File 139935282052.jpg - (265.66KB, 849x972, aya is love.jpg) [iqdb] No. 35076
Just some practice. Haven't done anything /at/ in a while. ---
Aya Shameimaru had never been a patient one. Always running around on her whims, she usually got what she wants – and fast. And yet here she was, kneeling on the covered mats of a single story home, her back erect. The reporter rested her thighs on her lower legs, twitching with impatience. Only the scribbling of pen on paper broke the silence in the night, a meticulous report to be written to the higher-ups. A man was to write that report, a human to be exact. And the human had no qualms about writing it. It was just Aya that was annoyed.
“Sit.” The human didn’t even turn around from his chair. Aya, who had attempted to sneak in through the window, shamefully tucked her knees on the mats and hung her head. The man was not to be bothered during work – she knew that. But she wanted to hunt him – to catch him unaware. Aya was the fastest, not so much the sneakiest. Who knew that the large, glass window would creak when opened? Certainly not Aya. She scooted closer to the human.
“Wait.” The human, still focused on his work, commanded Aya to her knees again. Aya pouted, hoping that the man would sneak a look at the tengu and succumb to her womanly charm. Aya needs to be showered with attention, otherwise she’ll whine and complain. She knew this, and so she inched a few centimeters closer. But she did as she was told. She’ll wait. Even though she wasn’t good at it. Was she a dog? But here she was, waiting for her treat, her reward.
She’ll wait. Even though the thoughts of the man’s lips on her neck, his fingers entwined with hers, sent Aya into an unyielding fervor, she’ll wait. Good things come to those who wait. And the tengu, restless as she was, sat down like a good girl.
The man held the pen in his hand, unassuming in its design. A single black crow sat on top of the pen, outstretching its tiny wings. Other than that, the pen was just a pen. He pressed his lips to the crow out of contemplation, but Aya blushed. She had done the same when it was her pen. Aya redirected her attention elsewhere out of her sudden bashfulness. The man’s clothes were, for the most part, traditional tengu attire. A robe of white, save for the dark-red sash that was more of a belt than obi.
Considering how much time he spent with the tengu, it was only natural, Aya mused. Despite all this, he was exclusively her human. And she was exclusively his tengu. She tried not to think too hard about it. Waiting was slightly harder when one was as giddy as a schoolgirl.
The pen clicked shut. She pounced, toppling over the man with eager anticipation. Grinning impishly, Aya rested her head on the man’s shoulder.
“Shall we?” whispered Aya, teasing the man’s lips with hers.
The man balked, shaking his head once. “One moment.” He sidestepped Aya, moving over to the open window and shut it closed. He then slid the blinds down and covered them with the curtains for good measure. The reporter, none too keen about voyeurism, blushed at her mistake. “Now then.”
He didn’t wait another moment. He swept Aya off her legs and threw her on top of the bed, provoking a surprised yelp from the tengu. Two predatory eyes meet Aya’s. Apparently, she was the hunted, not the hunter. She averted her gaze, flustered with desire. But she waited no longer. The tengu pulled her human down into the bed, covers strewn all over the mattress. Soon, the covers were on the floor and her clothes were on the covers. But not his.
Aya, in an almost perverse want, pleaded for him to keep his robe on. He obliged. And then he attacked.
The tengu gasped sharply, shivering at each touch. He guided his hands to her hair, her breasts, her everything. He traced imaginary shapes on her back and nuzzled the side of her neck. Aya, unable to contain herself, succumbed to pleasure. She attempted to restrain her voice but to no avail. She wondered how much sound travels past the walls of this room. But she didn’t have time for any more conjectures. Instead, the man drew her in for a touch of the lips and reached elsewhere, far below the breasts and the stomach.
Aya, unaware of his plans, suddenly found herself clutching the back of his robe. She buried her face in his shoulder to dampen her whimpers. Her face was flushed, her breathing ragged, and her self-dignity gone. She wasn’t usually like this. It must have been the waiting.
Aya glanced at the man. For a moment, their eyes remained in contact. But just for a moment. He responded to her with a series of kisses on her breasts. Her hands, weak from the overwhelming sensation, somehow tightened their grip on his robe.
He moved his lips to where his hands were. Upon contact, Aya completely forgot the quiet of the night and let out a complete, thorough moan. Her sense of tact went under as soon as he did. Her inhibitions disappeared the moment he kissed her lower regions. And her lover did more than just kiss her there.
She felt herself nearing the edge. It became hard to formulate exact thoughts. Instead, varying pitches of “Ah!” echoed around the room. But Aya didn’t notice, too focused on not biting her lip off. Her body convulsed, her moans becoming soundless gasps as he slowed down to let her finish. Her hands moved to the very sheets of the bed, grasping at them until her knuckles her white. With one last exhale, she leaned on her lover’s shoulder.
He pet her head, stroking her hair gently. Aya clung to him, wrinkling the folds of his robe. The entire scene was embarrassing. At least, she thought it was. Her guile may be sharp and her wit may be quick, but Aya was still a romanticist at heart. Though she had finished only a minute ago, the tengu wanted more.
But she waited.
And he rewarded her.
Already he was nibbling at her ears and stroking her bare breasts, greedily wanting more of the tengu. Aya reciprocated by throwing off his robe and granting him rite of passage. He whispered in her ear and she blushed and gawked and stammered.
Until she felt him pressing against her, and then she quieted herself. Save for her scream, which ricocheted off the walls. A hand quickly covered Aya’s mouth. The man, red-faced, whispered in her ear. “I’m glad you’re excited, but I’d like to keep our personal matters private.”
His hot breath against her ear did wonders to her basic survival needs as she forgot to breathe. But only for a second. She recomposed herself and retorted. “As you know, I’m not good at keeping affairs private.”
His look was of puzzlement and Aya quickly wanted to retract her words because of it. But he kissed, he thrusted and all of a sudden her words were the last thing on her mind anymore. He moved inwards and outwards and every time he moved outwards, Aya would beckon. Instead, he pushed her further into the bed’s sheets and gripped her wrists. The tengu was helpless. She could have easily broken free, but then the show would be over and she wouldn’t get what she really wanted. So she was helpless. Not to say that it wasn’t enjoyable; Aya secretly wanted him to push her over and have his way with her. Her unstifled moans at his movements made her desires not so secret anymore. But her needs were still unfulfilled. She, with tears in her eyes, beckoned once more.
The man, caught by her sweet trap, obliged to her demands.
He pulled her close and she bit at his shoulder, grasping at his back and waist, desperate for intimate contact. She cried for mercy and squirmed and wanted her lover to continue, though her half-hearted protests said otherwise. Her voice was weak when she resisted and yet so strong when she gave in to her own passion. Despite her verbal rebukes, she did nothing but hold his shoulders and clench her teeth to prevent the whole neighborhood from barging in. Not that it wasn’t loud. Because it was.
Aya whined at the slightest change in angle, panting with undisguised pleasure after every movement made inside of her. The whining only stopped when he kissed her with rough force and brash embarrassment. Aya closed her eyes for the duration. Though unsubtle, though callous, she did not object.
She breaks off the kiss, for she had to breathe. She stared at his eyes. Two resilient brown eyes they were. The more that Aya looked into them, the more womanly she felt. She was still a girl, after all. Staring into her lover’s eyes while making love was the exact sort of thing that she liked. But she wouldn’t dare tell, not even he. He probably knew but didn’t ask, lest he incur Aya’s wrath. He was like that.
She wrapped her legs around her lover, in a fit of whim and desire and feel-goodness. He in return caressed her hips, grunting in warning and keeping himself steady. His pace then quickened, the man desperate for release. Aya took it all in, arching her own back in deep want and bucking slightly in contentment. She had nearly bashed her head against his, but she had luckily missed.
She lay there, gasping for breath. Her lover did the same. She, in the overflowing afterglow, grabbed at him and held him close. “…Mine.”
But he was already dozing by that time.
A rather noisy shuffling of pages woke Aya from her slumber. The covers were mysteriously back on the bed. Still groggy and sore from last night, she rolled over, massaging her stiff shoulder. Probably slept on it wrong. Her hair was disheveled, her back ached, and her heart was aflutter. Throwing on a single shirt, she stood up and sneaked to the man sitting precariously on the creaky, wooden chair. Draping her arms around the man’s shoulders, Aya mumbled a soft good morning.
He tapped his pen on the counter, concentrating on the paper before him. “Tea’s on the counter. I made some if you want it.”
And then she realized. “Did you not finish yesterday?”
“…No,” he gruffly replied. He blushed; he rarely blushed. “I was preoccupied.”
Smiling, she threw herself back on the bed, draping her body with the covers. Tea will have to wait, she thought. There were more pressing matters to attend to. Aya, ever the impatient one, watched him scrawl his scrupulous handwriting.