Chapter 3: Chapter 3
The slammed door echoed like a gunshot in the sudden quiet. Izuku flinched, the blissful haze of his orgasm instantly shattered by cold dread. He lay frozen on the sofa, half-naked, Hizashi’s fingers slowly withdrawing from his slick, twitching cunt. The vulgar squelch sounded obscenely loud now. The television droned on about tube worms.
Hizashi sighed, a sound more annoyed than remorseful. He lifted his glistening fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with deliberate slowness, his eyes fixed on the hallway where Shouta had vanished. “He’ll get over it,” he muttered, wiping his hand on his own thigh. “Always so fucking dramatic before his second coffee.”
Izuku swallowed hard, the familiar knot of embarrassment tightening in his stomach. It wasn’t shame about his body, or even about the pleasure – Hizashi had beaten that particular hang-up out of him years ago, alongside lessons about lube and clitoral sensitivity. It was the raw exposure, the feeling of being caught in something deeply private turned into public performance. He scrambled to pull his shorts and panties back up, wincing as the damp fabric clung to his sensitive flesh. He yanked the stolen t-shirt down, covering his bare breasts, the sudden modesty feeling both ridiculous and necessary.
“He’s upset,” Izuku whispered, his voice hoarse.
“He’s grumpy,” Hizashi corrected, shifting to sit more upright. He stretched, his DD-cup breasts straining the thin cotton of his band tee. “Needs caffeine and maybe his cock sucked. Not necessarily in that order.” He winked, but the usual playful spark seemed slightly forced.
Izuku didn’t answer. He curled in on himself, pulling the throw blanket higher. The scent of his own arousal still hung in the air, mixing with the bergamot from Shouta’s abandoned tea and the faint, ever-present smell of dust and old paper. Minutes crawled by, measured only by the cheerful narration about chemosynthesis.
The bedroom door opened. Shouta emerged, moving with deliberate calm. He didn’t look at the sofa. He walked straight to the kitchen nook, filling the kettle with water, his movements precise and tight. The silence was thick, oppressive.
Hizashi cleared his throat. “So! Halloween party next week, sweet pea!” His voice was back to its usual bright boom, a jarring contrast to the tension. “We never did finish sorting your Playboy bunny look. C’mon, let’s see it!”
Izuku blinked, momentarily thrown. “Now?” he squeaked.
“Best time!” Hizashi declared, already getting up. “Distraction! I’ll grab the box.”
He bustled towards the hallway closet, humming tunelessly. Shouta placed the kettle on the stove with a soft clunk, the sound sharp in the stillness. He still hadn’t turned around or spoken. Izuku felt pinned between his Papa’s determined cheer and his Daddy’s thunderous silence. He slowly pushed the blanket off and stood, the ache between his legs a persistent reminder.
Hizashi returned, triumphantly holding a glossy black box. “Ta-da! Let’s get you outfitted, little bunny.” He shoved coffee table books and a discarded action figure aside with his foot, clearing a small space on the rug. “Strip down! Just your skivvies are fine for now.”
Izuku hesitated, his gaze flicking nervously towards Shouta’s rigid back. The man was methodically spooning coffee grounds into a French press, his knuckles white on the handle.
“Izuku,” Hizashi prompted, his tone losing a fraction of its brightness. “It’s just us. Daddy’s seen it all before.”
Just not being fucked on the sofa a minute ago, Izuku thought miserably. But the ingrained habit of complying with Hizashi, the need to please him, to recapture the easy affection that had shattered, made him move. He toed off his socks and, with trembling fingers, pushed down his shorts and panties again, stepping out of them. He kept the oversized t-shirt on, a flimsy shield. The cool air raised goosebumps on his bare thighs and ass.
“Shirt too, bunny,” Hizashi instructed gently, already unpacking the costume. “Gotta see how the corset sits on bare skin.”
With another glance at Shouta’s immobile back, Izuku slowly pulled the t-shirt over his head. He stood naked except for the small, silver ring piercing his navel. His 34C breasts felt suddenly heavy, exposed. The flush on his cheeks deepened.
Hizashi whistled low, his gaze openly appreciative as it traveled over Izuku’s naked form. “Beautiful,” he murmured, holding up the costume’s main component – a satiny black corset with satin straps and flimsy bunny ears attached to a headband. “Now, this might be a bit tight. Vintage sizing is a bitch. Arms up!”
Izuku raised his arms. Hizashi stepped close, the familiar scent of his skin – vanilla and something earthy – enveloping Izuku. He felt the warm brush of Hizashi’s large breasts against his own as his Papa leaned in to wrap the stiff fabric around his ribs. Hizashi’s fingers, thick and calloused from playing guitar, fumbled with the clasps at the back.
“Okay, deep breath in… and hold!” Hizashi instructed, pulling the laces tight. Izuku sucked in air, the rigid boning squeezing his ribs, lifting and pushing his breasts upwards dramatically. The tops of his areolas threatened to spill over the low-cut satin edge. Hizashi tied the laces with a firm knot. “There! Fits like a fucking glove! Look at those tits, baby! Perky, proud, perfect.” He spun Izuku around to face a large, ornate mirror leaning against the wall.
Izuku blinked at his reflection. The corset cinched his waist, emphasizing the flare of his hips and the dramatic swell of his uncovered breasts. The black satin made his skin look impossibly pale. The piercings in his nipples caught the light. He did look… striking. Objectively sexy. A flutter, separate from the lingering anxiety, stirred in his belly.
“See?” Hizashi grinned, stepping behind him. His hands settled on Izuku’s hips. “A total fuck-doll. Gonna drive everyone wild.” His thumbs stroked the bare skin above the corset’s waistline. Then, almost absently, one hand slid down, over Izuku’s hip bone, fingers brushing through the short curls at the apex of his thighs. The touch was fleeting, possessive. Izuku’s breath hitched.
Hizashi didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he rested it there, his palm warm against Izuku’s lower belly, fingers dangerously close to the soft, bare lips of his exposed cunt. Izuku was hyper-aware of the kitchen sounds behind them – the subtle clink of the French press, the quiet sigh as Shouta depressed the plunger. Hizashi leaned closer, his breath hot on Izuku’s neck. His other hand came up, not touching, but hovering near Izuku’s corseted breast. “Needs just a touch more lift here, maybe…” he mused, his voice dropping to a husky register.
Izuku’s skin prickled. The residual slickness from earlier hadn’t fully dried. He felt a treacherous throb begin again between his legs. Hizashi’s proximity, his scent, the possessive weight of his hand low on Izuku’s belly… it was all too familiar, too potent. He stared at his reflection, at Hizashi’s intense gaze fixed on his chest in the mirror, at the slight flush creeping up his Papa’s neck.
“Papa…” Izuku breathed, a warning and a question.
Hizashi’s hand on his belly shifted lower. His fingers didn’t dip between Izuku’s legs, but pressed firmly against the soft mound, right above his clit. The pressure was deliberate, insistent. “Shh,” Hizashi murmured, his lips brushing the shell of Izuku’s ear. His other hand finally touched the plump swell of Izuku’s breast where it spilled over the corset. His thumb brushed roughly over the stiff peak of Izuku’s nipple, making him gasp. “Just… seeing how everything sits. Can’t have it slipping during the party.” His voice was thick, rougher now. He pressed his hips forward slightly, and Izuku felt the unmistakable hardness of Hizashi’s cock through his sweatpants, grinding against the curve of his ass.
The dual sensation – the rough thumb on his nipple and the blunt pressure against his ass, coupled with the insistent hand pressing down on his pubic mound – ignited a spark Izuku hadn't anticipated. A low whimper escaped him. His hips rocked back minutely, seeking more friction against Hizashi’s erection. He saw Hizashi’s eyelids flutter in the mirror, a sharp intake of breath.
“That’s it,” Hizashi rasped. His hand on Izuku’s breast slid lower, cupping the full weight, squeezing possessively. The heel of his palm ground against Izuku’s nipple. His other hand slid down fully, fingers finally delving into the soft curls. They didn’t go lower, but pressed hard against Izuku’s outer lips, trapping his clit against the firm pressure of Hizashi’s palm and the corset’s stiff edge. “Feel how that cock grinds on your ass, baby?” Hizashi whispered, his own hips rocking in a slow, deliberate roll. The hard length dragged against Izuku’s crease. “Feel it? That’s what you do. Just standing there, tits out, cunt bare… makes Papa’s dick so fucking hard.”
Izuku moaned, the sound torn from him. The direct pressure on his clit combined with the grinding friction on his ass was maddening. His body reacted instantly, slickness flooding out, coating Hizashi’s pressing fingers. He pushed back harder, desperate for more. His own hand flew down, not to stop Hizashi, but to cover the hand pressed against his pussy, grinding it harder against himself. “Papa… please…”
“Please what, bunny?” Hizashi breathed, his own breath ragged now. He pinched Izuku’s nipple hard, twisting it. The sharp pain-pleasure made Izuku cry out. “Want more? Want Papa to touch your little cunt?” His fingers flexed against Izuku’s mound. “Want me to rub your wet little pussy right here? While Daddy watches?”
Daddy. The word sliced through the haze. Izuku’s eyes snapped to the mirror, past Hizashi’s shoulder. Shouta was leaning against the kitchen counter, a steaming mug of coffee held forgotten in one hand. He wasn’t looking away. His dark eyes were fixed on them, on Hizashi’s hand shoved down against Izuku’s naked pussy, on Izuku’s breast clamped in Hizashi’s other hand. His expression was unreadable – not angry, not aroused. Just… watching. Deep, dark, and utterly still.
Hizashi followed Izuku’s gaze in the mirror. A slow, almost predatory smile spread across his face. “Yeah, Daddy’s watching,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl meant to carry. “Watching how fucking hot his boy looks. How wet he gets for his Papa.” He emphasized his words by grinding his cock harder against Izuku’s ass and simultaneously sliding the hand on Izuku’s pussy down, his fingers finally dipping between the slick folds. One thick finger slid easily through the gathering wetness, circling Izuku’s swollen clit. “Look at him, Izuku. Look how hard Daddy’s cock must be watching this.”
Izuku whimpered, his entire body shuddering. The rough pad of Hizashi’s finger circling his clit, combined with the sight of Shouta’s unwavering, inscrutable stare, sent conflicting currents of shame and intense, dirty arousal burning through him. His legs trembled. He was so close again, teetering on the edge, his cunt clenching around nothing.
“He sees it,” Hizashi hissed, his finger moving faster, firmer on Izuku’s clit. “Sees how your sweet cunt is dripping for me. Bet he’s imagining shoving his own thick cock into you instead.” He leaned in, biting Izuku’s earlobe. “Come for him, baby. Let Daddy see how good Papa makes you feel.”
The command, the pressure, the overwhelming mix of humiliation and forbidden desire broke him. Izuku cried out, not a scream but a guttural sob, as his orgasm crashed over him. His back arched, pressing his bared breasts against Hizashi’s hands. His legs buckled, but Hizashi held him upright, his fingers never stopping their relentless assault on Izuku’s clit, milking the spasms that wracked his body. Wetness gushed, soaking Hizashi’s hand, dripping down Izuku’s inner thighs.
He trembled violently in Hizashi’s grip, gasping for air. Through the blur of his vision, he saw Shouta. Still watching. The dark eyes hadn’t moved. Slowly, deliberately, Shouta raised his mug to his lips and took a long, slow sip. His gaze remained locked on Hizashi’s hand, still buried between Izuku’s legs. When he lowered the mug, his expression hadn’t changed. It was a look that promised nothing. Only a deep, silent weight that pressed down on the room, heavier than any words. Hizashi’s triumphant grin faded slightly, replaced by a flicker of something uncertain as he finally, slowly, withdrew his sticky hand from Izuku’s trembling body.