You’ve learned a few things in life from being a certified book worm, overworked employee and overall tired human being.
But one thing you were not prepared for was the level of freak a quiet, nerdy and unassuming man could be.
The first time you saw Hiromi, you were grabbing lunch for the rest of your work mates and yourself. It was the first time you came to believe that you were, after all, (a) not an asexual and (b) not cursed to die a lonely, unfucked virgin. The first time you saw him could be at least said in simple words a ‘sexual awakening’.
He had been bent over a table at the cafe you were at, tall frame awkwardly folded into that tiny chair like it was trying to swallow him whole, reading glasses slipping down the prominent bridge of his large nose. His short, dark-brown hair was neatly styled back but a few strands had escaped, framing his lightly tanned face. Those brown eyes, small pupils perpetually tired and bored-looking, had lifted slowly to meet yours across the room.
Everything went quiet. Your breath caught hard. His gaze locked on you, heavy-lidded and piercing despite the exhaustion carved into every sharp line of his face: high cheekbones, strong jaw dusted with faint stubble, that elegant, prominent nose that made your stomach flip even as your pussy clenched so violently your thighs snapped together. A molten wave had crashed low in your belly, heat blooming across your dark skin, nipples pebbling painfully against your bra like they’d been pinched. You stared, open-mouthed, shameless, heart hammering so loud you were sure the whole café could hear it, core throbbing with a raw, aching need you’d never known existed. Fuck. You were definitely not asexual.
He sent a small, almost shy smile your way, cheeks tinting the faintest pink across those sharp cheekbones, then ducked his head back to his book.
Weeks passed in stolen glances that grew longer, heavier. Until one rainy afternoon he finally crossed the room, umbrella dripping onto the floor, voice low and steady despite the slight shake in his long fingers.
“I’ve seen you here often,” he said, eyes meeting yours with that same quiet intensity. “I’d like to know your name. If you’re open to it.”
You had given it to him without a second thought . He gave his, Hiromi Higuruma. Numbers were exchanged. Dates came after: quiet dinners where he mostly listened to you ramble about your current interest, long walks where his hand eventually found yours, late-night texts about books and how adaptations were horrible and the small things that kept you both going. Kisses started tentative, his lips warm and careful, then turned greedy, teeth catching, hands learning the weight of your curves with a reverence that slowly sharpened into hunger.
Over coffee one evening, he opened up about his work. Defense attorney, specializing in criminal cases, fighting tooth and nail for clients the system had already condemned. “It’s exhausting,” he’d admitted, rubbing his temple with those long fingers, eyes shadowed. “You see the worst in people, in the courts. Crooked judges, fabricated evidence, innocent lives ground to dust. I’ve lost more than I’ve won, but I keep going back. Someone has to.” His voice had cracked just a fraction, that bored exterior cracking to show the fire underneath, the relentless drive that made him argue cases until his voice went hoarse, pore over files until dawn. It was that intensity that drew you in deeper, the way he could command a courtroom with quiet authority, dismantling lies with precision. Little did you know how that same control would translate here, in the bedroom, where he’d strip you bare and argue your body into submission.
Tonight everything unraveled.
The bedroom glowed dimly from the bedside lamp, shadows sliding over your bare skin. Your clothes lay scattered across the floor like they’d been torn away in a hurry. Hiromi had already stripped his shirt and stood at the foot of the bed for a long, silent moment, suit pants slung low on his narrow hips, belt hanging open. His lean chest rose and fell with slow breaths, thick dark hair scattered across his pecs, narrowing into that thick, filthy happy trail that arrowed straight down and disappeared beneath the waistband, framing the heavy, straining bulge of his cock.
He’d bound your wrists with his silk tie, looped it tight around both hands, pulled the knot firm, then secured it to the headboard so your arms stretched high above you. Your full, heavy breasts were lifted and jiggling with every ragged breath you took, dark nipples already stiff and throbbing in the cool air.
You’re not sure where your mind went but Hiromi now stood directly above you, having climbed onto the mattress so he loomed over your bound body, one knee planted firmly between your thighs while his other leg braced wide outside your hip, using the solid spread of his strong thighs to force your thick legs apart and pin them open against the sheets.
Your thighs were forcefully spread apart and he hovered there, hairy chest brushing the undersides of your breasts with every controlled inhale, large hands gripping the soft meat of your inner thighs. His fingers dug in possessively, spreading you wider, leaving faint marks on your deep brown skin as he held you splayed and helpless. Your dripping cunt was completely exposed beneath him, swollen folds glistening, slick already pooling beneath your ass and soaking the sheets.
He leaned down close, face inches from yours, those tired brown eyes dark and burning now. “Open up,” he said, voice low and commanding.
Your lips parted instantly. He tilted his head and let a thick, slow string of spit fall straight into your waiting mouth. The warm taste of him coated your tongue and you swallowed automatically, a soft moan slipping free as heat surged through your core.
“Good girl,” he murmured, then kissed you deep and filthy, tongue plunging in to chase the taste of himself, claiming every inch of your mouth until you were gasping and dizzy against him.
When he pulled back a thin string of saliva connected your lips for a second before it broke. His gaze dropped to your chest, locking on your dark nipples with raw fascination. He stared like he’d never seen anything more perfect, thumbs brushing over them in slow, reverent circles. “These,” he rasped, voice thick, almost awed, “these dark, perfect peaks. So fucking responsive.” He pinched one gently, then harder, rolling the stiff bud between his fingers until your back arched and a needy whine tore from your throat. He switched to the other, tugging and twisting, mesmerized by the way they darkened further under his touch, the way your body jerked every time he pulled.
You bit your lip hard, teeth sinking in to muffle the moans building in your chest.
Hiromi’s eyes snapped up. “Don’t,” he ordered, thumb pressing firmly against your bottom lip until you released it with a shaky exhale. “I want every sound. No holding back. Let me hear how much you need this.”
You nodded, lips parting as another moan spilled out freely.
He moved lower then, broad shoulders sliding between your thighs, forcing them even wider with the sheer width and power of his frame. His hands gripped your hips, pinning you down as he settled there, face level with your dripping pussy.
He stared for a long moment, thumbs parting your swollen folds slowly, exposing every glistening inch. “Fuck… look at this pretty cunt,” he breathed, voice rough with hunger. “So wet, so swollen for me already.” He dragged one thumb along your slit, collecting slick, then circled your clit with agonizing slowness, watching it throb and jump under his touch.
He leaned in and spat again, thick and deliberate, right onto your clit. The warm impact made your hips jerk, a choked cry ripping free as fresh slick gushed out of you. He watched it slide down your folds, then dragged his tongue through the mess in one long, slow stroke, groaning low against you like the taste was everything he’d been starving for.
His broad shoulders kept your thick thighs pinned wide and trembling as he devoured you, tongue circling your clit ruthlessly, two fingers sliding in to stretch you open, curling against a spot that made your toes curl. He sucked your clit hard, then flicked it with the tip of his tongue, moaning into your pussy every time your walls fluttered around his fingers. Your hips bucked, chasing the edge, breaths coming in short, desperate pants.
But right when the coil in your belly started to tighten unbearably, he pulled away with a wet sound, lips shiny, eyes dark and feral.
“Not yet,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Not until you’re riding me.”
He rose up on his knees between your legs, hands moving to his waistband. He shoved his pants and boxers down in one rough motion, kicking them off the bed. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, flushed dark at the tip, veins prominent along the shaft, a bead of precum glistening at the slit. The sight made your mouth water and your pussy clench empty.
Hiromi wrapped a hand around himself, stroking once, slow, eyes never leaving your face. A faint blush crept up his neck and across his sharp cheekbones, the same shy pink that had shown the first time he met your eyes, but now it looked obscene paired with the hunger in his gaze and the way his chest heaved.
He reached up and untied the silk around your wrists, rubbing the faint red marks gently before pulling you up to sit. “Come here,” he said, voice low and rough. He lay back against the pillows, cock standing proud against his happy trail, and guided you to straddle his hips.
You settled over him, thick thighs bracketing his narrow waist, your slick folds gliding along his length as you positioned yourself. The blunt head nudged your entrance and you froze, suddenly overwhelmed. This was it. You were giving your virginity to him, to Hiromi, the quiet man who’d waited months to even ask your name, who now looked up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. The thought made your chest tight, a mix of nerves and want swirling hot inside you.
He gripped his thick cock to your weeping entrance and you sank down an inch, gasping at the stretch. It burned and ached and felt impossibly full already. Your thighs trembled; you tried to lift and drop again but your rhythm faltered, muscles shaking from the effort and the overwhelming sensation.
Hiromi groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. “Fuck… so tight,” he mumbled, fingers digging into your hips. “So good, baby. Just like that.”
You tried again, but your legs gave a weak quiver and you stilled, doubt creeping in. “I… I don’t know if I can do this right,” you whispered, voice small. “It’s too much, I’m not… I’m probably too heavy or too slow or—”
His hands tightened instantly, thumbs stroking firm circles over your hips. “Stop,” he said, voice sharp but gentle. “Look at me.” You did. His blush had deepened, eyes soft and fierce at the same time. “You’re perfect. Every inch of you. Heavy? Fuck no. You feel like heaven sitting on me. Slow? I want to feel every second of you taking me for the first time. Don’t think. Just let me guide you.”
You swallowed, nodding. He started moving your hips for you, slow rolls that dragged his cock along your walls. “Like this,” he murmured. “Roll into it. Yeah… fuck, just like that.”
You found a tentative rhythm with his help, lifting and sinking, each drop pulling a low moan from him. “God… you’re so wet,” he mumbled against your neck when you leaned forward. “Taking me so deep already. My good girl.”
“It feels… so full,” you breathed, voice shaky. “Hiromi… you’re so big.”
He moaned openly at that, hips bucking up shallowly to meet you. “Yeah? You like how I fill you up?” His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “Keep going. Ride me harder. Let me feel this cunt squeezing my cock.”
You whimpered, picking up speed, thighs burning but the pleasure drowning it out. “Like this?” you asked, voice small and needy.
“Fuck yes,” he groaned, blush spreading to his ears, eyes half-lidded as he watched you move. “Just like that. Ride my cock, baby. Make it yours.”
Your moans mixed with his, soft and broken, words tumbling between you in the dim light. “Feels so good,” you mumbled. “Don’t stop guiding me.”
“Never,” he rasped, hands firm on your hips, helping you grind down harder. “Gonna make you come on me. Gonna fill you up after.”
You rocked faster, the wet sounds of your bodies loud in the quiet room. His low moans grew rougher, more desperate. “Shit… you’re clenching so hard,” he panted. “Can feel you getting tighter. You close?”
You nodded frantically, nails digging into his shoulders. “So close… Hiromi, please… need it.”
“Me too,” he growled, blush burning across his face as he thrust up harder, meeting every roll of your hips. His large hands slid down to grip your ass, fingers sinking deep into the soft, overflowing flesh, kneading and spreading you wider while your tummy pressed soft and warm against his abs with every bounce. The way your curves spilled over his palms, thick and plush and impossible to contain, made him groan louder, hips stuttering. “Fuck… look at you. This ass in my hands, shittt… so fucking perfect. Ride me just like that, baby.”
The pressure built fast, unbearable. Your rhythm stuttered as the first wave hit, walls fluttering wildly around him. “Hiromi—” you cried, voice breaking.
“That’s it,” he groaned, hands gripping your ass to slam you down one last time. “Fuck… coming inside you.” His hips jerked, cock pulsing deep as he spilled hot and thick, moaning your name low and wrecked while you shuddered through your own release, milking him dry.
You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting, slick and sweaty and trembling. His arms wrapped around you immediately, holding you close as the aftershocks rolled through.
After a long moment he tilted your chin up with gentle fingers and kissed you slow, tender, lips lingering like he was savoring the taste of you all over again. When he pulled back his eyes were soft, that faint blush still dusting his cheeks.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, thumb tracing your jaw. “So fucking beautiful. I can’t believe you’re here, like this, with me.”
You smiled, heart swelling, and he pressed another kiss to your forehead before settling back against the pillows, one hand stroking lazy circles over your back.
“You hungry?” he asked quietly, voice still rough from everything. “I can make us something. Or order in. Whatever you want.”
You nodded against his chest, content and boneless. “Maybe in a little bit,” you murmured. “Just… stay like this for now.”
He hummed in agreement, arms tightening around you.
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