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She straddles him on her favorite couch in the drawing room. This was as far as her plan to be close with Soujyuro went. She stares at him, failing fast at her ability to maintain a judgemental expression on her face, like she has every right to be sitting on him. Like this. With her thighs spread generously over his warm, comfortable lap. Like it’s her right to face him in such an intimate position during the middle of the day.
He doesn't stop her, of course.
She can have any right she wants, according to him. He's never told her that though. She glares at him, point-blank, from her new throne that is his lap; a recent development in the laundry list of rights Alice has given herself. Truth be told, he doesn’t mind—not in the slightest. However, it’s harder to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why she would choose between two large upholstered couches just to select the only occupied spot.
His hands, previously behind his head, now rest unconfidently on her outer thighs. He feels it's necessary to secure her even if she hasn't yet explained why, of all seats, she's chosen him.
Her expression of judgment cracks, and she leans forward. Onto him. It is natural, so natural, for him to tilt his head to the side as she hides her face in the nape of his neck. They slot together comfortably.
“Alice?”
She's silent for a while until he hears, “Hold me.” Her voice is ever quiet, muted through his own shirt fabric. He drags his palms flat from the tops of her thighs to her waist as he holds her endearingly close. They stay like that for a while.
It's sudden when she leans back.
Her hand is quick and nearly aggressive in grabbing his shirt collar, her expression oscillating between angry and conflicted and something else entirely. He's not sure what. He's not sure why. She's too deep in her own thoughts, and the emotions he gets to see on her face feel almost accidental. An unintended glimpse into how her thoughts manifest. Secrets he shouldn't be able to witness. He would never vocalize it, but he likes when the omnipresent veil to her thoughts is thin (even if it hurts him, physically, like in the current moment.)
When she tugs on his shirt collar again, she also rolls her hips. Her weight and heat on his lap is provocative, and doubly so when she moves backwards and forwards. Sweet sinful friction. He reacts by squeezing the hands on her waist; this seems to only promote the reoccurrence of said wonderful hip motion. He shouldn't like it because it isn't his place to like it, right now. Or at least that's what he thinks.
Every fiber in his body wants her to roll her hips again—but she doesn't. Even when he grabs her waist more firmly; thumbs rubbing in an arc along the sides of her stomach, which elicits an unsteady sigh from her. Her hips don't move as she drags her hand down from his shirt collar to press to both of her hands into the tops of his hands on her waist.
It's when she takes his hands under hers, collectively sliding their hands along the front of her body to her clothed breasts, that he realizes she means exactly what he thinks she means when she rolls her hips against his lap.
He feels himself going red as he gives her a gentle squeeze with each handful. She's so soft, everywhere, save for the underwire of her bra that doesn't give with his touch. His eyes fixed on how the fabric along her chest contorts as he rolls pressure along his fingers that are still under her hands.
“Don't move unless I say.”
Soujyuro's fingers freeze in fondling her chest. He keeps his hands there, as moving them away is still motion, and he would never intentionally go against her word. The location of his hands is already a gift, even if he may not be able to knead and grab as he pleases. A little restraint never hurt anyone, and arguably a trait well-trained from his days in the unpredictable countryside. Wordlessly, he holds still and awaits her further instruction.
The only skin he can see are her calves from the dress that has since ridden upwards, her bare hands holding his to her chest, and her face framed by the high collar of her dress. Despite the lack of bare skin between the both of them, he's hard under her. The next time she rolls her hips, he's certain she feels how he feels about the current situation. He wonders if he should be embarrassed at how turned on he is from her attention.
She shifts her weight away, but not off of him; towards his knees. Her hands release his from their binding on her breasts as she instructs him dryly, “Unzip your pants.” He nods, not trusting his voice as he undoes his belt and fly. He wonders if he should be embarrassed at how arousing he finds her rather stern request. His interest in being directed by harsh tones is something he will have to come to terms with later.
She pulls out his erection, deft hands immediate in their objective. Her assessment of his dick is nothing more than an inquisitive hum as her small and cold fingers run along the length of him. The sensation makes him bite his lip.
Then she lifts her skirt ever so slightly, a pleasant exchange from her cold hands and feeling so exposed to the air. The fabric is warm as it shifts and slides over where he's most sensitive, but he doesn't make a sound. She grabs his hands and puts them back on her waist. He makes note that she must like them there, whether for convenience or enjoyment is hard to determine. He’s distracted by how she lifts her hips; thankful to have half a thought to keep still as he was told. He doesn't move when she shifts her legs closer on either side of his thighs.
He doesn't move when the underside of his cock feels warm, then hot, then wet.
Under her dress, she rubs her seemingly bare pussy against his erection. He watches as her hand applies pressure through the fabric of her dress to press his dick against her folds. He wonders if she never wears underwear when wearing dresses, or if this was just a special occasion. Something she planned. He doesn't know which avenue of thinking is more erotic—they're both surprises coming from Alice.
He would ask her about it, but it's not an important enough question to ask when she lifts her hips up only to ease the tip of his erection into her pussy. It's hard to think of anything other than how Alice feels sinking onto him, and the strange expression of determination on her face. It’s an expression she wears well.
His thoughts skewed by all the other overwhelming, delightful sensations of Alice.
She is so warm and wet and sweaty---all of which are entirely unnoticeable at a glance of just her. A secret tease. She's only mildly blushing, and the lower half of her dress hides everything he can feel through at least two layers of fabric. Soujyuro on the other hand, is flushed intensely; hair somehow disheveled and pupils blown wide as he barely keeps it together.
And yet, he remains unmoving under her.
She eases down, taking in more of his cock. He inhales sharply as she lifts herself up, giving a few shallow bounces to the length of him that she's already fit in. In this motion, she lifts herself almost all the way off of him. He can't help but groan when she drops her hips, sinking down, all the way down. His head falling back onto the couch as she slows the closer she gets to taking him all in, not once pausing.
For Soujyuro, the moment is gratifyingly languid.
When she sits her whole weight onto him once more, he finds again that they slot together comfortably. He can only appreciate and savor the arousal shared between them when he's fully inside her. More so when Alice must feel the same way; eyes closed and her brows unfurrowed for the first time since she grabbed his shirt collar. She seems almost serene, like how he feels when he just gets off work or completes a goal he's been meaning to for awhile.
What was the goal here anyway—just to sit on him? To turn him on? To fuck him? He's unsure. Maybe they're biased questions though, his mind hazy with want. None of his thoughts are organized.
“Do you want me to move?” As soon as he says it, he recognizes that it's a dumb question provided her previous command. He just really wants to move for her. He could handle the rest of this encounter on her behalf, if she wanted. All she has to do is say as much.
Instead, she returns to glaring at him.
“No.” It is an unconditional denial. Her voice, absolute. He feels her pussy twitch. Soujyuro swallows thickly, nodding once in acceptance of his passive role in whatever this encounter has become.
The door to the drawing room clicks open.
His hands fly off her hips, and he sits up perfectly straight, pressing his hands awkwardly against the back of the couch. He doesn't see Alice move, but she suddenly has a book open in front of her face, turned to a random page.
Aoko steps fully through the door. She pauses.
“In what weird way are you hazing the intern today?”
Her words imply she didn't see them until now. She glances in the direction of the couches to see Alice, looking angry, sitting on top of Soujyuro, looking guilty. Her question sounded like a joke, but Soujyuro has no idea what it means to haze someone. He doesn’t trust his voice to ask, nor does he want to even attempt a conversation with someone else with Alice like this on him. He sits with the pure relief of not being caught mid-act of whatever is occuring between him and Alice.
He would love to live to see the end of this.
Soujyuro also takes the time provided by Aoko's joke to tuck his hands under his hips, sitting on them. Voluntarily restricting his own movement further. Touching Alice now, as desirable as it may be, would also be a death wish in the presence of Aoko. He feels her pussy twitch again. He bites his lips.
“Not of your concern.” Alice sounds convincingly annoyed for someone with quivering walls around his cock. He tries really hard not to think about it but the mental restraint only goes so far when she's the only movement shared between them. He presses his hands into the couch cushion under him.
“You know what? I don't want to know.” Aoko doesn't dwell on the retort. All casual, she strolls to the kitchen, starts the coffee maker, and makes exactly one cup. For herself. From Soujyuro's position on the couch, he can see a mechanical pencil tucked behind her ear. Aoko must be studying in her room. That means this is just a pitstop.
A fleeting pitstop. All he has to do is wait.
He hears her open the cabinet to the sugar, and the clanking of a metal spoon in porcelain. He looks forward, zoning in to see Alice with her book open, but peering over it to look directly at him. They stare at each other until Alice lifts herself slightly, and then drops her weight back down. Such a small motion made all the worse by the fact that Soujyuro can't move from her rule, and also can't move from the risk of being found out. Under the dress, she's sweating and they’re both damp. Alice's core, contrary to her cold hands, feels like a furnace. It's making him physically hot.
The flush of his face is all the more brighter.
He hears the fridge open and Aoko shake the milk carton, just as Alice does it again. The smallest bounce on his lap; nearly a readjustment but under her restrictions, the sensation feels overwhelming. He closes his eyes. He opens them when he hears the fridge open and close a second time; Aoko presumably putting the milk back in its place. His eyes connect with Alice to see her looking smug. Aoko walks out of the kitchen and his line of sight snaps to her. She acknowledges the attention by lifting up her mug of coffee while she walks by again.
A gesture of cheers to no one as she exits the drawing room.
As soon as the door hinges to the room squeak closed, Alice's walls tighten and twitch around him. She presses the book she holds to her mouth, hiding the lower half of her face. Soujyuro can only see how her eyebrows furrow, and she closes her eyes as she tilts her face to the ceiling.
He watches her shudder in what he can only assume is her orgasm.
Soujyuro let's out a breath he hadn't known he's been holding this entire time. She puts a free hand on his chest, and wiggles her hips side-to-side; all frustratingly small motions. Her mouth must be open behind the book because he can hear her panting. She’s now vocal, with each twitch of her pussy yielding the faintest moan.
“Did you just…” He trails off as he hears her jaw click shut to glare at him, her face wholly scarlet. The piercing look is enough for him to know—yes, she did—and to promptly shut up.
Nevermind that she’s still twitching. Nevermind that he hasn't moved and he's done nothing to her.
Did she want to be found, fucking him by her terms?
She rolls her hips for the first time with his cock so deep inside of her he sighs her name involuntarily. The unintentionality must read on his face, as she laughs quietly. The way her stomach muscles tense in response feels divine, and it makes him pant. It’s more movement that leaves his mouth slack with want. His stomach tense. Thighs heavy. He’s torn between wanting her to keep moving, wanting to honor her requirement to not move without command, and his personal desire to last as long as possible. Soujyuro struggles for his own resolve—he's so close. Too close.
In this instance, she always had the prerogative to move, if she wanted to. Lubricious noises from under her dress follow her third hip roll since he's entered her, and its immediately apparent to him that she's only gotten wetter since the coffee break interruption. That, combined with the realization of how much she likes this arrangement—with him trapped and restricted underneath her—brings him over the edge. He comes as soon as their hips meet during her hip roll.
She stays fully seated as he fills her. He kind of loves her for it.
“Oh,” she says it with a small smile. Fuck. The look on her face is a mix of knowingly smug and satisfied. He can’t tell if its because she thinks his cum feels good in a primitive way, or if its because she’s pleased she got him to this point with so little effort. She got him to this point with no autonomy offered to him and he liked it. She knows he liked it. He hopes it’s all the above.
He definitely can’t think straight.
“You're allowed to move again.”
Its a dangerous prompt to receive now, of all times. His entire cock buried in her, with his cum to spill out the second either of them move their hips. He has no idea if she would enjoy the feeling or dislike it; nor does he know how she wants to handle clean-up. He can’t find the voice to ask right now. The potential answers are all too complicated for the current state of his nerves.
Ironically, he's certain he would give anything to not move from his current spot in this moment in time. The most he’s capable of is remembering her first request, freeing his hands from his own weight, and pulling her upper body back into a tight hug.