Until You Tell Me Your Name
Why am I doing this? Have I lost my mind…?
They had already finished setting a time to meet for lunch the next day. And yet the thought of sending Chicken home left her with such a hollow ache that, before she knew it, her fingers had closed around the sleeve of his shirt.
She threw together a quick plate of snacks from whatever ingredients were left, settled with her back against the base of the sofa, and put on a drama that was trending on the streaming app.
“Oh, this looks good.”
“R-right? The trailer looked so fun I was planning to binge it over the weekend.”
The plot never really registered. It was a late Friday night, and she was drinking beer with a neighborhood kid she had only met the day before. Her heart would not stop racing.
Before long the drama had ended and the pack of canned beer they had bought was already empty. She figured he would be heading home any moment—yet in one corner of her chest a contradictory wish kept flickering: I hope he doesn’t go.
“…Now that I think about it, we don’t even know each other’s real names. We’ve just been calling each other by our nicknames.”
She knew she ought to let him leave. The introduction slipped out only because she wanted him to stay a little longer.
“Huh, you’re right. I’ve been treating the app nicknames like actual names and completely forgot.”
“Right? We can’t exactly keep calling each other Sylph Noona and Chicken out in public.”
“You’re so pretty that calling you Sylph Noona doesn’t sound weird at all. It actually suits you.”
This kid—! She had already known from his Picsta that he had no friends, but the way he flirted came as naturally as breathing!
“Y-you’re going way too far with the jokes.”
“Unless I’ve got cement in my eyes, everyone else sees you the same way.”
A simple attempt to keep him seated a little longer had somehow drifted in this direction.
“And even though I’m talking normally, in here—” he lightly tapped his chest with a fist; the solid thump of muscle made her swallow “—it’s going crazy.”
“Touch it.”
“W-wait, you—this isn’t—”
God, it’s so hard it’s making my head spin… My husband was always soft…
“You feel that, right?”
“……? Huh? W-what did you just say?”
Chicken had said something, but she had been so lost in the feel of him that she missed it entirely.
“Never mind. We started talking about real names and somehow wandered off. Sorry for making the mood weird, Noona.”
“N-no, it’s fine. Wait—just sit back down!”
When Chicken made to stand, her hand shot out and caught his before she could stop herself.
“No, that’s not—I still haven’t heard your name… You don’t know mine either…”
Why am I like this…? No. She knew exactly why.
Her husband had left for an overseas posting the moment they returned from their honeymoon, as if the trip itself had been the severance. It had already been two years since she last saw him. At first they video-called two or three times a week, but after a month or two the calls simply stopped, as if someone had flipped a switch. She had soothed the loneliness alone.
She had retired from active duty, taken a post as an instructor, and thrown herself into training the new magical girls who had contracted with the fairies. Time passed that way. Only two years—and the knowledge that two more still remained before her husband returned to Korea was enough to drive her out of her mind.
Why do I have to understand him? Why am I living like such a fool?
Then the reassignment notice had arrived: G-City, a bleak place riddled with frequent Gate outbreaks. She could have refused. Instead she had consulted the husband who barely contacted her at all. She had believed that even if their bodies were far apart, their hearts were still side by side. She had been certain he would get angry, insist she must never go somewhere so dangerous—even by the new city rankings of post-Gate Korea.
“If it isn’t a demotion, try it once. It’ll look good when promotion season or salary negotiations come around.”
“That huge apartment’s just going to bleed money with only you living in it. Put it up for lease and go.”
“G-City? Even better. A dangerous posting helps a career. And with so many magical girls around these days, how dangerous can it really be?”
“Why are you getting mad again…? I’ve got a meeting. Just handle it yourself. I’m hanging up.”
The husband she had expected to stop her cold had cared more about future utility bills and her career trajectory than about her safety. All those years of thrift, of never indulging herself, of diligently filling savings accounts for the man working far away—who had any of it been for?
The loneliness she had crushed down for his sake finally burst under the needle of resentment. She downloaded a dating app she should never have touched. And now she wanted to keep the pitiful, solid younger man she had met on that app inside her officetel… No. Tonight, at least, she wanted him beside her.
“Y-your name! I’m not letting you leave until you tell me yourself! So if you want to go, hurry up and—”
“So if I don’t tell you my name, I can just stay?”
“Huh? Well, when you put it that way… Y-you can let go of my hand, though…”
“Tell me your real name and I’ll let go, Sylph Noona.”
Is he doing this on purpose, or is he just that naturally shameless? She was older, a married woman, and this younger guy still had the nerve to—
“—W-why are you interlocking our fingers?!”
“If you don’t like it, tell me your real name.”
“I-I’m married…!”
“You already told me that when we were drinking at the convenience store.”
Honestly, even she could see how transparent her impure motives for keeping Chicken here were; the shame burned. She might be retired now, but she had once been a first-generation magical girl. The same woman they whispered about behind her back as the Witch Instructor—bloodless and tearless—for the sake of raising the next generation of magical girls.
“If Chicken won’t tell me his name, then I’m not telling mine either…”
Being led around by a younger man she had met only yesterday stung her pride, yet the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant…
“Then shall we just keep holding hands like this?”
She knew she shouldn’t compare him to her husband, but watching Chicken grin playfully while their fingers stayed laced, she felt herself being drawn in deeper and deeper.
“Satisfied with just holding hands… You’re still such a kid…”
She tugged the hem of her cotton T-shirt free from the waistband of her lounge pants. Chicken’s eyes shifted, just a fraction.
“Noona doesn’t want to settle for just holding hands…”
Wanting to tease the way he was staring so hard, she slowly lifted the hem and bared a strip of bare skin.
“You’ve got a little belly.”
“N-no I don’t. I’ve been stuck doing paperwork lately, sitting all day… Y-you’d be the same!”
“Nope. Even when I sit around I don’t get a single bit of belly fat.”
“Oh…”
Seeing in the flesh the muscles that had already shown so clearly under his shirt made her mind go completely blank.
“Want to touch?”
She felt the firm pressure of their interlocked fingers loosen. Right now she somehow needed to keep control of the pace…
“…Yeah. I want to touch.”
That was the plan, but how was she supposed to resist when the upper body she had seen on Picsta yesterday was right there, tempting her?
“How is it?”
“It’s… solid…”
“Isn’t it awkward touching from the side?”
“A little awkward… No, not that awkward… Wait, it is awkward…”
I have to get a grip. Don’t get hypnotized by the abs. Take the lead back.
“Maybe if I do this… it’ll be a little better… How about you, Chicken…?”
She climbed onto his lap, draped both arms over his shoulders, and laced her hands behind his neck. Contrary to her expectations, Chicken’s expression stayed perfectly relaxed.
“Huh? W-why are you wrapping your arms around my waist?”
“You’re adorable.”
“Y-you’re younger than me and you’re calling your Noona adorable?! H-hey, why are you grabbing my ass?!”
This isn’t how it’s supposed to go—I need to flip the mood so I can—
“D-don’t… My ass is big… It’s embarrassing when you knead it like that… A-ah, no… Don’t bury your face in my chest and smell me… Ahhnn…”
She was supposed to seize the initiative first and then teach Chicken properly…
“N-no… Don’t push my bra up… Aahh… D-don’t bite… You can’t bite… Really, you can’t…”
Until yesterday she had only ever comforted herself with her own hands. Tonight, was it simply because someone else’s hands felt so good…?
“K-kisses are really off-lim—mmph… I said you can’t… Hahh… I don’t want to… You can’t… If you’re going to do it, at least wait until I’ve washed—mmph… Nngh…”
No. She didn’t know anymore. She wanted to set down everything that had been clawing through her head and simply follow instinct.
“Mmmph… You can’t… Kissing while you push your fingers in… A-ahhnn…”
Active, affectionate caresses so different from her cold, indifferent husband. The thick fingers stirring inside her felt so good. The way they found her weak spots without being told felt so good.
“Sylph Noona keeps reacting like that, so of course it got this hard.”
…And she liked that his cock was bigger than her husband’s.
Saturday morning, 9:45 a.m.
The forbidden game that had begun at midnight still clung hot and sticky to the bed, the heat refusing to yield even to the air-conditioner’s chill.
“Mm… gulp… hnn… making your cock… all clean… mm…”
Sylph, who had been taking Cayen deep between her lips, pursed her mouth and slowly lifted her head.
Gulp. Gulp.
“Your cock… slurp… is clean now…”
With both cheeks still puffed out, she raised her hips and nuzzled her face against Cayen’s cock, now slick with her own saliva.
Yet even though she had kept going nonstop from midnight until morning, exhaustion and sleep finally caught up with her. Sylph’s head drooped between Cayen’s thighs as if burying her nose there; she began to breathe in soft, even snores and did not move again.
Pretty impressive stamina for a married woman.
Looking down at the woman who had passed out between his legs, Cayen carefully extracted himself.
I like her. Ending’s a little incomplete, but a human female onahole with a sex drive this insane is always welcome.
He laid the unconscious Sylph properly on her back and climbed off the bed. Gathering the used condoms and wrappers scattered around, he quietly left the room.
After dropping the trash into the living-room bin and washing the sticky residue from his hands at the sink, he picked up the lukewarm water bottle on the table and took a long drink. That was when it happened.
“A phone? No—an alarm?”
A smartphone alarm blared noisily from the master bedroom. Cayen set the bottle down, returned to the room, and switched off the alarm on Sylph’s phone, which had been balanced precariously on the vanity.
If she woke, he could finish working off the last of his still-simmering lust—but unlike him, a demon, this frail human female needed rest.
If I want to keep using her for a long time, I’d better let her recover properly.
He set the phone down quietly. His gaze fell on the tote bag resting on the vanity chair. Without thinking he glanced inside—and his expression went rigid.
He lifted the bag onto the vanity and opened it fully. Nestled within was a weapon he would never forget for the rest of his life: a Magic Wand, the tool of his mortal enemy.
“Ha. So that’s the scent I thought I recognized.”
Cayen sat on the edge of the bed with one leg still on the floor, looking down at the defenseless woman mumbling in her sleep. A soundless, incredulous laugh escaped him.