The first rays of dawn filtered through the shoji, painting pale gold across the kitchen floor. Aiko and Kenji had finally separated, but only after another slow, whispered round on the counter, her legs trembling as she milked the last drops from him. They cleaned in silence: she wiped the counter with trembling hands, he mopped the floor with a towel, both stealing glances at the other's naked form.
At 5:47 AM they slipped upstairs, separate doors closing with soft clicks. Aiko's heart hammered. *No one can know.* Not the neighbors. Not Hiroshi's weekly video calls. Not even the postman who lingered too long at the gate. This was theirs alone.
She showered quickly, the hot water sluicing away evidence, but not the ache between her thighs. Her pussy still pulsed with aftershocks, swollen and tender, a constant reminder. She dressed in a modest house dress, high neck, long hem, but no bra. Her nipples pressed against the cotton like secrets begging to be told.
Kenji was already in the genkan when she descended, schoolbag slung over one shoulder, pretending to check his phone. "I'll be at the library until evening," he said loudly, for the benefit of any open window. Then, softer, eyes flicking to her lips: "Back door. 11 PM."
She nodded once, throat dry.
The day crawled. Aiko did laundry, folding Hiroshi's stiff shirts with mechanical precision while replaying every thrust in her mind. Her panties were soaked before noon. She changed them twice, hiding the drenched pairs at the bottom of the hamper beneath Kenji's gym clothes, their scents already mingling.
At 3:12 PM the doorbell rang. Mrs. Sato from next door, holding a plate of manju. "Hiroshi-san is away, yes? I thought you might be lonely."
Aiko smiled tightly, accepting the sweets. "Kenji keeps me company."
Mrs. Sato's eyes lingered on Aiko's chest, where the fabric clung damply from the heat. "Such a good son."
The moment the door shut, Aiko sagged against it, fingers slipping beneath her skirt. Just a quick touch, circling her clit through soaked cotton until she bit her lip to silence a moan. *Not yet. Wait for him.*
Evening fell. Kenji texted from the "library":
**K:** *Gate code changed to 0523. Use it.*
**A:** *Understood. Be careful.*
She cooked dinner for one, ate half, then pushed the plate away. Appetite had nothing to do with food anymore.
11:03 PM. The back door slid open without a sound. Kenji stepped inside, hood up, shoes left on the mat. He locked it behind him, then turned, eyes dark with hunger.
No words. Aiko met him halfway, hands already tugging at his belt. They stumbled into the study, Hiroshi's domain, rows of accounting books and a heavy oak desk. The risk made her drip faster.
Kenji lifted her onto the desk, papers scattering. Her dress rode up; no panties tonight. She'd removed them hours ago, pussy bare and glistening in the moonlight. He knelt between her spread thighs, breath ghosting over her slick folds.
"Quiet," he warned, voice a rumble. Then his tongue, slow, deliberate, tracing her from entrance to clit in one long lick. Aiko's head fell back, hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the cry. He ate her like a starving man: lips sucking her clit, tongue plunging deep, lapping up every drop. Her thighs trembled around his ears.
She came in under two minutes, hips bucking silently, juices flooding his mouth. He didn't stop. Fingers joined, two thick digits curling inside her, stroking that spot that made her see stars. Another orgasm, smaller but sharper, her toes curling against his shoulders.
When he stood, cock straining against his jeans, she was already reaching for him. "Inside," she whispered. "Now."
He entered her in one smooth thrust, desk creaking beneath them. Slow again, always slow, each stroke deliberate, stretching her open. Her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking. The angle was perfect; his pubic bone ground against her clit with every roll of his hips.
They moved like that for forty minutes, breath hushed, bodies slick with sweat. Aiko's nails dug into his back through his shirt, leaving crescent marks. When she came again, she buried her face in his neck, teeth sinking into skin to stifle the sound.
Kenji followed moments later, pulling out at the last second. Thick ropes of cum painted her inner thighs, her belly, one spurt landing on the open day-planner marked *Hiroshi – Osaka Call 8 PM*. Aiko watched it drip, a secret signature.
They cleaned with tissues from the drawer, hearts racing. Kenji kissed her once, deep and possessive, then slipped out the back.
Aiko straightened the desk, smoothed the papers, hid the stained planner beneath a stack of receipts. She showered again, legs shaky, pussy still fluttering around nothing.
In bed, she set an alarm for 3 AM. Tomorrow: the laundry room. The garden shed. Every corner of this house would bear their secret.