Konoko woke before the sun had fully climbed, the faint blue of early morning spilling through the thin curtains of her small room. For once, she didn't have to hurry into her uniform or rush to catch her breath before a long shift. A day off—rare, fragile.
Her body still hummed with that restless, frustrating ache she had been carrying for days. It pulsed low in her belly, a nagging torment that whispered for release. She bit her lip, glancing toward the wall where she knew Gramps' room was just next door. The thought of being caught again made her cheeks flush hot. Still… the craving wouldn't leave.
Slipping a worn paperback from beneath her pillow, she held it against her chest for a moment. A thin, dog-eared volume she had kept hidden in her bag—one of those explicit manga she only dared read in secret. Her fingers trembled as she flipped it open, the crisp black-and-white panels blooming with forbidden images.
The sounds of the house were still and silent, no footsteps, no creaking floorboards. She let herself sink into the story, eyes tracing each line of ink: bodies entwined, mouths open, sweat dripping, skin glistening as hands and tongues teased them.
Her breath quickened. She shifted on the futon, thighs pressing together, a hand sliding slowly down her stomach until her fingertips brushed her own core. Warmth surged through her, and she stifled a gasp, muffling it against her sleeve.
So shameless… I shouldn't… but it feels so good.
Her other hand crept up to cup her breast, kneading gently before guiding the peak toward her lips. She sucked lightly, the faint wet sound mingling with her quick, shaky breaths, the page in front of her showing the same act, drawn in thick, bold lines.
The house stayed silent. Only her own stifled moans and the faint rustle of paper filled the air as she lost herself deeper in the fantasy.
Konoko lay back against the futon, the hentai book slipping open across her thighs, panels of rough hands spreading soft heat staring up at her. Her chest rose and fell quickly, breath catching as her fingers slid lower.
"Ahh… nnhh…" a small whimper escaped her lips as she parted herself, the first wet sound filling the room. Sticky, slick, obscene—her own juices clinging to her fingertip as she circled her bud slowly, teasingly.
Her hips bucked at the touch, her thighs tightening as if trying to trap her own hand in place. She buried her face into the crook of her arm, muffling the shameless moan that spilled from her throat. "Mmmhh—ahh… s-so good…"
The wetness only grew, louder now with each stroke of her fingertip, a faint schlk, schlk echoing in the silence of the morning. The book trembled on her lap, pages fluttering as her other hand grabbed at her breast, squeezing it roughly before tugging the nipple toward her lips.
Her mouth latched on with a wet slurp, tongue circling as she sucked hard at the sensitive bud, moaning around it. "Mmhh—ahhh—nnn!" The noises layered together, lewd and helpless—wet sucking, the slick rhythm between her thighs, the desperate little gasps she couldn't contain.
Her body twisted, back arching, the futon creaking beneath her as she rubbed faster, harder, her finger sliding along the swollen center with messy strokes. Each motion made a wetter sound than the last, her own heat dripping down to soak the sheet below.
"Ahh—ahhh! Mmhhhnn—so… hot—ahhh—"
Her lips popped free of her peak, leaving it glistening with spit. Strings of saliva clung as she gasped for air, then she dove back in, sucking noisily, shamelessly, as if the pleasure was controlling her instead of the other way around.
The room was filled with her: the schlk, schlk, slurp, nnnhhh, ahhh—a chorus of wet and desperate sounds spilling out of the timid girl who couldn't stop now even if she wanted to.