The two of us slipped into the same cramped, familiar bathroom stall—the one we'd used the day before—its walls exuding a stale mixture of disinfectant and lingering secrets.
My voice was low and teasing as I murmured, "So, take off your clothes?" I anchored her wrist with my hand and leaned in so close that the heat of my breath danced against her ear. I could feel the slight tremble ripple through her body as she shivered and squirmed against my grip.
The atmosphere wasn't scandalously shocking or overly shameful; it was simply a race against time, squeezed into whatever moments we could steal after school before the building sealed up for the night.
"Ah... ok," she murmured, her tone laced with both resignation and anticipation. With her still half-concealed within the stall's dim confines, she began unfastening her clothes, no protest in her actions.
Slowly, I slid my hand beneath the hem of her long skirt, feeling the gentle ripple of fabric as it shifted. I registered the small yet unmistakable cue: she was about to shed her pants. In all our previous encounters, that had been the usual progression—but not today.
"Natsuki, stop," I said, my voice suddenly softer but edged with command.
"Huh?" she replied, puzzled.
"You can keep your bottoms on. Normally I wouldn't mind if you took them off, but… today, I'll handle the rest," I explained with a teasing glint in my eye as I lightly prodded her chest with my finger.
I continued to nudge, coaxing her in a way that blurred the line between gentle teasing and insistent persuasion. The sensations elicited in me were indescribable—a heady mix of excitement and forbidden delight—while in contrast, Natsuki's eyes remained icy and unyielding.
Her voice, cool and edged with disbelief, broke the silence. "What are you going to do once my top is off?"
I circled my finger slowly around her chest and echoed, "What am I going to do with it?" Then, with deliberate slowness, I lifted her blouse just enough to reveal the outline of her uniform and produced a small, suggestive smile.
"How about I show you…" I whispered. I cupped her breasts and gingerly pressed them together to reveal a teasing glimpse of cleavage.
"Wait, what?" Natsuki's face flushed a deep red, her expression a cocktail of confusion and reluctant excitement as she stuttered, "Sandwich what?"
I let my hand drift down to my crotch and allowed her eyes to follow my subtle yet unmistakable signal. Even through my trousers, it was evident the effect of her touch: hard and insistent. The mere thought of her soft, abundant curves had triggered a response unlike any other.
"You must be a pervert. This is a new low, even for you!" she chided, disappointment lacing her tone. Beneath her words, however, I could sense that her arousal was betrayed by the way her eyes sparkled with a hidden, yearning mischief.
"Maybe paizuri isn't common?" I teased, testing the waters.
Her lips twisted in ambiguity. "Huh? Pie?... What?" Her voice wavered as she tried to reconcile my suggestion. I pressed on, explaining in a hushed tone, "It's called paizuri, because you use your boobs to rub. Don't you know?"
"Who cares? That's such a lame word," she snapped, half exasperated.
"Then repeat after me," I insisted, reveling in the playful tension between us.
"Stop saying that every single time!" she protested, already unaccustomed to being coerced by my theatrical insistence.
I couldn't let her resistance hold me back. "Now, say it. I'm going to give you a paizuri with my big boobs. Yes!"
A long pause followed—one pregnant with shock and hesitance. Silently, she absorbed my words, her eyes wide in astonishment. Far from being embarrassed or timid, it was as if she couldn't believe that I was seriously proposing this outrageous new experiment. Her gaze, laden with incredulity, had me questioning if I was losing my mind.
"Eh? Do I sound that dreadful?" I asked, half-amused, half-guilty.
"A pervert is always a pervert. I can't believe you've come up with something so ludicrous."
A beat passed before I heard her murmur, almost inaudibly, "…Did you just compliment me?"
"No, you're not complimenting me!" I retorted, though the playful accusation in her tone was hard to ignore.
"You have to try everything while you're young! So, pull yourself together! Say it!" I commanded softly.
"Then you're not making me say it after all! Shit!" she burst out, frustration mixing with reluctant desire.
Amidst the unexpectedly light atmosphere, Natsuki finally blurted in a desperate tone, "I'll do a paiguri with my big boobs!" When I corrected her with a measured, teasing "No—it's paizuri, not paiguri," she repeated, nearly in tears, "I'll do a paizuri!" Despite everything, there was something innately adorable in her submission.
"Haa... are you really going to take everything off right here?" I murmured, my voice laced with amused incredulity.
"What? Are you wondering if I'm embarrassed?" she scoffed, though I sensed a hint of challenge in her sharply intoned words.
"No, nothing like that. It's just… isn't it repulsive to look at a woman's breasts?" I probed further, unable to fathom her aversion.
"I don't understand that at all," she retorted, clearly bemused by my perspective.
I searched for logic in the common disdain, but couldn't accept it myself—after all, the tactile satisfaction was undeniable. I reasoned, "Guys don't usually have soft, saggy flesh like that, do they?"
"Huh? So that's it?" she asked, eyes narrowing in a mix of disbelief and playful mockery.
"Yeah. To feel them, their look and texture—it might not be everyone's cup of tea, but I swear it's pleasurable to me." I defended my stance, even as Natsuki's face betrayed genuine confusion at why I sought satisfaction in something so often dismissed by society.
Wanting to shift the tide and ignite her passion, I softened my tone and said with a theatrical lilt meant to simulate those adored lines from a handsome manga hero, "There's nothing unclean or shameful about you, Natsuki-san."
I removed my shades with a deliberate flourish and leaned in closer, whispering each word as if it held a secret magic. There was a moment, fragile and charged, when she locked eyes with me. Her breath caught, and her gaze darted away, as if she were wrestling with emotions too raw to display.
Not allowing her to retreat, I gently raised my chin, forcing our eyes to meet once more. "Right? Dive deep into what lies within, Natsuki-san. I know there's beauty hidden in your heart."
It was the kind of seductive language that only a man teetering on the edge of passion might dare use, and surprisingly, she softened, almost whispering, "…Uh, yeah. Okay… I'll try…"
Slowly, she began to undo the buttons on her uniform, her motions hesitant but laden with anticipation. I silently thanked the whimsical fate, as her plain white T-shirt revealed the outline of a black bra underneath.
When she lifted the garment away, her breasts and the delicate straps of her bra shifted in a way that made the removal seem almost choreographed. Natsuki had nearly freed herself from her clothes when she abruptly halted, turning sharply toward me with a voice half-irate, half-pleading.
"Ugh... just take it off. Be careful—it'll break," she warned, gesturing at the delicate hook on the front of her bra.
"The front?" I echoed, eyes flickering to the small silver clasp.
"That hook there, it's a front hook! Don't force it—someone told me to always wear a matching set, so I got this expensive one!" she exclaimed, a mix of exasperation and pride in her tone.
"Oh, yes," I responded, the politeness slipping naturally into my speech—a formality I reserved even in moments like this. I approached her chest with reverence, my fingers gently placed on the tiny hook, carefully working to unfasten it, all the while absorbing the tension that pulsed between us.
"Hmmmm…" I murmured, a soft sound accompanying my deliberate, tender movements.
"Unhook it slowly, please. Don't break it!" Natsuki's voice, edged with a mixture of caution and affection, urged me on. With patient precision, I released the hook, and in that instant, her ample breasts were freed—the sound of the hook snapping off mingling with the soft rustle of fabric. "Bang," seemed to echo in my ears as her magnificent curves revealed themselves in full display.
"They're so… big," I said, unable to hide the polite admiration in my tone as I took in every detail: the delicate pink dots on flawless white skin, the gentle swell beneath her skin. Perhaps it was the intensity of my gaze, or the vulnerability of the moment, but Natsuki suddenly clasped her hands over her chest.
"Ugh. I know you're… um, praising me," she muttered, a shy admission laced with a tinge of embarrassment.
Unsure if that compliment was sufficient, I tried again, more simply this time. "Awesome."
A slight twitch betrayed her inner conflict as she responded, "Awesome…"
"Uh, yeah… thanks," she murmured softly, her hands loosening their protective hold.
"Awesome," I repeated, each syllable measured and sincere.
Finally, Natsuki snapped her head back as if to reassert control. "Okay! That's enough! Thanks!" she declared, shaking her head in a mixture of exasperation and playfulness. It was clear that she had long since resigned herself to exposing herself for my pleasure—and perhaps, deep down, even curious if others would dare to ask for the same.
I couldn't help but laugh softly. "Just don't go around asking every girl to show you their breasts, or try to shuffle something between their legs," I warned lightly.
"Psychic?" she teased, skepticism dancing in her eyes.
"Look at your face—it says it all," I retorted, then added, "But seriously, if a man wants to touch a woman's breasts, society will always label him a pervert. So, don't cross that line lightly."
Even as I spoke these words, I marveled at the absurdity. "Is it okay if I ask you, Natsuki-san?" I ventured, a tentative hope that perhaps she would indulge my whims a little longer.
Her eyes darted around as if torn, and she admitted, "We're sex friends after all… but this might be pushing it a bit. I mean, sexual preference isn't just a man's playground." Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose as she admitted these words, making the moment all the more precious.
I offered her a gentle smile. "Then next time, if there's something you really want to try, promise me you'll tell me. I'll do my best."
She gasped, surprise evident in her widened eyes. "Huh!?" There was a nervous energy in the way she spoke now—a jittery excitement that made my skin tingle.
"Did I say something odd?" she queried, searching my features for any sign of jest.
"Well… if you're saying you want me to feel something…" I teased, recalling how, in the early days of our curious bond, such phrases were intoxicatingly honest.
"Anything you want?" she asked, the challenge in her tone light yet sincere.
"When you say that, it makes me want to defend my honor… so what exactly do you want me to do?" I pressed, a smirk ghosting across my lips.
"Um… do I decide now?" she inquired, pushing our conversation to a thrilling edge.
"Just think it over. A man always stands by his word," I declared, my tone as steady as it was provocative.
She arched an eyebrow and countered, "And what about a woman's word?" The playful banter filled the confined space, our dialogue becoming as fluid and unpredictable as our desires.
"Alright then… that's enough for now," I said as I returned my gaze to her stunning, uncovered, pure white bosom. "It's been… nice chatting."
"Who are you talking to, you idiot!" she snapped, half-laughing, half-scolding.
"I was just teasing," I replied, the humor in my tone softening the seriousness of our intimacy.
"You're serious," she observed quietly, returning to her own mind.
Natsuki then repositioned herself on the toilet seat, the lid still in place just as it had been yesterday, subtly offering her exposed breasts with an almost ceremonial grace. "So… how exactly does one do this, a paiguri?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.
"Paizuri," I corrected, my tone firm yet playful.
"A paizuri… what do you mean? How is it done exactly?" Her brow furrowed slightly as she sought clarity.
"Well," I began, recalling my scant experience with the art before, "the woman typically moves very close and uses her body to... rub around." I demonstrated tentatively, "See? Try holding your breasts together with both hands and move them around."
"Okay," she replied, and despite her evident hesitation, she pushed her breasts together into a pronounced, deep cleavage and thrust them forward as if to enact the lesson in real time. The sensation was surreal—a mixture of gentle softness and surprising firmness enveloping me. My reaction was immediate and overwhelming, as the physical intimacy translated into an explosive response that surpassed any previous rehearsal I'd seen in videos or read in texts.
Every thrust, every motion of her sumptuous curves, was a sensory overload—soft, warm, and undeniably intoxicating. My body responded with vigor, a reaction to the raw, almost reckless intensity of our shared moment.
And then, as quickly as the raw performance had begun, reality intruded—the pleasure was indeed magnificent, despite the inherent awkwardness of my suggestion.