It started innocently enough.
Three days after Kai wrecked Sayuri in the stockroom, she showed up at his farmhouse at dusk wearing a pale yellow sundress that should have been illegal. No bra. No panties. The thin cotton clung to every exaggerated curve, her nipples dark shadows against the fabric, the hem barely covering the bottom of that glorious ass.
"I'm kidnapping you tonight," she announced, cheeks pink but eyes determined. "Real date. No storage-room quickie. I want to remember what it feels like to be wanted properly."
Kai didn't argue.
They walked the quiet country roads under a violet sky, fireflies blinking around them like tiny lanterns. Sayuri slipped her hand into his, fingers interlacing, and for the first time in years she laughed—loud, free, the laugh of the nineteen-year-old idol trainee who once believed the world was hers.
He told her about the city. The dead-end jobs, the loan sharks, his mother's hospital bills. How he used to jerk off every night dreaming of women exactly like her.
She told him everything (the almost-debut, the marriage that started like a fairy tale and ended in cold sheets, the way her husband hadn't kissed her in five years, let alone made her feel beautiful).
By the time they reached the little family restaurant on the edge of the village, they weren't just fucking anymore.
They were falling.
The owner—an old woman who clearly knew everything—gave them the private tatami room in the back without being asked. Candlelight. Low table. Sayuri kicked off her sandals and sat seiza, dress riding high enough to flash the fact she was already wet.
They fed each other tempura and sashimi, stealing kisses between bites, whispering like teenagers. When Kai brushed a grain of rice from the corner of her mouth and licked it off his thumb, Sayuri actually whimpered.
"I've never felt this wanted," she confessed, eyes shining. "Not even when I was twenty and men used to line up for my gravure shoots."
Kai leaned across the table and kissed her slow and deep. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Sayuri. And I'm not letting you go back to a life where you feel invisible."
Something broke open in her chest. She believed him.
When they left the restaurant, she didn't take him back to the store.
She took him home.
Her house was dark—husband still in Tokyo, kids at sleep-away camp for the summer. She led him by the hand to the master bedroom she hadn't shared with anyone in years.
This time there was no tearing of clothes, no frantic rutting.
Sayuri stood on her toes and kissed him softly, hands sliding under his shirt to trace every muscle. He unzipped her dress and let it pool at her feet, revealing her naked body in the moonlight—those impossible J-cup breasts heavy and slightly pendulous, soft belly with faint silver stretch marks, hips wide and inviting.
She was trembling.
Kai laid her down on the bed like she was something sacred. He kissed every inch of her—collarbones, the upper slopes of her breasts, the sensitive undersides that made her gasp. He spent what felt like hours on her nipples alone, sucking gently until she was writhing and soaking the sheets.
When he finally settled between her thighs, he didn't thrust in.
He looked into her eyes.
"I love you, Sayuri."
Tears slipped down her temples.
"I love you too, Kai," she whispered. "So much it hurts."
Only then did he push inside—slow, reverent, inch by torturous inch. She was slick and burning hot, walls fluttering around him like they were trying to pull him deeper. When he bottomed out, they both groaned.
Missionary. Face to face. Hearts pounding in sync.
He moved like the world wasn't ending—like they had forever. Long, deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot inside her. Sayuri wrapped her thick thighs around his waist, arms around his neck, kissing him through every thrust.
"I love you," she said again and again, every time he filled her completely. "I love you, I love you—"
Kai kissed the tears from her cheeks, hips rolling slow and steady, feeling her pussy clench and ripple each time she came—quiet, shuddering orgasms that left her gasping his name like a prayer.
They made love for hours. Sometimes barely moving, just joined and kissing. Sometimes faster, her nails digging into his back as she begged for more. When he finally let go, it was with her name on his lips, pumping pulse after pulse of cum deep inside her while she clung to him and sobbed from the intensity of it all.
Afterward they didn't separate. He stayed inside her, softening slowly, holding her close.
"I'm yours," she murmured against his chest. "Completely. I don't care about anything else."
Kai stroked her hair, feeling something settle in his soul he hadn't known was missing.
Outside, the cicadas kept singing.
Inside, for the first time in both their lives, two broken people felt whole.
The morning after Sayuri whispered "I love you" for the hundredth time, Kai woke up alone in her bed, sunlight pouring through the lace curtains, the faint scent of her vanilla body lotion still on the sheets.
On the pillow beside him lay a single note in round, feminine handwriting:
Gone to open the store.
Come find me at lunch… or don't.
Either way, I'm yours now.
P.S. Mika-chan next door has been asking about you.
Be gentle… or don't. 😉
—Your Sayuri ♡
Kai grinned, cock already stirring at the memory of last night's slow, endless lovemaking. He dressed, stepped outside, and the summer heat hit him like a wet towel.
That's when he noticed the woman in the neighboring field.
Mika.
Forty-nine years old. Tall for a Japanese woman—almost five-foot-eight—with sun-browned skin that glowed like toasted honey. She wore faded denim overalls cut off at mid-thigh, the sides unbuttoned all the way to her hips, and absolutely nothing underneath except sweat. Her breasts were heavy teardrops, easily an H-cup, swaying freely with every movement as she bent over rows of eggplants. Silver-streaked black hair tied in a messy ponytail, strands plastered to her neck and cheeks.
And her ass—fuck. Round, powerful from years of farm work, flexing under the tight denim with every step.
She'd been waving at him every morning since he moved in, but this was the first time he'd seen her up close in daylight.
Mika straightened when she sensed him watching, wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, and smiled—slow, knowing, devastating.
"Morning, Kai-kun," she called, voice husky from years of shouting over tractors. "Sayuri-chan keeping you busy?"
There was no jealousy in her tone. Only amusement… and heat.
Kai walked over, hopping the low fence between their properties. Up close she was even more intoxicating: faint laugh lines around her eyes, full lips, and a body that looked like it had been carved for breeding.
"Something like that," he said, letting his gaze drag down her sweat-slicked cleavage without shame.
Mika's breath hitched. She glanced toward the main house—her husband was in the city until evening, same as always—then back at Kai.
"I was going to take a break," she said softly. "The barn's cooler. Want some barley tea?"
He followed her like a moth to flame.
The barn smelled of hay, earth, and her. She closed the heavy wooden door behind them, plunging the space into golden half-light. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams.
Mika didn't bother with tea.
She turned, unclipped the overall straps, and let the denim fall.
No panties. Just miles of toned, sun-kissed skin and a pussy already glistening under a neat triangle of dark hair.
"I'm not as young as Sayuri-chan," she said, almost shyly, cupping her heavy breasts and lifting them slightly. "Things sag a little. Stretch marks from three kids. But I'm still tight where it counts."
Kai stepped forward, cupped her face, and kissed her—slow, filthy, promising.
"You're perfect," he growled against her lips.
He lifted her easily—she was tall but light from farm work—and set her on a stack of hay bales, spreading her thighs wide. Her pussy lips parted on their own, pink and dripping.
He ate her slowly, reverently, tongue tracing every fold while she moaned and threaded fingers through his hair. When she came the first time, her thighs clamped around his head and she squirted—a hot gush that soaked his chin and chest.
Only then did he stand, drop his pants, and let her see what she'd been fantasizing about every night.
Mika's eyes went wide, then hooded with lust.
"Lie back," she whispered.
She wanted to ride him.
Kai lay on the hay, cock jutting up like a flagpole. Mika straddled him, thick thighs trembling, and sank down inch by agonizing inch. Her pussy was molten silk—tighter than he expected, walls rippling around him like they were trying to suck him deeper.
When she bottomed out, she stayed there a long moment, head thrown back, breasts bouncing with every shuddering breath.
Then she started to move.
Slow at first—grinding, circling her hips, using him like her personal toy. Her hands braced on his chest, nails digging in. Faster. Harder. The barn filled with the wet slap of skin, her broken moans, the creak of hay beneath them.
She came twice like that—screaming the second time, pussy clamping so hard he saw stars.
Kai flipped her onto her back in the hay, hooked her legs over his shoulders, and pounded her deep and steady. Her tits bounced wildly, nipples brushing his chest with every thrust.
"Look at me," he commanded when her eyes started to flutter shut.
She obeyed, tears of overwhelming pleasure on her cheeks.
"I'm going to fill you up, Mika."
"Yes—yes—do it—breed me—"
He buried himself to the root and exploded, pumping what felt like gallons of thick cum straight into her womb. Mika's third orgasm hit at the same time, her whole body arching off the hay as she milked him dry.
They stayed locked together afterward, panting, his cock still twitching inside her.
Mika traced lazy patterns on his sweat-slicked back.
"Every woman in this village is going to want a turn," she murmured, lips against his ear. "But you'll come back to me too, won't you?"
Kai kissed her slow and deep.
"Every fucking day."
Outside, the sun climbed higher.
Inside the barn, the farmer's wife lay ruined and glowing, cum leaking from her well-fucked pussy onto the hay, already counting the hours until her husband left again tomorrow.