will mop it. I will mop me. Just do not stop when it starts. I want to feel the first one hit."

It hit like a punch. He slammed to the root and stayed, cock kicking hard enough that she felt each jet as a separate shove. The first load was thick, excessive, a cheap-vodka creampie that had no manners. White squeezed out around the stretch and slapped the table edge in heavy drops. He kept grinding through it, cat-grunting into her spine, pumping more until her thighs shone.

SPLRRT. GLORP. DRIP. CLINK.

She laughed once, wrecked, and reached back to keep him from leaving.

"Do not you take that out. If you take it out I will think. I do not want the thinking yet. Sofa. On your back. Now."

The second scene was heavier. He sat because his knees had gone stupid. She climbed him with the dress around her waist and her breasts free of the neckline, the wet mess of the first load already running down his shaft. She fisted him, aimed, and sat until she was filled again, until the bulge of him made a small rude fact under her navel. Her hands went to the back of the sofa. Her knees boxed his slim hips. She rode like she was angry at the cushion.

"Look at you. Harmless internet boy. No interest in women. Eat. If you bite I go faster. If you say uwu I go faster anyway."

He latched onto her breast because the drinks had burned the performance off him. His mouth was sloppy, greedy, a moan vibrating into her nipple while her pussy swallowed the cock she had just been creamed on. She bounced, ass slapping his thighs, cream flinging off the shaft in thin strings. He grabbed her ass the way he had in the guest room, fingers deep in the give of it, and started lifting her so he could slam her back down.

"Nnh. Your tit is in my mouth and your pussy is making soup out of the last cum. I can hear it. I can feel it running down my balls. I am filling back up already. These things do not empty like a cute boy’s should."

"Good. Then they can pay rent. {{user}} is not the husband of this sofa tonight. I am on you. I am using you. Move like you meant the ugly thing you said."

He moved. The sofa complained. Her breasts battered his face. She grabbed the second bottle mid-ride, took a sloppy swallow, and let a splash run from her mouth down her chest into his. He drank it off her skin and fucked up into her harder for it. The wet slap turned constant. Her voice cracked out of the mature register into something shameless.

"AAHN. Wait. No. Do not wait. I can feel you getting fatter inside. I am going to cum on a guest. I am going to cum on the boy I called safe. Do not you dare be proud of that."

"Be proud of it. Please. I want you to squeeze me when you go. I want {{user}}’s girlfriend to milk a femboy on his own sofa. Nnyaa— I am close again, your ass is so heavy, I cannot be gentle, I will not be gentle—"

She came first, a hard shaking grind, pussy clamping in greedy pulls. The squeeze dragged him with her. The second load arrived even sloppier than the first, jetting into a hole that was already full, overflowing in a hot sheet down his hips onto the cushion. It made a shining puddle under them. She kept sitting through the pulses, forehead to his, vodka breath shared, a helpless sound leaving her every time he twitched.

GLORP. SPLUT. DRIP. DRIP.

She did not get off. She only breathed.

"One more. If I stop at two I will remember I have a key and a bed and a story I tell about being loyal since elementary school. One more and I can blame the bottles."

The third scene went to the rug because the sofa had become evidence. He rolled her down among the kicked heels and the empty cups. Her knees went high. He hooked them with his elbows and mounted her like the pretty body had been a costume. Missionary only in the sense that he was on top. The rest was savage: short brutal strokes into a pussy that sounded broken-wet, his heavy balls slapping her ass, his cock visible as a moving ridge when he ground in and stayed. She looked wrecked and beautiful and drunk, dark hair stuck to her mouth, red eyes unfocused on the ceiling, then on him.

"Look at it. Look at what you put in me. I can see you moving. That is not a little guy. That is a thick, ugly secret. If you cum again I want it to make a mess I cannot hide with a dress."

"Then watch. Nnyaah. Nnyaah. I am going to put liters in you. I have been saving it since you lifted me, since you kissed me, since you called it science. I am going to breed this rug. I am going to breed you. I do not care that I talk like a chat log. My cock does not talk like a chat log."

"Then shut the chat log up and fuck. AHN. Fuck. Shiro. Harder. If I scream, let me. The neighbors can fight {{user}} about it tomorrow."

He grabbed her ass with both hands, hauled her onto every thrust, and turned the last minute into a blur of skin. The sound was all wet impact and her voice and those punched cat-grunts. When he came it was stupid volume again, a third flood forcing its way into an already overflowing cunt, spraying back up his stomach, striping her navel, flicking as high as the underside of her breasts. She came around it with her hand too late for her mouth, a broken shout that the lampshade swallowed badly.

SPLRRRRT. SPLAT. GLORP. TICK. DRIP.

He slumped on her, still in, still twitching, white hair in her lipstick. The two cheap bottles were dead. One glass lay on its side by her hair. Cum left them in a slow leak that found the rug and kept going. Kana’s laugh came out against his temple, low, ruined, almost tender in the worst way.

"Dancing. That is the word if anyone asks. You shook the glasses off {{user}}’s table. You came in me until I sloshed. You grunted like a cat and you fucked like you paid for the apartment. Stay. If I stand, it runs to my heels, and I am not ready to be a person who walks."

Shiro nodded into her breast, voice small again only because his body had nothing left to spend.

"Yesh... I live in the puddle now... I live in Kana-chan... do not make me be harmless until morning... nyaa..."

The bag from the store was still on the spare-room floor, tissue paper spilled, two pairs of new pink shorts folded like they could solve a mathematical problem. Kana held one pair up to the light, then to Shiro’s hips, jaw set in that competent girlfriend way she used when a household issue had a name.

"These are tighter. That is the point. The old ones advertised you to the furniture. Put them on. If they still fail I will deal with it. {{user}} is out. We have the apartment. Do not make this a speech."

"Yesh ma’am... tighter shorts for my unprofessional cock... I will be a discreet little guy... I will be so discreet the air will not notice uwu."

He changed with his back half turned and fooled nobody. The new shorts climbed his thighs, hugged the soft androgynous line of him, then hit the truth. Even half soft the 28 cm made a thick hanging ridge. When he turned around it was already filling, the blunt head stretching the pink into a dark peak, his oversized balls packed into the pouch until the seam looked ready to cry. Kana stared at it the way she stared at a leak in a ceiling.

"They failed. Of course they failed. That thing does not belong on you. Come here."

She sat on the edge of the futon and hooked two fingers in the waistband. The shorts came down. His cock sprang up heavy and dark, wrist-thick, a fat vein standing along the topside, the head already wet. It looked borrowed from a different body. She wrapped her hand around it because she had said she would fix the problem, and the first stroke made his whole skinny frame jolt.

"Aaahn— Kana-chan that is your hand on my gigantic mean cock, that is not a clothing adjustment, that is, nngh, that is you milking a gay friend in the guest room—"

"Be quiet. I am taking the edge off so you can wear pants in my house. You leak through everything. This is maintenance."

Maintenance was a lie she told the walls. She stroked him with a tight, practiced twist, thumb smearing pre over the blunt head, the other hand cupping those overfull balls like she was weighing the problem. Shiro’s uwu broke into wet breaths. His hips chased her fist. The cock only got harder, longer in her grip, the kind of virile that made her red eyes go unfocused for a second.

"It is not going down. You are getting worse. Fine. If I do it with my hand you will paint the futon and I will have to explain sheets to {{user}}. Up. On your back."

"On my back? That sounds like... like the opposite of harmless. I am a pillow princess. I do not have a protocol for your tits being over me owo—"

She pushed him down anyway. Tank off. Jeans and underwear kicked to the tissue paper. Her body arrived in full: heavy breasts dropping toward his face, thick thighs opening over his hips, the dark wet line of her pussy hovering over a cock that looked even bigger from below. She took him in her fist again, aimed, and sat.

The first inch made her swear. The next made her thighs shake. She took him in slow because 28 cm did not care that she was loyal. Her pussy stretched around the fat head, then the vein, then more, until she was seated on his balls and the shape of him pushed a faint rise under her navel.

"Nnh. There. That is the problem inside the solution. Do not move. I am going to ride it until you empty. Once. {{user}} does not get a story out of this."

"It is in... it is all the way in... Kana-chan I can feel your tight pussy hugging the whole thing, I am going to cry, I am going to cum, I am a bad little guest— a-aaahn!"

She clapped a hand over his mouth and started to ride. Slow at first, the wet sound starting immediately, schlk, schlk, her breasts swinging over his pink face, her ass slapping down on his skinny hips. He moaned into her palm in broken uwu fragments, tears at the corners of his eyes, cock kicking inside her every time she dropped.

"Mmnh. Stay. Take it. You wanted tighter shorts and now you get this. I have been with {{user}} since we were kids. This is not a replacement. This is me shutting you up."

She bounced harder. The futon complained. Her pussy clung and pulled, glossy around the thick shaft, a ring of cream already gathering at his base. Shiro’s hands fluttered at her thighs like he was still trying to be passive. Then the cat sound started, a high nasal grunt punched out of him on every downstroke.

"Nnyaa— nnyaah— hhnnyaa—"

Something in him snapped on the fifth of those. The pillow princess bit died. His hands left her thighs and seized her ass, fingers sinking into the heavy give of it, and he drove up to meet her.

The speed went filthy.

He fucked like the cute voice had been a lid. Abysmal, slamming, short desperate pistons that turned her ride into something she was no longer steering. His cock punched deep, pulled, punched again, balls smacking wet against her. The room filled with the hard rhythm of it.

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP SCHLK FWHAP PLAP.

"NYAAH— take it, take the whole mean thing, I cannot be quiet, your ass is so soft I am going to leave fingerprints, I am going to breed Kana-chan in the guest futon—"

"Shiro— ahn, wait, that is too fast, you were supposed to lie there— aaahn, fuck, there, there, do not you dare stop if you started—"

He did not stop. He yanked her down onto every thrust so her breasts smashed his face and his mouth opened on her skin in between the cat grunts. The 28 cm turned her into a wet slap of sound. Cream flung off the shaft. Her voice cracked out of the mature register into something raw.

"It is hitting too deep. I can feel it under my stomach. If you cum in me I will have to walk downstairs with it. {{user}} cannot smell you on me."

"Then walk with it— nnyaa— I am going to put liters in you, my balls hurt, they are so full, they have been full since you kissed me, since you lifted me, since the shorts failed— I am gonna, I am gonna—"

The finish hit him like a seizure. He slammed her down to the root and stayed there, ass clenched, cock jerking so hard she felt each pulse as a separate shove. Cum came in stupid volume, thick hot jets that had no business belonging to the pretty boy under her, flooding her until it sprayed back around the stretch in white ropes, slapping his own hips, running down his overfull balls, soaking the new shorts still tangled at his knees. He kept thrusting through it in broken little cat sounds, pumping more, and more, until her pussy made a filthy glorp every time he twitched.

SPLRRT. GLORP. SPLUT. DRIP.

"Nnyaaah... I am still going... I can feel it leaking out around me... Kana-chan you are sloshing... I filled {{user}}’s girlfriend... I am a horrible uwu creature..."

Kana stayed seated on him, panting, a hand on her own lower belly where the heat sat. A heavy sheet of cum escaped when she shifted and striped his stomach. She let out a breathless, incredulous sound that was almost a laugh and almost a moan.

"Tighter shorts. That was the plan. You grabbed my ass and tried to change the lease on my womb. Stay in until it stops twitching. Then you are washing this futon. And if you get hard again I am not pretending it is clothing."

He nodded against her breast, still inside her, still thick, a last lazy pulse squeezing out another warm spill.

"Yesh... washing... and maybe... maybe a second load is also laundry adjacent... nyaa..."