As Kagura's climax ebbed, Hayasaka lowered her head, mouth full of his thick release, blending it with saliva. She took his still-oozing tip back in, sucking hard, reigniting his fading vigor. His shaft surged, flooding her warm mouth again.
After a while, she pulled back, swallowing the dense, scalding load in three gulps. Its viscosity clung to her throat, forcing her to draw back her saliva-soaked feet from Kagura's tongue. Wiping her hands, she poured half a glass of Bordeaux, downing it to clear the stickiness.
"Cough, cough…"
Emptying the wine, she skipped cleaning his shaft with her mouth. Poker-faced, she cupped his panting face. "Lord Kagura, you shot so happily into that plastic toy—maybe handle it solo from now on? Seems you'd enjoy it just fine."
"You trying to *kill* me?!"
Kagura flushed, protesting loudly.
"Shh…" Her finger grazed his lips, voice low. "One more thing—how'd it go with that Yukino?"
"Oh…" He relaxed, grinning, spinning a tale. "She let me sleep with her, believe—ow, ow, *ow*!"
Before he finished, Hayasaka gripped the onahole still on his lower shaft, squeezing like she meant to snap it, her grip vengeful, unrelenting.
"You get one more try." Squinting, she leaned to his ear, icy. "Lying to your personal maid's a bad habit. I never taught you that. Next time, I'll squeeze your balls just as hard."
Their trust was absolute—save her playful denials, they were brutally honest.
"You'll kill me one day…"
"If you died on my stomach, that'd be a headache. Save that excess energy for your future wife. So, truth?"
"I got a long-term deal with her. Joined her Service Club. Progress, I guess?"
Pure truth.
"Congrats, then."
Sensing honesty, she eased her grip, slowly removing the onahole—deliberately, like denying him a sliver of extra pleasure.
Glancing at her damp, licked stockings, she flexed her toes, the fabric stretching and twisting. Touching them, she said, "That's it for these tonight."
"What? Wasting them? Foot, now."
"Used stockings are like used condoms. I'll indulge your filthy fetish, but hygiene and safety say no reusing. Sorry, can't comply."
Leaning back, she draped her legs across his stomach, hands lifting her skirt, unhooking the garter. She slid off the dark lace stockings, revealing pale, flawless legs—like a scroll unfurling before him, captivating.
She knew her move's effect. Confident in her allure, she tilted her head, baring her neck, smirking. "You *really* love my legs, huh… pervert…"
"Hiss—"
Her gaze, her slow strip—pure bliss. A girl peeling off stockings? He could eat three extra bowls of rice. Licking those freshly bared toes? Heaven.
She repeated the act with her right leg, not rushing to replace them. Wiping her feet with a disinfectant wipe, she ignored his throbbing erection, letting him stew despite his calls, stoking his frustration.
Done, she donned new garters—similar, just different lace patterns, too dim for him to discern. His eyes glued to her legs, she chuckled inwardly, turning her feet toward him. Propping herself, she pinned her skirt's center to hide her panties, lifting her right leg straight, teasing it near his lips like bait.
"Slurp, slurp~~"
He strained to lick, but each time he stretched, she raised her foot, keeping it just out of reach. After several tries, he got nothing, glaring, puffing angrily.
*This maid—such a tease. Stingy, too—no panty peek?*
"Wanna see?"
She duck-sat to his right, parting her knees slowly.
*Gulp…*
He did—period or not, a girl's panties held charm, guarding that soft, coveted spot.
"Nope~ No free looks today." She wagged her finger, winking mischievously.
A million alpacas stampeded in his mind.
"But…" She shifted, reclining, left foot near his face. "Wanna lick?"
"Yeah…"
"Then say loud: 'I'm a filthy young lord who loves licking and sniffing my maid's stockinged legs!' Go on—say it, and I'll grant your wish."
Her finger tapped his swollen tip, rocking it like a toy.
"…Gotta say it *that* way?"
Resentful, yet it hit home—shameful but true.
"Oh? Don't wanna? My feet aren't erogenous. Licking them just grosses me out or tickles."
"Damn it!" Cornered, he bellowed, "I'm a filthy perv who loves licking and sniffing my maid's stockinged legs, kissing her feet, and diving under her skirt to taste her!"
"My, you added flair~ Here's your reward."
Pouring half a glass of wine, she stood, right hand steadying it. Stepping forward, left hand hiking her skirt, she extended her right foot to his face.
His eyes shot from her sole to her skirt's depths.
Her panties… *damn*, none?!
No underwear—just a tampon string peeking from her slit, barely visible before she shifted, blocking the view.
Still, that voyeuristic glimpse of her skirt's secret sent his pulse racing, softening shaft hardening fast.
"Oh? Even my period slit excites you? How perverse *are* you?"
Before he could reply, she slipped her right toes into his mouth as he opened it.
Satisfied, he savored, forgiving her teasing. The stocking's fine mesh grazed his tongue; her warm, soft foot massaged it.
He swirled her toes; she pinched his tongue with them, blushing at her own shameless pose.
Not stopping, she raised her wine glass near her right calf, tilting it to pour. The liquid soaked the silk, staining it faintly red, beads racing to her toes. His lips caught them, swallowing wine and saliva, sucking her tender digits greedily.
"Pervert… such a pervert… Wonder what your future fiancée'd think, fainting from embarrassment." She emptied the glass, lifted her skirt for another peek, then sneered, "You lecherous worm should just die. Also, stop humping the air while licking my feet—it's pathetic…"
Soon, she pulled back, sitting astride his waist, feet near his face but out of reach.
"What now? Unlock me already!"
One release in ages, and every time he cooled, she'd rile him up without payoff—maddening.
"Don't worry, the main event's just starting."
Grabbing her shed stockings, she picked the less-licked one, bunching it till it resembled a short sock.
Stockings need rolling to wear—you can't just shove a foot in. You wrap the toes, then pull up.
"That sounds… ominous."
"When you were ten, saying you wanted to taste me, I panicked too—but you pinned me in the bathroom and had your way."
"You remember that clearly?"
"Of course…"
*It's our precious memory*, she thought.
She wiped the semen-stained onahole, flattened the stocking, poked her index finger through it from toe to waistband, then threaded it into the onahole's canal, entrance to exit. Switching to her middle finger, she pulled, dragging a bit of stocking out.
Not done, she flipped the waistband outward, encasing the onahole bottom-up. She flipped all she could, snipped excess, and tied the pulled and flipped parts tight.
The clear onahole was gone—now a dark, eerie component, like a black hole, unnerving him.
Squirting lube on her hand, she gripped his eager shaft, coating it thoroughly—tip to base—to keep him hard. More lube went into the "black hole," soaking the silk.
*Gulp.*
She aimed the "component" at his tip, and he realized her plan.
Too late to beg. Her eyes locked on his face, ignoring his shaft, eager for his reaction.
She pressed his tip to the entrance, twisting gently.
The sour, aching pleasure made him writhe, face contorting. She wondered silently: *Really *that* good? Better than me?*
Then, she eased the modified onahole down, swallowing his shaft.
It felt like his essence—not just his shaft—was being sucked out. His tip screamed *I can't hold on*, though the pleasure hadn't peaked. Eyes wide, gasping, he urged it to *calm down*.
"Tch… men."
Spitting on the silk-wrapped shaft, she slammed the onahole to his root.
His body quaked, chains rattling, face twitching, mind nearly gone.
"Useless, lewd thing," she cooed, stroking the silk onahole gently, voice dripping disdain. "Say, Lord Kagura, no issue if I snipped it off, right?"
"Hiss… ah…"
Fighting not to burst, he barely heard her. The onahole alone was intense, but silk inside? Otherworldly. The lubed silk grazed every ridge and particle, tightening his body, deaf to her words.
"Reduced to pleasure's slave? Pathetic…" Seeing his state, she pumped furiously.
In under five minutes, he erupted, shamed by the silk that once clad her feet.
She pressed the onahole to his base, paused, then pulled up slowly, squeezing down again. His tip breached the exit, still silk-bound, semen seeping through, staining the dark silk white. It smeared her sheer glove, lewdly stark.
"Ah… ah…"
He collapsed, panting, veins bulging, muscles taut then slack, all focus on his release.
The silk contained his flood—more than his first shot, yet tidy.
"Seems this satisfies you more than I do. Use it from now on—no need for me~"
Removing the onahole, he gasped at the stimulation, too spent to reply.
She shook her head, tsking, tossing the used toy aside.
Peeling off her left glove, holding it, she slapped his face with her clean left hand—*smack, smack*. "Lord Kagura, snap out of it. Think with *this* head, not that one."
"You… really wanna kill me…"
Drenched in sweat, he muttered.
"Didn't expect it'd hit *that* hard. If I offended… what, you think I'd apologize?"
She shrugged, moving between his spread legs.
"…"
He shot her a glare.
"Unlock me! Still playing?"
"Mind your words. Not playing—I'm fighting sleep to relieve your urges."
"…Feels like you broke my dick."
He grumbled; she faced him, sitting between his legs.
Lifting her skirt, she bared her smooth slit generously. Freshly spent, his desire flared, shaft hardening shamefully. "Can't please you here, but… you wanted this, right?"
Legs spread, she propped her feet on his hips, toying with his sticky shaft with her silken soles.
"…Damn, Hayasaka, you're unreal."
"Don't praise me *now*…"
She covered her face, embarrassed.
He coughed, craning to ogle her slit.
Cleaned meticulously, her tampon kept day-one flow at bay. Visually, it was her usual tempting slit—irresistible.
No bloodlust here—just looking.
Her right sole kneaded his shaft, making him moan. She snapped, "Quiet… feels like my feet are filthy."
"Not filthy when you're stepping in my cum?!"
"Well… that's different, ahem—"
Coughing off embarrassment, she pressed her feet together, trapping his shaft in her "foot-hole." Grabbing the lube, she squeezed a generous dollop on his tip, letting it soak his length and her soles.
"Look, the great Marlborough Duke's heir, Earl Branford, Sir Sawamura Spencer Kagura, hard from a maid's stockinged feet—like you'd shove it through them. Any noble pride left?"
She pumped his shaft, licking her right fingertip, coating it with his semen-laced saliva.
"Noble pride…?"
Straining to see her slit, he caught her rubbing her swollen clit with that slick finger, circling. His excitement spiked, mouth dry, forgetting her taunt.
A young woman herself, toying with his shaft stirred her too. Period or not, clit play worked—and he loved watching. Win-win.
"Er… noble pride, yeah."
Pleasure trembled her voice.
"Just play. Centuries ago, bored nobles did worse—no pride talk."
—*Some messed with nuns, choir boys…*
A French noble, Philippe I, from his family's era, cross-dressed and seduced men, making Kagura cringe.
"…"
Her face twitched, thinking: *Jerk, give me back my noble fantasies!*
Foot-play tired her legs fast, and he showed no sign of finishing. The silk onahole had set too high a bar—hard, yes, but climax? Tougher now.
"What's up, Hayasaka? Binding me up, and this is all you got?"
Seeing her falter, he seized the taunt, though craning to see her slit wasn't easy—she'd skipped extra pillows on purpose.
"Joking, Lord Kagura? Said I was tired?"
Piqued, she feigned calm, rubbing her clit harder, feet focusing on his tip with bigger strokes.
Fifteen minutes of his "ah… hiss" and shudders, yet no release. Nearing exhaustion, she worked her clit frantically, licking her fingers, pinching the glistening bud, stroking her slit.
But her tattoo—a lust seal from Kagura—blocked free climax.
Seeing her struggle, he helped. Craning to watch her lose herself—right hand on her slit, left kneading her breast—he felt his peak. "Go, Hayasaka—climax. I love you!"
Her body froze. Feet jerked up, silk soles grazing his crown. She collapsed back, thighs quivering, spraying clear streams from her slit onto his near-bursting shaft. Her core pulsed, rippling.
He erupted, thick arcs soaring, splattering her hiked skirt and pink slit, coating them white.
Her strongest jet hit his face, chest too, her slit twitching, weaker spurts dribbling, thighs trembling, soft moans enchanting.
Thanks to the [ClearSpring] item, her spray rivaled pure water—tasteless, faintly scented with her osmanthus perfume.
Arms over her face, she felt his forceful shots scald her core, her own sprays humiliating. Too weak to rise, her waist and legs limp.
They lay, legs splayed, sexes facing, resting.
"Hope your period ends soon… stockings are great, but feet and silk alone don't cut it…"
Sweaty, he mumbled as she quietly wiped him.
"…"
Her face rivaled an inkpot, eyes teary, yet she diligently cleaned, proving her dutiful care—despite her sharp tongue.
"Men, even after blasting, crave shooting deep in a girl's core…"
"Shut it, pervert master."
She pressed his shoulders, scolding through tears.
"You sprayed my face and call *me* pervert—? Mmph!"
She silenced him with a kiss, hugging his face.
Fine, he'd let her save face—he was the master.
Post-kiss, he said, "Unlock me now, let me sleep?"
Her sinister glance made his heart sink. Bad news.
Round four: she used her sheer glove to stroke him, but at his peak, she capped his tip with the shed glove, lifting it carefully after, slipping it on—his load encasing her slender hand.
Imagining her soft fingers swimming in his seed hardened him again.
*Just the thought…*
Then, six more rounds with the silk-onahole hybrid.
No check-ins, no stamina potions—he endured. When he numbed, she'd pour wine, lick his nipples wildly, roam his body, or suck him to rekindle, milking relentlessly.
His "endless ejaculation" ability kept flowing, painting her in white.
It dragged to 4 a.m. She freed his near-fainting form, spryly cleaning the room.
By 7, done, she skipped her usual wake-up bite, gently nudging him.
"Mm…?"
Drained, he mumbled, feeling half-dead.
"Time to rise and wash, Lord Kagura."
"…" Squinting, resentful, he growled, "I got *three* hours. You didn't sleep a minute—why'm *I* more beat?"
"Simple." She mimed inserting a tampon. "Men shooting too much too fast crash hard—especially with *your* volume. Not tired'd be weird."
"You *are* trying to kill me."
He flopped to sleep.
Leaning to his ear, hand on his chest, she purred, "So vengeful. Rest up these days—how else will you flood my womb to get even post-period?"
"Hmph…"
With his last shred of will, he summoned, "System, check-in."
"Checked in. Stamina and energy restored."
Instantly reborn, exhaustion gone, his missing morning wood snapped upright.
"Oh? My words got you going? Men and their slit obsession…"
"Nonsense, right?"
Grumbling, hugging his pillow, she dragged him up. He considered bending her over but saw her groomed, sleepless, cleaning all night. Pity won—he washed alone, dressed, and hit the dining room.
At school, vibrant, he strode into Class 2-F.
Hikigaya, yawning behind him, got a shoulder slap. "Yo, morning."
"Cough—*hack*!" Startled, Hikigaya nearly stood, then relaxed, dead-eyed. "Oh, morning."
Kagura eyed him, tossed his bag on his desk, sat. "What's up? You look wrecked—what'd you do last night?"
"You, man…" Hikigaya propped his cheek. "First day, tons of homework. A teen guy, not yet over spring break, procrastinating till midnight—normal, right?"
"Fair."
Kagura nodded.
"What about you? Mr. Perfect, no way you skipped homework."
"Perfect?" Kagura choked, then laughed, slapping his thigh. "Hachiman, you don't know my grades—calling me *that*?"
"Uh… true, I don't…"
Curious, Hikigaya mused: *Bad, maybe?*
"Last term's finals, my best was music…"
"Perfect score?"
"Nah, ten above passing."
"…What?"
Hikigaya snorted, laughing.
A world-class pianist-composer, barely above passing in music? A joke!
"Grades don't matter to me—whatever," Kagura waved off. "Worst was PE and Health, 0.5 above passing. Everything just scraped by."
Like Hayasaka, but she *chose* to coast—Kagura could only hit passing outside music.
This life gifted him insane musical talent, but academics? Meh.
"Unbelievable," Hikigaya squinted, elbow on desk, pointing. "Know you're every Chiba parent's 'other kid'?"
"Guessed, yeah."
Kagura winked, punchable.
"Even my folks said you're aces—not all A's, but close. Komachi used you to nag me. Didn't think you'd be… tch—" Hikigaya's lip curled, scoffing.
"What, my bad grades bug you?"
"Idiot, not that," Hikigaya rolled his eyes. "Just pissed I got fooled so long, tch…"
"…Hahaha!"
Kagura slapped his desk, roaring.
Japan's schools keep grades private—students' choice. Parents don't know unless told. Kagura never shared, so folks assumed he shone. Idol effect—they were wrong.
"Wanna feel worse?"
"Hm?"
"I never do homework."
He pointed at his unopened bag.
"…" Hikigaya froze, jabbing Kagura's desk. "Turn around."
*Damn, jealous—this guy fooled me forever?*
Kagura missed Hikigaya's thoughts. Glancing forward, his once-empty front seat was taken. Scratching his cheek, he blanked on the bob-cut girl's name—only "-惠" surfaced, her full name from Kirisu-sensei's roll call gone.
Sensing his stare on her nape, she half-turned, voice flat but warm. "Morning, Sawamura-san."
No flair, no inflection, yet oddly soothing.
"Oh… morning."
Forgetting her surname, he skipped it.
She turned more, side-facing, scanning him. "Overheard your grades talk—sorry."
"No biggie. Call me a slacker, I won't care~"
He shrugged, chill.
He only valued close ones' opinions—others? Let them yap. Some trashed his *Maid Skirt* or *Irish Lover* as bland—did he chase down every troll? Nah.