Chapter 5: Chapter 5: The Quiet Ache

The morning sun spilled through Miyu’s curtains, golden light kissing her pale skin. But instead of its usual warmth, she felt heat of a different kind—the phantom touch of Haruto’s hand still lingering between her thighs.

She sat at her vanity, brushing her long black hair with trembling hands. The mirror showed her face, cheeks flushing crimson every time the memory replayed.

His fingers... the way he whispered in my ear...

Her brush slowed, lips parting as a tiny whimper escaped. She pressed her thighs together under the desk, her body instantly reacting with that same dangerous wetness.

"No... stop it..." she whispered to herself, pressing her hands against her burning cheeks. "I-I can’t be like this... I can’t face him today..."

Yet when she thought of avoiding him, her chest ached in a way that was even worse than guilt.

At school, Miyu kept her head low. Her skirt swayed as she walked, but her steps were unsteady. Every time she caught sight of Haruto in the hallway, her heart skipped so hard she thought others might hear it.

He leaned casually against the lockers, chatting with friends, his easy smile infuriatingly confident. When his gaze flicked to hers, just for a second, Miyu’s stomach flipped.

She quickly looked away, clutching her books tighter. Her thighs pressed together under her skirt, her body betraying her again.

Why do I want him to touch me again? she thought, shame tightening in her throat. Why do I... crave it?

Later that afternoon, Miyu sat with her closest friend in the library. They were supposed to be studying for an upcoming exam, but Miyu’s mind was hopelessly elsewhere.

"Are you okay?" her friend asked, tilting her head. "You look... distracted."

Miyu’s pen shook against the notebook. "N-no, I’m fine... just tired."

But as her friend leaned in, Miyu realized how dangerous this was. If anyone noticed her secret, if anyone realized what Haruto had done to her...

Her thighs clenched again. It has to stay hidden. It has to.

And yet—beneath the guilt and fear—her core throbbed with a quiet, aching need. She wanted his hands again. His voice. His heat.

The more she tried to suppress it, the more it grew, filling every corner of her innocent thoughts with something forbidden.

When she finally returned home that evening, Miyu locked herself in her room, sitting on her bed with her knees pulled tight to her chest. Her cardigan slipped down one shoulder as she buried her face in her arms.

"Haruto-san..." she whispered into the silence, her voice trembling with guilt and yearning.

The memory of her orgasm washed over her again—his fingers working her through her soaked panties, her muffled cries buried against his shoulder.

Her hand slid down without permission, trembling as it hovered over her skirt. She gasped, shaking her head furiously.

"N-no... I can’t... I can’t be like this..."

But the craving was already consuming her.

The house was quiet. Miyu lay in bed, the faint hum of cicadas outside her window the only sound. But inside her chest, her heartbeat was thunder.

She had changed into her thin pajamas, the fabric brushing against her bare thighs, making them tingle. She tried to bury herself under the blanket, to sleep—but the memory wouldn’t stop tormenting her.

Haruto’s breath on her ear.

The heat of his hand sliding higher.

The way her body betrayed her, soaking through her panties.

Her face burned. Her small hands clutched the blanket tightly, pressing it against her mouth as she whimpered.

"No... no... I shouldn’t..."

But her body moved without permission. Her knees bent, legs parting just slightly beneath the sheets. The cool air touched the warmth between her thighs, and she shivered.

She pressed her palm there over the thin fabric of her pajama shorts. The heat was shocking—wet, throbbing, shamefully alive.

Her lips parted in a trembling gasp. "Ah..."

Her fingers began to move slowly, hesitantly, rubbing herself through the damp cloth. Her body arched as the pleasure sent sparks up her spine.

"Haruto-san..." she whispered, so softly it was almost a breath. The name spilled from her lips like a prayer she wasn’t supposed to say.

The forbidden thrill made her wetter, her thighs trembling as she finally slid her hand beneath the waistband. Her fingertips brushed against her bare skin—slick, warm, slippery.

She clamped her other hand over her mouth, muffling the cry that escaped.

Her pussy was so wet she could hear it when she spread herself open. It made her body jolt with shame. Am I... really this dirty?

But the shame melted into need. Her fingers slid in circles around her sensitive bud, her hips rolling against her own touch.

Images of Haruto flooded her mind.

Him holding her against the wall.

His lips pressing down on her neck.

The way he looked at her like he knew every secret she tried to hide.

"Mmnnhh... H-Haruto-san...!" she whimpered into her blanket.

Her legs kicked, toes curling as she rubbed faster, chasing the same dizzying rush she’d felt when he touched her.

She imagined his cock pressing against her, imagined him pushing her down, whispering filthy things in her ear.

Her fingers worked desperately, her whole body trembling. "Nnnhhh... I... I can’t... I-I’m gonna—"

With a muffled cry, her back arched hard off the bed. Her pussy clenched around her fingers, dripping wetness as her orgasm surged through her in waves.

She thrashed silently under the sheets, biting the blanket so no one would hear her as pleasure consumed her small frame.

When it was over, Miyu lay panting, her body weak and sweaty, thighs sticky with shame. Her hand slipped out from under the waistband, trembling as if she’d just committed a crime.

She stared at the ceiling with wide eyes, chest rising and falling.

"I... I touched myself... like that..." she whispered shakily.

But the worst part was the truth she couldn’t deny—her heart was still racing, her pussy still throbbing.

And she knew, deep down, she’d want to do it again.

The cicadas were loud that morning, but Miyu’s head was louder.

Her body still felt heavy, as though the memory of last night’s trembling climax hadn’t left her. She walked down the rural road to school clutching her bag to her chest, her face hot even in the cool morning breeze.

I... I touched myself... thinking of him...

Every step felt like she was carrying a secret too big to hide.

And then she saw him.

Haruto was waiting by the school gates, talking casually with another classmate. The way the sunlight caught his hair, the easy smile on his face—it made her heart pound so violently she almost turned and ran.

But he noticed her.

"Miyu! Morning." His smile widened as he waved.

Her knees nearly buckled. Just the sound of his voice made her thighs tighten together, the phantom ache of last night returning.

She clutched her bag tighter and forced a smile. "G-Good morning, Haruto-san..."

All through homeroom, she couldn’t focus. Every time Haruto leaned back in his chair, every time he stretched his arms, every time his eyes flickered in her direction, Miyu’s chest burned with guilt and desire.

Her thighs pressed together under the desk. The memory of her wet fingers made her squirm in her seat. She lowered her head, letting her long hair hide her expression.

Stop it... stop thinking like that... He’ll know. He’ll see it in my face.

But when Haruto leaned closer during group work, his arm brushing against hers, she gasped softly.

He tilted his head. "Hmm? You okay? You look kind of red."

Her heart dropped. Her voice broke in panic. "N-No! I-I’m fine! R-Really!"

Haruto chuckled softly, leaning back again, but the warmth of his closeness lingered on her skin like a burn.

At lunch, Miyu sat with her friends, but her eyes betrayed her—always sneaking toward him. Every bite of rice tasted of last night’s moans, every laugh of her classmates muffled under the pounding in her ears.

She bit her lip, remembering the slick sound of her pussy under her fingers, the way she whispered his name into her pillow.

And now he sat just a few tables away, sipping casually from his water bottle, completely unaware that Miyu was dying inside.

If he knew... If he found out what I did... He’d think I’m disgusting.

Her chest squeezed painfully. She lowered her gaze, cheeks burning.

But at the same time, another voice whispered from deep within her, the same voice that made her hand move last night:

What if he wouldn’t hate me at all? What if... he wanted it too?

When the final bell rang, Miyu lingered by the shoe lockers, hoping to avoid him. But fate betrayed her.

"Heading home, Miyu?" Haruto’s voice came from behind her.

She froze, clutching her bag so tight her knuckles went white. Slowly, she turned, forcing a smile that trembled at the edges.

"Y-Yes... um... you too, Haruto-san?"

"Yeah," he said with that easy grin. "Want to walk together?"

Her chest thudded. She wanted to say no. She wanted to run away. But the words never came.

Instead, she nodded. "...Okay."

And as they stepped out into the golden glow of sunset together, Miyu’s secret burned hotter than ever—hidden behind her downcast eyes and trembling hands.

Her guilty desire had only just begun.