Kaoru Hoshitani struggled with all his might, his slender body twisting violently like a fish out of water.
His beautifully shaped, long legs—exposed beneath the hem of his yukata—kicked helplessly and uselessly in the air and across the cold floor tiles, searching desperately for any leverage or a chance to land a blow on the assailant behind him.
Yet, faced with that almost cruel, absolute difference in strength between man and woman, all his resistance was as futile as an ant trying to shake a tree—insignificant and useless.
Yamada’s thick, powerful arms clamped around him like iron pincers, pinning him so tightly he couldn’t move at all.
[No… No… Let me go… Why is something like this… happening to me… Aina… Aina, where are you… Please save me…!]
He could already clearly foresee the horrifying, unimaginable things about to happen next.
His mind was on the verge of collapse, like fragile glass struck by a heavy hammer, covered in cracks.
Over and over, silently and desperately, he cried out his girlfriend’s name in his heart, as if it were the only straw he could grasp in the darkness.
A single clear, hot tear escaped uncontrollably from the corner of his eye—brimming with fear and humiliation—trailing down his pale cheek and leaving a cold, wet line, finally falling onto Yamada’s thick arm, yet it stirred not a shred of pity in her.
Powerless to resist, he could only be dragged—like an inanimate object—by that woman reeking of nauseating alcohol and sweat, violently and half-dragged, half-pulled into the harshly lit, disinfectant-scented toilet.
The sight of the cold ceramic tiles before him, a wave of despair crashed over, threatening to drown him.
Just as he was about to be shoved into one of the dim stalls, survival instinct drove him to one last, desperate act of resistance—he used the last of his strength to kick off one of his geta, letting it fall to the floor outside the stall with a loud “clack”.
He held onto a sliver of hope, praying that the next person to enter the toilet would notice the unusually placed shoe and sense something was wrong, becoming the clue that could lead to his rescue.
“Heh heh… Pretty boy, you can’t run now, can you…”
Yamada let out a low, hoarse, alcohol-laden sneer, and with a sharp “click”, locked the toilet stall door behind them.
The cramped space instantly felt more suffocating. Harsh, pale light poured from above, illuminating the sickening flush of alcohol and desire on her face.
Her eyes, disgusting and sticky like a serpent, greedily roamed, inch by inch, over the beautiful youth she had roughly pinned to the cold toilet lid—his eyes already red from crying, his body trembling with fear, looking all the more delicate and pitiful.
In her drunken, bloodshot eyes burned a blatant, vulgar, and savage lust.
With one coarse, sweat-stained hand, she continued to clamp tightly over Kaoru Hoshitani’s mouth, crushing his cheek so hard it hurt, leaving him barely able to breathe.
Her other hand, with a chilling mockery of “affection”, slowly and hungrily stroked his silky, faintly fragrant black hair, as though admiring a treasure about to become her own.
Kaoru Hoshitani still used the last of his strength to glare fiercely at the drunken, demonic woman about to violate him, a fire of anger and defiance burning in his beautiful eyes.
Yet beneath that fire, deep in his gaze, the almost overflowing abyss of despair and bone-deep fear could not be hidden no matter what.
His body was cold; even his fingertips trembled uncontrollably.
What man could remain calm and rational in the face of such sudden and terrifying violence?
That primal, instinctive fear had long since gripped his heart, as if plunging him into an icy pit.
And Yamada, already unable to hold herself back, began to tear violently at the dark blue yukata uniform Kaoru Hoshitani wore.
Because of the special way a yukata is worn, all it took was a forceful yank on the belt holding it together—like ripping off a ribbon on a long-awaited gift box—to easily strip away the clothes that had concealed his alluring body, leaving him exposed.
The moment the belt loosened and the front of the yukata fell open, Yamada nearly froze in speechless awe at the sight before her, even forgetting to breathe.
Under the harsh fluorescent lights, the skin revealed was dazzlingly white, with smooth, supple lines, carrying a vivid, pure vitality all its own.
Unable to stop herself, she swallowed thickly, the taste of alcohol mixed with saliva, as the fire of lust in her eyes burned hotter.
But Kaoru Hoshitani, with so much of his skin suddenly bared to the cold, filthy air, was seized by a violent shudder.
The biting chill, instead, acted like a stimulant, reigniting the survival instinct nearly crushed by fear.
He began to struggle more violently, recklessly, his body stretched taut like a drawn bow, trying to break free from the despairing restraint.
“Smack!”
A crisp, resounding slap exploded within the cramped stall.
With one hand still clamped over Kaoru Hoshitani’s mouth, Yamada was momentarily flustered by his sudden, intense struggle and couldn’t hold him down.
Annoyed and provoked, she didn’t even think—her free hand swung with all its strength, landing a vicious slap across the man’s face as she cursed:
“You little whore! Be good! Stop struggling!”
The merciless blow left Kaoru Hoshitani completely dazed. A red, swollen handprint rapidly appeared on his pale cheek, burning with pain.
His beautiful eyes, glistening with tears and wide as a frightened fawn’s, stared in disbelief, humiliation flooding his gaze.
The violent struggle stopped instantly with the sudden attack; his body froze, as if every last ounce of strength had been drained away.
Taking advantage, Yamada swiftly and roughly tore away the last piece of clothing closest to Kaoru Hoshitani’s skin. But at the instant that final barrier was removed, her bleary eyes widened in shock, and a gasp—part awe, part ecstasy—escaped her throat.
What a masterpiece, so painstakingly crafted by the gods themselves!
Even after divorcing her husband, even after frequenting pleasure houses and seeking out young boys who did “mama’s business” for fun, Yamada, who fancied herself to have seen plenty of young bodies, had never seen such perfection—so flawless, so exquisite!
“Truly lucky… Hahaha… You really were born to seduce women, weren’t you, you little slut! It’s in your very bones to be such a filthy thing!”
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