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"Kaguya-san…"
The warmth of Kaguya-san's mouth enveloped him completely—wet heat, the soft drag of her tongue, the faint vibration of her suppressed breathing against sensitive skin.
Riku's composure shattered.
Both hands came down, fingers threading through the silken fall of her chestnut hair, pressing gently against the crown of her head. The sensation shot through him like static electricity, radiating from his core outward until even his fingertips tingled.
Creak—
Yoru's bedroom door swung open.
Riku's hands jerked upward, emerging from beneath the tablecloth. His fingers trembled visibly as they gripped the edge of the fabric, knuckles white against the cream linen. The residual pleasure still pulsed through his nervous system in diminishing waves.
"Mother?"
Yoru's voice floated across the living room.
Beneath the table, Kaguya-san froze. Cold sweat prickled along her spine, dampening the thin cotton of her blouse between her shoulder blades. Her hands flew to her mouth—and she felt it there. Warm. Thick. A thread of pearlescent white clinging to the corner of her lips.
Gulp.
She swallowed. The taste coated her tongue—salty, faintly bitter, unmistakably him. Her throat worked once, twice, until nothing remained.
What am I doing? The thought surfaced through the haze. My daughter is right there—
"Mother?"
Yoru stepped further from her doorway, head tilting as she scanned the open-plan space. Her gaze swept past the kitchen, the couch, the dining table where Riku sat with suspicious stillness.
He turned slowly, expression carefully neutral. "What's wrong?"
"Scum." The word came automatically, habitual venom. "Where's my mother?"
Scum?
Hidden beneath oak and linen, Kaguya-san's brow furrowed. Why does Yoru call him that? They're classmates—friends, aren't they? Dating, even?
Above the table, Riku shifted his weight. His foot found Kaguya-san's thigh under the cloth, nudging deliberately.
Stay quiet.
"Your mother stepped out a few minutes ago. She didn't mention where—just said she'd be back soon."
Yoru processed this with visible reluctance. "...Oh."
She drifted toward the kitchen, bare feet padding against hardwood.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Each footstep sent fresh panic spiking through Kaguya-san's chest. Her daughter was right there—five meters away at most—while she crouched beneath furniture with another man's taste still warm in her throat.
If she looked under the table—if she saw—
"Riku…-kun."
Yoru had stopped beside him. Her voice had shifted—that habitual "scum" swallowed at the last moment, replaced with something resembling civility.
Riku spoke first, cutting off whatever she'd planned to say. "Yoru. Your birthday's tomorrow. What kind of present do you want?"
Silence stretched.
Kaguya-san watched her daughter's ankles through the gap beneath the tablecloth. Those slim feet shifted, weight transferring from one to the other—nervous energy. Familiar tells she'd watched develop since childhood.
She's uncomfortable. Why?
"I don't need anything from you." Yoru's tone hardened. "And I don't want you there tomorrow. If you agree to stay away—" A pause. "—I'll owe you a favor. Whatever you want. Within reason."
Favor?
Kaguya-san's confusion deepened.
What happened between them? Why would Yoru bargain to keep her own classmate—boyfriend?—away from her birthday celebration?
But coherent thought fragmented as she felt it—Riku's foot, moving with deliberate intent. Not the innocent nudge from before. This was exploration. His toes traced up her outer thigh, across the curve of her hip, then—
There.
The soft swell of her breast through thin fabric.
Kaguya-san bit down on her lower lip, hard enough to taste copper. Her hands stayed clamped over her mouth, trembling with the effort of absolute silence.
He's doing this while my daughter stands right there. He's—
His foot pressed more insistently. And she felt the exact moment he discovered her secret.
No bra.
She'd removed it earlier—after the first kitchen encounter, when the friction against oversensitized peaks had become unbearable.
A practical decision. Nothing more.
But now Riku's toes found that bare softness through a single layer of blouse. Found the stiffened bud at its center. And squeezed.
"Mmph—!"
The sound caught in her throat, strangled before it could emerge. Her teeth dug deeper into her lip. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
"Because Satou-kun will be there?"
Riku's voice remained perfectly level above her. Conversational. As if he weren't currently rolling her nipple between his first and second toe, pinching with just enough pressure to send white sparks cascading across her vision.
"...Yes."
Satou Shirou.
Kaguya-san latched onto the name like a lifeline—something concrete to focus on while her body betrayed her with tiny, involuntary shivers.
He came by yesterday looking for Yoru. They've always been close. Is he—are they—
A narrative assembled itself in her pleasure-fogged mind:
Yoru's been seeing Satou-kun. Riku is... the backup. The safety net. And tomorrow, with both boys present, she's afraid of confrontation.
My daughter is playing them both.
The realization should have sparked maternal concern. Instead, through the haze of arousal, Kaguya-san found herself thinking: Poor Riku-kun. He seems like such a sweet boy...
Then his toe twisted, and all rational thought dissolved.
"I'll consider it."
Riku's voice filtered down to her as if from a great distance. "But tell me what present you'd want anyway. If I don't come in person—the gift still will."
"No." Yoru's response came fast, sharp. "You staying away is the gift. The only one I need."
Footsteps again—toward the kitchen this time. The clink of a glass. Water running. Swallowing.
Then retreating steps, a door opening and closing.
Click.
The seal of Yoru's bedroom settling back into place.
And Kaguya-san broke.
"Nngh—!"
The moan tore free, no longer containable. She scrambled out from beneath the table on unsteady hands and knees, face flushed crimson, chest heaving. The blouse had ridden up during her confinement, exposing a pale strip of stomach above the waistband of her skirt.
Riku observed her emergence with hooded eyes.
「Your attraction to Kaguya-san has reached its peak. The taste of a married woman is intoxicating beyond measure. You decide to draw her into the bedroom and—」
He set down his chopsticks with a soft clack.
"Kaguya-san." Barely above a whisper. "May I borrow your bedroom?"
"...Huh?"
She stared at him, still processing. The question seemed absurd—non sequitur—until he rose, circled the table, and pulled her upright by the wrist.
"Your daughter rejected me." His thumb traced circles against her pulse point. "I'm hurt. Won't you comfort me?"
"Com...fort?"
"What kind of comfort does Riku-kun want?"
He leaned in.
Hot breath ghosted across the shell of her ear, raising goosebumps along her neck and shoulders. His chest pressed against the soft swell of her breasts—she could feel his heartbeat through the thin barrier of their clothing, racing as fast as her own.
「Shameless Thief」activated.
The skill took hold.
Kaguya-san's pupils dilated. The tension in her shoulders melted. A dreamy quality crept into her expression, softening the worried lines around her eyes into something pliant. Receptive.
His teeth closed gently on her earlobe.
"Ahh—!"
The cry escaped before she could catch it. Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes widening as reality intruded—Yoru's room is ten meters away, if she heard—
"Riku-kun..." Her voice came out thready, breathless. "That's the third time today..."
"Not enough." His hands found her hips, pulling her flush against him. She felt the hard ridge of his arousal pressing into her lower belly, unmistakable through layers of fabric. "Not here. Bedroom."
Heat flooded through her—pooling low, settling between her thighs with an ache that demanded attention.
This is wrong. This is so wrong.
But her feet moved anyway. Following him across the living room, through the doorway, into the master bedroom she'd shared with her husband for twenty-three years.
I'm doing this. I'm actually—
The moment the door closed behind them, something in Kaguya-san snapped.
She launched herself at him.
The force caught Riku off-guard, sending them both tumbling onto the bed—him on his back, her straddling his hips, hands already fumbling with buttons.
"Riku-kun—" Her voice had dropped an octave, husky with need. "You're incredible."
He's half my age. He's my daughter's classmate. And I don't care anymore.
She shed her blouse in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the floor forgotten.
And Riku saw her—truly saw her—for the first time.
Full breasts hung heavy and round, defying gravity with the firmness of careful maintenance. The nipples were a delicate coral pink, already stiffened to rigid peaks from his earlier attention. Her skin seemed to glow in the dim light—luminous, porcelain-pale, utterly unblemished.
Forty-one years old, he thought, slightly dazed. She looks thirty.
Under the influence of「Shameless Thief」, every inhibition Kaguya-san had cultivated across decades of dutiful wifehood dissolved like morning frost.
"Riku-kun." She rolled her hips, grinding down against the bulge straining his slacks. "Let's do it. Please."
He didn't need to be asked twice.
One fluid motion—hands on her waist, core muscles engaging—and their positions reversed. She gasped as her back hit the mattress, breath driven from her lungs by the impact.
He loomed over her, bracing on one arm while the other hand closed around the full weight of her left breast. Soft. Warm. Yielding beneath his fingers like risen dough.
Their clothes vanished in a blur of frantic motion—his shirt discarded, her skirt hiked to her waist, underwear pushed aside rather than removed entirely. No time for elegance. Only hunger.
And then—
"Ahnn—!"
She arched beneath him as he entered. The sensation overwhelmed rational thought, drove out everything except this—the stretch, the fullness, the electric friction as he began to move.
"Slower—" The plea caught in her throat. "Riku-kun, too fast—nnh—"
I need to stay quiet. Yoru's room is right down the hall. If I'm too loud—
But her body refused to cooperate. Every thrust punched another sound from her chest—gasps, whimpers, bitten-off moans she couldn't entirely suppress.
"Please—hahh—slow down—"
The opposite occurred.
His pace increased. His hips snapped forward with athletic precision, each impact sending ripples through the soft flesh of her thighs and belly. The obscene sound of skin meeting skin filled the bedroom—plap plap plap—rhythmic, relentless.
"I can't—" She abandoned her mouth, hands releasing their useless guard to clutch at his forearms instead. Fingernails bit into muscle. "If you go faster I'll—I'll scream—"
His response was a wolfish grin and another surge of speed.
Kaguya-san's back bowed. Her thighs clamped around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs as if she could somehow anchor herself against the tide of sensation.
This is nothing like my husband. Nothing like anything I've ever—
The thought fragmented, consumed by white noise as her first orgasm crashed through her with the force of a breaking wave.