Chapter 6: The Night She Promised
The elevator chimed and Yuma's heart was already too loud. The walk from the pool, the train, the stairs up to his own front door, every step had been charged, Uma's fingers laced through his, her skirt still shamelessly tented, his own pulse a drum in his ears.
He got his key in the lock on the second try.
The door had barely shut behind them before Uma pushed him against it and kissed him.
It caught him completely off guard. Her mouth came down on his hard and open and hungry, no shyness in it at all, her hands cupping his jaw, her tongue sliding against his. Yuma made a muffled sound against her lips and then melted, his hands finding the fluffy brown sweater and gripping it like a lifeline. She tasted sweet, like the melon bread she'd eaten, and she kissed like she'd been starving for him the whole walk home.
They tussled for the doorway, laughing into each other's mouths, shoes kicking off, his bag dropping somewhere near the console table. She walked him backward across the penthouse floor, the city lights spreading blue and gold behind the windows, until his shoulders hit the wall in the entry hall and she pinned him there, both her small hands catching his wrists above his head, her body flush against his.
"Uma," he breathed.
"You stood up for me," she whispered. Her eyes were wet and blazing at the same time. "You stood in front of Elianna Sogran and said you love me. Do you understand what that does to me? What that's doing to me right now?"
She stepped back just far enough to pull the sweater up over her head and toss it on the floor.
The black lace bra underneath was delicate, pretty, almost virginal against her tan skin, and completely failing at its job. Her G-cup breasts strained against it, soft and heavy, the lace cups trembling with every breath. Her hard nipples pressed visible bumps through the fabric.
"You like what you see?" she asked.
"Yes," Yuma said. It came out instantly and honestly.
She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, her breasts pressing against his chest. "Cause it's all yours for the taking."
Her hand slid down between their bodies and Yuma felt her palm pressing her own bulge, massaging it through the short black skirt. He felt it grow against his thigh, the thick weight of her swelling harder, and heat flooded through him so fast his knees went loose.
She released his wrists and worked her skirt down over her hips. It pooled at her feet, and Yuma saw the state of her panties: a pair of soft black ones, stretched so impossibly across her cock that the lace edge dug into her thighs, the fat nine-inch shaft forcing the fabric to its limit, until the head of it actually burst out the right side seam, hard and flushed and free in the air.
Yuma's mouth went dry.
Uma hooked her thumb under the ruined waistband and peeled them off, hissing a little as the lace scraped over her shaft, and then she kicked them aside with the skirt and stood in front of him wearing nothing but a black lace bra, flushed from cheeks to collarbones, her huge heavy cock standing straight out, glistening already at the tip.
"Yuma," she said softly. "Futa cocks are self-lubricating. So all you have to worry about is forcing your cute little prostate to cum for me."
He nodded, staring, utterly unable to form words. He'd seen her at the pool today and thought nothing could top it. He'd been wrong. Standing bare in the moonlit room, tan skin and soft curves and that monstrous gorgeous cock jutting from between plush thighs, she was simultaneously the most conventionally attractive woman he'd ever seen and something more than that, something his brain couldn't file. She was beautiful. She was his.
"Get on the bed," she whispered into his ear, "and lay on your back."
He did. His legs were shaky crossing the room. He sat on the cool sheets of his own bed, in his own penthouse, and lay back against the pillows, and for a second he felt absurdly aware of himself, of his slim pale body in pink lace panties with a two-inch bulge tenting the front.
Then Uma climbed up after him, straddling his hips, and every absurd feeling evaporated.
"Let's do missionary," she said, reaching back to unclip her bra. She drew it off her arms and her breasts spilled free, heavy and round, nipples dark and stiff. "Because I want to see your face. I want to see the joy and the happiness." She leaned down, her warm breasts brushing his chest, and her smile was slow and meaningful. "And I want to see your beautiful cock ooze out its sweet sweet cum all over your little tummy."
"Uma..."
"Shh. Let me." She hooked her fingers in his pink lace panties and drew them down his thighs, and his little cock sprang free, two inches and rock hard, the small pink head already glossy. She looked at it and sighed like she'd found something precious. "There he is. Prettiest little thing on this campus."
She pressed a kiss to the tip of it, soft and lingering, and Yuma gasped. Her tongue flicked out, once, warm and wet, then she kissed her way down his balls, small and tight, and lower, and Yuma's breath stopped entirely when her tongue found his hole.
She licked him slow and thorough, her soft lips sealing around him, and the 柔らか effect answered her. His body warmed there almost immediately, a tingling melt that spread through his ass, and when the tip of her tongue slipped inside there was no resistance at all, just slick easy heat that made his spine arch off the mattress.
"Oh my god," he whispered. "Uma, oh my god."
"Good boy," she murmured against him. "So soft for me. Always so soft."
She worked him until he was panting and clenching on nothing, and then she rose up between his spread thighs, took her thick cock in one small hand, and pressed the fat drooling head against his entrance.
"Ready?"
"Please. Please, yes."
She slid in slowly.
Yuma moaned, and it wasn't pain. It was pleasure, pure and deep, that tingling stretch as her fat head pushed through him and filled him inch after thick inch, the sensation of being opened and taken and held all at once. His channel warmed and softened around her like it had been waiting for this all its life.
"Uma," he gasped. "You're inside me. You're actually inside me."
"All the way," she breathed, sinking until her hips met his cheeks, her balls resting warm against him. She held there, trembling slightly, her eyes closed, her breasts heaving. "You feel incredible, Yuma. You're hugging me so tight. God, I've wanted this for weeks."
Then she started to pump. Slow. Loving.
Her small hands held his legs apart by the thighs, and Yuma watched her from below, watching her hips swing back and draw forward and press against his ass, slow and deep, her face flushed and soft, her lips parted. Every inward stroke dragged across that swollen spot inside him and a jolt of electric pleasure spiked up through his belly. His own cock flapped against his stomach with every thrust, tiny and hard, leaving little drops of precum on his skin.
"Thank you," Yuma heard himself say. His voice was already wrecked. "Uma, thank you. This is... this is exactly the kind of sex I wanted. Something loving. Something intimate. I used to think I'd never get this. That no one would ever want me like this."
Her hips pressed deep and stayed there. Her hand caressed up his thigh.
"You have it now," she said softly. "You have it every night for the rest of your life."
"You're beautiful," he went on, because it was spilling out of him and he couldn't stop it. "Your body is like nothing I've ever seen. You're conventionally gorgeous and you're also just... beautiful, all the way through, and I'm so lucky, Uma, I'm so lucky..."
Something in her eyes went bright and wet, and she kissed him, and then she drove into him a little faster, and Yuma made a decision.
He focused down on his ass, on the tingling swollen spot where her thick shaft was dragging over it, and squeezed with all his might. Every muscle clamping down around her moving cock, milking her, gripping and releasing, and the pleasure inside him crested almost instantly, a hot climbing pressure in his gut.
"Uma, I'm gonna..."
"Yes! Yes, do it, cum for me, Yuma! Let go!"
His cock twitched hard against his tummy and came. Thin white spurts of cum pulsed out of him, a small messy stream painting his stomach, and the orgasm rippled through his ass in wave after wave around her shaft. It wasn't huge and it wasn't long, but it was the most complete thing he had ever felt, head to toe, pleasure ringing through him like a struck bell.
He sagged back against the pillows, dazed, breathing hard, his little cock still twitching.
Uma slowed and stopped, buried deep inside him, and beamed down at him with pure delight.
"Look, you did it!" she cried. "I'm so proud of you! You made yourself cum from your prostate! Do you know how many boys never get to feel that? You're amazing, Yuma. You're perfect."
"I..." He laughed, breathless, overwhelmed. "It felt so good. It felt so good and I didn't even really touch myself."
"You're going to feel even better." Her hips drew back and pressed in again, unhurried, already building. "Because you stood up for me today. Against Elianna Sogran, of all people. Do you know what that earned you?" She leaned down, her breasts swinging warm against his chest, her lips at his ear, her voice dropping to a honeyed murmur. "That's earned you a lot more than one orgasm. I'm going to lovingly massage your prostate all night. Until you cum at least ten, maybe fifteen times. However many your cute little body can give me."
Yuma's eyes went wide. "Fifteen?"
"At least." She smiled, sweet and dangerous.
And then her free hand, the one that wasn't holding his thigh, wrapped around his tiny hard cock between their bodies, her soft warm fingers barely needing to close around it, and started to stroke him in time with her thrusts.
"Oh," Yuma choked. The double sensation hit him like a truck, her fat cock pumping through his softened ass and her small hand gliding up and down his two inches, the head of him slick with his own cum, overstimulated and hard again already. "Uma, oh god, oh god..."
"That's it," she crooned. "Just feel it. You don't have to do anything. Just lie there and be loved. Let your body cum however many times it wants to. I'll take care of everything else."
The night opened up around them.
The second orgasm arrived embarrassingly fast, maybe ten minutes later, his cum already thinning, just a creamy dribble that he felt more than saw. Uma kissed his forehead through it and told him he was doing so well, so wonderfully.
The third took longer. By then she'd shifted the angle, her hips rolling in a slow grind that pinned his prostate under constant pressure, and she'd worked two slick fingers into the mess between their bodies to paint more of her natural lube over his shaft, and Yuma sobbed quietly through that one, hips stuttering up into her fist, tears sliding into his hairline.
"Let it out," she whispered. "Let it all out. Every drop in these little balls belongs to me, remember? I promised I'd keep them empty."
The fourth time she made him beg for it, playfully, her thrusts slowing to a maddening shallow tease until he gasped out, "Please, Uma, please let me cum," and she smiled and said, "Good boy, always," and fucked him deep and fast until he splattered his own chest.
Somewhere in the middle hours she flipped him carefully onto his hands and knees, rubbing the small of his back, telling him she wanted to see his cute face in the mirror on the closet door, and he watched himself in the reflection, flushed and sweaty and glassy-eyed, watched her small plush body behind his, her huge breasts bouncing with every stroke, her fat cock sliding in and out of him with a glossy shine, and the sight of it dragged the fifth orgasm out of him untouched.
Round six she made love to him almost entirely still, buried to the hilt, rocking in tiny circles, her lips on his throat, until his body shook and shook and gave up a few clear drops.
"Seven," she counted softly, kissing his damp temple.
At some point his legs stopped answering him properly. Uma noticed, and laughed her soft melodic laugh, and laid him out flat, pulling a pillow under his hips.
"Poor baby. You're falling apart."
"You did this," he mumbled into the sheets, and she kissed the back of his neck.
"I'm not done, though."
She kept her promise with a patience that felt almost scientific, a genetic engineer's thoroughness, reading his body like data. She learned that a long slow draw across his prostate made him shiver. That a hard sudden press made him cry out. That whispering in his ear, "you're such a good boy, you're mine, you're the bravest man on this campus," made his whole body clench and made him cum hardest of all.
By the time the city lights had thinned toward the smallest hours, Yuma had stopped being able to track the numbers. He came dry once, a full-body clenching wave with nothing left to give, just the pleasure rippling through his emptied balls and around her cock, and he sobbed with joy into the pillow, and Uma held him and rocked him and told him he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
Twenty-three times. He would find the number out later, because Uma, grinning wickedly, had kept tally on the notepad by his bed, in her neat round handwriting.
And Uma came too, seven times through the night, and she was less quiet about it than he'd ever heard her. The first time, when his clenching squeezes milked her over the edge, she threw her head back and moaned his name and flooded him with heat, her hips jammed hard against his ass, her cock pulsing thick and deep inside him. The second she pulled out and came across his chest and tummy in heavy ropes, panting, apologizing breathlessly for the mess and immediately deciding not to care. The third he was on his knees and she came inside him again, cradling him against her body.
"Yuma," she whispered the fourth time, buried in him from behind, her voice breaking, "I love you. I love you so much. I've never loved anyone like this. I meant it, in that locker room. Forever."
"I know," he gasped, pushing back against her. "I know. I love you too. Uma, I love you too."
Between her rounds she fed him water from the bottle on his nightstand, tipping it to his lips, stroking his hair back from his sweaty forehead. She wiped him down gently with a warm cloth. She kissed every finger of both his hands, one at a time, and told him he was brave, and that Elianna Sogran would never in her life have what Uma had right now.
"You're mine," she murmured against his ear, around the twentieth round, her hips still rolling slow and deep. "My husband. My Fubánlá. My perfect, brave, cute little man."
"Yours," Yuma breathed. His voice was a ruin. His body felt like warm water. There was nothing left in him and she was still making love to him and it still felt like the best thing in the world. "Uma, I don't think I can anymore."
"You can," she whispered, smiling, and pressed in deep, and held it there, massaging that swollen spent spot in slow circles until he shuddered and whimpered and his twitching cock gave up one last aching pulse.
The tally on the notepad read 23.
She finally slid out of him around four in the morning, both of them slick and trembling, and gathered him against her chest. His head fit into the soft valley between her breasts, her heartbeat slow under his ear, her arms wrapped all the way around him.
Outside, the skyline glittered on and on. The sheets were a disaster. There was a stain on the notepad that looked suspiciously like it had been dripped on.
"Uma," Yuma mumbled, half asleep, sticky and aching and happier than he had ever been in his life.
"Mm?"
"You said fifteen. I came twenty-three times."
She kissed the top of his head, and he could feel her smiling against his hair.
"I know," Uma said. "I got carried away. You're very easy to get carried away about."
"Twenty-three."
"Are you complaining?"
He thought about it, eyes already closing. "No."
"Good." She pulled the blanket over both of them and held him tighter. "Because I'm marrying you, Yuma Takeuchi. And nights like this are only the beginning."