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Atsumu held the opinion that art degrees were mostly a joke. Further, graduate art degrees bordered on hilarious. But the scholarship, stipend, and opportunity to get free studio space time were all too enticing. Maybe another art degree was a joke that she was laughing along to, or she was having an early onset midlife crisis – the reason she was here didn’t matter now. Especially not when she was enjoying it. In particular, she adored the open, airy space she was given to paint to her heart’s desire. The students in the Introduction to Studio Painting class she was an assistant professor for adoring her was a bonus, too. No, she didn’t want to be a professor. Yes, it was sometimes fun to teach what she knew and help younger artists improve. These were all just technicalities while she tried to figure her shit out in a world that no longer values art. This fact made her cranky just to think about.
That’s why her Advanced Studio Painting class was such a pain in the ass. The professor was a stickler and criticized nearly everything Atsumu did. Her hard-ass, traditional style made Atsumu wonder if she deserved to be here. With little space to be creative, Atsumu failed and failed to impress her, but she was determined to do it this week. This week, the gauntlet included typical fare. Something Atsumu had done dozens of times. A common practice in the art world. Simple , really. People had been doing this work for thousands of years at this point.
Creating a nude painting.
Many would feel most flustered by the nude part of the assignment, but Atsumu was angrier about being forced to work with oil paints. She hated working with them; they never moved fast enough for her. They couldn’t keep up with her racing thoughts. She was prone to scraping the paint away before it dried and starting over, over and over again, until she exhausted herself so much that she abandoned the project.
Oh, and identifying a person who was willing to undress and sit there for hours while they both quite literally waited for paint to dry was also going to be hard.
It’s why she was posted up in her college town cafe, lavender latte long gone and sketch pad filled with abstract doodles of pigeons, ferns, and espresso cups filled with jellybeans. Nobody interesting had come in yet. With her cheek in her hand, she despaired.
It was a wild idea to begin with, showing up here to ask a stranger to let her paint them naked. While the university typically had models available for the students, Atsumu’s annoying professor had mentioned something about ‘ building intimacy with the subjects ’ and ‘ preparing for the real world ,’ and thus banned the use of the preapproved models. She rolled her eyes just thinking about it.
It was 7:15 PM now, and the cafe would close soon, so Atsumu started packing up. But then, oh – then .
The most beautiful woman she’d ever seen walked in, ordered a strawberry matcha, and made a beeline for the door when it was handed to her.
Atsumu raced, tripping after her and nearly knocking her over.
“Hey! Watch where you’re-”
“Hi, I’m Atsumu, yer so beautiful, will ya be my model?”
Both stood, silent and awkward, outside the coffee shop. The other woman blinked her brown eyes at Atsumu, wide and doe-like, and Atsumu recognized that she was probably interested in her for more than just artistic purposes. Tomato, tomato .
She pulled down her black mask to sip through her straw and let the uncomfortable seconds draw out. Atsumu chewed on the inside of her cheek, feeling her bag strap slip down her shoulder.
“Kiyoomi. What kind of art?” She asked after she had swallowed, and Atsumu watched the line of her elegant throat.
Atsumu ran her fingers through her hair, taking the opportunity to right the strap of her bag. “Uh, an oil painting. Nude.” She rushed to apologize, “Sorry, this is crazy. I…don’t mean to creep ya out, I just need a model for it. One who looks like you, I guess.”
“Nude painting, huh?” Kiyoomi hummed, gaze steadfast and analytical. “What do I get out of it?”
“Well, normally they pay the models, but we’re not allowed to use the list from the university, so I guess I could pay ya from my stipend…? Uh, also, ya could keep the painting, if ya wanted.”
Kiyoomi snorted. “Why would I want a nude painting of myself?” Atsumu felt herself growing redder in the face. Okay, it was definitely not the most enticing deal.
“Well, then let me pay ya, and ya literally just have to sit there,” Atsumu offered. “Easy money. Yer a student, right?”
“Mhmm.” Kiyoomi pushed a stunning corkscrew curl from her face. Her hair was black and shiny, and her eyes blended in with the darkening sky. She would be the perfect model for what Atsumu was envisioning: Eve, with her apple, perched over the source of her sin. Kiyoomi’s plump lips, pale skin, and lush curves just screamed the level of enticing innocence she needed. “How explicit will it be?” She asked.
“Oh, no, it’s not like…sexual or anything,” she explained with a sense of urgency.
“Then what’s the point?” The other woman frowned, letting her hip pop to the side.
Atsumu gulped. She certainly hadn’t been expecting that sort of response, but Kiyoomi was already proving to be a wild card. “Well, yer so beautiful and…” she trailed off, blushing. “Why don’t ya just come to my studio tomorrow, and ya can see what’s up?”
“Okay, sure.” Kiyoomi’s smile was so slight that Atsumu could barely see it, but the slivers of rising moonlight cast enough of a shadow to reveal the upward quirk in her lip. They exchanged numbers, and Atsumu walked back to her apartment with a buzz she hadn’t felt in a damn long time.
The next morning was dewy as she headed to the studio, chugging a Red Bull after a long night of masturbating to get all of this want out of her system. She’d pictured Kiyoomi’s dark eyes, and the way her soft stomach would crease so tenderly when she leaned forward, wearing nothing but the laurel leaves Atsumu would provide. The image had haunted her all night, so she’d stayed up and dealt with it. Professionalism at its finest.
Kiyoomi was waiting for her by the time she arrived, clad in sweatshorts and a matching hoodie. She looked cute like this, looking at Atsumu expectantly, but Atsumu was convinced it would be impossible for her to be anything but stunning.
“Mornin’, Omi!” Atsumu greeted with a grin.
“Don’t call me that,” she hissed in return.
“Right,” Atsumu replied with a grimace, “well, c’mon in!”
Her studio space was her absolute favorite part of the whole experience. Tucked into the back of one of the art buildings, it was quiet, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a worn hardwood floor. The paint on the walls was only slightly chipped, and splatters of all colors made up for the bald patches. There were iron stools and easels and canvases stacked for her sole use, and various props passed down from the grad students before her leaned against the walls. It was great, really; she could turn on her music and get to work, falling into the familiar routine of creating with nobody breathing down her neck or disturbing her. It was a far cry from Advanced Studio Painting , where the evil eyes of judgment were always cast upon her.
Kiyoomi dropped her backpack and took in the sight in. Her arms were crossed as she observed the space, expression was unreadable. It made Atsumu nervous, so she got to work setting up her paints and easel. “Make yourself comfortable,” she called with a smile, though it bordered on a grimace.
Kiyoomi strode closer, gaze now entirely focused on Atsumu. “So when do I take off my clothes?”
Atsumu dropped her paint. She watched the open tube fall to the ground, and the thick splatter of green began to stain the ground.
“That’s a mess,” Kiyoomi commented.
“Ya wanna do it?!” Atsumu exclaimed. Her heart raced in her chest, both with excitement to see her body and anxiety about actually pulling through on the task at hand.
“Sure,” Kiyoomi said, sitting down on a spare stool. “Are you going to answer my question now?”
“Ah, right.” Atsumu hurriedly swiped at the paint on the ground with a spare rag. It was useless – the hardwood floor would now permanently be olive. “There’s a privacy screen over there. And I’ll get set up! Give me, like, 10 minutes, if you need to do anything beforehand.” She began the frantic scuttling, but noticed Kiyoomi shrug and head behind the screen. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead at the soft plop of fabric hitting the ground. Her mouth was going dry, and her stomach was going tight. Jesus , she thought, this is going to be a fucking mess .
As Kiyoomi left the screen, Atsumu realized she had made the worst possible decision for a project she already hated for a class she utterly despised. Kiyoomi, with her long black curls draped down her back, pale skin all but glowing in the morning sun filtering through the windows, and soft curves that made Atsumu’s mouth water, was going to destroy what little was left of her focus. She forced herself to only look at Kiyoomi’s face; anywhere else would open the floodgates in a way that would sweep her into the throes of madness.
“Thanks,” she said, stilted, “ya can just, um, sit right there. I’ll grab the props.” Atsumu turned her red face away, reaching for the fake laurel leaves, the styrofoam apple she’d bitten a chunk out of (she thought she still had flecks in her mouth), and the rubber snake to drape around her shoulders. “Can I touch ya? For posing, and stuff.”
Kiyoomi looked up at her, deep brown eyes so doelike and innocent. She was just what Atsumu was dreaming about: a pure creature who’d lost her way. Atsumu could think of many sins she would like to commit.
She licked her lips. “Sure. Use your artistic vision, or whatever.”
“Right,” Atsumu let out a breath. She set about posing Kiyoomi on the stool, wrapping the snake over her shoulders, the apple in her fallen wrist, and the laurels…well, the laurels went over the tufts of pubic hair. A little curly, of course. Was she sweating through her shirt? She was starting to understand why all those artists before her fell in love with their models and cut their ears off. “Looks good,” she said, averting her eyes.
“You’re not looking at me.”
Atsumu looked up, finding Kiyoomi’s dark eyes focused entirely on her, lips wet from her saliva, and the glow of unapologetic beauty spread across her face.
“How are you supposed to know if it’s good if you’re not looking at me?” Kiyoomi sighed, leaning forward. It was that moment that made Atsumu crack and follow the call of her crotch. She finally looked down: down at the heavy breasts complemented by soft pink nipples, the freckles all over her stomach, and the soft deposits of flesh on her stomach and thighs that made her body worth original sin. She swiped a hand across her face.
“Yer totally right!” Atsumu laughed, too forced and high-pitched. Kiyoomi’s brows furrowed, and her lips pursed. “Can ya cross yer ankles and lean forward again? Yeah, just like that. A little primal, yeah? Looks fuckin’ amazing, Omi.”
“Omi,” Kiyoomi repeated, slow and savoring, testing out the feeling on her lips. “Do you always come up with nicknames for your models?”
“Ha, no,” Atsumu snorted. The question made her loosen up a fraction while she remembered all the prior models she’d painted before. The open call for university art programs, particularly the nude ones, usually drew in an interesting crowd. So , “I usually use my sister or our friends, and they’ve all already mostly got nicknames.”
Kiyoomi was incredulous. “You paint your sister nude?”
Atsumu choked. “Oh, fuck no! I mean, we’ve got the same body bein’ twins and all, but hell nah. I just use the university models for the nude shit. Well, ‘sides now, of course. For other stuff I just ask my friends, or my sister, an’ her girlfriend.”
“Twins, huh?” She mused. Atsumu felt the weight of her eyes on her as she began to sketch on the canvas. “Is the branch in the right spot?”
She glanced down at the leaves. They looked like they’d shifted slightly, moved into a position that did nothing to provide the suggestion of modesty Atsumu was going for.
“No,” she sighed, running shaking fingers through her hair, “can ya put ‘em back over?” Kiyoomi pouted, pink lips plump while she fiddled with the leaves for a few moments, and failed to reposition them correctly. “Here, let me help.”
Blushing vibrant red, Atsumu passed her canvas and crouched in front of the stool. She took hold of the stem of the fake leaves, and then was punched in the gut by Kiyoomi’s moving legs. As if trying to stretch her hips, she spread her thighs open into a clamshell shape. Nothing was left to the imagination now. Her pussy lips were pink and dusted with dark hair, and her inner thighs had pinkish lines to demonstrate their fullness. Atsumu was caught, paused, and holding the branch. She couldn’t help the way her lips parted and eyes stared at the place she desperately wanted to touch, all while Kiyoomi looked down on her.
“Sorry, I just–”
“Why don’t you put it here?” Kiyoomi asked, voice demanding with the tender edge of desire, as she took Atsumu's free hand and placed it over her crotch. She angled Atsumu’s palm down over her clit, and pressed it down. A shudder wracked her body.
“ Omi ,” Atsumu breathed in wonder.
A delighted hum left Kiyoomi’s lips as she ground against it, dropping the apple and pulling the rubber snake from her shoulders. “This isn’t about art, Ah…Atsumu ,” she said, accenting her name with a whine.
Atsumu dug her fingers into the soft hair. “ Fuck .” Her heart raced to support the blood rushing to her crotch with the realization that this was happening. “ Fuck , Omi, did ya come here just to fuck me?”
“The other way around,” Kiyoomi whined on a particularly hard grind. Atsumu flipped her hand around to let her middle finger glide and rub through her folds, already slick and shiny, while her palm still pressed against Kiyoomi’s swelling clit. “I want you to fuck me . Mmmhhh… ” With her eyes closed and head thrown back, she looked like a goddess. The slow undulation of her hips became more frantic, and the tilt turned upwards. Without even trying, Atsumu’s finger slipped into her at just the right angle, and both of them gasped. Her cunt was tight, warm, and wet; Atsumu’s mouth watered, and her finger stroked upwards.
“Comin’ all the way over here to get naked in front’a me with an ulterior motive, huh, Omi?” She taunted, watching the other woman’s eyes snap down to her. She frowned, threading her fingers through Atsumu’s short hair, and guided her face closer to her crotch. Who was Atsumu to resist? She withdrew her palm to wrap her lips around her clit.
“ Ahh… you asked…how to compensate me…” Kiyoomi said between little stilted gasps and moans, “This is it.”
Atsumu moaned openly this time, head swimming from where she looked up at Kiyoomi. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, eyebrows screwed together, and mouth dropped into a pant. Atsumu stared and stared, lips sucking and tongue darting out to lick over her clit.
“More,” she near begged, fingers twisting in Atsumu’s hair and thighs squeezing around her head. Atsumu groaned, eyes fluttering for a moment. Was this real? She had her nose pressed into Kiyoomi’s pubic bone, hardly able to breathe, and didn’t mind it in the least. She curled her fingers, and Kiyoomi’s toes curled into the wood floor. “Ohhh, oh , Atsumu –” she wailed.
Atsumu couldn’t take it anymore. She pulled Kiyoomi forward, to the point where she could slip from the stool if not for the secure grip of Atsumu’s arm wrapped around her waist, and slowly rose from her crouch to kiss up her body. Her skin was soft under Atsumu’s tongue, from where she trailed kitten licks and kisses over the small moles freckling her whole body. Kiyoomi was a limp doll in her arms, besides her unrelenting hips grinding down and sucking in Atsumu’s fingers. It was the obvious choice to push a third in, if only for Kiyoomi’s sweet mewls and the way she collapsed forward into Atsumu’s shoulders. Her nails scrabbled on Atsumu’s back, looking for a place to grip as Atsumu’s fingers punched weak whines from her, but her hands found none. Shudders wracked her body when Atsumu’s tongue darted over a hard, pink nipple.
Atsumu grinned to herself, watching the way goosebumps pebbled her tits with anticipation at her hot breath ghosting over her nipple. “Are ya a good girl, hm? Gonna be a good girl for me after ya get yer payment?”
Despite trending towards streaks of awkward lesbianism, there were times when Atsumu shed all respect for herself and let her mouth run in the heat of the moment, tongue unfurling nasty and onanistic promises. This was one of them.
“Yes, yeah,” Kiyoomi gasped. “Gonna be – g’nna be so good, Atsumu , pretty for you…” Kiyoomi was crying out her name, almost a growl. Atsumu couldn’t blame herself for shifting into gear when that was happening.
“Ya gonna cum on my fingers, Omi? Or my mouth?” Atsumu sucked her plush tit into her mouth, laving her tongue over it and cheeks hollowing. Her thighs shook now, muscles straining and flickering uncontrollably. Atsumu let her hand drop from her waist momentarily to cup the backside of her knee, moving to hook Kiyoomi’s leg around her waist. With an impatient huff, Kiyoomi hiked it over Atsumu’s shoulder. Like this, Atsumu could see everything. Her fingers jamming in and out of Kiyoomi, shiny and enticingly wet, and her pretty tits and curls bouncing along. She could hear better, too: the wet flourishes of her fingers curling and pushing into her pulsing heat.
“ More , ‘Tsumu, need more,” she demanded, insatiable.
Atsumu pulled back to laugh. “Baby, ya’ve already got three in ya, and ya want more?”
“N-need more, please, please, ohh , right there!” Kiyoomi keened, grabbing Atsumu’s wrist and gripping. Atsumu imagined the pretty purples and blues that could splash there tomorrow. She grinned, kissing Kiyoomi’s fair collarbones and the little mole shaped like a heart on the base of her neck. The curly-haired woman writhed beneath the touch, almost ticklish from the touch. Everything about her screamed innocence, and yet – she was the one who initiated this.
“So yer tellin’ me,” Atsumu huffed out urgent breaths in between words, “yer just a little slut fer my fingers, huh?”
“ Mhmm , mhmm,” Kiyoomi hummed, lips pressed together in overwhelm. Her head was bowed forward, watching Atsumu twist her fingers in and out slowly. This was a test, and Kiyoomi was failing. She whimpered, bucking her hips forward and trying to push Atsumu’s wrist further. “Please. I’ll be so good.”
Atsumu considered herself a strong-willed woman. She let criticisms roll off her back during her frolics off the beaten path. That pleading declaration made all semblance of spine melt into a puddle of desperation. She pulled her three fingers out, running them through the thick slick staining Kiyoomi’s pussy and trailing down her thighs.
“Never seen a girl so wet, Omi,” Atsumu cooed. “Are ya always this wet?”
“ Mhmmm , for you. Since the first time I saw you. Want your fingers. Want you to fill me up, fuck ,” she moaned, high and desperate.
Atsumu kissed her. It was strange, in hindsight, that she hadn’t done it earlier. But Kiyoomi was the one who’d crossed the proverbial line. Kiyoomi’s tongue was languid against her, less forceful and more yielding than Atsumu would’ve expected. She ran careful fingers up Atsumu’s cheek, towards the jut of her jaw, then clawed her nails down the back of her neck. Atsumu shuddered, her moan stifled by their kisses and stolen breaths. It was worth it for the soft gasp she let out when Atsumu smashed her lips against hers, and the much louder way she dropped her mouth open in a wail when Atsumu slid four of her fingers back in.
Kiyoomi’s walls fluttered around her fingers at the feeling of being stuffed. Atsumu drove in with a practiced and effective rhythm that had Kiyoomi crying out and feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor. Her long hair stuck to the back of her neck, body glistening with the shine of sweat. Then, she went completely silent as her full-body shivers made her face screw in an almost pained expression, and her muscles went taut. Atsumu didn’t stop; she couldn’t, not when Kiyoomi’s face was falling like an angel and her lashes fluttered like butterfly wings. Her body tried to go limp, but the punching shocks of oversensitivity forced her to curl forward.
“A-Atsumu,” she croaked, voice hoarse from earlier exertion. “ Mmm ! Stop .”
Atsumu withdrew her fingers, letting a shaky exhale pass her lips. She felt hot all over, but mostly in her pants. Kiyoomi stared down at her from her stool tabernacle, eyes shining like she’d just witnessed a miracle.
“Well,” Atsumu said. The heat of the moment was quickly wearing off, replaced by the absurdity of Kiyoomi coming to be her model with the intention of getting fucked. Atsumu didn’t even know her surname. “I–“
“Don’t want to hear it,” Kiyoomi said, pushing her hair from her shoulders. Atsumu stared openly, eyes wide at the continued boldness. “Your turn. Fuck me on the table?”
Atsumu followed her gaze. The table was home to her workspace, piled with stacks of canvases and half-used supplies cluttering the surface, besides the one space she cleared off for her coffee mug. She learned that lesson after dropping an open tube of paint into a perfectly good latte. “Oh, okay.”
She got up, and so did Kiyoomi. It was then that Atsumu realized how much taller she was, with one hand slipping under her shirt and the other slipping past Atsumu’s waistband and into her boxers. Atsumu bit her lip.
“I don’t have my strap or anything here, so…”
Kiyoomi wrinkled her nose, taking Atsumu’s hand and leading her to the table. She climbed on top, graceful as a cat leaping from one surface to the next, and let her knees drop open luxuriously. Atsumu was suddenly aware of the very unblinded windows streaming light in. “Guess you have to make it up to me,” Kiyoomi demanded, running her fingers over her pussy and spreading the lips. Her hole was stretched, a pretty pink, and beckoning her closer.
Atsumu knew an invitation when she saw one. Dropping to her knees was instinctual. Pushing her tongue in was second nature. Wrapping her fingers around Kiyoomi’s thighs was subconscious. Atsumu was sure Kiyoomi had hexed her or slipped a sex potion into her coffee the night they met. Whatever it was, Atsumu wasn’t mad – not when she tasted the tang of Kiyoomi’s dripping cunt on her tongue and trailing down her throat as she licked and swallowed and sucked.
The black-haired woman’s moans were more subdued this time. Each was a rattled exhale, accentuated with a swoop in pitch as Atsumu’s tongue carved itself a place inside of her. It was easy to lose herself in it all, eyes hazy where they watched Kiyoomi’s tits rise and fall with her breath, hands wrapped around and patting her thighs. Her orgasm came fast and hard, and Atsumu pushed past her limits again. Her jaw hurt, but she only grew stronger: her tongue flicked harshly and quickly against her g-spot, restraining Kiyoomi when her sensitivity crested and she wanted to withdraw.
Kiyoomi shook and shook, calves twitching as she cried out, “ Mmm !”
And then, Atsumu’s eyes instinctively closed when hot liquid shot into her face and down her shirt. Kiyoomi whined, low and guttural, near ripping Atsumu’s hair out with the strength of her grip. The ejaculation slowed to a weak trickle, then stopped by the time Atsumu rushed to lick up what was trailing down Kiyoomi’s thighs. “Hot,” she murmured, relaxing into the feel of Kiyoomi scratching her scalp comfortingly.
“You’re really good at giving head,” she stated. Atsumu laughed with a little snort. “What?”
“Yer just so…blunt, Omi.” She smiled up at her, massaging her pretty thighs. Atsumu stared at the pale pink, lightning-shaped marks on the insides. She kissed over them, featherlight lips drawing a delighted sigh from Kiyoomi.
“I’m autistic,” she said. Her lips curled forward with impatience, despite having already come twice. Atsumu ran her fingers through her hair, a fraction distressed but mostly excited. “Now it really needs to be your turn.”
“Ah, gotcha.” The context made sense, but didn’t interrupt the kaleidoscope of scenarios running through her head. Omi, on her bed, bent over while she begged for her strap. Her hand clinging to the pillow above her head while her curls and tits bounced with the harsh movements. The shudder of her shoulders as she finally came. Tucking her into bed with a kiss on the forehead. Hm. She furrowed her brows, glancing down at the wetness staining her shirt, and took it off.
Kiyoomi sat up to shove her fingers under the waistband of Atsumu’s pants and her underwear. Both dropped to the floor in one fell swoop, the echoing schwoop of fabric dropping onto the hardwood floor barely reaching her ears. There was nothing else worth her attention when Kiyoomi trailed her long finger through Atsumu’s sparse pubic hair at the front, trailing down towards her clit with a curious expression on her face – one that turned to shock and wonder when she realized,
“You have a clit piercing,” she said, voice ragged. Atsumu could only manage a grunt to confirm, feeling the way Kiyoomi’s fingers pushed and tugged the skin over her clit and the way the barbells rubbed against it. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth to stymie the inevitable gasps of curious fingers prodding over her cunt and dragging its wetness upwards. Everything down there was getting very slippery and very slidey, very quickly. Her hips bucked when Kiyoomi twisted and pinched the piercing.
“O- Omi… ”
She rose from the table, draping her arm over Atsumu’s shoulder, and pushing her thigh between her legs, soft and pale and perfect to rut against. Atsumu only pulled her closer, one hand placed on her hip and the other gripping harshly at Kiyoomi’s plush asscheek as she chased her want. The rough action made Kiyoomi whimper again, somehow still aroused.
“Yer…fuckin…” Atsumu gasped between the jerks of her hips, “… insatiable .”
Kiyoomi fell forward into the crook of Atsumu’s neck, rushed breaths leaving humid, hot patches against her pulse. “Need you to fuck me, mmh !”
Pushing her to the floor was easy. Kiyoomi – though mostly limp – followed Atsumu down gracefully, legs falling open again and hair spreading out like a halo. Atsumu kissed her neck, trailing her tongue over the blue veins so visible under her skin. At that, she whined, languid body sinking into the floor. Atsumu felt the rush of wetness gathering between her legs from the sound alone.
She pulled Kiyoomi closer to herself, feeling greedy but straddling her anyway. With Kiyoomi’s thigh pressed to her tit, she lowered her cunt onto Kiyoomi’s soaking one. The feeling made a shudder roll up her spine and forced her to chase the aching, roiling itch. She ground her hips forward to rub their pussies together, listening to the destroyed whines beneath her. Her eyes fluttered shut as she melted into the bliss, lips pressed together to contain her own whimpering. It was burning in her throat, tearing its way where it caught in her mouth and still slipped through her lips in small flourishes.
“Atsumu, I wanna…mmmm , wanna hear you,” the angel pressed against her begged, and the floodgates opened.
Everything burned: her stomach, from the way her abdomen had to work to grind; her groin, from the fiery need; and her cunt – that was the center of the ember, the small hearth glowing hot between them. Her moans came out ragged and desperate, each breath feeling like a gasping cry. It made her throw her head back and cry out to the sky for some sort of relief from the intensity. Kiyoomi’s nails scrabbled on the wooden floors.
“So fucking hot, love how you sound, oh my god ,” she encouraged, eyes locked on hers when Atsumu looked down. Her resulting cry echoed in the spacious room, as embarrassing as the sound of the slickness. “You fuck me so good. Need you forever .”
“Omi, Omi, fuck ,” Atsumu cried, body feeling weightless and like a lead weight. She couldn’t be anywhere else right now – this was the only place on Earth for her, coming undone on the messy slide dripping all over her floor and staining her thighs and etching itself into her brain. Her vision blurred, and her eyes went hot. “Oh, oh , mnhhh… ”
Then, it fizzed and sparked as she came, the muscles in her thighs spasming and cunt clenching on nothing but still all too satisfied. Her chest felt tight, and the long, drawling moan she released was animalistic and greedy.
Atsumu felt the pull of gravity lulling her to collapse on top of Kiyoomi’s sweaty body. She panted, the efforts finally catching up as she let her face fall into the nook of Kiyoomi’s slim neck. Her hair was soft under her cheek and smelled like citrus.
“Why are you crying?”
Atsumu blinked. Then, she felt the way her body wracked, how her vision blurred, and the harsh rise and fall of her chest. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Damn , it was just that good.
“I’m…not really sure?” Atsumu said, a questioning lilt in her voice. Her skin delightfully prickled at the feeling of sharp nails dragging up and down her back, more soothing than earlier.
Kiyoomi hummed, trailing her nails down the planes of Atsumu’s back, following each knob of her spine with a gentle touch. “Sometimes I cry when I get overwhelmed.”
“Mm. Maybe that’s it,” Atsumu sighed, closing her eyes to squeeze out the few remaining teardrops. “Did you cum again?”
“Mhmm, right when you started to cry towards the end,” she said, and if Atsumu wasn’t a puddle now, she would’ve been raring to go another round on that alone. Now, Kiyoomi’s fingers scratched at her scalp. Atsumu wanted to fall asleep on the floor, entangled with this woman she’d met just yesterday, but she was covered in sweat and cum, and there was yet another day of her painting not being completed.
“That’s good,” she mumbled, still unable to move. “We should probably get up and…get back to work.”
Kiyoomi scoffed. “Absolutely not. I’m not modeling today. Let’s do it tomorrow. And then we can fuck again after.”
“Oh,” Atsumu said, trying to contain her glee, “yeah, that works for me.”
Atsumu was thrilled with how the painting had turned out. Between the constant fucking with her now girlfriend, they’d actually managed to get the piece done. Eager to prove her professor wrong, she pulled away the sheet that covered it with a flourish, revealing what she believed to be her magnum opus: Kiyoomi as Eve, perched on a rock, with a tempting, shiny, blood red apple in hand. The snake was curled around her neck and whispering devilish encouragement into her ear. Atsumu reveled in the way Kiyoomi’s eyes bore into her soul, even in the painting. It had turned out exactly as planned. She was giddy with pride.
Her professor raised her eyebrows. With her lips pressed into a thin line, she surveyed the painting, jotting down notes as Atsumu waited, anticipation ripe.
“Miya,” the professor began, and Atsumu broke into a smile. “What a completely unoriginal concept.”
Atsumu’s smile fell, and she cursed art school once again.