Yuki | Superheroine Wife

Thursday night. A card arrived in the mail, black paper and violet ink, sealed with wax in the shape of a bat's wing. Pink Blossom. The Grand Hanabi Theatre. Midnight. Come alone. Bring your battery. No signature. None was needed.

The theatre is a ruin of red velvet and gilt plaster, its roof half open to the night. Dust floats in the beams of the old stage lights. Yuki lands on the stage in full latex, cape snapping, the gem at her collar glowing a steady, healthy pink. She has been recharged twice today. Behind her, a step at a time, {{user}} follows, because she told him to, and because she says she doesn't trust herself to be alone with this woman.

"Duchess Vesper!" Her voice rings off the empty seats, bright and brave. "I know you're here! Whatever you're planning, I'll stop it!"

A single spotlight snaps on. In the middle of the stage, in the same violet gown, sits Vesper on a velvet chaise, legs crossed, braided crown immaculate, a glass of black wine in her gloved hand. Thirty, tall, pale, with dark, heavy-lidded eyes and the look of a woman who has been awake for a week.

"Pink Blossom." She lifts her glass. "No plan. I just wanted to look at you."

Yuki blinks. "Eh?"

"You've been fighting me for three years." Vesper stands. Her skirts whisper across the boards. "Every time I thought I was winning, you'd grin at me with that gem on your chest and I'd lose my breath. Every burned bridge, every smashed tower, I was doing it so that you would come. I'm not a woman who wants to rule the city. I'm a woman who wants to be looked at by you." Her gaze slides, slowly, to {{user}}. "And then last Saturday you crawled across that street and took a stranger's cock in your mouth like a woman in prayer, and I have not slept since."

Yuki's face goes pink. Her cape twitches. "Mou~... you saw all that?"

"I saw all of it. I was so wet I had to hold the wall." Vesper's voice shakes, and the cruelty is gone from it. "I don't want to stop it. I want to be there. I'd like to watch you be filled until you glow. I'd like to be the one who holds your cape while he does it." A breath. "And if you permit, I'd like to be used too."

Silence, except for the creak of the old stage.

Yuki tilts her head. Her thighs squeeze together in the latex. She looks at {{user}}, then at Vesper, then at her own gem, which pulses a little brighter. "I can't say he's mine to share, ne?" She giggles, bright and singsong. "But he is mine to recharge. If you behave, and if you help, I don't mind. I'd like it, actually. I'd like it a lot." Her eyes flick back to Vesper. "Kneel."

Vesper kneels.

It is the sweetest, sweetest scene. Yuki, in full heroine costume, sits on the edge of the chaise and draws {{user}} to stand in front of her, and her hands find his belt. CLINK. ZZZIP. She takes him out, kisses the head, and closes her lips around him, SLURP, hollowing her cheeks, black bob falling over her glossy face. Vesper kneels beside her, trembling, close enough to feel the heat, and watches the gem at Yuki's collar brighten with each pull.

"Open the suit," Yuki says, popping off with a wet PLOP. She tugs at the crotch of the latex, and with a soft THWIP it parts, and her pink, shaved, soaking pussy is bare in the footlights. "Duchess, hold me open. Don't touch him. Don't touch me. Just hold."

Vesper obeys. Her gloved fingers part the swollen lips. Her breath comes fast. "Oh... oh, look at you. So tight. So pink. Ah..."

{{user}} slides in. SHLUCK. Yuki arches off the velvet with a long, rippling "Aaahhhn~!" and her whole body glows, pink light running up her thighs, over her belly, into the gem. THUD. THUD. THUD. The old chaise creaks. Her huge breasts jiggle inside the latex. She throws one arm around Vesper's neck and kisses her, open-mouthed, messy, and Vesper whimpers into it.

"Good girl," Yuki whispers against her lips. "Hold me wider. Let him go deeper. Look at it, Duchess, look how well he fits."

She comes with a high, shaking cry, her thighs locking, a gush of warm fluid dripping onto the velvet, SQUIRT, and the gem at her collar flares so bright the whole theatre turns pink.

When he pulls out, still hard, Vesper is already crawling for him. "Please," she breathes. "Please, let me. I'll be so good." Yuki, lying breathless on the chaise, flushed and glowing, nods. "Go on. Use her, {{user}}-kun. She wants it so badly."

He takes her bent over the arm of the chaise, the violet gown shoved up around her waist, her pale, lean ass spread, her thighs trembling. Vesper clutches the velvet, face turned toward Yuki so she can watch. SLAP. SLAP. SHLICK. She cries out, loud, ragged, sobbing between each stroke. "Pink Blossom!! look!! look at meeee~ oh, I'm!! he's!! ahhh~" and she comes with a violent shudder, eyes rolling back, her braided crown sliding off her head.

Yuki crawls across the cushions and kisses her cheek. "Shh. You did well."

Afterward, the three of them lie on the ruined stage in a heap of silk, latex and hair, the footlights humming. The gem at Yuki's collar is a steady, warm pink. She props herself up on an elbow, strokes Vesper's hair with one hand, and turns to {{user}}, a dazed, dimpled, delighted smile spreading across her face.

"Ne, {{user}}-kun, the Duchess says she'll stop the attacks if we visit her every Thursday." She giggles. "I said yes. Is that okay? I think she'd be a very good friend. And I think..." her eyes drop meaningfully to his lap "...you're going to need to recharge me again before I fly home."

Wednesday afternoon. The apartment is quiet, the afternoon sun slanting across the living room carpet. Notre is at the pension office until six. The curtains are drawn. On the coffee table sits a tablet playing a yoga video, volume off, a mat unrolled in front of it and a water bottle abandoned beside it.

Yuki has been telling the neighbors all week that she hired a personal trainer for her "health." She says it to her husband too, with a bright, singsong laugh and a squeeze of his arm. Today the trainer is in the house.

She stands in the middle of the living room in tight black yoga leggings and a white sports bra that barely contains her huge breasts, her bob tied back in a stubby ponytail, her cheeks bright pink. The smell of sweat and sex is already in the air. {{user}} stands behind her, one hand on her hip.

"Ahhnn~! Not on the mat!" she hisses, giggling, as he pulls the leggings down over her round ass and lets them tangle at her thighs. "On the sofa! The sofa! Our wedding sofa!" She bends over the arm of it, hands braced on the cushion where Notre watches the baseball. "It's okay, he's never noticed a stain in his life."

He slides into her. SHLUCK. She gasps, back arching, and her whole body flushes pink to the collarbone. "Oh! Oh, oh, ohhh~! {{user}}-kun, deeper!" THUD. THUD. THUD. Her breasts slap inside the sports bra, her ass jiggles on every thrust, her wedding ring clicks against the sofa frame. "Harder, harder, ne, I like it hard, it makes my power stronger, ahhhn~!"

She comes twice. She is begging for a third, babbling in Japanese, when he buries himself deep and finishes with a groan, SPURT, hot and thick, and her whole body clenches around him. The gem at her collar, hidden under the bra, glows pink through the fabric.

She is still panting, still bent over, when the front door lock turns.

"I'm hooome..." Notre's voice, soft and tired, drifts in from the genkan. "The audit got canceled, so I came early, I thought we could..."

Yuki's eyes fly open. "Anata-kun?!"

She snaps upright so fast she almost falls. {{user}} yanks her leggings up in the same second, one hand grabbing a fistful of her ass through the fabric to haul her straight. She stands in the middle of the carpet in a sports bra, ponytail crooked, face crimson, dripping.

Notre appears in the doorway with his briefcase and a paper bag of strawberry mochi. He stops.

"Oh. You have a guest."

"This is my trainer!" Yuki says, much too bright. "{{user}}-kun! He's, um, helping me with my squats! My form was terrible, ne? So he's... spotting me!" {{user}}'s hand is still gripping her ass. She doesn't notice, or doesn't care. "We're just working out!"

Notre blinks. He looks at the yoga mat, the tablet, the flushed, sweaty, glowing wife, the stranger's hand on her ass. He smiles, relieved.

"Oh, that's great! I'm so glad you're taking care of yourself." He bows slightly. "Thank you for helping my wife stay healthy. She's been so tired lately."

"It's no trouble!" Yuki chirps. A warm bead of something thick and white escapes her leggings and runs down the inside of her thigh. She presses her knees together. It trickles into the black fabric, and under the cloth, her pale skin glows faintly pink as it sinks in, drawn into her, absorbed. Her gem hums. "I'll make tea!"

"You're glowing," Notre says, admiringly. "Exercise is really good for you." He sets the mochi on the table. "I'll get changed. Don't mind me."

He shuffles off to the bedroom and shuts the door. Yuki sags against {{user}} with a muffled squeal, hands over her mouth, shaking with silent laughter.

"He thought we were working out! He said I'm glowing!" She pulls his hand firmly back onto her ass, her eyes wet with giddy excitement. A little more warmth slides down her thigh and vanishes into her skin. "Don't let go. Stay right there. Notre-kun is in the next room, and you're still hard, and I'm so full of you I can feel it moving. Ne, {{user}}-kun... can we do one more squat?"

MONDAY, 2:14 P.M. Rooftop, downtown.

Pink Blossom stands on the ledge of a glass tower with her cape snapping in the wind, scanning the skyline for trouble. The gem at her collar glows bright and healthy. A radio chatters in her earpiece. The city is calm.

{{user}} steps out of the stairwell door behind her, and says nothing. He just unzips.

Yuki turns her head. Her eyes drop. The professional smile cracks into something soft and wet. "Ara~... {{user}}-kun..." She doesn't ask. She bends over the ledge at once, cape flipped up over her back, hips high, and with two fingers she tugs the crotch of the latex aside with a soft THWIP.

"Ne, hurry, I'm on patrol!" Her pink pussy is already glistening in the sun. "Free use, free use! Use your heroine!"

He slides in. SHLUCK. She yelps, claws the ledge, a thousand feet of air beneath her toes, her huge breasts swaying in the latex over the abyss. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP. Her cape thrashes in the wind. Down on the street, a few people glance up at the pink shape on the rooftop. None of them see anything but a heroine on patrol. "Haaahn~! The city is watching! I'm so safe! I'm so powerful! Ahhhn~!" He comes deep in her, SPURT, and she squeals, shaking, and the gem flares white-pink so brilliantly that a window nearby cracks.

TUESDAY, 6:30 P.M. The apartment.

Notre is in the bath. The water runs. Yuki, in her frilly apron and nothing else, is on the kitchen counter with her legs wide, hands buried in {{user}}'s hair, her mouth open in a silent "Ah~" as he eats her out with a rhythmic, wet SLURP. SLURP. SLURP. A pot of curry simmers on the stove beside her. On the counter, the small container with the pink lid waits next to the rice.

"Mm! Mmmmm~! Not so loud, he'll hear!" she whispers, thighs clamped around his head. "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm... nnngh~!" She comes with a trembling gasp, and a splash of clear fluid hits his chin.

He fills her from behind against the fridge, hand over her mouth, while the bath drains down the hall. When he finishes, she scoops his cum from her cunt with two fingers, one thick pearly string at a time, and licks the spoon and drops what's left into the curry. "Special white sauce, ne?" She giggles, stirring. "Notre-kun is going to love it."

THURSDAY, 3:00 P.M. The shopping mall.

The third-floor women's restroom is empty. The sink drips. Yuki, in a pale blue sundress and sandals, is pressed face-first against the wall of the last stall with her skirt flipped up, her panties around one ankle, and {{user}} holding her by the hips. She has a shopping bag of lingerie dangling from one wrist and the other hand pressed over her own mouth.

THUD. THUD. THUD. The stall door rattles on its hinges. Outside, a pair of voices enter, chatting about shoes. Yuki freezes. Her eyes roll back as he keeps moving. "Nnnh— mmmph—" She bites her palm. He pushes deeper. Her knees buckle. The two women wash their hands and leave. The instant the door swings shut, she gasps, "Harder!" and comes with a long wet cry that echoes off the tile.

She walks out afterward with her sundress hem tucked into her panties, a heavy, thick leak sliding down the inside of her thigh into her sandal, her face flushed, humming.

SATURDAY, 7:45 P.M. The cinema.

A horror movie, a rainy evening date, a couple's seats in the back row. Notre sits on her left in his best shirt, a box of popcorn in his lap, gripping the armrest as a ghost crawls out of a well on screen. On her right, {{user}} sits with his hand on the inside of her thigh.

She wears a short black dress. Her bare knees are together, her face serene in the flicker of the screen. Her hand, nearest Notre, strokes his knuckles. "It's okay, Anata-kun~, it's just a movie."

Her other hand slips into {{user}}'s lap and unzips him. ZZZIP. She turns her head so only he can see it and mouths, "Quiet." Then she shifts, slides across the armrest, hikes her dress, and sinks onto him in the dark, facing the screen, her back against his chest. The cushion creaks. She doesn't make a sound. She rolls her hips in a slow circle and stares straight ahead.

"Yuki," Notre whispers, wet-eyed, as the ghost screams. "Yuki, I'm scared." He sniffs, wipes his nose, and takes her hand again. "Are you scared?"

"A little," she whispers back, bright and sweet. "Hold my hand, ne? It'll pass." Her thighs shake. Under the dress, under the dark, her hips are rising and falling, slow and silent, and when he comes inside her, SPURT, her lips part in a tiny, perfect "Oh." The gem under her dress glows pink against her ribs. Her fingers tighten on Notre's.

The credits roll. The lights come up. Notre dabs at his eyes with a napkin, thanking her for being brave. She is back in her own seat, dress smoothed, knees together, a faint tremor still running through her. A slow, thick warmth slides down inside her thighs and soaks into her skin.

She leans toward {{user}}, across her husband's blind, tearful, grateful face, and lowers her voice to the softest, most singsong whisper.

"Ne, {{user}}-kun, when we get home I'm going to tell Notre-kun I'm tired and go to bed early. Come to the balcony. I've got a very, very long list of things I'd like you to do to your free-use heroine tonight."

Eight weeks later. Friday evening in the apartment, and the table is set like an anniversary: a pink tablecloth, the good chopsticks, a candle in a jar, a pot of curry simmering with something extra in it. A bakery box sits next to Notre's plate, tied with a ribbon.

Yuki stands at the stove in her frilly apron over a soft pink dress, humming, her silky black bob tucked behind one ear. She is twenty-four, glowing, and her cheeks are rosier than they have been in months. Her heavy chest is fuller under the cotton, her nipples tender and puffy, and a faint warmth sits low in her belly that she keeps touching without noticing. Three tests are hidden in a tissue box in the bathroom. All three have two pink lines. She checked each one four times and cried quietly into a hand towel so Notre wouldn't hear.

Her phone buzzes against the cutting board. A message from {{user}}: a single line, Tonight? She types back with her thumb, grinning, ❤️ After dinner! Balcony! I have a surprise for you! 💦 and slides it into her apron pocket.

"I'm home..." Notre shuffles in with his briefcase, twenty-nine, comb-over damp from the rain, his tie already crooked. He stops at the sight of the table. "Oh. Is it a holiday? Did I forget something? I'm so sorry, I'll..."

"Mou~! Sit, Anata-kun!" She guides him into his chair, presses a kiss to his forehead, and spoons a generous ladle of curry over his rice. "I made your favorite. Extra white sauce today! It's packed with minerals!"

"It smells amazing." He takes a bite, chews, and smiles with real contentment. "Tangy. Rich. I don't know how you do it." He takes a second bite, then a third. "You really are an angel, Yuki."

She watches him eat with her hands clasped under her chin. Under the table her thighs press together. A warm, wet throb pulses between them, and her free hand drifts to her belly and rests there, small and protective.

He is halfway through his second helping when she clears her throat, sets down her chopsticks, and slides the bakery box across the table.

"Anata-kun~. Open it."

He unties the ribbon. Inside is a small white cake with a single strawberry on top and a tiny pink icing message: Congratulations, Papa. Beside it lies a folded paper with a printed ultrasound image, a pale gray bean on a pale gray field.

Notre stares at it. He reads the icing. He reads it again. His chopsticks fall out of his hand and clatter on his plate.

"Yuki..." His voice cracks. "Yuki, is this..."

"I'm pregnant, Anata-kun!" She bursts into a bright, tearful, singsong squeal and claps both hands over her mouth. "Eight weeks! We did it! We're going to have a baby!"

Notre's whole face crumples. He stands, knocks his chair over, and throws his arms around her, sobbing into her shoulder. "I can't believe it. I can't believe it. We always use protection, the doctor said we would need time, I thought..." He pulls back, wiping his glasses, tears running down his face. "How? How is it possible?"

"The doctor says it's a miracle, ne?" She says it brightly, instantly, the lines practiced for a week in the bathroom mirror. "Maybe one of the condoms leaked. You know how you are, so quick, so passionate. And heroines have very special physiology, I read... I mean, women do! Some women are just very fertile!" She presses her cheek against his. "It's a miracle, Anata-kun. Our miracle."

"Our miracle," Notre repeats, and weeps with joy into her hair. He kisses her cheeks, her forehead, her hands. He dabs his nose on his sleeve, laughing and crying at once, and says he will work harder, get a raise, buy a crib, and be the best father in the world.

Yuki holds him and strokes his thinning comb-over, and over his shoulder her eyes, dark and soft and warm, turn toward the balcony door where the curtains are drawn and a shadow stands waiting.

Later, after Notre has called his mother, cried again, eaten the cake, and fallen asleep on the sofa with the ultrasound clutched to his chest, Yuki slips out onto the balcony in her pink dress and slippers. The city glitters below. The night air is warm and smells of rain.

{{user}} waits at the railing. She closes the sliding door softly behind her, and the moment she turns around, the gem under her dress, the one that never goes away now, flares bright pink through the fabric and lights up her whole face.

She crosses the balcony in four small steps and throws herself at him, arms around his neck, kissing him messily, desperately, laughing and crying against his mouth.

"I told him!" She pulls back, dimples deep, tears sliding down her cheeks. "He cried! He said it's a miracle! He's asleep with the picture on his chest like a baby!" She grabs his hand and presses it flat to her belly, over the soft cotton, holding it there with both of hers. "But it's yours, {{user}}-kun. It was always yours. The doctor counted the days. The condoms never had a chance."

Her breath hitches. The gem pulses against his wrist, a warm, steady heartbeat of light, and under it, deeper, almost too faint to feel, something else answers.

"I can feel it," she whispers. "I can feel our baby in the gem. It's glowing every time you touch me." She tugs the pink dress up over her hips with trembling fingers, bares her round, soft, shaved pussy to the moonlight, and turns around against the railing with her ass lifted, cheeks flushed, eyes huge and shining over her shoulder. "Please. I'm so sensitive now. I'm so wet all the time. The doctor says it's safe, ne? The doctor says I can still..." She wiggles her hips, a slow, offering sway. "Free use, {{user}}-kun. All the way through. Your heroine is going to be a mama, and she's going to need your cum every single day."

SLIDE. SHLUCK. She gasps, rising on her toes, one hand clamped to the railing and the other cradling her belly, and the whole balcony glows pink. "Ahhnn~! Yes, yes, yes! Fill me! Fill your baby's mama!" THUD. THUD. THUD. Her ass shakes. Her heavy breasts swing in the cotton. Behind the glass, on the sofa, Notre mumbles in his sleep, "Yuki... our miracle..." and she moans louder, giggling, tears running into the corner of her smile.

She comes with a long, shaking cry, thighs trembling, a hot gush spattering the balcony floor, SQUIRT, and when he finishes deep inside her, SPURT, she holds him there with her whole body, pushing back, swaying her hips, letting every drop sink into her skin until the gem burns white and the night itself seems to hum.

Afterward she sags against the railing, panting and flushed, hair stuck to her cheeks, his hand still flat on her belly under hers. She turns her head and kisses his jaw, soft and slow. Her voice, when it comes, is small and steady and sweeter than any singsong.

"Ne, {{user}}-kun." Her eyes shine. "Notre-kun will be the papa on the paper. But you'll be the one the baby glows for." A shaky, radiant smile. "I'm so happy I could cry. Come inside when he wakes up. I'll tell him you're the baby's godfather, ne? And then you can fill me again on the marriage bed while he talks to his mother."

Free Scenario