It’s Not Sex (6)
Tongue. It might just be the softest part of the human body exposed to the world. It touches me in sequence—next to my nipple, under my breast, beside my navel, below my navel, …on my clitoris, and then, in a place so, so embarrassing.
"…, ……! ……. …."
A minute? Five minutes? Maybe an hour? I don’t know for sure, but it was clear that a long time had passed since the conversation with the teacher had ceased. …No, it *had* to be that way. It wasn’t as if he were scolding my exposed clitoris with his fingers, nor was he burying his longest middle finger to the root to scrape the walls of my vagina. He was merely, at most, licking me gently with his tongue, yet I was climaxing so intensely that it couldn’t even be compared to when I masturbated alone.
Even if the clock on the wall kindly informed me that only three minutes had passed, I swallowed my moans, convincing myself that it had been an hour and three minutes. …Ah, of course, there was no way to hide the fact that every time the teacher’s tongue brushed against my clitoris, I spilled my fluids onto the bed, which didn’t even have a towel laid out.
"Nngh…."
Was it because I climaxed every time he licked me? The teacher, who until just a moment ago had only licked the area around my clitoris—instead of directly teasing it like he did at first—began to carefully lick my lower abdomen. This was the fifth time already. Whether it was his saliva or the fluids I had been spilling so lewdly, he wiped away the mysterious, slick liquid from my lower abdomen, steadied his breath, and then lightly pressed his lips against my body.
Chu, chu. A kiss in name only, without even the sound of a kiss. From my lower abdomen to my thighs, then pausing to look into my eyes, back from my thighs to my abdomen, and from my abdomen down to my sex—a kiss that was nothing more than a silent, light touch of his lips. Having learned with my own body that once that ended, he would go back to licking my clitoris, I lay there with my eyes half-closed, saying nothing, and placed the back of my hand over my lips. …A moan. It would be embarrassing if it leaked out. It felt a bit perverted, too.
"…Teacher……."
For the past three minutes—no, no, for the past hour and three minutes—the only sounds were the intermittent, wet squelching. Even that wasn’t particularly loud; it was just enough to know he was licking something with great care. Yet, every time that sound brushed against my eardrums, my heart hammered so hard I thought I’d go insane. …Maybe this was because I was being teased by the teacher. I kept having that thought. Doesn’t teasing usually lead to… sex? I kept having that thought. If the teacher just shoved his cock inside right now, would I even be able to refuse properly? I kept having that thought.
Because of a shameful delusion I could never tell the teacher, I dirtied the bed once more…, and letting a moan escape from beneath the back of my hand that was blocking my lips, I twitched my captured thighs, ignoring all rules. Much more pleasantly than when I was left in the afterglow of my own masturbation. Much longer. Much more… pervertedly.
"Teacher…, ugh…, Teacher…."
"Speak. I’m listening."
"Just a moment…, please let me rest for just one minute…."
"…Why rest? We haven’t done anything yet."
"What…? What do you mean by that…. ……Nngh…."
We haven’t done anything? You kissed me without permission, spread my thighs without permission, and licked my clitoris without permission—what on earth do you mean you haven’t done anything? Every complaint that rose to my mind was crushed and vanished under the weight of my lewd moans. …Because of the teacher, who was gripping my thighs tightly. Because of the teacher, who had only been teasing me until now and had finally begun to lick my clitoris with such meticulous care.
Please stop licking, my head is going to break, I thought, trying to close my thighs instead of talking, but I was fixed in place even more firmly, as if he were telling me not to resist. Until my voice, which had begun to crack, let out an ugly moan—again and again. He was driving the pleasure, which I had never once achieved on my own, deep into my brain as if to brand it there.
"…I was just watching your body, as promised, Su-a."
"Haa… Heh…."
"And as you said, I didn’t touch you. …And we didn’t have sex, either."
"Only sex…. Haa…, you said only sex…! You touched my body, and you kissed me so much…."
This can’t go on. If I keep getting swayed like this, I’m going to end up having sex with the teacher. It’s obvious. Waking up to the sense of crisis coloring my mind like a bright red siren, I wiggled to put some distance between us. …Well, it was still on the bed, so… like this.
"…Kissing, pfft… Teacher, kissing, …mmph…, …I told you not to…."
Driven to the edge of the bed as if I were being hunted, I gripped the wrists of the teacher who was kissing me like a beast, pinning me to the wall, even as I swallowed the fluids of mine left on his lips.
"Hoo…. …You said earlier you wanted to take kissing off the list of rules."
"Th-that’s not what I meant by taking it off the rules…! …A-anyway, you were the one who put it back in…."
"Ah, there was something I wanted to see."
"…Something you wanted to see?"
"You seemed to really like kissing…, …I wondered what kind of expression you’d make if I said I wouldn’t do it first."
"I-I like it…? Me…?"
Like it? Kissing? Me? Before I could even stutter in confusion at words I didn’t understand, I wiped the slickness from my lips—which he had been cleaning with his tongue as usual—with the back of my hand, and pressed the pillow that happened to be right next to me against the teacher’s lips.
"…I’ve never liked it. Kissing."
"…."
…But.
"Why, why are you laughing…."
"…."
I was sure I had said it as firmly as possible. All I could see over the fluffy pillow I had shoved out was the teacher’s eyes, beginning to crinkle in amusement. …Was that why? Suddenly, really suddenly, my cheeks felt incredibly hot. Taking advantage of my fluster, the teacher snatched the pillow away and began to approach me again. And in the exact same posture as when he had pushed me against the wall to kiss me a moment ago.
"Then don’t just stay still with your hands on my body, push me away properly, you idiot."
"…I didn’t…, I didn’t do that…. I pushed you properly…."
The teacher’s shadow falls over my pale body, which is awkwardly leaning backward. Like a child coloring in a background with crayons. Slowly. Slowly. From my soft toes, to my knees held tightly together because I didn’t want to show him my shameful parts, …to my milk-colored breasts, crushed and soft because of the thighs I had pulled in. He paints all of it