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Yamato knows it's wrong to do this. Or at least sort of wrong.
Making out with the elder sister of one of your players is always a little wrong. Even though know Yamato's in his last year of highschool and Yumiko is so much older and both are able to control their own lives… Fuji Syuusuke should not factor into this at all, but Yamato knows somewhere that the young Fuji, 14 and fresh faced still and not a whisker on his chin, would not approve at all. In fact Yamato knows he would probably find Fuji on the other side of the net the day Fuji finds out, and no amount of skill or wisdom will save Yamato from Fuji's wrath.
"Stop thinking about my brother Yamato-kun." Yumiko's fingers are painted a dark red today, and the pointed tips tap the dark round circles of Yamato's glasses before she hooks her fingers under the nose piece and draws them off. "He'll never know." And Yumiko's mouth is always so warm and plump against his own, and her smooth skin slides over the soul patch that he never remembers to shave except once a week. Yumiko's breasts rub against Yamato's jersey and Yamato imagines he can feel them, soft skin with delicate pink nipples, he can imagine them, and he cups them through the thin fabric of Yumiko's shirt and bra.
Yumiko lets him fondle her breasts, but soon she has pushed Yamato's hands away, pressing them to hold onto the bunch they are both sitting on. Yamato wonders why Yumiko does this, why she is never so interested in him touching her, and what signals the end of playtime and when she gets down to business. Yumiko on her knees is a perfect porn star image, she's all sculpted body and beautiful skin and when she licks her lips her lipstick glints in a way that could make a lesser man come. Yamato manages to hold back until Yumiko has those perfect lips wrapped around his dick, sucking and licking and teasing him to the brink and back for what seems like a millennium.
It never lasts more then a half hour.
In those last few seconds before he comes Yamato almost grabs at Yumiko's soft brown hair. Almost imagines Yumiko's eyes to be closed tight because of a smile. Almost images Yumiko's perfect round c-cups to be a flat toned tennis honed chest.
Almost.
And then he has come and fireworks fade from the back of his eyes as Yumiko pulls his shorts back up and replaces the glasses on his face. She kisses him then, mouth tasting like the bottom of a shoe, and Yamato kisses back. Tasting himself on her tongue and lips is a reminder that Yamato's not in control of this, and he never will be, and he's okay with that.
"Next week." Yumiko purrs, pressing one perfect finger against Yamato's lips before she walks to the door. The locker room looks no different then it did half an hour ago when a stream of young teenagers changed out of dirty clothes and headed for home. The soft barely there scent of a woman, the fading click-clack of her high heels and the taste in Yamato's mouth are the only proof Yumiko has been there.
"Stop thinking about my brother Yamato-kun." Yumiko's fingers are painted a dark red today, and the pointed tips tap the dark round circles of Yamato's glasses before she hooks her fingers under the nose piece and draws them off. "He'll never know." And Yumiko's mouth is always so warm and plump against his own, and her smooth skin slides over the soul patch that he never remembers to shave except once a week. Yumiko's breasts rub against Yamato's jersey and Yamato imagines he can feel them, soft skin with delicate pink nipples, he can imagine them, and he cups them through the thin fabric of Yumiko's shirt and bra.
Yumiko lets him fondle her breasts, but soon she has pushed Yamato's hands away, pressing them to hold onto the bunch they are both sitting on. Yamato wonders why Yumiko does this, why she is never so interested in him touching her, and what signals the end of playtime and when she gets down to business. Yumiko on her knees is a perfect porn star image, she's all sculpted body and beautiful skin and when she licks her lips her lipstick glints in a way that could make a lesser man come. Yamato manages to hold back until Yumiko has those perfect lips wrapped around his dick, sucking and licking and teasing him to the brink and back for what seems like a millennium.
It never lasts more then a half hour.
In those last few seconds before he comes Yamato almost grabs at Yumiko's soft brown hair. Almost imagines Yumiko's eyes to be closed tight because of a smile. Almost images Yumiko's perfect round c-cups to be a flat toned tennis honed chest.
Almost.
And then he has come and fireworks fade from the back of his eyes as Yumiko pulls his shorts back up and replaces the glasses on his face. She kisses him then, mouth tasting like the bottom of a shoe, and Yamato kisses back. Tasting himself on her tongue and lips is a reminder that Yamato's not in control of this, and he never will be, and he's okay with that.
"Next week." Yumiko purrs, pressing one perfect finger against Yamato's lips before she walks to the door. The locker room looks no different then it did half an hour ago when a stream of young teenagers changed out of dirty clothes and headed for home. The soft barely there scent of a woman, the fading click-clack of her high heels and the taste in Yamato's mouth are the only proof Yumiko has been there.