270 - Story About Buying My Classmate Once A Week

Chapter 270 Every second feels as though it's stretching on interminably. I’ve confessed my desires, yet Miyagi says nothing. Silence during moments like this isn’t good. The usual rhythm of conversation is disrupted, and the longer Miyagi remains quiet, the more I doubt the accuracy of what I said. I grasp the hand that my lips just lightly brushed against, unsure of whether I should speak. As I hesitantly apply more pressure to her hand, she finally murmurs. "...Move the alligator." "You mean that one?" I glance over at the alligator tissue cover lying neatly on the bed. "It's not like there’s another alligator around," she replies, pulling her hand away. I stand and place the alligator beside the platypus on the floor. "Is this okay?" "It is. Also, close the curtain." "Got it." I pat the alligator, which fails in its role as a tissue cover, and the platypus, which fulfills its purpose, lightly on their heads, then follow her request to close the curtain. The room remains bright with the lights on. "What should I do next?" I ask again, but again Miyagi remains silent, staring intently at the alligator with furrowed brows. That's not the face you make at a time like this. I understand she’s pondering over how to answer my question, yet her expression, which appears almost irritable, doesn’t suit what we’re about to do. Miyagi was the one who said, "I'll do it," so there’s no harm in her wearing a softer expression. "What should I do?" Once more, I pose the question while sitting on the bed. Miyagi turns her unfitting expression toward me and softly speaks. "Take off your clothes." "I don't mind, but just me?" "Only Sendai-san." "You should take yours off too, Miyagi." "I don't want to." It’s always been me undressing. She always aims to undress just me. "At times like this, aren’t both people supposed to undress?" While standing, I gently nudge her foot. "We can do it without getting undressed." "Then doesn’t that mean I don’t have to undress either?" "Sendai-san, you take yours off." She definitively declares. Miyagi retains her right to refuse while I have none. There was a time when she told me to say it if I disliked something, but I know throwing a tantrum here won’t produce any positive outcomes. If I keep contradicting her, she’ll surely say, "That's enough," or decide to return to her room, disappearing from my sight. So, there is only one course of action— I stand up and, just as Miyagi desires, remove my sweater and skirt. "This too." She tugs at my camisole, and I follow by removing that as well. Yet, Miyagi remains unsatisfied. "There’s still more to take off." Hearing the anticipated words, I look at the clothes lying on the floor. Unfolded, they seem excessively messy. It’s impossible not to dwell on what’s about to happen. “Wasn't it just the clothes?” “I don’t remember.” Her blatant lie needs no further argument. “What about Miyagi taking them off for me?” “That's not an option, so do it yourself.” “You helped me last time, didn’t you?” Calling it a penalty game, she marked my body in countless spots, ordering me to strip just like today. Then, when I was down to my underwear, she undid my bra. Today's situation parallels that one. Naturally, she should assist in undressing me. But Miyagi refuses my suggestion. “Do it yourself.” Her voice is steely, and I release a small breath. “Isn’t it about time to turn off the lights?” “Why say that now? This isn’t your first time undressing in the light, is it?” “Well, today feels a bit…” —Embarrassing. No, it’s not that previous times weren’t embarrassing; it’s just different today. The first time I did something like this with Miyagi, it felt like skipping three or four steps at once. Even in subsequent instances, we skipped many steps, rushing forward. Yet today, I’m progressing one step at a time, deliberately. “Sendai-san.” She calls in a muted voice. Unless I voice a refusal, ahead lies the reality both Miyagi and I hope for—a certain future, devoid of ambiguity. I wish to swiftly proceed. Nonetheless, my heart drums loudly. Following the correct steps for a change means my reason, usually melted by passion, remains intact. Miyagi’s insistence on correctness encases my logic, trying to keep it anchored within me. Miyagi's hand touches the strap of my bra. Her fingers press upon it, but the hand doesn't move beyond that. She neither adjusts nor removes it, merely urging me silently with her gaze. Reason, at this moment, is a hindrance. Tasks once simple become daunting. Facing Miyagi, knowing I alone will be exposed, feels daunting. “You're unusually proactive today… Why?” I ask a question with no expectation of a response. I need time to adapt to the new circumstances. “Does it matter why?” “I'm curious.” “No need to be.” “Is there no reason?” “…Even I sometimes want to do things like this.” “Eh?” What did she just say? Words that seemed implausible from Miyagi’s lips reached me. “Miyagi, about what you just—” “Sendai-san, shut up. Hurry up and undress.” I wish to confirm the stunning statement, but her voice—which isn’t quite pleased or displeased—cuts me off. Inevitably, I can only reply with a faint “Alright”. With my breath shallow, avoiding her eyes, I unfasten my bra. “Is this okay?” Though she doesn’t reply, I sense her gaze fixed on my bare chest. She seldom hesitates in such moments. “...Could you not stare so much?” Dropping my bra onto the pile of garments at my feet, I avoid her gaze, pressing myself against her. “I want to look.” Her hand presses on my shoulder, slightly pushing us apart, and I tighten my arms around her. “Why do you want to look?” “Because you’re beautiful, Sendai-san.” “I've eaten too much; my stomach’s sticking out. I’m not beautiful.” “Sendai-san, you’re always beautiful.” It's only at times like this that Miyagi will casually comment on my beauty, so I really don't understand her. Normally, she doesn’t offer such compliments and would just brush it off like it’s no big deal. However, being praised by Miyagi isn’t an unpleasant experience, and it causes my cheeks to flush. “…Thank you.” As I quietly respond, Miyagi’s hand caresses my waist, sliding smoothly until it touches the last piece of fabric I’m wearing, causing me to break away. Both top and bottom, everything— taking if off and showing it all to Miyagi might cause my heart to shatter. "Miyagi, this string is getting in the way. Can't you just take it off?" I tug at the drawstring of her hoodie, trying to deflect my embarrassment, and Miyagi's expression unmistakably darkens. "No." "You’ve undressed me this much, so can't you make at least a small concession?" I tug the string once more, and she reluctantly shrugs off her hoodie. As a spur-of-the-moment gesture, I grab the hem of her T-shirt, suggesting, "Why not take this off too?" Her response comes low and firm. "I said just the hoodie. Now, Sendai-san, lie down quietly on the bed." Miyagi lightly nudges my ankle. With resignation, I lift the covers and sit on the bed, and without a word, the lights go out. "...It's still pretty bright," Miyagi notes with apparent dissatisfaction. "True, it’s bright outside," I reply. Despite the curtains claiming to block out external light, the room remains dim rather than pitch-black. Light seeps through the gaps, casting a faint glow. Thus, I'm still shy, even if her gaze no longer meets mine. There have been times when Miyagi blindfolded me to avoid being seen, despite her not being the one being touched. Tonight, she remains silent, refraining from asking for a towel to cover my eyes. With the towel blocking my vision, even if Miyagi was watching me, my embarrassment would be lost in the darkness. But she silently approaches and gently pushes me down onto the bed. "Can I kiss you?" she asks quietly, brushing her fingers over my lips. Rather than saying yes, I press my lips to hers, and she firmly pins my shoulders down into the mattress. "I said I’m taking the lead here." Her determination evident, I reach for her cheek. Closing my eyes, I feel something soft graze my lips. Once, twice. She kisses me fleetingly, nibbling my ear with tenderness unlike her usual assertive force. I could feel Miyagi's body heat through my earlobe, and it felt good. Something warm presses against my ear, making it wet. Her breath, audible in the silence, sends a tingle down my neck. "Miyagi, it tickles." "You don't like it?" "It's not that I dislike it." "Then it’s fine, isn’t it?" She moves from my ear to my neck, biting softly. Her teeth sink in, neither too gently nor harshly. The feeling of her soft lips and hard teeth makes it hard to tell whether I'm feeling pleasure or pain. If she's going to be kind to me she should just keep being kind, but it would be troubling if she suddenly reverted to her usual self. I don't understand the point of her being so gentle with me. I grip her T-shirt as firmly as her teeth bite down on my neck. I wish she'd just remove it. The clothes that Miyagi wears feel like walls between us. She accepts me, yet hasn’t given me everything. Though I don’t demand that she becomes mine once I’ve given myself to her, I wish she'd permit more. "Miyagi." Upon my soft call, her teeth withdraw, and a kiss lands on the indented mark, followed by a fleeting trace of her tongue. "Can you take this off?" I tug at her T-shirt enough to stretch it. "No." Her retort is succinct as she presses her lips to my neck once more. She repeatedly kisses the same spot beneath my collarbone. Brushing her shoulder through the T-shirt, I ponder how much time must pass before she's willing to shed her clothes. Wondering if I might touch the spots she's marked, I move my hand only to have my wrist captured and placed on the bed—pinned as if in admonishment. My hands find themselves at a loss, clutching and releasing the sheets as Miyagi meticulously adorns me with tender marks. Where my neck and shoulders meet, slightly above my chest—each spot she claims cascades me in Miyagi's warmth. The minor sting and the heat of her lips shatter the layers of restraint that once held my reason. I reach out to comb through Miyagi’s soft hair, the sleekness pleasant under my fingertips. Upon lightly pulling at the strands wrapped around my fingers, Miyagi looks up. "Can I touch you?" The question is quiet but deliberate. "Where?" "Here." With her eyes still on me, Miyagi slides her fingertips and presses them tightly against the tip of my breast. —But she's already touching me. Simple words escape me. Her touch—a touch to a place unfamiliar even to myself—awakens parts of me, causing me to seize her hand clumsily. Beneath the dim light, my world turns a dull monochrome, yet I see her face as she must see mine — a shared visibility that ties an invisible thread of vulnerability between us. My body tenses up in strange places. What is correct becomes a muddled path, as I find myself strangely conscious of Miyagi. "Sendai-san, I want to touch you," Miyagi quietly insists. I know that she is treating me well in her own way. Her effort to care, her delicate inquiries, seem earnest. Still, some things are best left unsaid. "No need to ask everything. Just do what you want, Miyagi." "Why shouldn’t I ask?" "Because it’s embarrassing to answer." "But you always seemed indifferent to it." "I’m not. I’ve always been embarrassed. So stop asking, just do as you like—I won't stop you." "Can I touch you anywhere?" "Yes." In my soft admission, our eyes meet. In the dark room, Miyagi’s eyes appear even deeper. Her hair, I decide, is a nuisance at a time like this. While I don't really want to be looked at, I wish to see her clearly. I push her hair back behind her ear. As I caress her cheek and call her name, Miyagi’s hand sticks beneath my collarbone, brushing over my skin until it covers my chest. My consciousness is focused on one point. I feel something hard against Miyagi's palm, and I almost stop breathing. On my neck, a warmth presses down, lips drawing downwards. Her hand moves purposefully, assuredly, as I grasp her clothes again. Did it always feel this good? Her actions mirror those from before, yet today feels profoundly different. Those past encounters fade like whispers, and though I replay them endlessly, I can't remember clearly. I thought I remembered all the times Miyagi touched me, and I touched Miyagi, but I can't find them—a consequence of mixing my fabricated memories with my real ones. The Miyagi I fabricated interlaces with the reality before me. “Sendai-san.” I gasp as I hear her voice next to my ear. Miyagi's fingertips stroke the center of my chest. She presses hard on that spot, which is clearly changing, and my body flinches involuntarily. My breath trembles as it passes my lips. "Wait." Miyagi disregards my plea. Her lips touch the tip of my breast. She gently licks, like a grooming cat, then bites down. "Ah—" I let out a sound and bite my lips. In the past, despite embarrassment, I'd manage, but not this time. If it means being touched by Miyagi, then letting her hear my voice should be acceptable, yet right now, I don't want to. I want to solidify the reason I once wished to melt away and tether it deep within me. If it vanishes entirely, I can't predict what will become of me. Her tongue presses against me, and her teeth latch on. Sucked strongly, I inadvertently grasp Miyagi's shoulder. "W-wait a minute." Though it's not something forbidden and certainly something I wanted, my emotions can't keep up. My breathing grows shallow—inhale, exhale, inhale—consciously trying to steady it. The reason, now stripped of its coatings, begins to liquefy and is utterly useless. "Miyagi." A scratchy voice emerges, and I bite my lips once more. I don't want to make any sound, yet I want to stop her. "Stop." She should have heard me, but her lips remain fused to my chest, unwilling to let go. Upon clutching her shoulder tightly, Miyagi finally lifts her face. "... Sendai-san, you said it’s fine to touch anywhere." "I didn't say that licking is okay." A low "liar" escapes her lips as her fingers lazily trace over the spot her lips had recently been. "Miyagi, I said stop." This seems wrong; all my focus converges on the spot Miyagi touches. Each sensation amplifies, multiplying the pleasure. "Why only there?" No answer from Miyagi. Her fingers keep moving, prompting faint sounds to escape my lips. This response is natural to something pleasurable, but my body overreacts. Though longing to engage with Miyagi in such closeness, mere touches on my chest shouldn't be this overwhelming. But even so, the body that has begun reacting won’t heed my will. Heat pulsates deep within. Other places ache for attention. I grab the hand on my chest, forcing it to stop. "Tha-that's enough." "Why?" "Move on." I whisper near her ear. "Move on to what?" "Are you asking that on purpose?" I reposition the clasped hand just below my ribcage, pushing it further downward. Even if what I desire isn’t a must, it’s something I’d relish repeatedly. I wish for countless, unending moments like these with Miyagi. Because this act is outside the bounds of mere roommates. Miyagi, who wants to remain as a roommate, steps beyond to engage in this act, bearing significant importance for me. "... Make me feel even better." My voice is soft but audible enough for Miyagi. Without replying, her hand slips slowly inside my underwear. Though I know what's going on down there, and would rather avoid her seeing my face, I refuse to avert my eyes. If I close them or look away, I won't be able to see Miyagi touching me. Her fingers slide between my legs, going right where I crave them as they start their gentle dance. "Does it feel good?" Her voice, almost a whisper, reaches my ears. "Y-yes." "... Better than when you do it yourself?" My reason, already melted inside me, flows outward, guided by Miyagi’s fingers. What overflows from me stains Miyagi, making the movement of her fingertips smoother. "It's better with you, Miyagi." My words elicit a press of her fingers with intensifying firmness. A voice escapes before I can even bite my lip. As Miyagi's warmth encircles places exclusive to her, I can finally perceive her affection—one she rarely displays openly—despite knowing her heart aligns with mine. This isn’t an act she would do for anyone else, only for me, hence the conviction. "Miyagi." I call, clutching her clothes. Her breathing quickens slightly. Lips press against my neck, and her teeth nip at my ear. My viscous desire overflows, drenching her fingers. This is us showing sides of ourselves that we don't show to anyone else, only to one another. "... Shiori." Our eyes meet as I speak her name, realizing her cheeks are flushed, even if obscured by shadows. "You're cute," I tell her. "No need to say that." "But you’re cute." "Shut up." Miyagi says, and her fingers glide down, then sharply caress back up. My hips nearly jump and I grasp the sheets. As if to loosen my stiff body, her warmth travels downward, halting awkwardly before restarting its course. Her fingers roam, uncertain, as if searching for something or lost. "It’s okay." I pull Miyagi’s arm, reassuring her. "... What is?" Her wandering fingers stop. "You can do what you want, Miyagi." It was the act of entering my body—something I'd never impede. But her fingers remain motionless. "I'm yours, Miyagi. Prove that every part of me belongs to you." "Everything?" "Yes, all of it. Show me that I’m yours completely." A soft breath slips from Miyagi's lips. "Is it really okay?" she asks, as I pull her arm once more. Tentatively, her fingers journey forward, as if she were handling something that would break if she touched it. Miyagi's body heat penetrates into me. The intrusion of something not myself tugs at my being, disrupting my breathing. Inhale, exhale—such a simple thing feels difficult. I meet her gaze. Her expression is difficult to decipher, teetering between concentration and excitement. It's ambiguous. Yet there's no doubt she's watching me, and that fact alone brings joy. The body heat that is not mine continues to move impatiently yet slowly deeper into my body, and my body accepts Miyagi, who should be nothing more than a foreign object, with astonishing ease. Her entrance intermingles us—a recognition of disparity paired with unparalleled proximity. Our boundaries blend but remain distinct: separate, yet entwined. "Miyagi." I confirm by calling her name. Like a stray cat, she entered the vacant sections of my high school life, adapted seamlessly, and in doing so, defined me as myself. Without Miyagi, my existence would likely weave through a monochrome tapestry of superficial smiles. That's why I never want to let go of Miyagi. "Are you okay?" Her voice floats with concern, pulling my gaze back to hers. She averts her eyes, but soon she looks back at me. More clearly than words, I encircle her back, pulling her into an embrace. I don't know which fingers are intertwined within me. But it feels good. That's what I want to tell her. "Am I doing alright?" Her tentative question meets reassurance when I call softly, "Mi-yagi." Good or bad? None of that matters. I'll be fine as long as Miyagi does it. "…More." Do it. Forever. Until I'm broken. That's what I think, but Miyagi, who usually knows no moderation, moves her fingers gently. The part of me intertwined deeply with Miyagi is more honest than I am, clinging tightly to her, expressing the desire to become even more entwined. I want to give even more of myself to Miyagi. I want her to know even more about me. This insatiable greed for Miyagi is overwhelming—wanting her more and more. Meanwhile, her warmth approaches and retreats gradually. The emotions I can’t contain overflow, staining Miyagi. Outside my body, Miyagi's fingertips touch the part of me where nerves gather and become overly sensitive. I can't seem to breathe correctly. My breath is heavy. Inside and out, my body is touched by Miyagi. As I try to express how good it feels by tracing my nails on her back, I'm thwarted by the fact that my nails were trimmed too short. Failing that, like Miyagi did in the past, I bite her neck. Hard, harder—enough to leave a mark forever. "Ow, it hurts," Miyagi murmurs painfully, her hand coming to a stop. Only someone as foolish as Miyagi would focus on leaving marks like this. She should recall what she did when I touched her—biting and scratching. "Fi-finish it already." Whispering into her ear, I gently nibble her earlobe, along with the plumeria earring. When I touch the earring with the tip of my tongue, her fingers press harder. "Sendai-san." Her comforting voice reverberates through me as Miyagi connects deeply with me. I suppress the involuntary movements of my body and plead. "Call my name more." She softly repeats, "Sendai-san". Hazuki. That's what I want her to call me, but I can't spare the energy to say it aloud. Her repeated call of Sendai-san pulls a burning mass from deep within me, the pleasure twisting into longing, urging for release. I clutch Miyagi tightly. Our warmth at the center of my body intertwines intensely. "Shi-ori." A name often called in this bed escapes unconsciously, vanishing into the shadows, and like the alligator slumped on the floor, my body goes limp. In a daze. For several minutes. I catch my breath. From the dim ceiling to Miyagi beside me, I shift my gaze, tugging at her clothing. "Sendai-san, it'll stretch." "If you don’t want it stretched, then hug me." Though it's something I wanted, I let Miyagi have her way. Thus, this small selfishness should be allowed. "... My hands are dirty." "It's okay." "It's not okay. You'll get dirty." "But I’m the one who made the mess, and it’ll just come back to me." After all, my body is already dirtied—sticky and messy and unpleasant. However, since it comes from Miyagi, I have no desire to wipe it away. "But—" I grasp her wrist and kiss her dirty fingertips. "Sendai-san!" "It's fine since it's not Miyagi’s, it's mine." "It's not fine." Miyagi attempts to push me away, her hand landing on my chest. Something slick attaches there, causing Miyagi to utter a surprised "Ah." "Don’t worry about it." I pull her dirty hand closer, and she rests her forehead against my shoulder. "... Hazuki, you’re mine, right?" Hearing my rarely called name, my breath nearly stops. "Yes." I respond as I always do to the often-asked question, but despite being so deeply connected, I can't prove I'm hers completely, which is why she asks so repeatedly. A straightforward declaration that "Sendai Hazuki belongs to Miyagi Shiori" to everyone around us—Utsunomiya, Mio, and others—could quickly establish that bond. If they acknowledged it, their treatment of me would reinforce the fact that Hazuki Sendai belongs to Shiori Miyagi. Recognition cements relationships. However, as mere roommates, such measures are beyond our reach. "Don’t let anyone else see this side of you, Sendai-san." She reverts to her usual way of calling me. "Okay." "Also, you can be with anyone, anywhere, but don’t forget that you’re mine." "Okay." I grip her clothing. The protective covering she is wrapped in. The barrier between us. Repeated actions like these might not be enough to remove it. If I could simply utter "I love you," it might fill the remaining gaps between us, but there's a chance that covering could turn into paper or even steel. "Miyagi, you're cute." Instead of declaring love, I choose words that truthfully describes the scene before me. "Shut up." Her sticky hands press against me. And so, I tighten my grip, ensuring Miyagi doesn’t wander too far away.