Episode 32: [Yuri Girlfriends] I’ll Touch You Lots and Lots.

When Hiyori’s tongue traced my lips, my mouth fell open — naturally, in a way that surprised even me.

“Mm— ah, mmh—!”

Her tongue coiled around mine, slow and clinging.
Sharper than the Coke’s fizz from a moment ago, and sweeter.
I pressed my back against the bookshelf and clutched at Hiyori’s neck.
The only sound in the quiet room was the pull of lips meeting lips.

“Mm, hah— mm, mmh—”

It was like being stirred through to the bottom of my lungs. My breathing came apart.
Not enough air. But I couldn’t pull away.
Every time I breathed her scent in, the strength drained from the core of my body.

My vision tilted softly, and before I knew it the edge of the bed was close.
It wasn’t a matter of who pushed whom. Nothing so deliberate.
Only two people, letting their shared centre of gravity tip the same way.

The bed gave beneath us.
The springs gave a small creak, and there the world divided into before and after.

The room, washed orange.

Hiyori was over me in an instant, casting her shadow down.

“Mm, ah—”

Again and again, tongues entwined, and at last the lips parted.
My breathing couldn’t keep up — the pitiful wheeze of my own breath, audible to me.

The silver thread of saliva that had just barely kept us connected caught the last of the evening light, glittered, and snapped.

Hiyori smiled her satisfied smile and flowed down beside me on my right.
The springs creaked again.

She shifted a little toward me.
The musk smell deepened.

“…Haah— …Hiyo-ri—”

Eyes still not quite in focus, all I could do was call her name.

“Mm. What is it, Maya?”

The tips of Hiyori’s right-hand fingers touched my flushed left cheek, gentle and cool.
Cold, and good.
But her hand didn’t stop there.

Slowly, as though it had always belonged there, it slid down the side of my throat, over my collarbone — and came to rest on the fabric of my long skirt, stroking the curve of my thigh.

Flinch.

My thigh jumped — a reflex, not a decision.

“…!”
“Ha. You’re so responsive.”

Hiyori’s fingers slipped through the fabric, more carefully, inward.

“I’ve been holding back.”

Her hand found the hottest place through the skirt, and scratched lightly with her fingertip.

“Hyah— no—”
“Since the moment I saw your face today… I’ve wanted to do this the whole time.”

As she whispered it, Hiyori’s hand caught the hem of my skirt.

Slowly. So slowly.

As though stoking my impatience, the fabric was drawn upward.

My thighs, laid bare.
Hiyori’s gaze crawled up the length of my legs.

“…Don’t look—”
“No. Show me properly.”

White skin, fully exposed to the open air.
The fabric gathered at my waist.

“…Oh.”

Hiyori’s eyes blinked wide.
There, revealed: pale pink underwear, its edges trimmed with delicate lace — a little more grown-up than my usual, a small reach beyond myself.

“Hey — this.”

Hiyori’s mouth curved up.

“That’s kind of— you know. Lace.”
“It’s just— this was the only pair I had—”

Hiyori’s fingertip traced the lace trim in one long, slow line.

“You knew, didn’t you. That today, I’d be taking these off.”
“I d-didn’t—”
“Liar. …Look.”

Visibly, unmistakably, the pale pink had deepened to a darker shade at one point.
Hiyori pressed that spot lightly. Tap.

“You’re already drenched here. …You’ve been holding back all this time, haven’t you? Wanting me to touch you.”
“Uu—”
“Looks like Maya’s all ready too. …So, me too—”

Without warning, Hiyori held her right hand up in front of my face.

“…Hm?”

Still teary-eyed, I looked at it.
The same beautiful fingers as always.
But something was different.

The vivid pink gel nails that always decorated her fingertips—

“…They’re gone.”
“Mm. Took them all off.”

What remained were short, neatly trimmed nails, carefully filed smooth.
Plain, undecorated. The natural colour of them — a quiet cherry-blossom pink.

“So I could give Maya a proper good girl pat. I worked really hard to take them off and get them just right.”

Hiyori tapped my lips with those short, bare nails.
Where hard gel should have pressed, there was nothing but the warm, yielding flesh of her fingertip.

That’s how it was.
Today.
She’d decided on today.

“Maya.”

Hiyori’s face drew close.
The thick, sweet musk. Breath, warm with heat.

I couldn’t answer.
But my silence seemed to be received as yes, and Hiyori’s face broke into a melting, dissolving smile.

Her hand reached toward me.
Softly.
Hiyori’s fingers came to rest — lightly, like something settling — over the place that was damp and hot and a shade darker than the rest.

Through the fabric: Hiyori’s body heat, and my own.

“I’ll touch you lots and lots.”