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If there’s one thing Langa loves to remind Reki of, it’s that he thinks she’s the hottest girl in the whole world.
Okay, that isn’t strictly true. He spends most of his time reminding Reki that she’s the best, period. Being hot is just a part of it, but Langa shows his appreciation in pretty obvious ways.
Ways that are rapidly becoming harder and harder to hide in public; he’s been really interested in marking spots lower and lower on her thighs, and higher and higher on her neck, and, well… It’s hot in Okinawa, dammit! Reki can’t wear scarves or long pants all the time!
No matter how much Langa tries, though, there’s a little kernel of doubt that Reki just can’t get rid of. Whenever she looks in the mirror, she can’t help but categorize her body into flaws: her oversized tits, her thick thighs from skateboarding, the freckles and scars that dot her calves. It’s something she’s been doing her whole life; pointing out all the different ways she stands out, doesn’t fit in.
(At least there’s one place she’s meant to be: right by Langa’s side, and she believes that.)
Although she has a list of complaints a mile long, Langa won’t hear a word out of her mouth about it; the second she dares to mention that her boobs are so big they make her shirts look like a tent, Langa’s up against her back, kneading her tits and cooing over how nice they look, how perfect they feel in his hands. If she squeezes her soft stomach, the skin a little stretchy, then Langa’s cupping it, telling her she’s cute.
Forget about criticizing her thighs; Langa’ll have his head between them before she can so much as mention cellulite.
And sure, it’s a little suffocating, but it is charming how much Langa wants her, even though she’s, well…
Reki.
Especially when — despite his constant assistance and assurance of her hotness — Langa seems insistent that she cover herself up. It’s not too bad, or nothing she wouldn’t already wear: long sleeved hoodies that may or may not have been Langa’s, oversized graphic tee shirts from local brands, baggy cargo pants with plentiful pockets for all of the odds and ends they need while skating.
Honestly, except for the occasional unseasonal usage of a scarf, it’s all great for the Okinawa weather. And, as a bonus — though this is something Reki keeps locked up tight from Langa — it hides her boobs when she’s skating. It’s damn near impossible to find a sports bra that fits her dimensions and keeps them from bouncing, so the baggy shirts help keep that under wraps.
They’re still super sore once they’re done skating, though.
Even though their end goal is the same, the reasons why Langa wants her to cover up differ greatly from her own: she wants to avoid embarrassment, while he’s convinced that everyone is out to ogle her, and that just isn’t true!
Before Langa, no boy so much as approached her romantically, and if they did happen to slip a note in her locker? It was definitely a prank. They would always comment on her boyishness, her curvy figure, so different from the pretty, popular girls in school.
Langa was different.
Langa was… very different; he can barely keep his hands off of her, even today, and he’s prone to thinking the entire world thinks the same as him.
“You’re just projecting, Langa!” Reki grumbles, as Langa tries to bundle her into another one of his — Team Japan Skating branded — hoodies, and though the Hasegawa on the chest and back always makes her feel tingly inside, she’s already wearing a hoodie. And cargo pants. No scarf, thankfully. “No one’s looking at me the way you’re looking at me!”
She feels defiant, until she meets his eyes in the mirror and shivers.
His gaze is always hungry with her, a little wild and very intense.
“You always capture all of my attention,” Langa agrees, fiddling with the hem of her hoodie. “But other people are too, I promise, Reki. I see the way men look at you, even if you don’t.”
Reki scoffs, turning in Langa’s hold. She can’t bear the weight of his stare like that, and when they face each other she can at least look at the hollow of his neck instead of watching his eyes drop to her chest. “I’ve been living in this body my whole life, Langa. I don’t think I’m clueless. I know they’re not looking at me like —”
She cuts herself off, the words caught in her throat, before dropping her face into Langa’s chest and blushing.
A sex object. Something fuckable. Someone to be desired.
It’s impossible, for her. That Langa wants her, in spite of all her flaws, is incredible. Langa’s incredible.
Cool hands wrap around her. The older she’s gotten the more comforting she finds the cold, even though she always thought herself to be a child of summer. Langa’s gotten into her, made a home in her bones.
“Listen, Reki,” Langa says. “I know you’re hot, but I also know that you don’t believe it. So why don’t we find the proof? From a… neutral third party.”
Reki frowns. “Tada-”
“No!” he cuts her off, shaking his head while he rubs her back soothingly. “I just think, we have that date, you know, at Joe’s new place? What if you wear something that shows off all of your assets —”
“I don’t have any,” Reki murmurs, then yelps when Langa pinches her bottom, before squeezing her ass to soothe it.
“I can count a few.” She can feel his smirk, and when she looks up at him, she sees his hungry expression has been replaced by something different. More competitive. “And I think we might have fun testing it out.”
Reki knows what that means.
“Langa,” she teases, fingers dancing up his chest. “Are you talking about a bet?”
They like making those. Whether it’s who can get to the bottom of S first or on the outcome of each run of Ninja Warrior, they’ll place bets any chance they can get. Usually the reward is something small and sweet — a kiss for the winner, or maybe they get to choose dinner — but based on the way Langa squeezes her tight, mischief in his icy expression, she thinks the stakes might be a little higher than they’re used to.
“It’s possible that I might be proposing a bet,” he replies. His hand comes up from her body so he can wrap a loose strand of her wavy hair around his finger as he kisses her neck, the touch of his lips feather light.“My Reki’s so pretty…”
Reki can feel her face flushing with heat.“Langa,” she gasps, but there’s nowhere to hide. Even as she tries to drop her head down again, Langa’s hand moves to her chin, cupping it with his fingers to tilt her head back up so she can’t look anywhere but at him, the force of his gaze.
She loves that. The intensity he brings to every little thing, the force of the winter sun shining down on her.
“My Reki’s so pretty, and everyone knows it but her. I want you to wear something on our date that shows your body off, pull your hair back, everything. Put on view all the stuff you’ve been hiding. If someone notices how hot you are and comments on it, then I win —”
“But when nothing happens, and everyone ignores me as usual, then I win,” Reki finishes.
Langa rolls his eyes, affectionately. “If nothing happens, which it won’t, then you win. Is it a deal?”
He holds up his pinky between their bodies, and Reki links hers with his, to complete the promise. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about this a lot,” she says, already trying to figure out where and how to get a dress that’ll show her off the way Langa wants, feeling flustered at the thought.
“I might have something in mind,” Langa says, squeezing their pinkies together and kissing their joined fists. “I even have a dress for you, if you can’t pick one. I think about you a lot, you know, Reki.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Reki jokes, a little overwhelmed by Langa’s affection, his honesty. She needs to distract him away from focusing on her. “Say, what does the winner get?”
“Huh? Oh, the loser has to do whatever the winner wants! And you already promised!” Langa surprises her twice over by swatting her ass before turning and running, full speed, out of the room. “Last one to S has to do dishes!”
“Not fair, Langa!” Reki calls out, still tangled in too many hoodies, and squeezing her thighs together so she doesn’t think too much about whatever the winner wants means.
This is —
It’s —
“This is so different,” Reki says, running her hands over the smooth fabric of the dress.
It’s more polite than what she’s thinking — the dress feels lewd on her body.
When Langa had first shown it to her, she could barely imagine the scrap of fabric — with its puffy skirt, the kind that would be risky on a windy day — covering her body.
And now, wearing it, she doesn’t think it’s doing a good job of covering her.
It’s a soft cream, covered in a delicate and dainty blue floral pattern that matches Langa’s eyes, with short, puffy sleeves to complement the fluffy skirt. Hell, it’s downright girly, almost romantic, on her. Boning and ruching around the waist pulls in her torso, and the little bow that sits between her tits is sweet; that’s the only word for it, really. Sweet and cute and perfect — and a little too revealing, the cups on the dress almost too small for her tits.
She needs Langa’s help to get it up and on, and he makes her look at herself in the mirror as he ties, watching the way her tits settle into the cups of bodice.
(He tried to help, but Reki swatted his hands away so she could settle her boobs into the dress without her nipples showing. If he had his way, they’d lose their clothes and their lunch reservation.)
“They said you don’t need to wear anything under this, Reki,” he breaths out, resting his big hands over hers and squeezing tight. “That you don’t need a bra or anything. The dress should support you.” In the mirror, his gaze drops hungrily to her tits, to the line of her collarbone, the freckles over her sternum.
“I don’t think they meant skipping out on panties,” she replies.
Of course, Langa’s prepared there too — soft, lacy panties that match the dress and bare her cheeks. Her thighs rub together below it; she’s used to wearing bike shorts, at least, to prevent chafing, but Langa promised they wouldn’t walk the whole way.
He steps back from her, makes her twirl so the skirt flounces around; Reki tries to cover the skirt from flying up too high with one hand, but she’s sure that Langa sneaks a peek of her undies in the mirror. “Well? What do you think?” He looks at her expectantly, like a puppy; there’s nothing hungry about his gaze right now. He just wants to know if she likes it.
“L-like i said. It’s different, but it’s not bad…” She rolls her eyes when Langa beams. “That doesn’t mean you win the bet. Hang on…”
She surveys herself in the mirror, and just as before, she can catalogue all the ways she’s wrong for this. Her tits are so huge they bulge out of the cups; a stiff breeze could make her nipples pop out, and the thought makes her nervous. Each breath she takes makes them rise and fall so obviously, and she can’t help but frown over them. Peeking out from under the delicate skirt are her freckled, strong thighs — so boyish.
It feels far too pretty for her. She’s not the kind of girl meant to be wrapped in delicate fabrics and ribbons and bows; she’s made for the sidewalk and cement, her toolshed and S.
Honestly, it feels like something’s missing. Her hair is its usual mess, a little frizzy from the heat and humidity, her skin a bit uneven. Pretty girls always have nice finishing touches to their outfits; it’s Reki’s not even trying. If Langa went through all this trouble to get a nice dress that fits her, then she might as well put in a little effort. “Get out - let me do something, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
With a few protests, she successfully shoves Langa out of the room.
Although Reki doesn’t often do makeup, she still knows how to use it. Some of the girls at S taught her tips, though they were more gyaru than she could ever pull off, and she still has a lot of the supplies she bought with them.
A tinted sunscreen, some mascara, and a little hint of blush on her cheeks — just a light dusting — and peachy pink lip gloss has her looking like a better match for the outfit. As she watches herself in the mirror of their vanity, pulling back her hair and tying it into a braid, leaving some strands of hair out to frame her face and threading it through with a spare ribbon that came with the dress, she feels almost like a fairytale princess.
Almost pretty.
Then she pulls on socks with delicate frills at the ankles to cover her feet, and calls Langa back in.
“Well?” she asks, turning and holding her arms out to present herself. “What do you think?”
Langa doesn’t say a word; it’s like he’s frozen in the doorway to their bedroom, as he takes her in.
Then, all of a sudden, it shifts. That hunger is back in his face, making her flush; thank gods she’s wearing makeup. Hopefully he can’t tell.
“Sure you still wanna go out?” he asks, licking his lips.
Reki snorts. “Of course. I’ve gotta win the bet, after all.”
Their bet finds a winner much earlier than either of them anticipated.
For Reki, it was because she expected to win, and her victory could only be ascertained at the end of the date.
Langa, on the other hand, was convinced everyone was as hungry for Reki as him.
Even though they would normally skate to Kojiro’s new restaurant, Reki didn’t want her skirt to fly up and bare all while skating down hill, so they take the bus to a main street and walk the rest of the way. The bus was mercifully empty, and the driver gave them both a kind nod as they entered and Reki sat with her legs crossed so hard she thought she might squeeze a diamond out. The cool air conditioning in the bus teases her rarely-bared breasts, and it raises the gooseflesh on tender skin, nipples hardening underneath the soft cotton.
She turns to Langa, leaning into him to leach some warmth, and crosses her arms over her chest to hide the peaked nipples.
“Are you alright, Reki?” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and squeezing her tight. “Something the matter?”
“Just a little cold,” she explains, envious of Langa’s hoodie. “I’ll be alright when we’re out in the sun.”
But once they step off the bus, and she can loosen up again, it becomes clear that there are other problems when they’re in a crowd.
“Sorry,” she mutters, as a man bumps into her. It’s an instinct to apologize even though it was clearly his fault, and he doesn’t even look at her as he continues on by.
No. That’s not right. He doesn’t look at her face, because his gaze is clearly bolted onto her tits, the look so sharp and appraising that she nudges her way into Langa, turning her chest towards his body.
He throws an arm around her, and when she looks up at his face he wears a smug expression. “He wasn’t looking where he was going, was he?”
“N-no,” she replies, wishing she had one of her hoodies.
“Hmm… I’d be distracted too.”
As they walk down the block, filled with men, women, families, Reki can’t help but notice — now that she’s clued into it, now that she’s aware — people casting appraising, hungry glances over her body. Eyes raking up and down her form, gaze lingering like they’re committing her to memory.
It doesn’t feel the same as when Langa does it. These are total strangers who can’t stop staring at her boobs or her thighs, who act like they’re stripping her in their mind.
Maybe it’s all in her head; maybe she’s just self-conscious about her outfit. Yeah, that’s it; she squeezes Langa’s hand tight and smiles at him, suddenly confident that she’s right about the bet, when a passing stranger waggles his brows at her, gesturing to her chest.
Before she can say a word in protest, Langa nudges him. Hard.
Hard enough that the man stumbles, dropping his bags.
“Sorry,” he says, pulling Reki along so she has to quicken her p[ace to catch up, but he doesn’t feel sorry at all.
By the time they get to the restaurant, and are halfway through the meal, Reki feels more exposed than she ever has. She keeps seeing men glance over her, eyes raking over her body, and it takes a plate of calamari to finally distract her.
Even in the restaurant, though, she can’t help but remember the outfit she’s wearing; the way her thighs tickle from the velvet of the booth, the way her nipples keep hardening in the cold restaurant, the fact that she can’t drip any marinara sauce on this dress lest she make a stain that might never come out.
Or worse — it spills between her boobs, and she has to dig between them to wipe out the mess. Langa would probably try to lick her clean if that happens, and they can’t get banned from Joe’s restaurant again.
“Twelve,” Langa says, suddenly, between bites of food. He nudges Reki’s ankle underneath the table, too.
“Huh?” She casts him a confused glance. “Are we rating the food, now? What kind of scale is that?”
Honestly, the meal is so good that she’s nearly forgotten the walk over, but it all comes flooding back when Langa answers. “That’s the number of men I caught looking at you.”
Oh. She flushes, turning back to her food. “Aren’t people always looking at each other?” She doesn’t want to admit defeat, not yet, even though she knows it’s inevitable. There’s still some amount of plausible deniability, isn’t there?
A warmth at her shoulder, before Langa’s mouth presses against her ear. He must have gotten up and slid into her side of the booth to do it. “Not the way they were looking at you. You could tell, weren’t you? The way they were undressing you with their eyes?”
“L-langa!” she stutters. “That’s not appropriate for a restaurant!”
“No one can hear me, Reki. No one’s looking.” A mischievous glint passes over his face. “Not like they were looking at you when we were walking here. If I wasn’t there, someone might have tried to peek up under your skirt.”
His words are accompanied by a featherlight touch on her upper thigh — the skirt goes so much higher than she’s used to , the hemline so short it feels inappropriate — as he tickles her warm flesh. Gooseflesh bubbles up on her skin as she shivers, despite how hot she feels.
“I don’t think that’s true…”
“You know it — remember that guy, the one with the floral shirt?”
She does. The shirt was blue with red hibiscus flowers on it, and the sunglasses he wore did nothing to hide the way he stared shamelessly at her tits, before licking his lips like he was imagining, well —
Something quite like what Langa’s imagining.
“I bet he wanted to pull one of your breasts out and suck on it.”
“And how could you possibly know that?”
Langa pulls away from her, smug now that he’s flustered her. “It’s what I’d wanna do,” he says, before pulling his plate across the table slurping down more noodles.
It leaves her heated. Bastard.
He keeps doing that over the meal; leaning in when there are no servers or staff around and whispering some lewd fantasy.
Like how the suited office worker clearly wanted to bend her over the front of his fancy car like she was a hood ornament, flipping up her skirt and spreading her cheeks and licking her warm cunt over her panties.
Or how the man with the bouquet was eating up her body with his eyes so hard that he definitely would tongue all over her tits.
Even how the two friends sharing a cigarette outside of a bar and couldn’t help but whistle while she walked by were more than willing to bend her over and fill both her holes.
And how —
“Alright, Langa!” she hisses, covering his mouth before he finished his fantasy about a stranger pinching her tits. “Geeze, you’ve made your point. That’s enough.”
Langa blinks, the picture of faux innocence. “Really?” He touches his fingers gently to her hem. “What’s the point I’ve made? I want you to tell me, Reki.” He growls the last word out, squeezing her thigh to hammer his point home.
She bites her lip, looking between her lap — where Langa’s grip is sure to leave small bruises on her skin — and Langa’s face. He’s far too intent, pinning her in place, the heated look in his sky blue eyes melting her from the inside out.
“Th-that other people look at me like you do.”
“Oh?” His voice curls around the word as he leans in, licking the curve of her ear. “And does that mean I win the bet?”
Defeat isn’t unfamiliar to her, not even in these little games they play together, but god does it sting. It’s a little humiliating, being proven so wrong about the world and your place in it. What has Langa been seeing all along, that she hasn’t seen? How had she been so blind?
There’s still a difference between being pretty and fuckable, but they’ve at least proven that Langa isn’t completely delusional about her.
“Yeah,” she sighs, leaning her head back against the booth. It lengthens her neck, and gives Langa a better view of her tits, but to his credit his gaze never wavers, never drops down to them, not even for a second. “You win, Langa-Ah!”
She barely has a chance to get the words out before Langa swallows them down, cupping her cheek so he can kiss her, deeply, his elbow pressing awkwardly against her tits. He licks hungrily into her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip, before pulling back.
“Good,” he breathes out, his hand trailing down her neck, teasing at her sleeve, “because you look too pretty in this dress for me to share the view with anyone else, and I was so close to fighting someone for your honor. You can’t wear this in public again. You’re for my eyes only, Reki, alright?”
“You’re so possessive, Langa,” she murmurs, even though she’s melting inside. “That’s why you keep covering me up, right? So no one else can see?”
“And so everyone knows you’re mine, when you’re wearing my hoodies.” His voice deepens even more, words whispered right into her ear. “Especially when they have my name on your back.”
Another torrent of heat inside of her, as his hand drops even lower, grazing her tits, dipping between her thighs, slipping further between them before they —
“Langa!”
“Shh,” he hushes, rubbing a finger along the lace of her panties, right down the center, which makes her shiver with pleasure and nerves, even though no one’s watching them. “You can’t be loud, here. I don’t want anyone else to see you like this, remember? And besides, you’ve looked so edible all day, how could I leave you alone?”
He keeps rubbing, stroking, playing with her while she bites her lip and tries to keep a straight face, twisting her fork in her pasta as he comes dangerously close to slipping his hand into her panties. She can feel slick dripping from them, keyed up for so long from the way Langa looked at her when she was getting dressed. God. Her panties must be so damp right now.
“Reki, do you know what I want? As my reward?”
“Y-you already know?” With her juices running down her thighs, her legs crossed under the table while Langa’s fingers bury themselves in the heat of her body, she doesn’t really give a fuck what Langa wants right now.
“I wanna take our dessert to go,” he murmurs, voice low and heated into her ear, “and eat you up.”
“W-what does that mean?” She turns to him, wondering about the dark gaze in his eyes.
She was expecting him to want to do something in the bedroom as his reward; maybe more cosplay, or maybe trying out a love hotel. But what Langa whispers to her makes her eyes go wide, her face redden, and she’s grateful, suddenly, that the restaurant is pretty empty for lunch, and that they were seated in one of the alcoves so no one else can see them.
Langa sends her ahead, to one of the single user bathroom stalls he pointed out in the complex where the restaurant sits. Since it’s a weekday, it’s not very crowded, and Reki thanked the stars that no one really noticed her making her way here, almost waddling because she felt like her cunt was going to burst from horniness.
Pacing back and forth in the bathroom, she wonders if Langa’s serious about this. About wanting to fuck her right now, as soon as possible, practically in public. They’re both risk takers, but Langa’s the reckless one; she knows he’s had fantasies like this before, told her his wet dreams of fucking her at S or her job so everyone knows who she belongs to, that the possessive curl in Langa’s soul isn’t just about having her, it’s about making sure the whole world celebrates her the same as he does.
But at the same time….
Langa didn’t want her to show off her body, so why does he want to fuck her in the bathroom all of a sudden? Anyone could be listening in, or barge in. What’s the point of it all? Pure thrill, probably? A desperate urge for sex, more likely.
A patterned knock on the door interrupts her thoughts — the one Langa told her to unlock the stall for, after he dilly-dallied around the mall for a while. Plausible deniability, he called it, even though no one was around to watch her enter the bathroom.
He looks giddy as she opens the door; he slides in and locks it quickly, barely taking the time to drop their carry-out bags of dessert to the ground — that’s never going to get eaten now, Langa — and grab her waist, squeezing her tight.
“Missed you, Reki,” he breathes, lips against her lips, even though they’ve only been separated for a few minutes. It’s sweet, until she feels Langa’s hand travel down her back, to squeeze her ass.
“Langa!” she hisses, but he just squeezes tighter.
“I wanna eat my dessert… You know me…”
“Greedy boy.” She laughs as Langa pouts, but he doesn’t deny the accusation. Langa’s greedy. That’s just who he is; he hungers for food, for the best, for Reki. Nothing’s going to change that.
“I just want my pretty Reki,” he murmurs, a little weakly, in response. He chases it with a kiss to her neck, though, one that almost distracts her from his words.
Pretty? That word still doesn’t ring true to her. She’s fine with his compliments most of the time, when he focuses on the possessive — “My Reki” — or talks about her talents (or her tits.) In his defense, Reki doesn’t often dress up in ways that accentuate her features, or make her, well… Pretty, like the girls in magazines.
Honestly, it’s probably just because Reki looks so different from the norm that he’s calling her pretty now. And she should get a move on; her cunt is aching, especially with the faintly cold touch of Langa’s hands and the smell of his shampoo, but they’re just frozen in place.
She opens her mouth to suggest that Langa take his dessert now, but what comes out is —
“You don’t have to lie and call me pretty to fuck me, Langa.”
Reki clamps her jaw shut as soon as the words come out, eyes wide. Maybe that’s what’s been eating at her; that being called pretty feels like a lie, even though this all started with him insisting she was. It takes a moment for the words to connect to Langa, but once it clicks he looks stricken. Pulls back from her, just a few scant centimeters, as if in disbelief.
“Of course you’re pretty, Reki. Why would I lie about that? You’re always pretty!”
And there it is — a lie, it has to be. Because it isn’t true. Not when her body is the way it is, not when she never wears makeup or delicate dresses.
“I think you mean fuckable,” she murmurs, digging the hole deeper. “That’s what all the guys thought, right? Twelve, you said?” God, maybe she should just stop talking, and pull down Langa’s pants to get something to shut her up. She tries a little — leaning forward to kiss Langa like that might stop the honest words from flowing, but he’s stronger than her and pins her against the wall, keeps her still.
“No, I mean pretty,” Langa insists. “My Reki is always pretty — she has pretty hair, pretty brown eyes like maple candy, the cutest freckles…” He kisses her nose, brushes over with her summer freckles, and sighs. “But I haven’t done a good job of making you see that, huh? This bet… I was so focused on seeing you in a pretty dress, I didn’t stop to think that you wouldn’t believe it… Of course I wanna fuck you, too, but I need you to know you’re pretty, first.”
“Okay, okay!” Reki says, pressing her hands to Langa’s shoulders to acquiesce. “I’m pretty, it’s fine!”
“It’s not fine.” He’s pouting again, but there’s a glint in his eye that’s dangerous; one that Reki knows well, because it’s the expression Langama makes when he has an idea.
And most of the time, Reki’s the one who suffers for it — like the time he bought handcuffs to play with in their bedroom, or when he decided to book a love hotel with a carousel, or when he pulled a cat ear headband from god knows where.
“It’s my fault, so I’m gonna fix it,” Langa decides.
Reki gives him a flat look. “Here. In this bathroom stall.”
At the very least, he looks a little chastised. “No time like the present? Anyway, I’m going to show my Reki how pretty she is, alright?”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Reki complains, but, as usual, she doesn’t get an answer. Langa’s a little flighty; not quite air-headed, but always willing to go forward with his own thoughts and plans without necessarily informing Reki of them.
It’s only because she has years of knowing him that she’s even remotely prepared for what’s to come.
“Time for me to savor my dessert,” he murmurs, before kissing just below her ear, on one of the moles that popped up as she crossed into adulthood. “Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue curling around her lobe and the dainty earring she put in; it makes her shiver.
“L-langa,” she breathes out, her chest starting to heave; she’s easy for him, always has been, and she’s still so wet and aching that she just wants him to get it over with. “What are you-”
“Savoring, Reki,” he insists, as he squeezes her waist, diving in to kiss her collarbone.
He almost ruins her, she thinks; he’s so gentle as he kisses what feels like every inch of her bare skin, telling her how lovely she is, how pretty she is; the praise warms her from the inside out \, a part of her that had been cold for too long. He compliments her sweet lips, her pretty eyes; praises her strong calves as he kisses the inside of her knee, dropping to the floor with his head just below the fluffy hem of the skirt.
But when his head starts to climb up, Reki tries to stop him — “w-wait, you don’t have to —”
“I promised you I’d show you how pretty you are, Reki, and Reki is pretty all over.”
Fuck, she thinks, melting against the wall. There’s nothing to grab onto for leverage, not with Langa’s hands running up and down the back of her thigh as he presses his nose to the damp fabric of her pretty panties,. She can feel his breath as he exhales, before nudging it down with his nose.
“Ah-” she bites her fist before she can scream, because Langa lays a kiss on her clit and she’s so pent-up that she almost erupts right there.
Almost.
The pressure of her teeth helps keep it all down as Langa tugs her panties down her legs and off, hoisting her leg over his shoulder so he can dive in, sucking and licking at her pussy like a starving man.
He’s greedy. Nothing can change that.
She can’t hear his praise like this, blood rushing through her ears as pleasure courses through her veins, but she can feel it in the way he works his tongue inside of her, the way he kisses the delicate skin of her inner thighs. All of it makes her chest heave and arch back against the wall as she gasps and moans from his machinations, her heeled foot barely on the ground, Langa supporting her entire weight as her thighs squeeze around his head and she tries to grind against his face for more pleasure.
Fuck.
Maybe she’s greedy too; maybe it’s something of Langa’s that’s rubbed off on her, a mutual hunger that leads them to fucking in a bathroom.
It’s almost a relief when he pulls away from her.
She wants to cum on Langa’s cock, or not at all.
As he settles her down, her legs feel like jelly and she wobbles on them. Langa steadies her with a hand around her waist, and as he rises, she gasps as she takes him in.
“Langa, your -”
His face is completely wet with her slick. It’s so lewd, so dirty, but Langa just grins like the cat that got the cream, licking his lips.
“Itadakimasu,” he says, still smiling.
Reki gawps at the audacity. “Idiot,” she murmurs, reaching for a paper towel to wipe some of the mess off. “You’re supposed to say that before you eat.”
“My bad.” Langa doesn’t seem sorry at all, pushing past her hands to steal a kiss and leave the tangy taste of her own cunt on her lips. “Guess I’ll take my second course now.”
Those dangerous hands lift her easily and readily, and she almost forgets to be shocked because of how hot Langa’s strength is, when she realizes that he’s placing her down in front of the sink, the tall mirror perfectly clean, Reki’s reflection staring back at her.
She blinks.
So does Langa.
She almost doesn’t recognize herself, with her hair all neat and perfect and the makeup still in place despite the humidity and all that Langa’s done to her. To regain her balance, she has her hands braced against the sink, and the angle means that her tits are practically hanging out of the top, barely enough to contain her.
It’s like she’s going to burst out of it.
Langa catches her looking, and his hand slides up her body to squeeze her right breast as he kisses her shoulder. “Gonna fuck you like this, Reki, so you can see how pretty you are when you cum.”
Her panties are abandoned somewhere on the other side of the bathroom, so there’s nowhere for the slick to go but trickle down her thigh as she blushes. “This really isn’t necessary.”
“But it is, Reki,” he says, kissing up her neck and the line of her jaw as he kneads away at her breast, knowing it makes her moan. With his long fingers, he’s able to tease most of it out of the top, the sleeves starting to slip down her shoulders as he starts to pull at her nipple, making her cunt twang in need, in want. “I’m gonna make sure you see what I see when I look at you.”
Langa’s other hand disappears for a moment, and she hears the sound of a zipper and some rustle of fabric before Langa’s cock springs out.
“Ah,” she moans; even just the heat of it against her ass, the thick cock slotting between her thighs and sliding against her cunt, is so nice.
It also makes her realize —
“Langa, wait, we don’t have a condom.”
“It’s alright. I’ll clean up any mess I make,” Langa says, and before Reki can protest, he pushes her legs a little further apart and slides the tip of his cock into her, making her hiss with pleasure.
God she loves this; loves it when Langa breeches her, teasing just the narrow heat of her cunt before diving all in.
He bends her further over the sink, too, as he works his way into her, pulling broken off little gasps from her throat as his cock buries itself inside, spreading her walls and stretching her so deliciously.
Sometimes it feels like she was made for this, for taking Langa’s cock, thick as it is.
“No, love, don’t close your eyes,” he murmurs, when her eyelids fall closed, so she opens them. “See how good you look stretched around my cock? How pretty you are?” He stays like that for the moment, just buried in Reki, and she can feel her heartbeat through his cock, like they’re connected.
But instead of looking, she tilts her head away. “Don’t wanna…” she protests, but Langa cups her jaw and tilts her head, making her look.
“So pretty for me, Reki. Look,” he commands, intent buried in the word, so she looks, and by the gods does she see.
Her cheeks are red, even under all that blush, her eye-makeup melting at the corners from the tears that escaped her when he started to push into her, an involuntary reaction. Her lips are bitten red, the lip gloss all rubbed off, and slick with spit from the kissing and everything, and her hair is starting to come loose from its braid.
She looks wild, but she can admit, like this, she almost feels —
“Pretty,” she breathes out, as Langa laughs into her neck, squeezing her tit in praise.
“Good girl,” he coos out, pulling his hips back as the only warning she gets that he’s about to go for it. “Don’t look away.”
After that, all Reki can do is listen as he fucks into her, setting an exacting and rapid pace, the exact kind that’s almost too much for her, that’s guaranteed to rip an orgasm from her. The room fills with the wet sounds of their sex, of Langa’s cock buried in her wet cunt, the way she can barely breathe from how he’s fucking her, and the words that are coming out of Langa’s mouth as he paws at her tits, fucking them out of her dress.
“My perfect, my pretty Reki,” he moans out between kisses and watching her in the mirror watch herself. “See how nice you look when your eyes roll back in your head when I fuck you like this?” He rolls his hips, head of his cock dragging across her g-spot, and her eyelashes do flutter.
“Y-yes,” she gasps out, as Langa’s cruel, talented fingers twist her nipple, making her cunt twitch around him.
“Fuck, and how sweet you get when I play with your breasts like this, huh? My Reki is so perfect.”
She’s so fucking close, just on the cusp of orgasm, but Langa keeps doing things to prolong it. He knows her so well at this point, has fucked her every which way over the years, that he knows the right way to pinch her nipple or bite her skin to make it last just a little longer.
It’s been so long since they’ve fucked bare, too, and the warmth of Langa’s cock, the soft skin, the precum dripping out of it and already starting to kiss her inner walls all drive her crazy. She missed this; missed feeling so close to Langa, and it’s clear he misses it too.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, babygirl,” he moans out, his hips tightening as they slam into her ass, chasing just that last little bit of pleasure necessary for his release. “Gonna cum inside my pretty Reki,” as he bites her neck and squeezes both her tits so she yelps and pushes back against him, tears flowing down her eyes from the pleasure. She stares in the mirror and thinks pretty as Langa teases her with his words, as he grinds his cock deeper and deeper inside of her until she can’t tell where he ends and she begins. “Fuck, imagine how pretty you’d be pregnant, Reki? Your tits would get huge and everyone would know you’re mine, you belong to me, when you’re carrying my baby?”
Christ. “Langa, I —”
“No one else could have you when you’re mine, all those men who looked at you today, they’d know you’re mine, that I fucked my pretty Reki so good and got her –”
“Langa!” Reki yells out, uncaring of the fact that they’re in public, that anyone could hear them, as she cums on Langa’s cock, imagining the swell of her stomach and Langa’s hands on her body, cupping her belly.
The pleasure ricochets back into Langa, too; she feels him cum inside her, his cum and her slick mixing together and creaming inside her pussy as he keeps rocking his hips into her, chasing the aftershocks of his orgasm.
They stay joined like that for a moment, until Reki nearly collapses against the sink, all spent. “Langa,” she murmurs. “I was pretty loud. We should…. Probably go…”
Langa frowns — that cute pout again, his cock already twitching in interest inside of her. “But I haven’t cleaned you up yet…”
“Langa!”
“Okay, okay!”
He’s so gentle with her as he eases her back into her dress, scooping her breasts back into the chest of it, brushing the worst of the mess of her hair back into place and wiping away some of the messy makeup. Despite it all, she still looks a right mess, but she feels like she’s glowing from the inside out, with Langa’s praise and his cum dripping down her thigh.
“Alright, let’s head out,” Langa says, throwing his hoodie over her and zipping it up. “Don’t want anyone else to see how pretty you are,” he explains, and Reki rolls her eyes, sighing.
“You’re such a brat,” she teases. “Wait, my underwear —”
“Got ‘em!” Langa grabs them; they still look damp. Reki winces at the thought of putting them back on, but Langa just slips them in his pocket as he smirks at her. “We’ll get you clean ones when you’re back home, alright?”
Reki glares at him, but he just unlocks the door, pushing her out of the bathroom and back into the shopping plaza.
Thankfully, no one is around.
And she doesn’t feel any eyes on her as they walk back home, though that might be because of Langa’s arm around her, his other hand playing with her panties in his pocket.
(Though it might also be because of the cum drying on her thighs.)