What Is This, I Wonder (3)
I don't exactly have the experience. What I've seen, though, and what I've learned from it—that's plenty.
"…Nnh, cra…zy……. W-wait, nn, fwaaah……. …♡"
I know how good it feels to be pinned under a male so you can't run, and taken from behind, pounded without pause. I know how good it feels to be kissed until you can't get a word out, while a cock drives in to the root, thud after thud. I know how good it feels to be laid on your side—an ass anyone could tell would feel incredible if he just slammed his hips into it as hard as he pleased—then seized tight, fixed completely in place by a male swollen full of lust, and used until he's worked his frustration out, his engorged cock buried to the root with no regard at all for how you are.
I don't exactly have the experience. …All of it, I saw in manga, and learned.
"Heh…. Heh…. Haah… hnn, haaah……."
But it isn't as if there's a man beside me right now who could do that for me. No. No, that's not it. It isn't that I want a man like that beside me. There just isn't one. Right. That's all. The nuance came out a little strange, but I didn't mean anything else by it.
I was reading adult manga in the first place to find out what boys like. No, no—that sounds like I want a boyfriend, too…. How am I supposed to put it? This is just a coincidence. I was reading it diligently, to study, and then, well…. …I-I just got wet, that's all….
If you're wet, shouldn't there be penetration—that's what I was thinking. But there isn't a man beside me who could do it. No, that isn't it either…. …I don't knooow….
"…. ……. ……♡"
Just as the men in the manga did to the women, I set my clit between my fingers and rubbed, hard. My head went white. Current crackled down the length of my spine, and even when strange, beastlike sounds spilled from the mouth I'd buried in the pillow—nn, nngh, hhk—I kept scrubbing my already swollen clit with my fingers, slick and wet, and over the towel spread across the bed I spattered sticky arousal again and again, as much as I wanted. …Until at last I was panting and my hand dropped limp onto the mattress.
A slow, wet smear….
"Fwaah…. Fuh……. Haa…."
…Ah. Right. This is what they call masturbation. I searched it on Google, and a wiki came right up explaining it that way. The description was something about relieving sexual desire alone, without a partner, and so on and so forth…. Anyway. A human, and yet in heat like an animal. Yes. …Ahaha…. It's funny. So funny I could cry.
In heat? Me? I'm perfectly fine, though. Aside from being awake at this hour, face-down on the bed, holding my breath, diligently touching my clit—perfectly fine…. ……. …I am fine, okay?
Ignoring the ears that had been burning hot for a while now, I groaned and pushed myself up.
"…T-towels…. Just a few more…."
This is absolutely not because I'm in heat. Curiosity. Research. That is the only reason. How many minutes had it even been, and already my hand was a mess of slick. I wiped it roughly on the towel I'd just been using and tottered over to the dresser. This time I didn't bother about color. I gathered five hotel-folded towels into my arms and tossed them onto the bed.
Ivory and gray bounced every which way across the mattress. Hair tied up in a rough knot so it wouldn't get in the way, I threw the towel I'd just laid down—already damp—onto the floor and spread out a fresh one.
…All right. Now, until I'm satisfied, masturbate like before….
"……."
…Or…. Rather than doing it while trying to recall the manga I'd seen before, wouldn't it be better to just leave my phone on in front of me and watch that while I did it….
"……Mm."
She has ears and a tail too, after all. It might be easier to project myself into her than into the other works….
The blanket, pushed well away so nothing embarrassing might stain it. Towels linked from the edge of the pillow down to about my knees, where I lay prone and spread. Panties and soft, fuzzy pajama pants cooling slowly beside the pillow. An ochre mood lamp left on, because looking at a phone in the dark is bad for your eyes. The setup was complete.
Having brought out my lion ears and tail for nothing more than masturbating, I flinched under a strange wave of self-loathing and looked at my phone. Ah—more precisely, looked up at it would be the better way to put it. Face buried in the pillow with only my ass raised, I had to lift my eyes a little to see the screen at all. I lay there in a shameful pose, like some yoga stretch, nothing moving but my blinking eyelids.
"……."
Why, arranged like this, did that phrase from a moment ago—in heat—land so hard? The inner cry of maybe I should just masturbate normally, like before, even now lasted only a moment. I started reading again from the scene where the white tiger is grabbed by the tail and pounded, and scrolled down while stroking—press, press—over pink skin.
"Nngh……. …. Hik…."
A head that didn't even need imagination. Only pleasure, taken in. Every time my fingers squirmed, the white tiger coming apart on the screen stamped itself clear into my mind.
…Insane….
After pulling the tail by hand, there was even sex while he bit it in his teeth. I really don't like the pulling either, but that one's a step further. It looks like it would hurt terribly….
"……."
J-just a little. Just to check. Yeah. That much shouldn't really hurt. …Can I even reach it with my mouth? …Ah. I can, barely. Then, let's see….
……. …Fweh…. What even is this, seriously…. It only hurts. It doesn't particularly feel good….
And from the description, he bites down so hard that several strands of fur end up in the protagonist's mouth. If the woman face-down having sex there were me, I definitely would have stopped mid-act and kicked him flying with my hind legs. As I thought, the author clearly doesn't know what they're talking about.
The tail, soaked through with spit—bye-bye. I scrubbed the few wheat-gold hairs left on my tongue roughly against the pillow, then let out a hmph of an indifferent sigh, pressed down on my clit, and—body shivering—crumpled the next panels on the screen into my brain in wrinkled handfuls.
A huge cock, veins standing out in ridges, drives with a force that looks ready to ruin it into a p— …a pussy hole that looks far too narrow no matter how you look at it. The wet, insane sound of it slamming in. An ass swaying lewdly, whether from how hard he's driving or to show off that softness. And behind it, the white tiger with every kind of heart floating beside her head as she's torn and ruined—those images get crumpled into my mind one after another.
The prologue was a bit different, sure, but by now it isn't all that different from the sex scenes in the manga Yozora recommended. Maybe because I only learned to masturbate today. One question rises in a slow billow as I watch a scene like that.
Does it actually feel good, getting pounded like that, like he's about to wreck the hole? Really? …That doesn't make sense, does it? That hole is narrow to begin with—barely enough for a single finger to fit…. Should I check, just a little, while I have the chance?
For a while I kept jabbing beneath my clit, squirting slick, then roughly wiped the hand—so messy it was clinging between my fingers—on the towel, and brought it a little higher.
"Nnh…. Haaah……."
Because I was face-down, not below the hole pee comes out of, but above it. There was one tiny opening, so small that sticking incredibly in front of it a few more times still wouldn't be enough. Just as I remembered: small enough that a single pinky would fill it completely. But when I tried to slip a finger in just a little, it seemed like it might hurt….
"…Haa…. Nnh…."
…Never mind. If I did it right I could probably get a pinky in, but rubbing my clit the way I had been is much easier, and feels much better. All I need is for my head to go hazy. No reason to take the hard road.
I watched, for a moment, the white tiger on the screen climaxing while she licked the protagonist's fingers. Then I pulled out the finger that had been prodding the hole and set about tormenting my clit, already slick and shining with arousal. The way I'd learned from the manga, I put strength into my fingertips and rubbed, wet and noisy, and sometimes didn't stop there—ground down on it, too. And when, before even five seconds had passed, I was quietly patting the bed with the tops of my trembling feet, I ground my face into the pillow so no sound would leak and rubbed the sensitive place at the base of my clit with my fingertips, press after press.
Around the time my waist started to twitch and buck upward—if I grabbed whatever my hand could find, held on tight, and scrubbed my swollen clit without mercy—
"……?!? Nnh…fwaah……?♡"
Like the white tiger. Like this. Along with tears that kept welling up for reasons I didn't understand, after a strange feeling like I needed to pee, clear fluid poured onto the towel in spurts.
…This is probably what the manga called a climax.
I buried my face again in the damp pillow and sucked in breaths—hah, hah—thick with dust from the cloth. It feels good. …It feels good, but it's a little unfair that I only learned something this good after turning twenty, because all I ever did was study, and I just… keep wanting to do it, because it feels good…, and the thought that if people go so far as to have sex, it must feel even better than this—that excites me, too.
I don't even understand my own heart, so I ignore the waist twitching in little flinches and keep crushing my clit down, tight. Not caring what happens to my body.
"Fwehh, fwehh…. Ah………."
No. No. The words I mutter without any care turn strange, muffled in the pillow. My mouth says I can't, and yet my waist is already creaking up and down as if to escape my own hand, and with my face shoved into a pillow that reeks of spit, it feels like my brain is melting, soft and wet. And in the middle of all that, my hand—ignoring every other signal, busy only with chasing pleasure—torments the clit still twitching through its climax, grinding it as if to crush it. And so, and so I— again….
"…♡, ……?!, …, …………♡"
As if determined to wring every drop of water out of my body, I spattered arousal all over the soaked towel. Spurt, spurt—the faint, obscene sound, together with the SOS muffled into the pillow, save me, save me, mixed with the smell of a female filling the bedroom and knocked against my eardrums.
Even a water gun, which only needs to be filled and have its trigger pulled, doesn't pull that trigger itself. Crying stop, stop in my head while I keep touching my clit—am I a more hopeless person than a water gun?
"Fwaha…. Hah, haa……. Ha…."
Hopeless. That's right. I am hopeless, aren't I? This body of mine. Pulling on my tail, press after press—it actually felt good enough to get me wet on the spot, and I was hopeless enough to gloss over it. Biting my tail with my teeth—it felt better than I expected, so I gnawed on it for a long while, dirtied the towel, and only minutes later spat it out and pretended it hadn't been good. Hopeless enough for that. Hopeless, like a heroine in a manga aimed at men.
So if I ever met a man like the protagonists in manga like that. I….
"Nngh…."
For a moment—only a moment—the name Master flickered through my mind. Then, as I steadied my breathing, huh, huh, and came back to myself, a slick wetness began to make itself known from the inside of my thighs down to my knees.
…Whoa. Just how much did I squirt…. …No. No, this isn't the time for thoughts like that. I didn't even lay a towel down there…!
"I-I have to wipe it…. Haa…. I have to wipe it……."
…Come to think of it, how did I even end up masturbating like this? I definitely couldn't sleep…. I was just looking at my phone…. Ah, the ad. I'd seen an ad. And then my thoughts ran on to what men might like…. Right. Men like sex…. …Is that right…? Well, it must be. There were so many dirty manga…. Men like sex….
"Th-this isn't the time, the towel…."
I made sure to remember what I'd learned today, then squirmed my way toward the edge of the bed. A clatter followed—the loud noise I'd been holding back all this time. The bed was put back in order amid the busy shifting of my body. And this time, I rolled onto my side, and…….
…Somehow, from some point on, my head went blank, and the first moment I could recall, even dimly, that I had done any of it was a full day later—two in the afternoon on Saturday. After sleeping in far too late, and right after I got up, the moment the Housekeeper said to me:
"Shall I turn the heating down a little?"