Yandere, Pure Love — The Busty Menhera Obsessive Mommy Guardian Angel (5)
Back when Hayeon had only just stepped out of the bathroom — before Azael ever had her pinned beneath her.
She was trying so hard.
Drip, drip — my legs were still soaked. Glittering drops traced little paths as they ran, and she wiped them away as if she were carefully cupping something that might spill, patting my thighs the way you handle a treasure.
Those pats felt almost like she was soothing the mistake I'd just made. Which was probably why the heat I'd been trying to settle had been burning hotter for a while now.
She smiled into the empty air, bright and unguarded, as if drying me off were a joy she felt all the way down. Honestly, for someone who was only supposed to be wiping the water from my lower half, she was dragging it out. A lot. Fine. She wanted to savor having her hands on my legs a little longer. I decided not to make a thing of it. She looked better than I'd expected, too — huffing and straining, and still so deft, so pretty, as she worked.
And then there was the single biggest reason I let her use "drying me" as an excuse to keep touching my legs.
Warmth I had never felt before.
Something strange gathered in my chest, a ticklish ache that wrapped all the way around me. Her hands didn't stop at holding a towel and wiping my body. They seemed to hold tenderness itself, rinsing even my loneliness away. I never thought I'd get to feel it, even secondhand — the warmth of a real family, the kind I'd only ever seen in stories. So I held the rising corners of my mouth in check and simply watched her.
Pat, pat. Softly, softly.
Like I said, her touch was too gentle, and too fine. I couldn't tell whether what was on my skin was a towel or down. If my thoughts had ended right there, it really would have been perfect.
But the mind is invasive. Sometimes it is simply irresistible. The classic example is the story about not thinking of an elephant. Tell someone, Do not think of an elephant, and what shows up? Right. Even for a split second, an elephant. And the harder you try to deny it, the more the elephant repeats, growing twice as sharp.
So. Even after I'd just been running my mouth about the warmth of a real family, the word caress slammed into my head while I watched what was happening. And because I thought, hard, No dirty thoughts, I spent the whole stretch afterward erasing caress over and over in my mind, trying not to notice it. How vividly, then, would caress still be sitting in my skull?
...I'd danced around it enough.
Right now, her touch felt like a caress. Obviously I'd never done it, and I'd never had it done to me. But plenty of yuri novels, when they write sex, linger on the foreplay — the things you do to stoke the excitement before anything really begins. If I weren't taking this touch on my feet, if I were lying on that bed not three steps away...
...could I really keep from getting aroused?
Absolutely not.
Only then did I notice the difference between the grabby, rough mother's hands in old books and the reality under my skin. She called herself Mother, yes. But both of us knew this was never going to run like an ordinary parent and child. I wasn't even sure she hadn't chosen "Mother" with exactly that in mind. What mother, at a first meeting, asks if you'd like a taste of her fluids?
She was beautiful. Lovable. Bewitching. My type. And more than anything...
I wanted to fuck her. Like an animal.
...Or the other way around. I'd have welcomed that too.
I wasn't going to talk in circles anymore. I'd be exactly as honest as the flush rising over my cheeks.
...In my head, of course.
I'm horny. I want to fuck her or get fucked like a dog. Her tits are easily one and a half times the size of her head. I want to rip those pasties clean off.
If I actually said the things I'd been swallowing, what would come back? Just imagining it made the backs of my knees go weak. Slowly — really slowly — the shame that had made me want to bawl began to ebb, and hot thoughts shouldered into the space it left, as if they'd been waiting.
Thanks to a string of sudden disasters — urine, for example, urine, for example, things like urine — the heat had gone quiet. Now it was watching for an opening, ready to flare. Watching Azael working so hard down there only made my head hotter, so I turned away for no good reason.
Drip.
"...!"
All right. Today's second psychology question. Something worth taking seriously.
Why do we wear clothes? Or why do we put on the mask called manners and work so hard to keep up a front that won't inconvenience anyone else? There are plenty of views on this. I think there's only one. To hide what we actually feel, convincingly. Whether the thing we want to hide is our goodness, our ugliness, our indifference...
...or the slick about to run down our thighs because the person in front of us is too attractive.
Anyway, that's my conclusion. Be good, and you get used. Be wicked, and you get condemned. Be indifferent, and you get cast out just the same. All of us are creatures scraping by on thin ice, lying about our own weight so we can barely keep living on top of it.
But what if, one day, that ice collapses in a single instant, before you can even answer it? What then?
Drip.
Say, for instance — just like the example — you're standing in front of someone far too attractive, your arousal is coming out like a flood, and you don't have a single thread to cover it.
Be good, and you get used. Be wicked, and you get condemned. Be indifferent, and you get cast out just the same.
...So what if they catch the part where it comes flooding out?
Nothing to think about.
No.
No, no, absolutely not. Just no.
But the elephant dilemma from earlier caught me by the ankle. Think, I must not leak, and the slick...
...a long, slow trickle.
...Ah.
My body was honest to a cursed degree. It sent a different kind of water running down my legs. The feel of it sliding, and the pleasure that surged in the same instant, stood every hair on my body on end. It was called water, same as the other, and sure, water was actually in it. Even so, the meaning each one carried was completely different.
Running water is just running water. But the water coming from down there — in a way, it was a declaration. My insides are ready to be conquered by youuu...! Courtship juice, wasn't it.
...Wasn't it? Lately I had the feeling I'd been pouring pure smut-god extract into my head and then closing the web novel.
Anyway. Getting caught with this pleading nectar.
"..."
I hated it.
No, I liked it...
No, I hated it.
More precisely, getting caught right now... I'd rather die. Judging by her menhera side, my personal safety would be in serious danger, yes. We'd said we'd talk first. Tangling our bodies came after I sorted out the questions in my head.
A soft shift.
So first, I crossed my legs. At an angle that quietly hid me, I twisted them together. If I only concealed where this water was coming from — and if I didn't let it pour out too obviously — then even if a few fresh drops fell from higher up, she'd just think they were water she hadn't wiped yet.
Hoo...
I sighed inwardly and looked at Azael. She'd been diligently working her way down my legs, and by now she was carefully wiping along my calves. Then I moved all at once.
"...What's the matter?"
At the sudden movement, Azael looked up at me. With the most innocent eyes. Purely. Like a rabbit that doesn't know how cute it is, nose twitching without rest — or a deer met in the woods, tilting its head, harmless.
...Of course, I knew what was underneath.
Even so, looking at that pure, kind face, I believed without needing to be persuaded that in moments like this she really was an angel.
And—
"...!"
From that moment on, I decided to become a fervent believer in the doctrine that human nature is evil. Why do people harbor desires this shady and this dark — why hide an inside this ugly in front of a face that pure? That...
Perversely, it turned me on so much that I leaked even more without meaning to.
A little spurt.
Yeah. I was truly beyond saving.
"...Baby?"
...Ngh.
For a second I almost forgot she'd called me because she wanted to know why I'd moved my legs. I clawed my sanity back together and stammered in a shaking voice.
"...Um... r-right here... it felt like... there was still a lot of water left."
I said it while subtly offering my leg a little farther toward her.
Schlick.
I had no idea that would be the worst possible move.
"..."
"..."
Something pretty explicit — the sound of something thick and viscous being smeared — had slipped out. We finished about three seconds of eye contact that felt like thirty, then both flinched and turned our heads.
"R-right... I see."
I clearly saw her eyes go wide, but she pretended not to notice and turned her face completely the other way.
...Haa.
This. She'd noticed. One hundred percent. She'd leaked before, so she'd know what that sound was, and of course she'd know exactly when slick comes out...!
Ugh.
This was bad. Completely screwed.
...Still, one small mercy. She'd noticed I was leaking, and she hadn't suddenly pounced with Baby... what is this? ...I'd thought she very well might. But something about it nagged. Someone who could climax just from talking to me — why had she suddenly gotten calm enough to see my slick and stay composed?
Could it be... surely not...
Like in that one drama — actually inside a cross necklace...!
Mmm...
I'd worry about that later. Right now my condition was more urgent. I'd been caught leaking, we'd locked eyes in that awful awkwardness, and then we'd both snapped our heads away. How was I supposed to unwind this?
...Should I just... shove my soaked pussy at her?