October 20, Tokyo, Ikebukuro. 11:40 PM at night.
Outside a ten-story apartment building, the wind weaves through the gaps of the autumn night. Ayn shoulders a black commuter backpack, carries a convenience store bento in one hand, and has a pair of white Bluetooth earphones on his ears, with music faintly flowing through them. He pauses for a few seconds in front of the door, takes out his key, gently turns the lock, and pushes the door open.
The entryway light flicks on, soft white light illuminating the narrow space. A few coins are scattered on the shoe cabinet, and beside them sit the sneakers he changed out of that morning. The room isn't large, about thirty square meters, with one bedroom, one living room, one kitchen, and one bathroom, monthly rent sixty thousand yen. The place isn't dirty, but it's far from tidy, with thin layers of dust on the floor here and there, the last cleaning having been two weeks ago.
The furniture in the home is sparse. The living room has only a dining table and a single chair, the bedroom a bed, a computer desk, and a bookshelf. In the kitchen corner sits an old refrigerator and a microwave, no TV, no decorative paintings. The room is simple to the point of emptiness, quiet enough to feel lonely. Ayn has lived in this country for twelve years, alone in Tokyo. This doesn't mean he has no family; his mother is still back home, his sister in Osaka. Though they don't meet often, they stay in touch frequently by phone. Occasionally, Ayn takes the Shinkansen to Osaka to visit his sister.
After changing into slippers, Ayn walks into the living room, sets the bento on the dining table, then heads to the bedroom and removes his earphones. He had intended to go straight to the bath, but halfway through the motion, he stops. He turns to the computer desk, picks up the cigarette pack and lighter, and pushes open the door to the balcony. The night wind slips right in, carrying the distinctive chill of early autumn.
On the balcony, a lidded metal ashtray sits beside the AC outdoor unit. Ayn steps out, bends down to lift the lid, revealing layers upon layers of cigarette butts inside. He leans against the railing and lights a cigarette. The flame flashes in the darkness, he takes a deep drag, and the exhaled smoke is carried away by the night wind, slowly dispersing.
The height of the twelfth floor isn't particularly high, but the view just clears the surrounding buildings, catching the neon lights and traffic flow of distant streets. Those lights flicker, reflecting the city's ongoing rhythm. Ayn gazes quietly, feeling the stark contrast between that bright clamor and the silence of his spot, as if the whole world is bustling while he's the only one left in this corner, silently smoking.
When the cigarette burns down to a third, he suddenly remembers that today is payday. He pulls out his phone from his pocket and swipes the screen open. The banking app's light glows on his face, he taps into the account page, and the numbers coldly display the balance: ¥3,867,000. It's a sum that seems substantial at first glance, but it brings no reassurance.
Four years ago, his mother was diagnosed with chronic kidney failure, and since then, she's had to undergo regular dialysis, with treatment and medication fees becoming the family's most fixed expense. Ayn and his sister's combined salaries barely exceed five hundred thousand yen, and after deducting rent and daily costs, they can hardly save anything. Such days have dragged on for four years; he's grown accustomed to the arrival of bills, yet he can't shake the anxiety weighing on his chest. Unbeknownst to him, the cigarette has burned out. Ayn sighs softly, stubs the butt into the metal box, closes the lid to keep the ashes from scattering in the wind, then turns back inside and shuts the glass door behind him.
He takes off his shirt, grabs the towel from beside the bed, and heads to the bathroom. The cool floor makes him shiver slightly, and in the mirror, he looks more haggard than he'd imagined. Without further thought, he twists the hot water knob. Hot streams pour from the showerhead, the water sound echoing in the cramped space, temporarily washing away the unease deep in his heart.
After the bath, Ayn towels off his body, then uses the hairdryer to dry his hair. Once done, he tosses the towel into the washing machine, planning to wash it all on the weekend. Then, naked, he returns to the bedroom, pulls sleepwear from the drawer, and slips it on. The fabric against his skin is the moment he finally feels a bit relaxed.
He walks to the living room, puts the bento in the microwave, and after pressing the heat button, the familiar hum starts up. While waiting, he goes back to the bedroom for his phone, sits at the dining table, and scrolls through videos. The screen shows a game stream, featuring an old game he played as a kid. The streamer's voice is light and humorous, occasionally roasting the outdated mechanics or mimicking character lines in exaggerated tones, filling the chat with laughter and banter. Ayn watches the screen, his lips twitching slightly, his mood easing without him realizing it.
A "ding—" sounds from the microwave. Ayn sets down his phone, takes out the bento, lifts the lid, and steam rises with the aroma of food. He picks up chopsticks and starts eating; after a few bites, he feels thirsty, stands to open the fridge in the kitchen, grabs a bottle of drink, takes two gulps, then returns to the table with it.
Halfway through the meal, his phone pings with a message from his sister: [You off work yet?]
Ayn pauses his chopsticks, thumbs tapping the screen: [Just got home, a bit tired, nothing urgent, let's chat another time.]
Seconds later, a new message pops up: [Okay~ (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)]
Ayn glances at his sister's reply, then switches the screen back to the game stream, continuing to eat quietly while watching the video.
After the meal, Ayn clears the table, tosses the packaging and scraps into the trash, and wipes the surface with a wet cloth. Done with that, he returns to the bedroom, originally just planning to lie down for a bit, but for some reason, an urge to smoke arises again. So, he grabs the cigarette pack and lighter, heads to the balcony. After lighting up, the night wind brushes over, the smoke slowly dispersing in the air. He silently finishes the last drag, stubs out the butt, then turns back inside.
He checks his phone, the screen showing: October 21, 0:30 AM. The time is later than he'd thought; he knows he should sleep now. He has to get up at seven tomorrow morning, be at the office by eight, and likely work until eleven at night. Though he's long tired of overtime, there's nothing he can do about it. After all, someone has to do the work, and that overtime pay is something Ayn needs.
With these thoughts, Ayn turns off the light, plunging the room into darkness. He slips under the covers, closes his eyes, tries to fall asleep quickly, but his mind won't settle. Random thoughts come in waves, he tosses and turns, and before he knows it, half an hour has passed. Sleep still won't come, so he gives up with a helpless shake of his head and finally chooses his "old method" to relax.
So, what exactly is this "old method"? Ayn picks up his phone, his finger pausing slightly, opens that familiar website, and casually clicks into an AV video. The title is "Forbidden Abyss: The Actress's Limit Challenge", the woman on the cover has a curvaceous figure, her eyes carrying a hint of teasing allure. Those eyes seem to hook straight into his soul, making his heart tremble involuntarily, and as if possessed, he presses the play button.
The video opens with low and seductive background music. The camera slowly advances into a hotel suite, the lighting soft and ambiguous, yet bright enough to make every detail clear. The female lead, a fiery-bodied Japanese actress named Sakura, in her early twenties, with skin white as porcelain, her full E-cup breasts faintly visible under the silk robe.
Ayn's breathing starts to quicken, he leans back against the wall at the head of the bed, his legs parting slightly, feeling that thing down below beginning to swell and ache restlessly. But he holds back, not rushing to touch it, just keeping his eyes glued to the screen, savoring the heat slowly rising from his abdomen.
Sakura kneels on the soft carpet, wrapped only in a thin towel, while in front of her stands a muscular male actor. She lifts her head, looking at the man, her eyes shifting from initial shyness to insatiable hunger. Involuntarily, she parts her cherry lips slightly, her pink tongue tip lightly licking the corner of her mouth, as if savoring the forbidden fruit about to come.
"Come on, big brother, let me serve you well..." Sakura's voice is sweet and sticky like melted honey, her hand slowly pulling open the male actor's towel, and that thick cock springs out immediately, fully eighteen centimeters long, veins coiling like dragons, the glans purple and swollen, a bead of clear pre-cum already seeping from the slit, glistening with lewd sheen under the lights.
Sakura first circles her tongue tip around the glans, gently lapping away that salty pre-cum, the briny taste slowly spreading on her tongue, stimulating her taste buds and making her swallow saliva involuntarily. The male actor lets out a low hum, that rough and satisfied sound spilling from deep in his throat, his hand instinctively pressing on the back of her head, fingers embedding in her soft hair, gently guiding her to open her mouth wider.
This scene makes Ayn's cock ache unbearably, the sight of Sakura kneeling in service on the video conjures an image in his mind unbidden: a submissive slut kneeling at his feet, her cherry lips parted, pink tongue coiling around his cock, slurping that salty pre-cum with wet guchu guchu sounds, her eyes shifting from shy to hungry pleading, "Mmm... Master, so big, so hard... fuck my little mouth..."
Oh fuck, Ayn craves it desperately, to have a woman like that kneeling on the ground, filling his cock, him grabbing her hair and thrusting deep into her throat, hearing her gag yet moan as she swallows deeper. That conquering lust burns like wildfire through his reason, devouring all restraint, making him involuntarily throw off the covers, his hands trembling as he pulls down his pajama pants, the cock bouncing free, rock-hard and upright, the tip already leaking clear fluid.
Ayn wraps his palm around that scorching shaft, slowly stroking it, his fingertip scraping over every ridge of the corona, bringing waves of layered pleasure, "Fuck... if she were here, how good it'd feel..." he can't help thinking, his eyes locked on the screen, the phantom blowjob scene in his head weaving with the slick friction in his palm, pulling him step by step toward the edge of the abyss.
The video continues, Sakura obediently takes the male actor's cock into her mouth, her lips tightly wrapping the swollen glans, her tongue repeatedly scraping the sensitive corona, each pass drawing out sticky strands of saliva. Every friction makes the corona's nerve endings twitch violently like electrocuted, the hot wet squeeze surging from the base straight up, making the glans throb. And that guchu guchu lewd wet sound strikes the male actor's nerves directly, sending a shiver down his spine, the base veins aching as they pull taut on his skin, desire burning straight to his groin.
Immediately after, Sakura's head begins to bob back and forth, gradually speeding up, the cock thrusting fiercely in and out of her mouth, bulging her cheeks, a faint gag rising from deep in her throat, but she turns it into an even more enticing muffled hum: "Mmm... so big, so hard... can't swallow it all..."
The male actor's pleasure surges like a heatwave, waves of numbness shooting from the base of his cock straight to his brain, and he can't help but start fucking Sakura's little mouth. The slapping sounds echo, saliva mixed with thick pre-cum spilling from the corners of her lips, dripping down her chin in stringy lewd strands, those glistening drops flashing under the lights.
The male actor's cock rams wildly into Sakura's slutty mouth, that thick hard shaft plunging repeatedly into her slick lips, the glans scraping the soft roof of her mouth, drawing out sticky saliva threads that stretch into shiny silver lines. Sakura unleashes her blowjob skills to the fullest, her tongue coiling like a serpent around the corona, each lick precisely squeezing the urethral opening, sucking out salty pre-cum that makes the male actor burn with desire right to his brain.
At the same time, Sakura's kneeling pose is both submissive and ravenous, her hands clutching his thighs desperately, nails digging into the muscle, her throat emitting guchu wet slurps like gulping down steaming meat broth. Her hot breaths puff against his pubic hair, stirring the intense musky sweat stench that rushes straight to her head, igniting an even deeper slave-like craving. She pants and looks up, her tear-blurred eyes full of pleading: "Mmm... fuck deeper..."
The male actor can hold back no longer, grabs her hair tight, and thrusts his hips forward hard, shoving the entire cock down to the root, the glans stabbing straight into the depths of her throat, a clear bulge rising on Sakura's neck. Pleasure piles up like crashing waves, the male actor's spine tingles, heat surging from the base, the glans swelling a full circle in her throat, and he erupts with scorching cum, blasting straight into her esophagus depths. The salty hot flood makes Sakura's throat muscles spasm in swallows, excess semen backflowing from her nostrils and lip seams, splattering her cleavage, soaking those quivering E-cup tits, her nipples stiffening into cherries, gleaming with sticky juice.
Sakura coughs, yet greedily sucks up the remnants, her eyes shifting from agony to satisfied seduction. The male actor pulls his cock from her mouth, coated in saliva and cum threads, and he deliberately slaps it across her face, growling roughly: "Slut, lick it clean for me." Sakura stretches out her tongue like a bitch in heat, lapping and cleaning his cock, each stroke scooping away the thick leftover fluids.
The blowjob segment draws to a close, the guchu wet slurps fading gradually, but Ayn's lust doesn't extinguish just like that—he's been holding back all along, not over-stroking his cock, because he doesn't want to cum too soon; he still wants to keep watching. So, he fast-forwards the video, skipping straight to this part:
The male actor pulls out that saliva-coated cock, slaps Sakura's cheek with a swing of it, the smack leaving a faint red mark. It's not a hard hit, but a flirty light tap that makes her face look even more slutty and inviting. Clearly, the male actor knows his limits—this is acting, shooting an AV, not real abuse. Then, he growls roughly: "Turn around, stick up that slutty ass of yours."
Sakura pants softly as she climbs onto the bed, her ass raised high, exposing that pink pussy. The labia are thick and swollen, soaked in juices until they're glistening bright, the inner lips curling open like petals, revealing the pink tender flesh inside, her clit engorged and erect, small but twitching sensitively, as if begging for a touch.
The male actor kneels behind her, not rushing to thrust in, first sliding his fingers into that lewd little hole, his rough knuckles digging at the slick walls, the guchu guchu sounds rising like stirring honey, churning out more clear pussy juice that drips from between his fingers onto the sheets. Because of this teasing, Sakura's body leans forward, but her ass sticks up even higher, her pussy clenching around his fingers in spasms, the pleasure making tears well in her eyes, her mind blank with nothing but the hunger to be filled: "Ah... it feels so bad... hurry and fuck me, shove it in!"
Even though Sakura begs like this, the male actor still doesn't hurry, kneeling behind her and prying open her raised ass cheeks with both hands, revealing that drenched pink pussy—the labia swollen like ripe peaches, pussy juice trickling slowly from the inner slit, sparkling with a crystalline sheen.
He leans in close, his hot breath puffing against her sensitive clit, making Sakura's body shudder, her ass instinctively pushing back a bit. The male actor's tongue extends, first lightly licking that engorged erect clit, the tip circling and lapping, the salty-sour taste of her juices spreading in his mouth like sweet poison, making his cock harden even more down below.
Sakura's moans spike instantly: "Ah... my pussy's so itchy... don't stop, lick deeper!"
Hearing this, the male actor slides his tongue into the hole, the rough surface scraping the wall folds, guchu guchu wet sounds echoing like savoring steaming honey, as he curls it to tease her G-spot, the pleasure arching Sakura's back, her tits swaying, her mind melting into pure ecstasy from the licking.
This scene makes Ayn's cock jump straight, the details of that tongue on her pussy throwing off his stroking rhythm for half a beat, pre-cum leaking from his glans to wet his fingers, the salty scent filling the bedroom air. Because of this visual hit, his lower belly burns like fire, but he forces himself not to speed up, just shallowly pumping the base, feeling the veins pulse.
Sakura can't hold back her moans again: "Fuck me... get that cock in here, my pussy can't take it!" Only then does the male actor straighten up, gripping his veiny cock, aiming the glans at her hole—but he just rubs back and forth, refusing to go in—the corona grinding her swollen labia, coated in sticky juices, the glans ridge scraping her clit with every pass, sending electric tingles that make Sakura's ass twist more urgently, her hole opening and closing like a hungry mouth gulping air.
The male actor chuckles low, deliberately prodding the entrance shallowly with his glans, but not pushing deeper. Clearly, he's toying with Sakura—this flirty torment swells his conquering lust like a heatwave, but he insists on stringing her along, watching her beg over and over. Sakura writhes in agony, her ass twitching, her hole gaping and clenching, starving like it's trying to devour the air.
Because of this torment, Sakura's mind goes blank, filled only with the craving to be stuffed full. Soon, she can't take it anymore, reaches back to grab the male actor's cock, guides the glans to her hole, and slams down with force—the cock breaches the tight entrance, the layered folds wrapping his bulging veins, the tearing ache flipping instantly to stuffed ecstasy. In that moment, Sakura feels massive satisfaction, like electricity surging from her pussy walls straight to her brain, making her scream out: "Oh fuck... so full, so good!"
Ayn's breath hitches at Sakura's self-thrust on screen, that instant exploding his immersion as he watches, his palm's strokes unconsciously hardening, the corona twitching under his fingertip's scrape, the pleasure boiling his groin with hot blood. At the same time, his eyes lock dead on the phone screen, drinking in her satisfied slutty expression.
Sakura's initiative pisses off the male actor, he snarls: "Slut, who told you to shove it in yourself? You needy cheap cunt!" With that, he swings his hand to smack her ass, the sharp crack leaving a red palm print, that stinging pain blending with pleasure to make her pussy walls clamp down hard on his cock, the bliss tingling his waist, her hot flesh sucking the glans tight.
But Sakura moans back with playful dirty talk: "Daddy, spare me... your slutty daughter was wrong, next time I'll wait for you to fuck... but right now your cock's so hard, wreck me!" Because of this flirty spanking, her body writhes even sluttier, the red mark on her ass glowing under the lights like a lewd brand, her mind lost in punished bliss—this makes her pussy spasm, squeezing out more juice to lube the thrusts smoother. Sakura's dirty talk delights the male actor, he grabs her waist tight, burying the whole cock in that hole, his balls slapping her mound with wet smacks, the pounding rhythm turning to a raging storm.
At this point, the camera focuses on Sakura's face getting fucked, that seductive expression twisting into pure slut mode, her cherry lips parted to spit screams: "Fuck... Daddy's cock is too fierce, it's killing your slutty daughter!" Her tits swing back and forth with every thrust, the breast flesh quivering in arcs, nipples stiff into deep pink, visually like two white jades rolling in waves. The male actor's palm occasionally fans her ass, the smacks mixing with guchu pussy squelches, each one pulling out frothy fluids that trickle down her inner thighs.
Ayn watches with blood pounding, the detail of those tits swinging makes his jerking hand speed up, his palm slick like it's oiled, the glans friction sending layers of tingling pleasure—blissing him out so hard his mind blanks, all he wants is to step into the male actor's shoes and pound Sakura's perky ass raw.
After a bit of that fucking, maybe the male actor's getting tired, or it's the director's cue, so Sakura flips over and straddles him, riding hard up and down, her ass slapping down with wet smacks, the sight of her hole swallowing his cock utterly obscene, pussy juice splattering onto his belly, gleaming like dewy pearls.
The male actor starts groping her tits, his fingertips twisting her nipples, the breast flesh deforming in his palm, swelling into red flushes—making Sakura moan wildly: "My tits itch so bad... pinch harder!" Because of this toying, her riding picks up pace, her pussy walls clamping down on his veins like a vice, flooding her with stuffed ecstasy, her mind lost to nothing but raw hunger.
As the passion intensifies, the male actor suddenly pulls Sakura down against his chest, his tongue lashing her nipple, the rough surface coiling around the stiff areola, sucking with wet smacks, the salty sweat mingling with milky scent hardening his cock even more below. At the same time, Sakura keeps riding, her ass grinding to take his cock in and out, the wall folds rubbing his glans raw, each thrust squeezing out sticky fluid that strings into silver arcs.
But right then, the director's camera shifts to a close-up of cock and pussy, the glans plunging in and out to spread her pink tender labia, juices spraying into a mist. This annoys Ayn a little, because he wants to see the nipple-sucking—he craves those quivering tits lapped by a rough tongue, nipples stiff as cherries sucked with smacking sounds, even fantasizing milk squirting out to trickle salty-sweet down the areola. But the camera didn't catch it, no choice, he has to stare at the pussy-fucking close-up, that cock slamming her velvet heat in lewd detail. Still, the view's hot enough to stoke Ayn's lust, making him speed up his jerking strokes without thinking.
Finally, the male actor and Sakura roll to their sides, he pries her legs apart so the camera gets a crystal-clear shot of his cock and her pussy—labia stretched into an O, the glans forcing through layers of hot meat folds, the whole shaft ramming in and out hard. Every thrust drags out frothy pussy juice, trickling down her ass crack onto the sheets. The male actor's rhythm turns machine-piston fierce, his glans nailing her G-spot each time, drawing screams from Sakura: "Wreck me... my slutty pussy's gonna squirt, Daddy, cum inside!"
Because of this close-up, Ayn can't hold back anymore, he speeds up his jerking strokes, the intense stimulation making his glans throb wildly with bliss.
The male actor's thrusts suddenly go berserk, like a runaway piston hammering Sakura's slutty pussy, every stroke burying to the hilt, the glans crushing her G-spot tender flesh, pulling out frothy slime that rivers down her ass crack and inner thighs. He treats Sakura like a total fucktoy now, hands clamping her waist hard, his conquering urge scorching his brain like wildfire, bliss surging heat from the base straight up.
Sakura's fucked senseless, she arches her back screaming, eyes rolling back unfocused, drool trickling unconsciously from her lips, twitching like a totally broken doll. Yet her slutty hole clamps the male actor's cock desperately, as if craving even deeper invasion. Because of this merciless pounding, Sakura's orgasm crashes like a tidal wave, her pussy walls spasming to wring his glans, the layered folds sucking his veins like countless little mouths, bliss numbing the male actor's waist until he can't hold back, his glans ballooning a full circle as he blasts scorching cum straight into her womb depths. The salty semen mixes with her juices to overflow her pussy, dripping down her inner thighs onto the sheets.
Then, the male actor pulls out gasping. In an instant, a gush of clear pussy juice sprays from Sakura's hole in a high arc, splattering the lens into a misty lewd haze. Sakura sprawls on the bed in violent spasms, her tits quivering, nipples stiff into deep pink. Her mind's a total blank now, no words left, just choked whimpers from her throat, her hole gaping and clenching to spit mixed fluids in silver strings, that satisfied afterglow glazing her eyes unfocused, fully lost in the bliss of being fucked to ruin.
This scene sinks Ayn completely on a mental level, the immersed conquering urge zapping like electricity to his brain, psychologically flooding him with the absolute thrill of her slutty pussy devouring him, his cock base boiling with heat waves, the glans throbbing with overwhelming need—finally, he can't hold out anymore, a torrent of scorching cum erupts!
The first spurt of salty white ropes hits his chest like a volcano blowout, hot streams trickling down his abs, his glans convulsing to pump out the second, third, waves of pleasure crashing from base to brain, bliss spasming his whole body, mind blanking for a moment, that triple ecstasy—conquering release, devouring fulfillment, explosive void climax—leaving him utterly limp, breaths ragged in a heap.
After cumming, Ayn soaks in the orgasm afterglow for a full minute plus, that heat wave ebbing from his groin to leave an empty yet sated haze. A minute later, his mind slowly clears. Though the video's only halfway done with plenty more to go, he's totally lost interest in watching. Because right now, fatigue creeps in quiet, making him feel like he could drop off to sleep any second. So, he shuts off the video, the porn sounds cutting off abruptly. In the dark, he fumbles for tissues and wet wipes from the nightstand, roughly wiping the cum off his body, then tosses the stained trash onto the nightstand.
Next, he grabs his phone, the screen lighting up to show 1:48 AM. The time draws a sigh from Ayn, that fatigue laced with an indescribable emptiness. Then, he opens his alarm app, adds a few more alarms to make sure he won't be late for work tomorrow. Finally, Ayn closes his eyes, trying to fall asleep again. This time, he drifts off quick, his breathing evening out, body relaxing into the mattress. But that loneliness buried deep in his heart lingers still...