Episode 33: [Yuri Girlfriends] It’s Okay, Feel Good With Me.

Hiyori’s hand, resting over the hottest place on my underwear, began to move.
Slowly.

“…Mm.”

The pad of her finger traced the groove through the wet lace, again and again.
Unhurried. Deliberate. Drawn-out in a way that stoked and stoked without giving.
Through the fabric, I could feel the sensitive part of me swelling and hardening of its own accord.
Then Hiyori’s finger found that swollen bud and pressed it in, gently. Push.

“Mm, it’s so hot. …You’re incredible here, Maya.”
“Hiyo-ri—”

Hiyori drew her finger slowly back and forth, persistent and teasing, savouring my reactions.
With every stroke, more heat welled from inside, soaking into the lace.

Shh, shh, shh—
The rhythm changed.
From below to above, a quick, raking stroke in small rapid motions.
The friction of the fabric sharpened into something that jolted through my brain.

“Ah, mm, no, ah—!”

The stimulation was too much, and I tried to escape it by lifting my hips.
But Hiyori’s other hand seized my waist and pinned me firmly back to the bed.

“Don’t run away.”

The fingers didn’t stop.
Now the pad of her thumb ground slowly in circles over that pointed bud, pressing it flat.

“Hiyo-ri—!”

And then.
Hiyori deliberately stiffened one finger — and flicked that single point through the fabric.

Sparks burst in front of my eyes.
Looking down at me as I convulsed, Hiyori whispered in a voice thick with sweetness and heat.

“…Ha, incredible. Your cute little lace is an absolute ruin already.”
“Ah— ah—”
“This is in the way now. …Let me touch you directly.”

Hiyori’s fingertips found the delicate lace at my hips.
It slid down to my knees with a smoothness that was almost effortless.
The place I had kept hidden to the very last was laid bare to the cool evening air and Hiyori’s gaze.
Her fingertips crept up the inside of my thigh, slow and unhurried.

“Cold—”

My body flinched.
Hiyori’s fingers were much colder than my own, and utterly without hesitation.

“…Ah— ah—”
“Hey, Maya. …That day, was this what you were doing here? Just touching yourself?”

First, the outside.

The drenched edges parted under her fingertips, and she stroked the gathered heat outward, spreading it.
Hiyori’s finger pursued the place I had pressed hardest that day, relentless and thorough.

“…Stop, please—”
“No. …Because here — it feels like it was waiting for my fingers.”

She played at the entrance with light tapping strokes — and then one finger began working its way up through the inner walls.

At last.
Hiyori’s second finger slid, slick and slow, into my depths.

“…! Mm! Ah, ah—!”

A sound came from the back of my throat that I couldn’t believe was mine.
That day, doing it myself, it had only been confusion and an overwhelming pressure.
The sensation of Hiyori’s fingers finding their way inside me directly was so vivid it felt like being torn apart from the inside out.

“Mm, there— stop, no—!”

With her fingers still inside, Hiyori pressed the heel of her palm hard against the bud above, and curled her fingers upward inside me.

The most sensitive place.
Her fingertips tapped against it in a steady rhythm, pushing upward.

A wet sound rang out in the dim room.
I could feel myself moving around her fingers, pulling them deeper.

“You’re so tight around my fingers. …Do you like it here? Or here?”
“Mmh! Ah, ah—!”

Hiyori’s breath grazed my ear.
Her arm came around my shoulders, and I was folded into her as I came apart.

Hiyori quickened the movement of her fingers.
Stirring through my depths while her thumb flicked and ground against the outside.
Worked from inside and outside at once, I had nothing left.

The sounds grew louder.
The rhythm of two people’s breathing tangled with the wet sound from her fingers.

“…Hiyo-ri— Hiyori—!”

Before I knew it I was clinging to her shoulder myself.

That smell I first knew alongside despair.
The smell I was made to wear on my own body.

Now I breathed that musk in deeper and deeper, as though it were air itself.

My head grew heavy and slow.
The back of my mind, dark and yet white.

No, no, no, no—

“Ah, ah—!”

I was moving my own hips.
Seeking her fingers, rocking into them, disgraceful and undone.

“…It’s okay. Use me as much as you want.”

Given permission, I moved more and more.
In time with my movement, Hiyori’s fingers drove hard into the deepest part of me.

“Ah—!”

My body arched, a shudder running all the way to my toes.
Something hot flooded out, and I fell into a white blaze of light.

◇◆◇◆◇

Every last bit of strength left my body at once, and I sank into the sheets, limp as a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing into Hiyori’s chest.
Her left hand — the one she hadn’t used — stroked my head. There, there.

The room had gone dark without my noticing.
Night had fallen.
Through the window, curtains still open, the city’s night lights glittered below.
But inside the unlit room, only the faint outlines of each other were visible in the darkness.

“Haah, haah—”

Nothing but the sound of my own ragged breathing rang in the silent room, and the humiliation of it was unbearable.
The inside of my thighs, horribly hot and wet.

All of it, from inside me.

“…Mm, incredible.”

Hiyori’s voice fell from above.
I felt her shift, sitting up.

I didn’t want to be looked at.
On reflex I reached to pull the hem of my disordered skirt down and cover the wreckage of myself.

“Oh—”

But my fingers had no strength in them and only slid uselessly across the fabric.

“Hiding it won’t do you any good. Look — my fingers. Evidence, evidence.”

Hiyori held her hand in front of my face.

At that moment.
Hiyori’s phone, tossed to the head of the bed, buzzed once and its screen lit up.
Some notification.
The sudden cold blue-white light threw Hiyori’s hand into sharp relief against the dark.
Her middle and ring finger, nails short and neatly trimmed, caught the phone’s light and gleamed, visibly wet.

My smell.
Not the perfume smell. The same smell I had been alone with in the discipline room that day.

But with musk woven through it now — denser, and inescapable.

“…Don’t look—”
“Hm? A bit late for that.”

The phone screen went dark, and the room returned to its dim half-light.
Hiyori wiped her hand on the tissues by the pillow, and lay back down beside me carrying what she couldn’t wipe away — my smell still on her.
In the close darkness, with the night lights at her back, our eyes met.

“…So? Was it better than doing it yourself?”

Hiyori swept the sweat-damp hair clinging to my cheek back with her fingertip, gently.

“…I don’t know.”
“Hm?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Come on, tell me—”
“What about you — are you satisfied now?”
“Hmm? Not yet. I want to hear much more of Maya’s incredible voice.”
“You’re the worst, you really are, the absolute worst—”

While I lamented, Hiyori looked at me with a calm, unhurried expression and extended her hand.

The fingers that had just taken me completely apart.
The hand that knew the shape and heat of my insides.

My hand, betraying its own earlier refusal, reached out tentatively and touched her fingertips.
Only Hiyori’s body heat, for some reason, was what kept me tethered right now.