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"Would it be too much if I asked you to massage my back?"
I almost choked on my coffee when she said that.
I mean, she's had it bad these days. Her backpack keeps getting heavier with all of those notebooks she carries around, and she's admitted that her posture during her painting and sculpting classes isn't the best. 'Shrimping out', is what Gura calls it.
But to ask for that so directly and so bluntly threw me off balance.
The thing is that, once the ever pristine and dolled-up Ina comes back to our shared flat after her art classes at Uni, the more comfortable she gets, the less clothes drape her body.
Gura doesn't come home from her own classes until after 9 PM due to her daily part-time job. I only work on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, in which Ina comes to visit me at the café and sits on a quiet corner to do her homework and drink one of our hundreds of teas until it's time to clock out.
But for the other days of the week, once we're home, I get to see something that haunts me deep into the night, where my body fogs up with longing and I tend to myself into a tissue or two.
She wears the shortest of shorts and thinnest of tank tops and blouses the world has ever seen, and nothing else beneath. If she tries to reach for something on the high shelves of the kitchenette, the fabric of her top slides up to reveal her flat stomach. If she leans forwards to pour water on her potted succulents, the top hangs from her shoulders to expose just a glimpse of her wonderful chest and the shorts ride up to show a sinful amount of her pert behind.
And if she leans forward towards me, probably to offer me a cup of coffee as I do my homework, I'm blessed and cursed with the sight of those pink tips that decorate her barely-protruding breasts.
As I say, it haunts me.
So it's easy for her to just take a hold of the hem of that loose piece of fabric and pull it above her head before flopping into my bed, waiting for me to do her this little favour.
And that is how Ina ended up laying topless on my bed.
The bottle of body cream she put on my hand has a light smell of lavender, a scent that barely does anything to calm the growing anxiety in my chest, the shake of my hands, or the thumping of my heart. She simply lays there, with the light of the sun that struggles against the closed blights draping her body and painting in the valleys and peaks of her soft skin.
I sit on my knees, each on either side of her body, and float above this forbidden sight as I pour the creamy white of the lotion into my hand.
She is made of the most pliable gold, and worth a thousand times more. She rests her face on top of her hands, hiding her sight from my being and exposing her entire thorax for me, as my hands start their sinful exploration disguised as service.
My fingers tend to the tight muscles atop her ribcage, sliding past the peaks of her shoulder blades and even beneath them in my travel up to her neck. Her shoulders tense for only a moment as I squeeze the flesh between them and her neck, and relax once I spread my hands into her arms and back.
"H-Hah…" She sighs with a satisfaction I can taste in the air, a sound that violently invades my ears and resonates into my gut and the growing pain within my sweatpants.
I beg for forgiveness to any god willing to be merciful. I almost wish for my fingers to burn off into charcoal as they savour the feeling of her bones, muscles, and skin beneath them. The more my hands grow a mind of their own, curiously exploring every available inch of her holiness, the higher into my throat my heart trots up. I can feel it thumping inside my skull, with a primal panic and a guilty excitement clashing within the goop that sloshes behind my eyes.
"Lower, Watson…" She whispers, wiggling her body to readjust herself. "Please…"
My sweatpants can barely contain myself, the fabric shamefully stretched by that part of me which I'm thankful there is no way for her to see.
I pour more cream into my hand, and now move onto the small of her beautiful back. The harder I press onto that ache inside her spine and her muscles, the deeper her sighs become, the more her hands fidget with the duvet, the more her arms writhe and her shoulders rise and fall.
"R-Right there…" She whines, and I can feel a wet spot growing into the tent of my sweatpants. I only catch how hot my breath is when I hear her breathing hitch as my thumbs press into the final cervical of her spine, sliding down to her tailbone and dangerously close to the hem of her shorts.
And then, my hands press down with almost the entire weight of my body as I slide them all the way up that slippery and soft flesh.
"F-Fuah~" She moans, breath stuck in her throat for a moment before her-
Her hips rise from the bed and her shorts caresses the hardness behind my pants.
"G-Guh…" I only have a second of reaction to the sudden contact before my conscious mind takes a hold of my body, and I rush my hips away as a cold knife crosses my spine.
I remove my hands, my body, and my mind from her body. My arms tense up, the sweat on my body cools into ice, and my crotch betrays my fear with its throbbing excitement.
"Watson…" Ina says as her hands roam downwards onto her hips, catching the hem of both her shorts and panties with her thumbs, and pull it all down as far as her arms could without rising from her prone position.
She exposes herself for me, wiggling her hips to further drive her last garments off, before curving her back and raising her hips for me, now spreading herself to show that I wasn't the only one excited within these four walls.
"Please…" She begs and, for the first time ever since walking into my room, she turns her head to the side to find my eyes, glossy with a desire that mirrors mine.
It's all just a blur from there.
A symphony of noises inundates my ears. The bed creaks beneath us, the frame hits the wall, our breaths hitch and escape in moans, and her voice pours my name like a waterfall that drowns me as I stand beneath it.
Her body bends slightly to my thrusts into her warmth, embracing me tightly and hotly until it feels like I'm melting from the inside out. She welcomes me, urges me for more, and even pushes back against me with her hands on the pillows until I can feel her deepest wall against that sensitive tip of mine.
The greed of my hands knows no bounds, silently enjoying the heat of her skin at first, and now selfishly savouring the supple flesh of her hips and of her cheeks as my hips hit them. They squeeze, they grope, and when Ina finds it in her to lift her torso up, they sneak beneath her arms to claim her chest as their own. They pinch, they twirl, they pull, and I am rewarded with her heightening moans and her tightening insides.
"A-Ame~!" She moans, losing her voice for a moment after a rhythmical squeeze of her insides around my length. "Give it to me~!"
She falls back onto the bed, lifting her hips even higher as my thrusts get deeper and stronger, growing desperate with the tightening of my insides and a boiling heat spreading from the tip of my length and into my gut.
It takes every single ounce of my self-control not to release it all within her and pull out, using her full cheeks as a lascivious tool for my pleasure to lead my mind into a white void where my only language is her name.
Just like before, a creamy white paints her back. Ropes of seed shoot across her spine, onto the backside of her ribs, against the soft expanse of her beautiful skin that is now ruined and tainted by my lust.
My orgasm subsides, a growing emptiness taking over my stomach, and I blink the fog of pleasure from my eyes, witnessing the mess I've made onto those muscles I worked to relieve mere moments ago.
"Watson~" She whispers, turning her head back to meet my eyes…
Still full of desire.
"Do you think you can…" Her eyes steal a quick glimpse at the hardness on my crotch. "Massage my front now?"
And that is how Ina spent the night naked in my room.