Ayumi and Yuta

Upstairs, Ayumi shut the bedroom door, the space small and dim—curtains half-drawn, a single bed shoved against the wall, a faint musk lingering from old sheets. Yuta flopped onto the edge, his hands fidgeting, mind snagging on Ryuki below. "What's your friend want with him?" he asked, voice low.

Ayumi turned, towering a head above him, her ponytail swaying as she tilted her head. Two years had stretched Yuta taller, but she still loomed, all lean grace and quiet command. She chuckled, soft and reassuring. "Don't stress. If what you said about Ryuki's true—his little control kink—he'll love Yui. She's his type, trust me. Stop thinking and tell me what you want today."

Yuta's gut twisted—Ryuki alone with Yui, him up here. Brought him into this, then ditched him—hope he's good. He shoved it down this thought, eyes flicking to Ayumi's curves, her tank top stretching tight, nipples faint through the fabric. His face flared red, excitement surging past the guilt. "Hm… actually…" He swallowed, embarrassed but pushing through. "Today, I wanna… touch you."

"Huh?" Ayumi's brows knit, a troubled flicker crossing her face. "Well…"

"It's cool if you don't," Yuta said fast, waving a hand, backpedaling. "No pressure."

They'd messed around plenty—her hands stroking him slow, her mouth hot and wet, sucking him off till he saw stars. But naked? Never. He'd only felt her through clothes, caught glimpses of her shape, dreamed of more.

Ayumi bit her lip, eyeing him, then sighed. "You can touch me—but you can't see me, okay?"

"Huh?" Yuta blinked, confused. "What… you mean?"

"Wait a sec," she said, moving quick. She locked the door, yanked the curtains shut, flipped off the light. Darkness swallowed the room, thick and heavy, just a sliver of gray seeping through the edges. She sat in front of him, her breath close, invisible. "Okay, now you can touch my breasts—or anywhere. Just don't take my clothes off, got it?"

Yuta's heart thudded, the black hiding her frown. "Older Sister… why like this?"

"Actually…" Her voice softened, a crack in her cool. "When I was little, I burned myself—stomach, thighs. Scars are ugly. Don't wanna show you."

His face crumpled, and he reached out blind, finding her hand—warm, trembling. He squeezed it gently. "It's okay… I don't think it's ugly." Their eyes met in the gloom, faint outlines locking. "Older Sister, you're beautiful. For me, you're the third most beautiful woman."

She pinched his hand, light but sharp. "Third? Why third?" Her tone flared, mock anger lacing it, teasing more than mad.

"First's my mom, then my sister," he said, grinning through the dark.

"Oh…" Ayumi nodded, a soft laugh escaping. "Well, then it's fine." She fell silent, waiting, her breath hitching as the air thickened—his move now.

Yuta froze, hands hovering. "Why're you not touching me?" she asked, impatience edging her voice.

"Um… sorry," he mumbled, flustered. "Thought you'd say 'go' or something." He slid his hands forward, fumbling till they landed on her chest—soft, full, her tank top was a thin barrier. He pressed, too hard, fingers sinking in.

"Ah~~" Ayumi gasped, a soft cry slipping out, sharp in the dark.

"Uh, sorry!" He jerked back, panicked.

"It's okay," she breathed, voice shaky but warm. "Just surprised. You can touch tight if you want."

"Um… okay," he said, bolder now. He cupped both breasts, squeezing firm, feeling their weight shift under his grip. Fabric rasped as he kneaded, rolling them side to side, up and down, playing with their give. Ayumi moaned—low, needy—her hands finding his head, stroking his hair, nails grazing his scalp.

Fuck, they're so soft, he thought, dick stiffening in his jeans, her heat seeping through. He leaned in blind, mouth crashing into hers—clumsy, desperate. She kissed back, fierce, her arms wrapping him tight, pulling him into her chest. Tongues tangled, wet and hot, saliva slicking their lips as she sucked his, a hungry edge to her groans, his hands kneading harder, chasing her sounds.

---

Downstairs, Ryuki stood in the shadowed hall, Yui's violet eyes boring into him, her ponytails swaying as she shifted—nervous, eager, a blush staining her cheeks. They'd talked after she dropped that bomb—her spilling her weird, wild kink over a frayed couch, him probing, half-stunned, half-hard.

"So," he said, voice low, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "You want someone to run your life—tell you what to do, what not to. That's it?"

Yui nodded, shy but firm, her skirt brushing her thighs as she stepped closer. "Yeah… since I was a kid, I followed orders—parents, teachers, friends. Never my own way. But it's not like I don't have a will—I do. Just… when someone makes me do stuff I don't wanna, it's… exciting." Her breath hitched, eyes darting down, then up. "Like, if I wanna wear a plain dress, but a guy—my boyfriend—tells me to wear something sexy I hate… I'll do it. Hate it, but it gets me off."

Ryuki's brows shot up, a slow grin curling his lips. Complicated as fuck. His jeans tightened, "You don't even get it yourself, huh?"

"Not totally," she admitted, biting her lip, violet eyes glinting. "But I want it—a master who decides everything. Been craving it forever."

He tilted his head, sizing her up—blue top clinging to her tits, skirt teasing her legs, that shy-hot vibe begging him to test her. "So this two-day contract," he said, voice dropping, rougher now, "I can order you to do anything in this house, when it's just us. Right?"

"Yes," she said, shyly, her blush deepening, hands twisting in front. "Anything."

"Okay," he said, grinning wide, a thrill spiking through him. "This seems fun—interesting as hell."