20. Beyond Wonderland (Natsuki POV 1)

Right after moving up to second year, I got tangled up with a real piece of work.

When that quiet transfer student—a guy who's honestly drop-dead gorgeous—took the seat next to mine, I thought, Score. Even a girl like me, with dyed hair and a swagger in my step, has her teenage dreams. Walking side by side with a hot guy? Yeah, I'd fantasized about it.

It all started the day he called me behind the school building, saying he had a favor to ask. A guy asking me for help—if I turned him down, it'd ruin my pride as a woman. Plus, he was the new kid, an outsider still figuring things out. He didn't go to a teacher or that goody-two-shoes class rep, Kasugai. He picked me. Trusted me.

…Sure, I had ulterior motives too. I figured I'd hear him out, and in return, maybe get him to hold my hand and stroll around town with me as a little "payment." I knew it was sneaky, taking advantage of him like that, but let's be real—a girl like me doesn't get chances to touch a guy otherwise. Not in a million years.

So, guess how it turned out?

Three days later, I was… well, forced to take his… p-penis… in my mouth.

A guy shoving himself into a girl's mouth—does that even happen!? At first, he practically jammed it in there! I didn't know what was going on—just let him do whatever he wanted until I nearly passed out. I think he… finished… back then, but I don't remember clearly. My mind went blank. I genuinely thought my brain had melted.

My body, too—numb from a pleasure I'd never felt before, I could barely stand. After that, he called me out almost every day. It started with just my mouth. Then he moved on to my chest, making me sandwich him between them, though he didn't seem all that satisfied with it. Said it wasn't as good as he'd expected. I'd told him from the start it wouldn't feel great, so don't blame me!

Things kept escalating from there. I held him. Or rather, he held me. A girl being embraced by a guy—what's that even mean? Anyone would wonder. Most guys here hate touching women, even close friends. Some even recoil from family. But not him. He's a full-on lecher—a molester, honestly. No brakes on his sexual urges.

I can complain all I want, but that night? I was happy. I felt the heat and firmness of a guy's skin. Learned the joy of waking up beside one. We're not lovers, but for me, even this setup is a miracle I never dreamed possible. So I told him I'd do anything for him, and we fell asleep together.

Up to this point, it's a nice story.

From here, it's a nightmare.

He had the audacity to get curious about my ass.

"So… you into butt stuff?"

The second those words left his mouth, I nearly blacked out. That's when I knew. He doesn't just ignore the brakes on perverted acts—he never had them to begin with. He's a defective car, barreling full speed ahead.

Sure, I'd pegged him as a creep the moment he raved about big breasts—though, with my complex about my own chest, that flattered me a little. Big boobs, tall frame, twisted personality—no guy would ever bother with me, I'd thought. I didn't want to ruin what we had, but this time, I was ready to cut ties with Miyagi if it meant saying no.

Because—the butt!? That's an exit, not an entrance!

I begged him to stop, tears streaming, and he backed off. Still, I'd broken our "do-anything" friends-with-benefits deal. I figured that was the end of us, but Miyagi didn't seem fazed. Said a relationship where we're not both enjoying it isn't worth it. I don't fully get it, but it seems I can refuse anything I genuinely hate.

After that, his "requests" stayed brake-less but gained a steering wheel—he'd push boundaries but steer clear of stuff I'd absolutely despise. Maybe it was consideration? Touched by his odd kindness, I went along with everything (except the butt stuff) from then on.

Even now, I'm at our date meetup spot because of one of his "requests."

"…Seriously, though, that guy's too much of a perv."

It's a bustling downtown street, Sunday afternoon, right in front of a coffee shop. Near school, so familiar faces might be around. But I don't look like my usual self today—no one should recognize me. They shouldn't. If anyone found out I was dressed like this, I'd never show my face at school again.

That's Miyagi's "requests" for you—always toeing the line of what I'd rather not do. Yet, knowing he won't cross into stuff I truly hate gives me enough trust to go along with his craziness. Problem is, I'm just as messed up for agreeing.

It's thirty minutes before our meetup time. Showing up this early—yeah, I know it's why he takes advantage of me. I still talk to him all gruff and standoffish like before, but it's obvious how much I look forward to seeing him. Should've come five minutes early instead.

Right as I think that—

"…!?"

I stifle a yelp and crouch down. Passersby glance over, curious, but I force a calm face and stand back up. They lose interest and move on.

…That idiot—I can't believe him!

I glare around, searching for Miyagi. He's definitely somewhere I can see him. Because right now—

"…Nnn!"

The rotor he told me to wear is still buzzing. No idea where he got it, but I'll never forget his smug grin when he handed it to me. He demonstrated it on the spot, explaining how to use it like some proud teacher, that jerk. Said the wireless remote works from a decent distance—beamed about it, too.

And that remote? Obviously, he's got it!

…Okay, I'm pretty nuts for actually putting it in like he asked. But in the middle of a crowded street? On high out of nowhere? Unbelievable!

I can't stand here with all these people. I slip away from the coffee shop to a shaded spot behind the building. A moment later, the rotor shuts off.

"…Damn it. He's totally screwing with me."

I peek back at the meetup spot. No sign of Miyagi. But he's watching—I know it. The rotor stopped because he saw me move. Which means—

"He wants me to come out… Fine, you jerk, I'll play along."

He gets off on watching me squirm in a busy place—that's the gist of today, right? I get it. We've been at this long enough; I'm well aware he's a pervert. The "kindness" of dressing me up so no one recognizes me at a glance? Yeah, that's not it.

I step back to the coffee shop's front.

"…Nn."

The rotor kicks on again. Knowing it's coming helps me brace myself. I stand there, pretending nothing's wrong.

Then I wonder—did that mess up my clothes? I don't usually wear stuff this short; it feels off. Is it riding up or flipping over? I turn to face the coffee shop's big glass wall.

Reflected back is me—long "black hair" in twin tails, tank top, hot pants, the most obnoxiously flashy getup imaginable. My chest, usually tamed by my uniform, is now on full display, no hiding the shape.