Aoko busies herself with the heavy, arduous task of removing her school uniform jacket, as Soujyuro has the much easier task of pushing a large box through the archway of her bedroom door. Said box is followed a minute later by a long sliding noise, as Soujyuro pushes two other slightly less large cardboard boxes down the long Kuonji estate hallway that leads to her bedroom.
He shoves the second batch of boxes into the doorway, shirtless and mildly sweaty from the task. Aoko ignores his struggle and sets her sights on opening the first box with a single blade of her scissors. Said scissors open up a box to reveal her soon-to-be new desk, in pieces.
She sets the scissors on her current desk chair, the leather of the seat cushion worn barren and cracked near the seams. It's unsightly and old. She's needed an upgrade for a long time.
In thanks to a recent increase of passive income, she's been able to make some new purchases at a Swedish furniture store from the next city over. It's a far drive, but when ordering via catalogue and having it delivered via truck for a flat rate, it isn't a problem.
The only problem is getting it past the front door and all the way through her wing of the house. Thankfully, her passive income doubles as a handyman.
“Can you start to unpack the mirror next?”
Soujyuro nods, and begins to open the smallest of the boxes. The sound of his pocket knife splicing open packing tape echoes in the room; followed by the soft crunch of bending cardboard. Aoko only contributes to the ambient noise as she quietly takes out each piece of finely laminated particle board that will become her new desk. Complete with a matching drawer set, which can store her stationary and her spare guitar strings (separately!) with a dedicated drawer for each. Aoko’s getting excited just thinking about the organizational opportunities.
Organization is the boon of efficiency. This desk is a justified purchase irregardless of the fact that she already owns a desk, because it will help her stay on top of classwork and her role as class president. Not because it came in a cool color, or that she could pick out the kind of finish she could have for the top part that will become the surface of her desk.
She ignores that each piece of “wood” comes with a sticker and a latin letter on it. An innocent, latin letter. Its appearance among all the kana and kanji of her life feels unexpectedly refreshing. It reminds her that these are imported pieces of furniture, and even though her selection was along the more economical of options from the catalog, she still feels pompous about owning such a cool foreign desk.
Alice would be envious. That only adds to the appeal.
Alice could also hate that it clashes with the rest of the solid ornate wood of the house, and of her other more solid wood furnishings. This rebellion would also add to the appeal of such furniture. It’s a win win.
Right until she gets to the unexpectedly thick assembly instruction manual. No words, all pictures. The unbleached paper smells like the paper mache projects from art class—and kind of good, in an industrial sort of way. It’s a leagues better smell to have in front of her face compared to the smell of styrofoam shipping materials, which permeates the room.
Aoko blinks back into focus, leafing hastily through the instructions. She admires the twelve diagrams of screws and strange screw-like plastic pieces with an instilled new sense of purpose.
Nevermind that there are forty-two parts and one short of seventy screws. How hard could assembling furniture be?
The desk in front of her has two legs attached to the top of the desk surface; as opposed to all the legs being attached to the underside of the desk, like a functional piece of furniture. The desk can't stand on its own and can't be used in its current form. Aoko hates that it will have to be disassembled and reattached.
How did she f*ck it up that bad? Some of the screws are even stripped of their threads. She's not sure how she's going to fix this.
Her head is in her hands when she hears, “Can I just,” he takes a deep breath summoning his patience, “Build the chair for you?”
Soujyuro was instructed to hang her new full-length mirror off the back of her door, and has since been relegated to breakdown the boxes when idle. Only upon request did he help her lift heavy pieces of particle board and hold such pieces in place while she screws them to the desk frame. Which, she will admit, has not been guided by the damned instructional booklet as much as it should have been.
His question is an answer to her current frustrations. The way his questions nearly always are, in her times of need. His questions are her favorite kind of answer. She looks across the room, past the pile of neatly stacked and flattened cardboard, to Soujyuro. His face baring an expression somewhere between tired and patient. He's waiting on her. With an upturned nose, she agrees to letting him do so, as if she won an argument by agreeing to not cause more problems. Really, it's the only way she can answer that saves some of her dignity.
She would never say it, but his help is a relief. She's grateful.
In his hands, the chair is seemingly less parts but comprised of several different materials. Materials that look trickier than fake-wood particle board. Metal sliding into metal, clicking into place. Wheels having weird connection parts to attach to the rest of the chair. Soujyuro glances to the visual instruction booklet, attaches two parts together, and then looks at the instruction booklet again.
Despite looking at the booklet so frequently, he is efficient. The build to the point of the chair standing is quick. Quicker than what Aoko could have achieved in double the amount of time.
The only thing Soujyuro has left to attach is the chair armrests. Unexpectedly, he turns to her, asking if she wants the armrests on her chair. In theory, leaving the armrests off is good if she sits on her legs, or with her legs on the sides of the chair. As opposed to sitting with her legs at the front of the seat, which is the way she was instructed to sit in computer class for good posture.
She’s not sure that she’s ever sat normally on an office chair, but that doesn’t make her answer immediate. Aoko is a hands-on person, and she needs to test what without arm rests feels like to ensure it is the right choice.
Aoko wordlessly sits on his lap to test the current chair configuration without the armrests. She doesn’t bother asking him to move. This is just a quick process.
“You could have asked me to move?” His tone is bored, the amount of patience he has remaining with her shenanigans worn on his sleeve. It isn’t much.
His lap is distressingly warm.Pleasant.She likes the height she gains by sitting on his thighs. She likes him.
“You don’t like me here?” The words are flirtatious, but her tone comes out unconfident and mildly offended.
“I didn’t say that.” It’s a mumble. She's close enough to hear.
His hands are then gripping at her waist. He drags his hands down her outer thighs before pulling her knees apart. He meets little resistance from her as he spreads her legs across his lap.
“Do you ever sit like this?” It’s an innocent question, and especially so when coming from Soujyuro. Her legs are on either side of the chair. Nevermind that he’s under them. Thank heavens she’s facing the same direction as him, as her face is scarlet.
“N-no.”
“Do you want to?” His hands slide from her knees to her inner thighs with this question, and it makes hard to focus on said question. “No armrests makes a few positions easier.” His second sentence is matter-of-fact. Casual.
Are they still talking about sitting positions? She’s not sure. This is a lot of thought for armrests from a guy that didn’t know what a Swedish furniture store was twelve hours ago.
“Wh…” her voice catches in her throat when he starts rolling the hem of her skirt between his fingers. She clears her thought and keeps talking, “What other—positions are there?”
He hums in thought, slides his hands up, and pulls her upper body back onto his. She feels rather exposed. Her chest appearing more puffed out from the nature of leaning back into him. “This is one I’ve thought about before.” He’s earnest. His hands stay on her lower ribcage.
They’re absolutely not talking about sitting positions for studying.
Aoko feels him swallow behind her. “I, um,” For the first time today, he sounds nervous. “I don’t know what to do with my hands to keep this going.”
He swivels the chair with his legs to the direction of her bedroom door, with the new mirror hanging off the back of it. Aoko sees herself, legs open provocatively wide to fit across his lap, outfit appearing more disheveled for how he leaned her back onto against his chest. From here, she can see how much redder he gets when she lifts her arms over her head and his, to hold onto the headrest of the chair.
At this range, the bare skin of his chest is warm and he smells distractingly good for how much her room smells like dusty cardboard. The sensation of his hands still fidgeting with the hem of her skirt pulls her from her thoughts. She zones back in again to see how hiked up her pleated skirt has gotten from this arrangement, and the movement of his arms.
From the chair's distance from the mirror, she could see her panties. By extension, that means he can see them too, and her body reacts curiously. Goosebumps fly up her legs that he can feel. She's getting wet.
She knows he's looking at her in the mirror. She heaves a sigh and watches his eyes move up, to her chest. He looks shy when he looks up a little further in the reflection to see her watching him.
He's kind of hot under her like this.
The hands playing with her skirt flip downward; she then feels two hot and damp palms press into the air chilled tops of her exposed thighs. How close those warm hands are to the juncture of her innermost thighs only skews her thoughts from the original question about keeping armrests on the chair.
That reminds her. He said something else.
“What do you mean?”
“I, uh, want to touch you—this way, ” he spreads her legs farther apart. The emphasis reveals her panties, visible from the mirror. “But I—” He brings his hands to her inner thighs, “Don't know how.”
“Um,” It's unexpected for a guy to talk through their seduction plan even before their first attempt, but he has her in a promiscuous position. The situation in front of a mirror is kind of exciting. She takes a deep breath, and guides his hands to rub along her inner thighs, mumbling, “Start here,” just as shyly as he initially asked.
She takes off the bow of her uniform, leaving it undone around her neck as she unbuttons the top three buttons of her blouse, partially in an effort to get more comfortable and partially to be busy with her own hands. It's getting warm in the room.
“May I?” She doesn't know what he is asking permission for, but she likes that he asked, and agrees. His hands leave her thighs cold, only to finish unbuttoning her blouse for her. He tugs it open but doesn't pull it out of the waistband of her skirt. It opens to an enticing v-shape with the cups of her bra exposed. The cool air feels good on her stomach. His attention to the area, as seen in the mirror, makes her flush.
Briefly, his hands roam to her clothed breasts, and he presses them towards her ribcage, watching as her cleavage becomes more round and squished together via her bra. Aoko doesn’t care for it, but allows him a few gratuitous moments given the curious expression on his face that she could see from the mirror.
When she clears her throat, his hands wordlessly return back down to her thighs. She likes that, and moves said hands to the edge of her panties. She instructs him to rub. His fingers slide near her clothed cl*t rather than directly on it. Not where she wants.
“In the middle more.”
His fingers shift to the center of her panties, “Hah, that's it.” His hand feels warm. The motions, however inconsistent, still feel good when she's this aroused.
“You're wet.” He's seemingly surprised despite how clearly he can see her panties from the mirror. She can't tell if it's the acknowledgement or the sound of his voice, gruff and low, that makes her heart rate increase. She opts to ignore her own reaction.
“You think?” Her sarcasm has less bite to it when she's turned on. The expression on his face reads like her tone has no effect on him. She doesn't like that.
Aoko is pulled from her thoughts when his fingers rub together in a single motion. He’s established that she likes being pet. Unfortunately for Aoko, his fingers are trending higher and higher. It's not long before he's rubbing above her clothed puss* rather than stimulating her cl*t. He's missing the mark entirely.
“Lower,” she grabs his arm by the elbow, and tugs it down, overshooting his fingers and bringing the palm of his hand over her cl*t.
When he resumes the delightful upwards and downwards motion, he's teasing her entrance through the fabric of her panties, and only on the backstroke does he touch her cl*t. It's not ideal, but it's enough and she's all too eager.
Aoko makes a clicking noise with her mouth when his hand veers off course for the second time. Wordlessly, she tugs his arms back into place, just as before. Almost immediately, he changes the pattern his fingers rub too much, and when he veers off the course for a third time, she's annoyed.
“How are you so good with your hands this way,” she gestures to the furniture, “but not this way?” She gestures to her body.
He leans back and she feels their bodies shift together, the chair tilting while he reaches for something. He drops the furniture assembly booklet into her lap.
“The furniture came with an instruction manual.” He says, flatly. The moment holds until he adds more quietly, “You do not.” He flips it open to a random page, “Step-by-step instructions—with visuals.”
The emphasis he gives for needing visuals gives her pause. She looks at herself in the mirror and acknowledges all of her clothing, which is probably unhelpful for him trying to get her off. He can’t see what he’s touching. She hums to herself.
Aoko moves the manual back to the desk, and stands. She looks over her shoulder to glare at him briefly (because how dare he want visuals to do a good job---an entirely reasonable request) before she undoes her skirt, and it falls to the floor. She unbuttons her shirt all the way, and it plops unceremoniously onto an empty cardboard box. When she slides her panties off, they stick to her puss*, a trail of her arousal stretching irrationally far before it breaks. Her bra stays on.
When Aoko sits back down on his lap, still facing the same direction as him, she spreads her legs of her own volition. “Move the chair closer to the mirror.” It's her first instruction, and he complies immediately. Feet shuffling awkwardly towards the entrance of her room as the chair slowly wheels over.
As embarrassing as this is for her, maybe the full view is helpful. Soujyuro can see everything. She takes solace in the fact that he seems to understand that the mirror is for him to see what his hands are doing.
His hand returns to her folds, spreading her puss* with his pointer and middle finger. He stares at her from the mirror in a way that makes her squirm, only to hum inquisitively, like he's finally cracked the code. Like he's discovered something in the sea of pink he’s focused his attention on. She bites her lips.
“Is this your…” he wonderfully presses her cl*t between the pads of his middle and pointer finger. The direct contact is a foreign yet welcome sensation.
“Yes.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. His fingers bare on her c*nt feel warm and too exciting.
“Rub small circles, constant motion.” Her voice mimicking his earlier matter-of-fact tone. His fingers shift immediately. The motion makes her want to buck her hips into his hand but she fears that moving her hips risks that he will lose the right spot. She restrains herself. Although humping his hand would feel amazing, her nerves settle for just letting her thighs twitch.
He maintains his instructed hand motion, in the correct location—and even better—he stays in the exact spot the whole time. Panties be damned. Her head falls back onto his shoulder, her opposite hand finding the back of the headrest again to grip.
He murmurs, “Your neck looks nice like this.”
The compliment compels her to yank her bra down, but not off. Albeit dumbly, he thanks her in response to her doing that, and the unexpected gratuity pulls her out of the moment so much she laughs quietly to herself.
He seems to take her response well, and she wonders if it was a joke or not despite sounding so sincere. His disarming smile gives her no leads, but she’s admittedly happy it’s there. Meanwhile, the palm on her lower abdomen doesn't move; his fingers on her cl*t deliciously consistent for the first time this evening. The hand on her thigh shifts to a breast, and he kneads her gently.
“Slide your fingers down,” he does so right away. His fingers dip into her, hot and slick. The motion makes a noise that she can hear and feel; the combination makes her gasp.
Intuitively, he knows to slide his fingers into her and this warrants praise. “Good.” She's starting to pant, all too aware of how her breasts move as her ribcage expands and falls with each breath. Suddenly, she's cognizant of how close his face is to her chest, and how easy it is for him to look down. She ignores the thought.
“Go back to what you were doing before. Drag your fingers up.” Her instructions are curt.
He does as he's told, returning to her cl*t with newly soaked fingers. The sensation of his fingertips, that much more slippery, makes the circular motion he resumes a little quicker. His fingers feel better because he’s rubbing her cl*t with her own arousal, not only because it is lubricating but because it makes her feel lewd. Aoko lets out an accidental, almost pitiful, little groan. Her ears rosy in response to herself, as if this compromised position wasn't already the hottest thing she's experienced. Even if he doesn't know exactly what to do.
“Do it again.” It's embarrassing to hear herself speak like this, voice cracking; her tone floating to higher pitches involuntarily as he wondrously does exactly what she says. Aoko asks for him to dip an additional finger into her puss* and the speed in which he's receptive to her, makes her want to hide her face.
When she touches herself like this, it's always under the covers, with a hand over her mouth; not because she’s compelled to moan when rubbing herself, but because of how erotic she feels hearing and seeing herself be so aroused. She only ever gotten off under the covers, strangely ashamed at how she might look when she's this undone.
On his lap though, it feels different. Nice. If she just picks her head up off the pillow that is his shoulder, she can see how aroused and how laid bare she is as he slowly works her up. She doesn’t even have to look, as the noise of his fingers inside of her, alone, has her on edge. All the while, she knows how intently he's watching, and it’s unfathomable how much she yearns to hide her under a bedsheet if she could. The inability to hide, and feeling so exposed, only adds to the eroticism.
The feeling doesn't seem to be mutual, as from the mirror, he stares at her like he has no shame in watching. Maybe she should feel the same way about also watching. Or speaking.
“D—dip your fingers,” deft fingers are at her entrance, “deep in my wet puss*.” The words feel unnatural in her mouth. She feels dirty saying so much. Even though he inhales sharply in response (that must mean he likes her talking, right?), trying to sound dirty is nearly mortifying, and she vows internally to never say anything like it again. However, it's frustrating how he does so well with instructions, and it's infuriating how that makes the embarrassing experience worthwhile.
She shouldn’t like this scenario with Soujyuro this much, but his fingers are now at her entrance, his palm now pressing onto her cl*t. It's the most distracting thing he's done so far because it wasn't instructed and yet, it feels good. The contrast of his wet, warm fingers and his hot, dry palm provides new friction to the motion on her cl*t.
She tells him to curl his fingers inside of her. His palm flexes, stimulating her cl*t and the combined sensation makes her hips buck into his hand. He makes a noise like he enjoyed how she reacted, and it goes south for her. He curls his fingers again, and her hips twitch. After a moment he then rolls his palm forward, fingertips still inside of her, and her hips roll forward as she gasps.
“Oh.” Is all he says. He's figured something out on his own. Something she's never done to herself. Her hands are too small for the same motion, at least exactly the way he's doing it.
“You like this?” He has the audacity to punctuate his dumb question with the dumb palm motion, again.
“I like you, idiot.” Yes, she likes what he's doing with his hand. She's absolutely not getting flustered.
“Oh.” He repeats himself.
She's nearly naked on him, save for a bra pulled down to her waist. How this is news to him, she doesn't know. She doesn't understand how he hasn't read between the lines yet with her sitting naked on his lap, teaching him how to make her lose her mind. She wants to berate him for it, but she's also presently putty in his hands if she says the right words in the correct order. Said hands which are actively, distractingly, still on her body. She'd kill him if he backed out now.
She’s going to lose her mind. One way or another.
“Let me take this off of you,” Wet and dry fingers snake under the thin space between them as he leans back and undoes her bra with two hands. Sliding it off provides dual-faceted relief: one from being more physically comfortable with it's absence and two, the gesture suggests he seems wholly uninterested in backing out of this interaction.
She feels good, really good, right now. Only his hands are only partially to blame. He likes her. How she couldn't connect the dots of him accepting how she sat on his lap—and got this far—is hard to think about. She blames him for distracting her so much.
Aoko’s pulled from her thoughts when he interrupts to ask, “Does that mean I get to kiss your neck as I do—” his fingers return to rubbing her cl*t, “as I do this?” She gasps and then groans, eyes closing in pleasure as she agrees. Anything for him to maintain touching her. Soujyuro being a sap isn't lost on her either, but frankly she's too horny to appreciate the tender gesture beyond tilting her head for him.
Allowing him access.
Her jaw goes slack as he kisses up her neck, sending goosebumps flying up her arm and leg on that side of her body. When he opts to occupy his mouth with one particular spot right below and behind her ear, it makes her hips shake. His other unoccupied hand soothingly rubs her thigh, before he drags his fingertips up to her breast, cupping her gently. His fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
“Squeeze a little.”
He pauses in kissing her neck, before lightly pinching her cl*t. She nearly jolts upright.
“I meant your other hand, Soujyuro.” Such a decision on his part would be intolerable behavior, if she wasn't so undone already because of him. His good track record of following instructions thus far has saved him here. Nevermind that her instructions are losing clarity with his continued attention to her body.
He coos an apology and kneads her chest with said offending hand. She tells him to rub her cl*t and switch to a side-to-side motion; she bites her lips as his response is instantaneous.
It's when he starts to suck on one particular spot right behind her ear that makes blood rush to her head. Hearing her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she goes to lean her head back on his shoulders, seeing stars.
He pauses again, luckily only his mouth. She never knows what's going on in his head.
“Please stay upright,” He's so close to her ear. “I like seeing your face as I touch you.” He's too earnest. Too sweet to be annoyed with, especially with his hand doing all the right things.
She sits up in his lap more in an unusually silent, red-faced compliance. He huffs, amused, before his lips go right back to making her mind go blank. He's wonderful. She'd never tell him that.
“Don’t stop, anything, until I tell you.” She wants her tone to sound authoritative. She sounds unconvincing to her own ears, but he hums his response; dutifully not taking his mouth off her neck. He is generous with his compliance. Maybe he's been rubbing off on her in ways other than his current hand.
Her face feels hotter than usual and there's a tension in her core muscles. She closes her eyes, suddenly shy to the idea of making eye contact with Soujyuro in the mirror, this close to her org*sm. The upper half of her face is tense, concentrating on how much his mouth on her neck keeps her legs pressing themselves open and how much his fingers on her puss* make her want to clamp her legs closed on his wrist to keep him there.
The internal conflict has her mouth open and her hips twitching with increasing frequency. Small, breathless moans escape her when she realizes the one spot he's kissing on her neck will bruise. The idea of being marked by him is only angering because of how much she wants it.
He's been clueless in every other regard. Does he know what he's doing with his mouth? When he bites her neck for the first time, teeth grazing her skin? She almost whines his name. Almost.
He doesn't hum in response, he only does it again. His fingers, circling her cl*t, pick up the slightest amount of speed. It's barely enough to notice, but it's plenty enough to have her over the edge.
She clenches her thighs against his, and against the sides of the chair, her hips twitching into his hand as he continues to rub her cl*t directly. It's overwhelming in a way Aoko can't handle but she's nearly incoherent, incapable of instructions and anything other than saying “f*ck me, Sou —” before her words dissolve into another whine. She can't even finish his name. Multi-syllable words are too much for her.
It's still enough to make him pause. She didn't want him to completely stop, but she doesn't have the words in her to tell him as much.
Instead, she puts a hand over his and pulls his stilled fingers off her cl*t and to the side. She uses his fingers to press lightly against the all too sensitive area near her cl*t, allowing her hips the freedom to twitch and roll in response, before pressing his fingertips to the side of her cl*t again. Basking in how nice the texture of someone else's hand feels easing her down gently, and exactly as she wants, with only occasional touches. She rides out the remainder of org*sm at her preferred pace.
When she calms, letting go of his hand, she opens her eyes to a staring Soujyuro and her arousal dripping lavishly along her folds, and down onto his pants.
He leans his head back on the chair. Only now can she see how disheveled he's become. How uncomposed.
She changes the way her hips bare weight with her posture, and he bolts upright, holding her legs in place.
He's not looking at her in the mirror, but she can see from the mirror that he is looking down at her chest from his vantage point over her shoulder. She feels smug about it. More so when she realizes he moved because there's something pleasantly stiff under her.
“Please.”
She savors the moment, hearing him beg unprompted.
Silence fills the air maybe a moment too long before she asks, “Please what?” She readjusts herself to be directly on the tent in his pants, toying with him now. His exhale is unsteady. He looks embarrassed.
Please let me f*ck you. Is what she thinks he wants to say. He can't seem to bring himself to say it.
“What you said earlier.” She's right. She knows exactly what he wants. In fact, she would love that, too.
However, it is also incredibly entertaining to see him squirm under her. She hums like she doesn't understand.
“Can I… uh, participate?” He opts to dance around the exact words a different way. It's cute. She won't accept it.
“You want to f*ck me.” She says it with a certain unbounded confidence she could only ever have in her afterglow. They make eye contact in the mirror as she commands, “Say it.”
“I want to f*ck you.”
She'll never get tired of his immediate give. His exceptional compliance, and how satisfying it is for her. Hearing his confession amidst her afterglow has her in tingles. Goosebumps. She’s immensely pleased that he's leagues past being reserved and composed, the way he always f*cking is, to the point of being blunt. Uncaring of his own reputation to her as anything but obedient. She bites her lips only for a moment before telling him to slide down his pants.
He should be rewarded.
Still in the afterglow of her org*sm, Aoko wastes no time in sitting back down exactly where she was before, her hand under her hips, guiding him inside. Aided by her arousal, she readily eases down onto him.
His hands are at her breasts, a handful and then some in each. He cups her softly, palm coddling her hard nipples. She likes how they look in his hands from the mirror; the way her body spills generously from the space between his fingers. She likes how he massages them softly. His co*ck is fully sheathed inside of her, he puts his forehead to the back of her shoulder.
“Thank you for this opportunity.”
Soujyuro says it like a prayer, with her back as his altar. Yet the words are something she would read in class president correspondence. It's such a stark contrast it's silly, and she laughs as he holds her. His word choice is not very sexy but being grateful isn't a bad alternative. And it's very him. She kind of loves it. She gives him time to acclimate to all the new sensations.
When she wants to ruin the moment, she shifts her weight to her legs and lifts her hips up, all the way up, and then sinks back down onto his co*ck. She likes that her name is automatic for him, a simultaneous sigh of relief and a whisper of tension. She could bring him over quickly like this, if she wanted.
Aoko kind of wants to let him enjoy basking in her body. He did a good job for her after all, and she's always been more physical with her gestures of appreciation, compared to his insistence to vocalize his appreciation.
“Your chest is nice.” Speak of the devil.
He slides his hands down to her stomach and says much of the same about her soft belly. Then her hips, and then how this all started, her highs. He sounds in awe and his tone makes her acknowledge his reverence of her body. His touch is gentle.
He slides his hands under her, and lifts her up slightly, leaning her body onto his chest more as he drops her down. It's cute when he makes himself gasp; it's hot when he can make her also gasp at the same time.
She feels so full. She likes the way she looks, too; hair also disheveled but yet somehow so pretty. Rosy from her face to her shoulders. He holds her up by her thighs, legs dangling from his hands and spread wide to the mirror. The way he disappears inside of her when he lowers her on him is nothing short of erotic, and she's transfixed on watching from the mirror as his co*ck slides into her puss*.
She likes seeing the muscles along the length of his arms flex as he bounces her on his lap. He's making himself sweat with exertion to maintain this position and Aoko, in her lingering afterglow, comes to the conclusion that he deserves a little treat. A gesture of appreciation.
Upon her request, he releases her legs carefully back into the position they were prior. She slides them to being in front of her, as if poised to stand up.
Bent over his lap, she never fully stands. With her knees together and her hands bracing the weight of her upper body onto them, she slams her weight back onto him, taking his co*ck in hard and fast for a single motion. He groans. She lifts her ass up, only to giggle breathlessly when his hands fly to her hips; holding her still as he prevents her from repeating the process.
He sounds rushed when he admits, “I won’t last if you keep doing this.” That’s what she wants. She forgets that he can see her sly smile in the mirror.
“Good, don’t.”
She resumes her movement, and although his hands are on her hips gripping tightly, she meets no resistance to taking him in full, over and over, in quick excess. Overzealous and out of breath, although Aoko is enthusiastic, she starts to get sloppy with the motion.
When his co*ck accidentally pops out of her, it slides along the cleft of nearby skin, pushing through between her thighs. On reaction, she clenches her thighs closed, and the rapid change of sensations has him sitting up and leaning forward to press against her back. His arms quickly wrapping around her waist as he c*ms hard. The tip of his co*ck barely peeking out from her thighs, making a mess of her lap and hips. He rocks her body in an attempt for controlled friction. He presses her body onto his lap with his co*ck still squeezed between her thighs. He's holding her almost too tightly.
She rubs his arms. Hearing him sigh heavily as if weight has been lifted over his shoulders. She feels his forehead press between her shoulder blades. She feels him kiss along her upper spine. Who knew he would be more affectionate afterwards.
When he calms down, he offers her his shirt from the floor to clean up. He wipes her legs for her, and kisses her shoulder before she stands up, thighs shaky as she hobbles to a robe and disappears down the hall to clean herself up better in the bathroom.
When she returns just a few minutes later, the desk is magically fixed—all legs mounted, correctly, on the underside of the table surface—against the wall, exactly where she wanted, and the promiscuous chair next to it. No longer directly in front of the doorway where the mirror is.
Not looking at all out of place or no worse for wear, aside from a dark sweatline right down the middle of the seat cushion.
