Hiro's smile widens, a predatory glint in his eyes, as he takes a step towards Riko. "So, Riko-san," he purrs, his voice a low, intimate rumble that makes her skin crawl, "that means we're dating now, doesn't it?" He lets the words hang in the air, a declaration of ownership.
Riko flinches, a jolt of stark realization shooting through her. He's right. They agreed. But the sudden shift from confrontation to this perverse intimacy is jarring. She's not ready. "Hiro," she begins, her voice tight, "I... I'm not ready for such a sudden change. This is all very..." She struggles for the right word, her composure momentarily slipping.
He closes the distance between them with a fluid, almost imperceptible movement, stopping just inches from her. His presence is suddenly overwhelming, a wall of heat and a scent that is uniquely his. His eyes, dark and knowing, rake over her, taking in every detail with an unhurried, possessive gaze. He's checking her out thoroughly, from the delicate curve of her neck to the subtle sway of her hips. He sees the way her simple blouse, so innocent just moments ago, now strains almost imperceptibly across her C-cup breasts, hinting at the luscious fullness beneath. He notices the sudden tension in her shoulders, the quick rise and fall of her chest, betraying her carefully maintained calm.
His gaze drops to her short skirt, observing how the fabric clings to her firm ass, outlining its alluring shape. He imagines the feel of her smooth, bare skin under his touch, the warmth emanating from her. He can practically feel the exquisite tension in her body, a mixture of anger and a burgeoning, undeniable vulnerability. In such close proximity, her sexy figure is even more potent, more captivating. He sees the flush creeping up her neck, the slight trembling of her hands, and his groin hardens in response to her barely contained distress, finding her discomfort exquisitely alluring.
"Don't worry, Riko-san," Hiro murmurs, his voice deceptively soothing. He reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing her arm, a fleeting, almost electric touch that sends a shiver through her. "We'll take it slow. We'll just... get to know each other first. Properly." His eyes hold hers, a promise and a threat intertwined, a silent vow that this is just the beginning of her forced submission.
"So, Riko-chan," he begins, his voice soft, almost conversational, "since we're officially... dating now, I figured we should get to know each other better. Have you ever had a boyfriend before? Or maybe a crush?" He watches her closely, a flicker of genuine curiosity mixed with his predatory intent.
Riko's composure, usually unshakeable, shows a rare crack. She looks away, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. "No, Hiro-kun," she replies, her voice tight. "I haven't. I don't have time for such things. My studies and student council duties keep me too busy."
Hiro raises an eyebrow, a slight, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Really? That's surprising. I mean, there are so many guys who are completely head-over-heels for you, Riko-chan. Everyone talks about it. You're the Ice Queen, after all. So many would kill for just a glance." He pauses, letting his words sink in, then adds, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive purr, "But you just... don't want it, huh? A pure, untouched flower." He lets the words hang in the air, a thinly veiled reference to her virginity, a lustful flirt that he knows will make her squirm.
Riko's face flushes a brilliant crimson. She shifts uncomfortably, her gaze darting away, but she doesn't deny his implication. Her silence is a quiet confirmation, a bashful acknowledgment that fuels a deeper, darker desire in Hiro.
He decides to push. "You know, Riko-chan," he muses, his eyes scanning her figure, lingering on the subtle curves beneath her simple blouse and skirt, "for a photographer, it's really important to know your subject. To understand their... dimensions. It helps with framing, with lighting, with really capturing their essence." He smiles, a disarmingly charming, yet utterly manipulative expression. "So, just for my 'art,' could you tell me a few things? Like, for example, your bust measurement?" His gaze explicitly drops to her C-cup breasts, making his question undeniably erotic. "It's for the 'art,' you see. To highlight your... natural beauty."
Riko hesitates, her face a mask of conflict. The invasion of privacy, the explicit focus on her body, makes her want to storm out. But the unspoken threat, the photos of Sumi, keeps her rooted.
"And then," Hiro continues smoothly, not giving her a chance to refuse, his eyes now sweeping down to her waist and hips, "your waist, and then your hips. Especially with those short skirts you wear, it's good to know how they curve, how they move." He adds, almost as an afterthought, "It helps me visualize the poses better. To capture the full allure of your figure."
He waits, his gaze unwavering, and finally, Riko sighs, a sound of defeat. Her voice is barely a whisper, thick with shame and a resigned compliance. "32-24-36." She recites the numbers, vulnerable admission, a piece of herself willingly given up under duress.
Hiro's smile widens, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He's got her. He's got her measurements, her blushing admissions, another layer of her carefully guarded self exposed. His groin hardens in pure satisfaction. The Ice Queen is melting, piece by piece, just as he planned.
"Perfect, Riko-chan," Hiro purrs, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. His eyes, dark and knowing, trace the lines of her body, lingering on each measurement she's just confessed. "Exactly as I imagined. Thirty-two... so full and soft," he murmurs, his gaze fixed on her C-cup breasts, imagining the way they'd fill his hands, their weight soft against his palms. "And twenty-four for your waist? That's incredible. So tiny, so easy to grasp." His eyes move to her midsection, picturing the subtle curve of her abdomen. "And thirty-six for your hips... that's where the real magic happens, isn't it? Such a beautiful, generous curve. Perfect for… everything." His voice drops to a near whisper on the last words, thick with a raw, undeniable lust. He paints a vivid, erotic picture of her body with his words, dissecting each dimension with a seductive tone.
Riko feels a wave of profound shame wash over her, a burning flush creeping up her neck and spreading across her face. Her hands clench into fists, her nails digging into her palms. He's not supposed to talk like this. Not to her. Not about her body. It's vulgar, invasive, a violation of her dignity that cuts deeper than any physical touch. "Hiro-kun," she begins, her voice tight with suppressed anger, "you are not supposed to speak to me like that. That is entirely inappropriate."
Hiro's smile doesn't falter. He takes a step closer, his gaze softening, morphing into a mock sincerity that makes Riko's skin crawl even more. "Riko-chan, don't be so shy," he says, his voice a low, coaxing murmur. "These aren't just words. This is a compliment. From your boyfriend, no less." He lets the word "boyfriend" hang in the air, a possessive claim. "I'm simply admiring your beauty. Your incredible, alluring body. Every man who sees you thinks it, I'm just brave enough to say it out loud." He leans in slightly, his breath ghosting her ear. "It's a gift, Riko-chan, to have such a perfect figure. And I, for one, intend to admire every inch of it." His words, laced with a perverse charm, are designed to dismantle her defenses, forcing her to accept his crude objectification as admiration, further solidifying his control over her.
"Hiro-kun," Riko asks, her voice sharp with suspicion, "how did you get those photos of Sumi? Did you... did you force her to pose like that?" The thought of her innocent sister being coerced into such vulnerable shots fills her with cold dread.
Hiro smiles, a calculated, reassuring expression that does little to calm Riko's fears. "Force her? Riko-chan, you wound me," he purrs, shaking his head slightly. "Look at the photos again. Does her expression show any sign of force? She's smiling, she looks natural." He pauses, letting Riko review the images on the camera's screen. "It was just a sports theme photoshoot, a typical, casual setup. But because of the lighting we used, and the quality of the camera, the outcome is... well, you see it. The pictures are incredibly detailed, shaping her whole body in a way that makes her look... very alluring."
He gestures vaguely. "In reality, it was just a normal leotard that any athlete might wear. It's just the way the light catches her, the way the camera captures every curve, every line. It makes it seem more... revealing than it actually was."
Riko stares at the images, then back at Hiro, a deep confusion clouding her eyes. She knows Sumi is innocent, but the photos in front of her are undeniably explicit, molding her sister's form into a vision of raw sexiness. Hiro's explanation, though plausible in its technicality, feels like a flimsy veil over a more sinister truth. Yet, she can't point to a definitive lie. The photos do look professionally lit, and Sumi does appear uncoerced in her expressions.
A deep sigh escapes her lips. She doesn't like it. She doesn't believe it completely. But, for now, she has no other choice. "I... I see," she murmurs, a reluctant acceptance in her tone, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. She's caught in his web, forced to accept his version of events, even as her instincts scream otherwise.
Hiro, emboldened by Riko's reluctant acceptance, makes his move. He takes a daring step closer, his eyes alight with a possessive glint. His hand rises, slowly, deliberately, aiming for the small of her back, a move intended to signify intimacy, ownership.
Riko subtly shifts, a barely perceptible twitch of her body, just enough to deny his touch. The thought of his hand on her skin, that rough, insistent presence, sends a shiver of pure revulsion through her. She, the elegant and composed Riko, has never dreamed of sitting so closely to someone like Hiro. He's low, infamous, his looks rough around the edges, verging on ugly in her refined eyes. His behavior, his very essence, is so utterly different from her own class, her own world. She's trapped, forced to accept this charade of a relationship, but she will not, cannot, willingly endure his touch. Even as his senior, she feels his power over her, his treating her as if she's entirely at his will.
Hiro's smile tightens, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he registers her aversion, the clear unpleasantness in her eyes. He knows she's rejecting his advance, but that only fuels a darker resolve within him. He wants her to accept him, to submit.
He closes the small remaining gap between them, stepping even nearer until she can feel the faint warmth radiating from his body. His presence is suddenly overwhelming, suffocating. He leans in, his voice dropping to a low, almost guttural murmur that sends a prickle of fear down her spine. "Riko-chan," he breathes, his gaze locking with hers, his eyes burning with a raw, undeniable lust. "We're dating now, remember? A girlfriend doesn't pull away from her boyfriend."
His hand, which had initially been reaching for her back, now hovers, agonizingly close to her hip, then slides imperceptibly, just an inch closer to the subtle curve of her buttocks, making her acutely aware of its proximity to her sexy figure. He doesn't touch her yet, but the unspoken threat of it, the mere intention, is a palpable force. His gaze rakes over her, lingering on the way her simple blouse stretches subtly across her C-cup breasts, then down to the smooth expanse of her thighs revealed by the short skirt. He lets his eyes linger on her mouth, then back to her eyes, forcing her to acknowledge the intensity of his desire. He is subtly increasing the tension, pushing her to the very edge of discomfort, compelling her to accept his touch as an inevitable part of their twisted agreement.
Hiro's hand, slow and deliberate, finally makes contact. It lands on the small of Riko's back, just above her skirt line, his fingers splaying slightly. It's not a harsh grip, but a possessive claim, a subtle pressure that speaks volumes. He feels the immediate rush of it, the unexpected warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse. A quiet triumph surges through him; he can feel her, truly touch her. The untouchable Ice Queen is now within his grasp.
Riko freezes, a jolt running through her body at his touch. She feels a strange, unsettling weakness flood her limbs, a disorienting sensation she can't comprehend. Why is this happening? Why does her body feel so… pliant, when her mind screams in protest? She notices the exact spot where his hand rests, a place no one—no friend, no family member, no one—has ever touched her before. It's a violation of an unseen boundary, an intimate space he has now brazenly invaded.
His fingers shift almost imperceptibly, just brushing the delicate curve of her spine, then the soft, yielding flesh above her hips. He doesn't press, doesn't grope, but the very fact of his presence, the warmth of his hand, creates a powerful, inescapable awareness of her own body. She feels her skin prickle, a strange, foreign sensation. His touch, though seemingly innocent, feels deeply erotic, a stark reminder of his declared ownership and the lust in his eyes. She is acutely aware of the sensual curve of her ass just beneath his fingers, the vulnerable line of her back now exposed to his touch, and the terrifying, unsettling reality of her body responding in ways her mind cannot control.