Kai stepped off the rattling overnight bus with nothing but a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a permanent ache in his crotch.
Twenty-two years old, six-foot-one of hard labor muscle, and the owner of a cock that had measured nine thick inches since he was seventeen. It wasn't just long; it was heavy, veined, stubborn. Once it got hard, it stayed hard for hours, pumping out precum like a leaky faucet and cum in ropes that could paint a woman's insides white twice over. In the city, that cock had been both a gift and a curse. Cheap hookups took one look, whispered "too big," and vanished. The few who tried couldn't walk straight for days, then ghosted anyway because he had nothing else—no money, no future, no degree.
Just debt, a sick mother, and a nightly ritual of jerking off to MILF porn until his balls ached.
Mature women. Forties, fifties. Soft bellies, heavy swaying tits, fat asses that jiggled when they walked, and married pussies so neglected they dripped the second a real man looked at them. That was his obsession. Housewives whose husbands were always "working late." Lonely teachers who bit their lips when he passed. Widows who smelled like warm skin and desperation.
He wanted to drown in them.
But fantasies didn't pay rent.
So when the scrapyard laid him off and the loan sharks started circling, Kai did the only thing left: he sold everything, pooled the last of his savings, and bought a crumbling old farmhouse sight-unseen in a nowhere village called Hanami. Population: 312, most of them over sixty. No university, no clubs, no nothing.
Just rice fields, cicadas, and an early grave for his sex life.
As the bus coughed away into the darkness, Kai stood at the deserted stop, moonlight glinting off the sweat on his forearms. The air smelled different here—wet earth, jasmine, something sweet and fertile. His cock twitched at the scent like a hunting dog catching wind.
"Get a grip," he muttered, adjusting the monster in his jeans. "You're here to farm, not fuck."
The walk to the house took twenty minutes. Gravel road, wooden fences, the occasional lantern glowing behind paper screens. Every silhouette he passed looked female—curvy, slow-moving, mature. His imagination filled in the details: thick thighs rubbing together under yukata, heavy breasts shifting with every breath.
By the time he reached his new home, his balls were throbbing.
The house was worse than the photos: sagging roof, peeling blue paint, weeds choking the yard. Inside smelled of tatami and neglect. One big room, a kitchenette, a tiny bath. He dropped his bag, stripped to his boxers, and collapsed on the futon.
Sleep wouldn't come.
Outside, the summer night pressed hot and humid against the open windows. Crickets screamed. Somewhere far off, a woman laughed—low, throaty, the kind of laugh that ended in a sigh.
Kai's cock surged against the thin cotton, already leaking.
He gave in. One last jerk-off session before the celibacy began.
Hand wrapped around his shaft, he pictured them all: the big-titted landlady from the real-estate ad, the curvy convenience-store clerk he'd seen on the way in, the widow next door whose silhouette he'd glimpsed hanging laundry—tits like overripe melons swaying under a soaked white shirt.
Stroke. Stroke. Faster.
He was close, balls drawing up, when he heard it.
Soft footsteps on the gravel path. A gentle knock at the genkan.
Kai froze, cock pulsing angrily in his fist, precum dripping over his knuckles.
Who the fuck knocks at two in the morning in the middle of nowhere?
He yanked on his jeans—commando, the denim rough against his wet tip—and stalked to the door, ready to scare off whatever drunk old man had gotten lost.
He slid it open.
And forgot how to breathe.
She was forty-five, maybe forty-eight. Moonlight spilled over her like cream. Long black hair loose and damp from the humidity, silver threads catching the light. A thin indigo yukata clung to every obscene curve: breasts so massive they strained the fabric until the valley between them glistened with sweat, waist nipped in just enough to make her hips flare dramatically, and an ass that curved out like a heart, begging to be grabbed.
In her arms, a lacquered tray with a teapot and two cups.
"Welcome to Hanami, Kai-san," she murmured, voice husky, eyes dropping immediately to the obscene bulge tenting his jeans. Her tongue touched her lower lip. "I'm Reiko. The village headman's wife. I… brought tea. It's so hot tonight, isn't it?"
Behind her, fireflies drifted lazily over the rice fields.
In front of her, Kai's cock throbbed so hard it hurt, a wet spot already blooming through the denim.
He hadn't even lasted one night.
The countryside was going to kill him.
Or save him.