Lucifer (8)
Masturbation is, by nature, a secretive and closed-off act. The conventional belief that it is nothing one would ever expose to others has taken deep root in the human mind, and understandably so—what productivity does the act possess, after all? It exists for no purpose but to stimulate one's own genitals in pursuit of pleasure. Nothing more.
I hadn't been particularly fond of it even back when I was a man, and that hadn't changed now that I was a woman.
And yet Rihardt had ordered me to do it. To show him the sight of me touching myself—that man, who could single out with unerring precision the very acts I found most awkward and shameful. With Karen Florence watching on top of it, the burden only grew heavier.
Of course, pure embarrassment wasn't the only problem.
What do I do? I've never actually done this.
The problem was that I was utterly ignorant of how a woman went about it. It wasn't as if I had no idea how female masturbation worked in theory, but having never done it in practice, it was uncharted territory for me. It was bound to be more complicated than male masturbation anyway—at least a man only has to grip his shaft and move his hand back and forth.
Could I just imitate the way Rihardt caressed me?
I had certainly felt unmistakable sexual pleasure under his hands. If I recalled that act properly and reproduced it, surely I could manage somehow.
So... Rihardt touched here, like this...
The moment I retraced how he had toyed with me, my face grew hot. No—it wasn't just my face. My whole body flared up as though someone had set a match to it. Before I knew it, I was swallowing dryly, staring at Rihardt's hands.
That was all it would take, right? Simply repeat, exactly, what those hands had done to my body?
I quickly realized it would be nowhere near as easy as it sounded.
He registered my gaze and smirked. "Want me to touch you instead?"
The words made my chest seize up with a tight, restless ache—itchy and aching all at once. Which was ridiculous. At this rate, it would look as though I were hoping Rihardt would toy with me. Unless my mind had broken, there was no way I desired his touch.
"Absolutely not."
"They do say an emphatic denial is a kind of confession."
"That's a ridiculous stretch."
"You react that defensively and it only makes it look more true. Isn't that right, Karen?"
"It really does."
Karen Florence's voice carried an oddly chilly edge. Even the way she looked at me seemed to have cooled a little.
"Now then, sit here and make yourself comfortable."
With that, Rihardt brought over a chair—one that bore no resemblance whatsoever to an ordinary one. It was fitted with devices to bind the wrists and ankles.
"...That seems like it would be less comfortable, if anything."
"Hurry up."
His will looked so unshakably fixed that I had no choice but to obey. And so I settled onto the chair Rihardt had provided and spread my legs—an act performed for the sole purpose of letting them both see clearly what I was doing. There was no need to go to the trouble of hauling up my skirt; it was short enough that my hips and thighs were already on display. My underwear had been stripped away long before, leaving my womanhood completely bare.
Karen Florence seemed to notice as well, her expression turning puzzled. "You're not wearing any underwear?"
Rihardt answered for me. "I kept her bare all day."
"You did that, Rihardt? Why?"
"Because a Lucy who can't sit still is adorable."
"Hm. I see."
Their eyes, fixed between my thighs, stung with particular intensity. Under gazes that seemed to appraise me like merchandise up for sale, I flushed scarlet even as my hand moved steadily toward my crotch.
Do I just... touch it directly?
As I hesitated, he sent me a look demanding to know what I was dawdling for.
"Is it because it embarrasses you to do it in front of us?"
It wasn't embarrassment—it was that I had no idea what to do, or how. Where was I even supposed to touch first? I couldn't find my bearings at all.
"Lucy."
Rihardt pressed, as if to say I'd dragged things out long enough. I didn't know anymore either. To start, I pressed down firmly on the hidden bud of my clitoris with my index finger.
It felt far less stimulating than I had expected.
It was so sensitive back then it made my skin crawl—wasn't it?
It felt nothing like it had when Rihardt touched it. Perhaps that was simply what happened when it was my own hand. I pressed harder, more earnestly. Sadly, all I felt was a mild pressure—nothing beyond that.
So this isn't the way.
I realized that touching my clit was not going to arouse me, and there was no sense in targeting a spot that refused to cooperate. Unlike a man, a woman doesn't have only one place capable of feeling pleasure.
I spread apart my tightly closed nether lips and fondled them, searching for my entrance. Exposing the pink-tinged folds of inner flesh to their eyes was mortifying beyond words. After a little trial and error, I located the opening—smaller than I had imagined. I moved my finger toward it.
"Ngh."
A narrow, tiny hole. I pushed my finger in slowly.
This was an entrance that had taken Rihardt's far larger fingers before, yet insertion was strangely difficult. What I had overlooked was that I wasn't nearly as wet as I had been under his caress. Nothing was relaxed, and so it could only hurt.
"Ah—!"
Forcing the stiff little hole open, I felt a sharp, piercing pain that made my eyes squeeze shut. I took a few deep breaths, bit down on my lower lip, and drove my index finger in with force.
With a strained, wet sound—like something on the verge of tearing—the finger slid inside. It didn't feel good at all. In place of pleasure, there was only the unpleasant sensation of a foreign object and a dull, throbbing ache.
Would it get any better once I started moving inside?
Schlick. Squelch. As lewd as the sounds were, all they accompanied was a steadily growing discomfort.
I was starting to suspect this wasn't working either. With my other hand, I kneaded at my breast—and felt nothing beyond the sensation of squeezing a lump of flesh. Thinking the stimulation might be lacking, I groped harder; it only hurt.
What on earth was wrong with me? I was touching the exact same places—breasts, pussy—the exact same way. What difference could there possibly be between my hand and Rihardt's? And why did that gall me so much?
Could the pleasure Rihardt gave me have raised my threshold?
So that these feeble touches simply couldn't register anymore. A laughable theory. Had I forgotten how exquisitely I had reacted to his smallest gesture? Hadn't even the dullest touch wrung violent responses out of me?
Or maybe I'm too psychologically cowed to feel anything?
A pitiful excuse and nothing more. Had I been in some fine psychological state back then? It had been worse than now, if anything—certainly no better.
If the goal was to make me feel utterly pathetic, then congratulations—it's a smashing success.
Even as self-loathing set in, I didn't stop. Rihardt hadn't told me to.
Subjectively and objectively alike, it was sloppy masturbation. And the longer my act continued, the quieter Rihardt and Karen became. Their silence was what reduced my feelings to something truly wretched.
Had all of that shown plainly on my face? Rihardt took hold of both my hands and asked:
"First time?"
"..."
I didn't answer—but that alone seemed to be reply enough, and Rihardt let out a hollow little laugh. "Honestly, Lucy. Just how long do you plan on driving me to distraction?"
I glared at him with eyes brimming with resentment, but to him I suppose it looked only adorable. His hand stroked my cheek with unbearable gentleness.
"You should have said something in advance. I'd have prepared something else entirely."
You want me to just tell you I've never masturbated once in my life? With what face am I supposed to admit something like that?
No matter how defiantly I glared, he only smiled, mild and unbothered.
"I can manage it. Given time, I'll be perfectly capable of—"
"It's fine. What I wanted to see was Lucy, overcome by base pleasure, swallowing her pride and devoting herself to the act—not the pitiful curiosity of a virgin who's never once tried touching herself."
He walked around slowly and took up position behind me. "Like this, I can hardly say you made proper use of your wish ticket."
"I apologize for failing to meet your expectations."
"Apologizing won't bring my expectations back, Lucy."
He placed his left hand on the nape of my neck and his right between my legs. I swallowed hard and turned my head. There was Rihardt—smiling, but his eyes were dry.
"As much as I've been disappointed, that means I'm free to torment you however I like. Isn't that right?"
It looked like a request for consent, but it was closer to a declaration: since I had fallen short of his standards, he would treat me as a temporary plaything. And it was also an undeniable fact that I had fallen short. In other words, the fault was mine.
"...If that is what you desire, young master."
I couldn't hide the tremor in my voice.
Rihardt's grip clamped down around my throat—like a viper sinking its fangs into prey.
"Kgh—!"
The instant his fingers closed, the blood flow to my brain choked off. My vision narrowed. My breath died in my throat. It struck me, with terrible freshness, just how vicious a creature Rihardt truly was.
My hands and feet thrashed. Pressure mounted behind my eyes, reddening them, and tears welled up.
"Ghhk—khh—!"
Clear irritation sat in Rihardt's red eyes. What on earth had displeased him so much? Was failing to masturbate properly really such a monumental offense?
His right hand began to rub between my legs. It was nothing like my own clumsy efforts. Even as I was being strangled, a faint flame kindled low in my belly—and that surge of heat made me feel as though my skull would split open. More than the fact that I might die at any moment, I hated that his touch felt good to me.
"Don't worry, Lucy. I'll tame you, calmly and thoroughly, until your body learns to feel far more than this."
Rihardt's voice drifted to me from impossibly far away.