Morning Awakening
When I woke up, there was a strange sensation between my legs.
A tingling, restless feeling—different from a wet dream, something indescribable.
Gradually, my hearing kicked in, and I heard a sticky, wet sound—squelch, squelch—
Then, as my vision finally focused, I realized the source of the noise.
Aika was giving me a blowjob.
The sight of her first thing in the morning left me stunned, but soon an unbelievable pleasure surged through me.
She meticulously licked every inch—the head, the ridge, the slit, the base of my shaft, even my balls. Clearly, her technique had improved. Middle schoolers really do pick things up fast.
"Ah, you're finally awake? You were really out of it, Kouichirou-san."
The way she called me Kouichirou-san sent a jolt through me. I wasn't used to being addressed like that. It felt like being woken up by a newlywed wife—except she was just a thirteen-year-old middle schooler.
"Aika…? What are you doing?"
I tried to keep my voice steady as I asked, though my face must have been contorted from the overwhelming pleasure.
"What does it look like? I'm sucking your dick."
She said it so casually before resuming her skilled ministrations. I was sure I'd gone to bed in sweatpants—how had things escalated to this?
Schlick… schlick… schlick…
The lewd sounds filled my ears.
We'd done plenty last night, but this first thing in the morning was too much stimulation.
Between morning wood and her relentless pace, I came embarrassingly fast. A thick, hot load shot out, straight into her waiting mouth.
"Ngh—!"
She swallowed every last drop, then kept sucking, making sure to lick up even the stray beads clinging to the tip.
"...Thanks for the meal."
She smirked, a trace of semen still at the corner of her lips.
I'd just let a middle schooler drink my cum first thing in the morning. A few weeks ago, I would've drowned in guilt—but now, the remorse was fading. Habit really is a scary thing.
"Can we make this a morning routine?"
"A routine? You mean… this?"
"Mhm. For you, it's like an alarm clock. And I get to taste your cum. Win-win, right?"
"Win-win…?"
She grinned like she'd just proposed the best idea ever.
Somehow, I'd gotten swept up in her pace, letting her move into my apartment. But the problems were far from over. Today, I had to face reality.
Aika was dressed in her school uniform with an apron over it.
She didn't own any other clothes, so the uniform made sense—but why the apron?
"That smell… Did you make breakfast?"
On the table sat a traditional Japanese meal—grilled fish, miso soup, rice. She must have woken up early to cook.
"Most of it's instant, though. I'm crashing at your place, so it's the least I can do."
That said, yesterday she'd cleaned my entire apartment and even did laundry (though we got distracted midway).
I felt bad, but at the same time, living with her like this—cooking, cleaning, other things—made it feel like we were newlyweds. The thought made my chest itch.
"About that… Aika, do you really have no plans to go home?"
I broached the subject while still in my sweats—not the most appropriate attire for a serious talk. But if I let small talk take over, we'd just end up having sex again. Maybe that was her plan all along.
"Nope. Even if I wanted to, I can't. And I don't want to."
Her tone was matter-of-fact. The "disownment letter" from her stepfather seemed to be real.
Father—
That was an unavoidable issue when it came to Aika. Now that I'd slept with her and let her stay, I had a responsibility to treat her with sincerity. At least, that's what I believed.
But if she wouldn't open up, there was nothing I could do.
"What about school? You haven't gone in a month, right? Your teachers and friends must be worried."
I knew bombarding her with questions would only make her shut down, but this was important.
She was still a middle schooler—right in the middle of compulsory education. Studying was her main duty, and graduating was crucial for her future.
"...I don't want to go back to that school. Everyone knows about my background. The teachers, the other kids… none of them ever really talked to me."
She pressed her lips together and fell silent.
She sounded like a spoiled child, but that was only natural—she was a thirteen-year-old girl.
"Background?"
"...I was born into a special kind of family."
She didn't elaborate.
A family so "special" they'd disown their own daughter—that much was clear. But from her tone, it seemed her upbringing had been unusual in other ways too.
In short, she'd grown up in an environment far from normal, leading to her being cast out.
Her stepfather had no blood ties to her, and neither of them had any intention of reconciling.
What about her mother?
I considered asking but decided against it. Instead, I turned my attention to breakfast.
It'd be a waste to let her cooking go cold.
"Let's eat. You went through the trouble of making this."
There were two servings on the table—a given. My kotatsu was small, barely enough for one person's meals, let alone two. Living alone had been fine, but with her here, I'd need to rethink things. We'd even shared a futon last night.
"...What's wrong? Not hungry?"
She hadn't touched her food, just stared at it. Maybe she was unsure about the taste? But she'd said most of it was instant, so that couldn't be it.
"It's my first time eating with someone… outside of school lunch."
"Your first time…?"
I almost said That can't be true but stopped myself.
What if her life had been far more isolated than I imagined?
Eating with family.
Laughing with family.
Before moving out for college, I'd taken those things for granted—so much so that I never even thought about them.
But if she'd never experienced that…
If she'd never known togetherness…
Then maybe it was my duty to show her—legalities and social norms be damned.
"Guess I'm your first, then."
I kept my tone light, urging her to eat. Overreacting would only make her self-conscious. Better to act like it was no big deal—just another quirk in a world full of different people.
"Well, you're definitely my first when it comes to sex."
I nearly spat out my miso soup.
Her teasing was back—a sign she was feeling better.
A thirteen-year-old middle schooler.
A runaway for a month.
Disowned by her parents, now living with a complete stranger.
Little by little, I was starting to understand what I needed to do for her.
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