I didn't leave Haruka waiting. My hand slid gently down her arm, following the tremor in her muscles until my fingers rested lightly over hers. Not to take control—just to guide.
"You're doing fine," I murmured, my breath warm against her flushed ear. "But here… let me show you something."
I eased her hand along, coaxing her fingers into a steadier grip, guiding her through a slow, deliberate motion. She gasped the moment she felt the shift, the weight sliding beneath her touch.
"Ah… it's… so different when you move it," she whispered, half in awe, half in panic, eyes darting everywhere but at me.
Her inexperience was written in every stilted motion, but I kept my hand over hers, steering her through the rhythm patiently, carefully. Not forcing, never rushing—just enough to let her feel the natural response of my body to her touch.
"See?" I said softly, letting her take more of the movement on her own. "It doesn't have to be complicated. Just steady… gentle. Let yourself get used to it."
Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, copying the pace I'd shown her. A shy, surprised smile tugged at her lips when she noticed the way I responded under her hand.
"…It really changes when I do that," she breathed, fascinated.
"Because it's you doing it," I reminded her again, brushing my thumb along her cheek.
Her blush deepened, but this time there was no retreat. Her hand continued, still clumsy, still hesitant, but steadier now—guided by my touch and my calm. Every small motion built her confidence, curiosity slowly overtaking fear.
Her gaze flicked up at me, searching my face for signs of displeasure. Instead, she found only the quiet smile I reserved for her. That seemed to ease her most of all.
"…Then… will you keep guiding me?" she asked, her voice barely audible, trembling with a mixture of nerves and hope.
"Of course," I whispered back, keeping my hand over hers, the warmth of my palm steadying her trembling fingers. "We'll take it one step at a time. There's no rush."
Her shoulders loosened at that, the rigid tension in her frame easing little by little. She nodded—tiny, almost childlike—and leaned into my guidance. Together, our joined hands moved in that slow, careful rhythm, nothing hurried, nothing demanding. Just steady. Just safe.
Her breathing matched the pace, each exhale a little less ragged than the last. Her hand, once stiff with nerves, began to relax into the motion, fingers learning the weight and shape they were holding. Every now and then she gave a shy squeeze, then darted her eyes up to check my face—seeking reassurance.
Each time, I met her gaze with the same calm smile, brushing a thumb over her knuckles in quiet praise. "That's it. You're doing just right."
Her lips parted in a faint, shaky smile. "…It feels strange… but not in a bad way."
"That's natural," I murmured. "It's new. You're learning me, just like I'm learning you."
Her eyes softened at that, something tender slipping through the haze of embarrassment. She adjusted her grip on her own, a little more confident now, testing what I'd shown her. The movement was still uneven, but it was hers—and she seemed almost surprised by how natural it began to feel in her hand.
"I… think I get it," she said after a moment, voice barely above a breath. "When you're steady like this… it doesn't feel so scary anymore."
Her motions grew steadier, the trembling in her hand giving way to something firmer, more deliberate. Every stroke she gave—still clumsy, still hesitant—drew a deeper response from me, and I could see the realization dawning in her wide, flushed eyes.
"Ah… it's… changing again…" she whispered, lips parting in wonder as she watched her own hand move. Her blush spread all the way down her neck, but she didn't stop.
I exhaled softly, the sound low, and her gaze snapped up to me in alarm.
"D-did I do something wrong?!"
I shook my head, smiling through the faint tension in my voice. "No. Quite the opposite. You're doing better than you realize."
Her breath caught at that, her fingers tightening instinctively. The little gasp that escaped me only fueled the flush burning across her cheeks. "…I really… am making you feel good?"
"Of course you are," I answered, my tone unwavering. "Every bit of this is because of you."
Her eyes shimmered with something more than just nerves now. A flicker of pride, of feminine triumph, glowed in them—a fragile flame, but real. She leaned a little closer, her hair falling forward to frame her face, and her hand began to move with a rhythm less shaky, more curious, almost eager.
Each motion grew bolder, the strokes longer, her grip adjusting in subtle, instinctive ways. She swallowed hard, biting down on her lower lip, caught somewhere between mortification and fascination as she watched me react to her.
"Ginjo-san…" she breathed, her voice trembling but no longer retreating. "You're… really warm… and so… alive."
I let it linger for a few moments, savoring the sight of her—flushed, trembling, yet unwilling to stop—but then, gently, I covered her hand again, slowing her movement.
"H-Huh…?" Haruka blinked up at me, startled, her lips trembling as though she'd been snapped out of a trance. "D-did I… mess up?"
I shook my head, thumb brushing the back of her hand. "Not at all. You did wonderfully." My tone was calm but firm, carrying just enough weight to anchor her. "But if we keep going now, it won't stay just practice anymore."
Her face turned scarlet at once, her hand freezing beneath mine. "…!" She looked away, biting her lip so hard I thought she might hurt herself.
I leaned closer, speaking softly, coaxing her eyes back to me. "Tonight was about courage, wasn't it? You found it. You proved it to yourself. That's enough for now."
But then she lifted her face, eyes bright with something different from the timid Haruka I'd seen just minutes ago. Determination. A spark of pride.
"Ginjo-san…" she whispered, voice steady now despite the heat in her cheeks, "I've had enough of being a coward."
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden firmness in her tone.
She sat up straighter, clutching at the hem of her nightgown as if drawing strength from it, and fixed me with a gaze that was shaky but unflinching. "All this time, I've been hiding behind excuses, waiting for you to carry me. But… Rieko told me something. She said, 'Haruka, you don't have to be perfect—you just have to be bold once.'"
Her lips curved into a nervous, but undeniably confident smile. "So… this is me being bold."
Before I could respond, she shifted closer, her hand brushing against me again—but this time there was no hesitation in the way she wrapped her fingers around me. My breath caught, her sudden change in resolve stunning me into silence.
She looked up, eyes blazing with embarrassment and resolve in equal measure. "I'm going to show you what Rieko taught me."
"Mochizuki-sa—" The words never left me.
Because in the very next instant, without a shred of warning, she leaned down. Her lips parted, her tongue slipping out in one trembling, deliberate motion.
And then—warmth.
A soft, wet trace of her tongue slid slowly across my tip, her shy moan muffled in her throat as if even she was overwhelmed by what she'd just dared to do.
"...!" My body tensed, a sharp breath escaping me.
She flinched at the sound, but instead of pulling back, she glanced up through her lashes, her face burning crimson. "See…? I-I'm not running away this time."
Her tongue flicked out again, slower this time, deliberate—her newfound boldness mingling with her inexperience in a way that made my pulse pound.
Her tongue lingered against me, trembling at first, but she didn't retreat. Not this time.
Instead, Mochizuki Haruka pressed closer, her lips hovering, breath hot against the sensitive tip before she dared another slow, wet stroke of her tongue. A shiver rippled through me, and she froze—half expecting me to stop her.
But I didn't.
That silence, that trust, seemed to ignite something in her. She squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat, inhaled sharply, then opened them again with that same flicker of determination burning behind the blush.
"…If I stop here, I'll just go back to hating myself," she whispered, her voice husky with nerves and resolve. "So… I'll keep going."
And she did.
Her lips parted wider, her tongue tracing a cautious circle before she leaned in and wrapped her mouth around me, just barely at first, taking in only the tip. A muffled whimper slipped from her throat at the taste, her shoulders shuddering. But instead of pulling away, she held still for a moment—breathing through it, adjusting to the foreignness of the act.
Then, slowly, she moved.
Up, down—awkward at first, clumsy and uncertain—but with every motion, her confidence grew. Each time she slid her lips lower, even a little, her eyes flicked up at me, searching, desperate for approval.
I met her gaze, steady, breathing harder than I wanted to admit. "…Haruka."
Her cheeks hollowed slightly as she drew back with a wet sound, her breath trembling when she whispered, "Am I… doing it right?"
Before I could answer, she licked along me again, slower this time, deliberate, as if showing she wasn't waiting for my permission anymore. Her hand tightened at the base, moving in rhythm with her mouth, finding a natural pace that had my pulse racing.
Her inexperience was obvious, her technique messy—but the pride shining through her every movement made my chest ache. She wasn't just doing this for me. She was proving something to herself.
Her lips trembled around me, her tongue dragging clumsily along my length, but there was no hesitation anymore. The moment she whispered those words—"I won't be a coward anymore"—Haruka pushed herself further, her pride and determination outweighing every shred of shyness.
She lowered her head, inch by inch, lips stretching as she tried to take me deeper into her mouth. A sharp sound escaped her throat when the pressure grew too much, her hand tightening instinctively around the base to steady herself.
"Haruka—" My voice came out rough, the warning half-formed.
But she shook her head, eyes blazing up at me even as her cheeks burned crimson. The stubborn glint in her gaze silenced me. She wanted this. She needed this.
She pulled back only far enough to gasp for air, saliva clinging in a thin string from her lips to my tip, then she dove down again with more force than before. Her gag reflex kicked, her throat tightening around me, but instead of pulling away, she steadied herself with both hands—one clutching at my thigh, the other stroking the base—and pushed further still.
A wet choke slipped from her, her eyes watering, yet her determination didn't waver. She breathed through her nose in shallow bursts, her movements awkward, desperate, but undeniably fueled by that fierce pride.
Her pace faltered, messy and uneven, but every time she pulled back, she forced herself to take me a little deeper the next time. The sound of her lips meeting my skin echoed with each wet bob of her head, her whimpers mixing with my ragged breaths.
Her determination burned brighter with every clumsy, messy descent. Each time her lips stretched wider, each time her throat seized and threatened to rebel, she forced herself not to pull away. She was trembling, yes, but not from fear anymore—her whole body was vibrating with stubborn resolve.
Her small hands clutched desperately at my thighs for leverage as she pushed herself further, saliva slicking her lips and dripping from her chin. A wet gag tore from her throat, her body jerking, but she swallowed hard, refused to let go, and pressed down until the tip nudged the back of her throat.
Her watery eyes fluttered shut for a moment, her nails digging in from the sheer effort of holding herself steady. Then, with a shaky gasp, she pulled back just enough to drag her tongue from base to tip, smearing spit across me, before plunging down again with even more force.
The rhythm she carved out was uneven, desperate, but every time her throat tightened in protest, she pushed harder—like a soldier testing her limits on a battlefield she refused to retreat from.
Her chest heaved with every ragged breath, strands of hair sticking to her damp cheeks, but the look in her eyes when she glanced up was defiant. Each gag, each choke, was met with a fierce determination that only grew sharper, until it was clear she wasn't simply trying anymore—she was claiming this act as her own.
When she finally pulled back, gasping, spit smeared across her lips and chin, her voice cracked but rang with unshakable pride:
"…I'll go even deeper… watch me…"
Her nails raked at my thighs as if anchoring herself to the moment, her whole body trembling with effort. Every gag, every wet cough only seemed to steel her more. She forced herself past the point where most would break—her jaw straining, throat convulsing—yet she refused to stop.
A strangled sound ripped from her chest as, with one final reckless shove, she took me all the way in. Her lips pressed flush against the base, her throat clamped tight around me, trembling violently but holding.
Her eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling down her cheeks, her lashes damp as she fought the raw instinct to retreat. For a long, breathless heartbeat, she didn't move—just clung to that impossible depth like it was a victory carved out of pain and pride.
When she finally drew back, choking and gasping for air, spit smeared across her chin in messy streaks, her lips trembled into a crooked, proud smile. Her voice was hoarse, but there was triumph in every syllable.
"…See? I did it… I told you…"
Even as her throat burned, even as her chest heaved for breath, Haruka licked her lips, defiance flashing through her tearful gaze. And before I could even reach for her, she dove forward again—burying me to the hilt once more, reckless, desperate to prove it wasn't a fluke but a victory she now owned.
Her throat convulsed violently, her whole body seizing as if it might tear her apart—but Haruka refused to falter. Each gag was met with a stubborn swallow, each cough with another desperate push downward. Her nails bit deeper into my thighs, leaving little crescent marks as if sheer will alone kept her grounded.
She didn't care about the tears streaking down her cheeks, or the way spit dripped from her chin in messy strings. All that mattered was forcing herself to own me completely, no matter the cost.
Again and again, she buried me to the hilt—recklessly slamming past her own limits, choking and sputtering, only to steady herself and plunge back down harder. Her throat burned raw, but she drove herself like a woman possessed, a storm of pride and hunger tearing through her hesitation.
Every time she surfaced, gasping, her lips glistened with spit, her eyes shining through the blur of tears—only to fall shut as she swallowed me whole once more. She was merciless with herself, punishing her own weakness, grinding it away with every reckless dive.
And somewhere in the chaos of it, her rhythm found a ragged, dangerous kind of steadiness. It wasn't skill, not yet—but it was hers, born from defiance, from the sheer refusal to be the coward she'd once called herself.
Her throat trembled violently around me, but she held, she endured, she conquered—again, and again, and again.
My hands shot down to her shoulders, gripping hard, my breath breaking into ragged bursts. "Haruka—stop— I'm about to—" I warned, voice strained, teeth clenched.
But her teary eyes snapped up at me, fierce even through the blur. She pulled back just enough to rasp hoarsely, voice rough from the abuse to her throat:
"Do it."
Her nails dug into my thighs. "Inside… my mouth. Don't you dare hold back. I'll take it."
"Haruka—!" The protest caught in my throat, too late.
She slammed back down recklessly, lips sealing tight, throat convulsing as she forced me to the very root. A broken gag shook her, but she refused to move, her whole body trembling as she locked herself around me like a vice.
That raw, desperate defiance shattered my restraint. My vision went white as I burst deep inside her.
She choked, but instead of tearing away, she clung harder, swallowing frantically, refusing to let a single drop escape. Her throat milked me in messy spasms, every swallow mixed with gagging breaths, her body fighting and obeying all at once.
Spit and tears streamed down her chin as she endured the flood, her pride forcing her to hold me down until every last pulse faded into stillness.
Only then—red-faced, gasping, trembling—did she finally pull back, a glistening strand snapping from her lips as she collapsed against my thigh. Her chest heaved violently, but the fire in her eyes hadn't dimmed at all.
She licked her lips, messy and breathless, and whispered with a hoarse little laugh,
"See, Sosuke…? I'm not a coward anymore."