“Akane… you…?”
Aina Saiten was completely stunned by the sudden action, her voice catching in her throat with disbelief.
Originally, she had simply been sitting quietly on the small plastic stool in the corner of the bathroom— cool to the touch— patiently waiting for her boyfriend to finish washing.
The bathroom held only the rushing sound of water and hazy steam.
In the darkness, she could only vaguely make out Kaoru Hoshitani’s silhouette beneath the showerhead, as well as his unusually forceful, almost self-punishing scrubbing motions.
The unease in her heart kept growing, yet she didn’t know how to ask.
But what was happening before her now was entirely beyond her understanding— her cherished boyfriend, usually gentle and even a little shy, was suddenly naked, kneeling before her on the damp tiled floor in a posture that was nearly humble to the point of abasement.
Her eyes had gradually adjusted to the dark.
By the faint, gray-blue diffused light filtering through the frosted glass door, and aided by Kaoru’s naturally fair skin—which, when wet, seemed to glow softly like pearls—she could roughly make out the scene.
He knelt there, head bowed deeply, almost touching the cold floor. His wet black hair clung messily to his cheeks and neck.
Water droplets slid slowly down the smooth curves of his back.
In the weak light, the lines of his body appeared strikingly clear: shoulder blades slightly protruding, the spine sinking into an enticing groove that narrowed sharply at the waist before connecting to the full, taut outline of his hips, still discernible even in the darkness.
This was a body she knew well. Yet framed by darkness, dampness, and this kneeling posture, it radiated a strange and intense allure—a mixture of fragility and sacrificial sensuality.
Aina Saiten swallowed unconsciously, her throat dry, her heart tangled with confusion, a fluttering thrill, and a faint, creeping unease.
Kaoru Hoshitani did not look up, nor did he intend to explain.
At that moment, his heart was completely submerged in overwhelming guilt and crushing remorse.
Everything that had happened in the villa during the day—the forced contact, the pressure of that muscular body, the inescapable intrusion, and his own body’s shameful response—washed over his soul again and again like the filthiest mud.
He felt he had tainted the pure bond between himself and Aina, betrayed their shared vows, and become something unclean and filthy.
He could not confess with words, did not know how to beg for forgiveness, nor did he even dare to hope for it.
This sudden kneeling, and the near self-destructive urge for “atonement” that followed, was an instinctive and clumsy act of self-punishment and offering, born from pain and guilt pushed to their limits.
He wanted to cleanse himself through extreme humility and service, even if it was only a hollow psychological comfort.
From Aina’s perspective, all she could see was Kaoru’s deeply bowed head, his wet hair obscuring his expression.
Then, very soon, a warm, damp softness gently landed on the bare top of her foot.
The touch was tentative at first, and then she clearly felt something warmer and wetter—his lips—pressing against her skin, even accompanied by a faint licking motion.
Aina Saiten’s whole body jolted as if struck by electricity. How could she not understand what Kaoru was doing?
Shock and a strange sense of shame made her instantly pull her foot back, as if burned.
She hurriedly rose from the stool, ignoring the slippery floor, crouching down to try to pull Kaoru up.
“Kaoru, get up!” she said anxiously, confused, reaching for his arm. Her hand met cold skin and a faint tremor.
“You don’t need to do this—really, you don’t!”
She had always cherished Kaoru deeply. Even in matters of intimacy, she always put his feelings first, never forcing him to do anything he truly didn’t want.
She knew he loved cleanliness, even had a mild germaphobia.
So even when she herself occasionally had certain fantasies, she rarely asked him to use his mouth to please her—let alone kiss her feet, which she considered far too “degrading.”
Though privately, she did adore Kaoru’s feet—always clean, faintly scented, with elegant, pretty shapes—but that was different.
However, Kaoru did not let himself be pulled up.
He seemed to have made some kind of decision—or rather, was being driven by the torrent of atonement in his heart, unable to stop.
When Aina withdrew her foot, he turned instead to her calf.
His movements no longer hesitated. His hands wrapped around her calf, his lips and tongue—imbued with a devotion bordering on reverence yet tinged with self-loathing—began to move upward along her bare skin.
His kisses and licks were hot and wet, carrying the fresh, faintly salty scent of freshly washed skin, yet far more possessive than any intimacy they had shared before.
“Hss… Kaoru…”
Aina couldn’t help but gasp, her calf muscles tightening reflexively.
The hot, damp sensation climbed over sensitive skin, bringing waves of unfamiliar, intense tingling, and with it her initial panic and confusion.
Her voice began to tremble uncontrollably, turning hoarse.
“W-wait… wait a second… how about I wash first, okay? I’ve been out all day… it’s dirty…”
She tried to find a reason to stop him, but Kaoru did not pause, nor did he respond.
That morning, when the luxurious woman had just finished intense training—her body drenched in sweat, her scent heavy and pungent—he had been forced to endure it…
Compared to that, the faint, uniquely hers scent on Aina’s body was not dirty at all to him.
Instead, it felt like salvation—his only deep attachment and compensation amid nausea and filth, a kind of confession.
And so, driven by an extremely complex psychological mix—
Deep guilt and a desire to compensate, a twisted sense of “fairness”
[Since I did it for someone else, I should do it for Aina too…]
And perhaps a subconscious wish to overwrite and negate what had happened during the day through intimacy with her—
Kaoru Hoshitani carried out an act he had previously been reluctant to do, even repelled by.
Now, to him, it had become a self-degrading offering and a ritual of repentance.
Aina Saiten, of course, could not perceive the storm of turmoil and logic churning inside her boyfriend’s heart.
Her initial shock and resistance gradually gave way to instinctive bodily responses under his rare and persistent initiative.
In the darkness, her senses were amplified without limit.
She could clearly feel his soft lips, agile tongue, and that rhythm—devout like atonement, yet strangely practiced.
An unfamiliar, overwhelming pleasure surged like a tide, making her tilt her head back involuntarily, her neck forming a graceful arc as suppressed moans slipped from her throat.
Her fingers curled unconsciously, gripping the edge of the plastic stool.
As her awareness blurred, a small doubt surfaced like a bubble from underwater:
What’s going on… Kaoru… seems… more skilled than before… his movements… so practiced…
The thought flashed by, quickly drowned by the onrushing waves of sensation.
Whether because of subtle changes in technique or the intense psychological stimulation of darkness and this abnormal situation, a few minutes later Aina realized she was closer to losing control than ever before.
“Move away… Kaoru!”
At the final moment, a shred of reason and concern for her boyfriend snapped her briefly back to clarity.
She cried out in panic, hands pushing forward in confusion, trying to force his head away from between her legs.
She didn’t want that kind of thing to soil his clean face, to stain his angelic features—that was her most instinctive reaction.
But Kaoru seemed to have anticipated this—or stubbornly wanted to accept everything.
His hands tightened around her thighs instead, burying his head deeper, even using some strength to resist her pushing.
Aina was already on the verge of collapse; this resistance became the final straw.
“Ah—!”
A short, uncontrolled scream was mostly swallowed as she bit her lip.
What followed was violent trembling and complete surrender.
Inevitably, that warm, sticky liquid splashed across Kaoru’s face, hair, and even slid down his neck and chest.
In the darkness, Aina couldn’t see clearly, but the sensation and imagination alone made her burn with shame, even as she panted in exhausted pleasure.
She expected to hear a disgusted grunt, or the sound of him immediately getting up to wash. But there was nothing.
Kaoru remained still for a moment, then lifted his head very slowly.
In the dim light, Aina could vaguely see the sticky substance clinging to his face and hair, close in temperature to her own skin.
Yet the expected look of disgust never appeared. Instead, a strange calm—almost relief, even a fleeting sense of “cleanness”—settled over his stained face.
As if by bearing Aina’s “defilement,” he could, in a twisted way, offset or overwrite the “filth” imposed on him by that woman earlier.
His girlfriend’s scent and warmth had become his only mental lifeline, a desperate purification ritual.
And Aina, after the initial shame and weakness, stared blankly at her boyfriend’s state.
The pure, delicate boy she had always protected and cherished now had his face, hair, and body smeared with something so private and primal—something that belonged to her.
The extreme contrast and cognitive shock struck a hidden corner deep within her heart like a bolt of lightning.
A raw instinct—mixed with possession, conquest, and a dark, maternal urge—was violently awakened.
Seeing him so “debased” yet obedient before her filled her with an unprecedented, trembling sense of control and satisfaction that wrapped tightly around her heart.
Yet what happened next completely shattered the last of Aina’s rational defenses.
Kaoru slowly raised his hand, still smeared with sticky fluid, and groped until he found her own trembling, powerless hands. His fingertips were cold, but carried an undeniable force.
Then he guided her hands, one finger at a time, placing them on his own long, fragile neck.
His neck looked extraordinarily pale in the faint light, bluish veins visible beneath the skin, his Adam’s apple rolling slightly with tension.
Aina’s palms could clearly feel the rapid, powerful beat of his carotid artery, and the delicate contours of bone beneath the skin.
Then Kaoru lifted his head and looked at her with eyes that still shone brightly in the darkness—wet, luminous.
His face was stained, his lips parted, his breath hot and trembling.
And then, in a nearly broken, pleading voice, he spoke the words that could drive any woman utterly mad:
“Aina… you can be rough with me…”