Episode 22: [Yuri Friends] Would You Please Stop Thrusting Your Hips Into Me From Behind?!

From outside the window today came the energetic shouts of the baseball club, and the dry, ringing crack of a well-struck ball carried on the wind.

A peaceful after-school hour. A peaceful soundtrack for the discipline room.
…It was supposed to be.

“…Hey, Maya. Apparently guys are into this kind of thing.”
“Pardon?”

A warm, slippery body heat pressed against my back as I sorted files at the document shelf.
…Hiyori.
She’d said something unusually agreeable about “helping out a little,” and I’d thought that was out of character — and sure enough, here we were.

“…?! Hey, get off—”
“It’s fine. …Come on, relax.”

Through the layers of our uniforms: the soft press of her chest against my back.
Hiyori’s hands seized my hips and yanked them firmly toward her.
Then she kicked my feet apart with brisk force.

“What — Hiyori, what are you—”
“Maya’s got longer legs so I can’t reach. Come on, spread them more.”
“This is — I mean—!”

My protest fell on deaf ears. We were completely, undeniably, in that kind of position.
Me, hands braced on the shelf, hips pushed back.
Hiyori behind me, gripping my hips, pressed flush against me.

When Hiyori drove her hips hard against me, the shelf shook and files cascaded down.

“This is — this is a bit much—!”

Hiyori grinned and set a rhythm.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The pleats of our skirts rasped violently, and the damp impact of soft flesh meeting soft flesh began to ring through the room.
Through our uniforms, the pressure of her against me felt rawly, disturbingly real.

“…H-Hiyo, ri—”

The point of contact was building up friction heat, growing hotter and hotter.

“So? Maya, does it feel good?”
“…N-no, it doesn’t—!”
Still gripping my hips through my bravado, Hiyori drove me further along until she had me backed against the window.
Peeled off the shelf, I was made to put both hands against the cold glass.

“Hey, Hiyori — here, right in front of the window — people outside can—!”
“So what, let them watch. …Come on, committee chair, back straight.”

In front of me, through the glass: the school grounds.
The baseball club kicking up clouds of dust, working up a sweat.
Right alongside them as they chased the white ball, I was being slammed into again and again and again from behind by Hiyori.

Smack. Slap.

Every time Hiyori drove her hips in with force, even without direct skin contact my body knew it — I could feel myself growing helplessly, drenching hot.

“Hey, Maya. Are we sure this still counts as pretend?”

Hiyori’s voice at my ear had dropped lower than before, gone rough.
Her hot breath hit my nape and I couldn’t help tightening my grip on the window frame.
The glass fogged white.
Outside, another clean crack of bat on ball rang out.
And overlapping with that sound, between us, the impact of bodies colliding refused to stop.

“…Ah — ah — Hiyori—”

Hiyori grabbed my shoulder, fingers digging in, and wrenched me toward her.
Hot breath at my ear.

“Hey, Maya. …Turn around. Kiss me.”
“I can’t — not like this — ah—”

The force of it kept rocking my body forward and back.
But Hiyori wasn’t letting me go. She cupped my cheek with her hand and half-forced my face around toward her.
My neck muscles screamed.
Before our eyes could meet, my lips were sealed.

“Mm — chu —”

The twisted position made breathing properly impossible.
Hiyori’s soft lips crushed against mine, pressing over and over.
Closing over mine from outside, tracing their shape, sucking and pecking at them with relentless thoroughness.
My mouth fell open of its own accord and I could only receive the heat of Hiyori’s breath and lips.

Chu. Chuu.

Wet sounds rang at my ear in time with the violent rhythm of her hips against me.
Outside the window, wholesome club activities.
And here, just one pane of glass away, something this animalistic taking place.

The transgression of it was going to make me come entirely undone—

…Stop.

Without warning, the impact against my hips — ceased?

“…Hah — haah — …hh — …phew…”

The breathing at my ear had changed — from sweet, ragged gasps into plainly oxygen-starved panting.
Then Hiyori lifted her face from my lips, and slid — collapsing by degrees — to rest her head against my back.

“…Hiyori?”
“…C-can’t. …This is. …Literally just sport…”

Hiyori released her grip on my hips and folded to the floor, knees giving out, shaking.
Face scarlet, drenched in sweat, breathing hard from her shoulders.
Completely out of fuel.

“…What’s gotten into you, all of a sudden.”
“What’s gotten into me — hah — this is brutal for a committed member of the going-home club… fighting gravity with your hips has a terrible effort-to-reward ratio… I genuinely thought I was going to die…”

All that charged atmosphere, gone without a trace.

Hiyori spread herself out flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and murmured into the air in a voice drained of everything — with something that even suggested academic curiosity.

“Hey… so like… is that why it’s normal for the guy to do the moving…?”
“Neither party has to — I mean — I wouldn’t know about that!”

I fixed my dishevelled skirt and exhaled in pure exasperation.
Honestly, I want those minutes I spent desperately holding on back, please.

“Huh? You definitely know.”

Still flat on her back, Hiyori laughed her breezy laugh.

Faint sweat glistening on her skin, still breathing hard.
Looking up at me with that defenceless, deeply satisfied expression.
I wanted to say something back. One word.

“In any case, Hiyori’s never gone this far before, she’s always—”

(…wait.)

Thud.

The chest I thought was just exasperated gave a lurch — impossibly, ridiculously large.

In the moment I looked down at her lying there with that slack, careless smile.

Something between us felt as though it had begun, quietly, to shift.