The Warring First Time of Geniuses [Kaguya-sama, NSFW]

The first time!

When couples finally come together, baring their innermost selves to one another, allowing their vulnerability to reach past the barrier of fear and apprehension so that two can become one. One of the milestones that young lovers anxiously yearn for, hope for, strive for.

But that is a lie!

Sex is not so easy, not so gentle. Thousands of young lovers are both eager to discover its mysteries and studiously indifferent about the subject lest they be condemned as lustful maniacs. While curiosity and passion are natural urges, it’s equally natural to judge others, and so, in a couple, whoever is perceived as needy and lewd will forever be seen as the one making demands of the other, more composed individual.

As inferior.

Because the relationship between sex and power is one that is far from implicit. How often does one hear about powerful men having young mistresses? About beautiful women making a killing on OnlyFans? About practices often involving leather and words that would get the lovers canceled on Twitter? Yes, behind the fairytale notion of a true love’s first kiss lies the cruel reality of subordination to the only person who can provide you with something you desperately crave. It would be no exaggeration to say that sex is a drug, and whoever can fulfill your addiction is your master.

And so, with those stakes on the line, the one who can make their lover desire them the most is the victor.

The conqueror.

Because, after all…

Sex is war!

Or so Miyuki Shirogane thinks.

“I’m just making sure that I have all the necessary information before deciding upon a course of action,” the composed president of the student council said, as unflappable as ever, aligning a sheaf of papers over his heavy, imposing desk.

“You’re a pervert!” Chika Fujiwara said, as flapped as usual, as she slammed both hands on top of a desk that made for an excellent percussion instrument.

“You’re amazing…” Ai Hayasaka muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose and studiously avoiding the gaze of the two other people present in the student council room.

“I’m not a so-called ‘pervert.’ Kaguya and I are in a committed relationship, and I merely seek to learn as much as I can about the subject so as to make her first time an unforgettable, pleasant, and romantic experience—”

“And that naturally means asking two girls to teach you how to have sex,” Hayasaka interrupted with a tone that she usually only employed to talk to a young woman hiding her blushing face under her bedcovers for reasons as chaste as the conversation wasn’t.

“I mean…” Shirogane hesitated, looking from a flushed, mysterious lifeform glaring at him to a scornful maid who could make a killing on OnlyFans before schooling himself back into his non-flapped demeanor. “Who else can I trust enough to ask about this other than my best friends—”

“Ishigami,” Hayasaka immediately said.

“Ishigami,” Fujiwara laboriously spat.

“I… No. As a man, I can’t infringe on the trust that my younger friend has bestowed upon me. How would I look if I asked for his counsel on this of all subjects? No, for the sake of our friendship, I need him to retain the image of me upon which our relationship rests. As much as I fret about this topic, the one thing I will never do is risk lowering his regard for me,” Shirogane said, resting his chin on his knuckles and turning his chair ever so slightly to look at the sun coming through the window behind him.

At that very moment, Yu Ishigami—who was in the yard beneath the student council’s window, sharing his lunch with both the paragon of riajuness and a spoiled, justice-obsessed woman milking a broken arm for all it was worth—felt a warm sensation in his chest and looked up toward the radiant sun, as if acknowledging a connection to—

“In other words, you know he has absolutely no clue about women and don’t want to bother,” Hayasaka mercilessly stated.

“Guh!” Shirogane replied, clutching his chest and unable to bring himself to state any kind of rebuttal.

“Yeah, it’s Ishigami,” a resentful, mysterious lifeform said, twisting the knife ever deeper with an admirable economy of words.

“Stop! Stop, don’t berate him anymore! This isn’t at all about how he will likely die alone and a virgin, playing a barely all-ages visual novel on his Nintendo Switch even as life itself dries from his hands! Yu’s pure, innocent heart is too fragile for this cruel world!” Shirogane said in stalwart defense of his friend.

At that moment, Yu Ishigami was choking on a piece of breaded chicken, desperately struggling to breathe as abundant tears streamed from his eyes, even as the earlier warmth faded from his chest.

But as often happens with Yu Ishigami, this story isn’t about him, so we shall studiously avoid going back to him and his futile attempts to become a harem protagonist.

“You… fucker…” Yu Ishigami, almost entirely out of breath and with his face quickly turning a worrying shade of puce, said for some enigmatic reason.

That ended up with Miko Iino kicking his shin, the pain reflex serendipitously helping him dislodge the piece of chicken, thus burying him further in her debt.

(You’re welcome.)

Back at the student council, though, the plateau remained unchanged.

A man trying to look as dignified as he always pretended to be, a maid too used to such pretenses even if usually from another source entirely, and a pink-haired ramen monster, all three of them locked in a struggle that—

“This is ridiculous,” Ai Hayasaka said, dismissively brushing back her side ponytail with the back of her hand and turning toward the imposing double doors of the ostentatious room. “I’ll do you the favor of not mentioning this to Kaguya, but I suggest you buy a book on the subject like a regular person.”

Like a regular person.

Such words, often said in dismissal, are rarely anything other than a passing insult. ‘Why can’t you be normal?’ is what they usually mean. ‘Nobody else has this problem but you,’ is often implied. They are cruel words that often leave the recipient feeling nothing but inadequacy at something that the speaker barely acknowledges as mildly offensive.

In this case, Hayasaka knew Shirogane well enough that all effects were calculated and intentional.

Mostly so she could run away from the situation before her cheeks burst into flames.

Because Ai Hayasaka is a deceitful woman! Presenting herself as worldly and seductive, she’s as sheltered as Shinomiya herself; an innocent, pure maiden dressed up as the gal character in a thousand doujins!

And Miyuki Shirogane is both one of her best friends and the man closest to having been her first (heterosexual) kiss!

So Ai Hayasaka is embarrassed. Mortified. She wants to bury her head under Kaguya’s bedcovers and scream herself hoarse while her mistress pats her back! She wants to run away from a cruel world set on making her revisit the humiliating memories of the one time she tried to seduce Miyuki Shirogane on an ill-advised dare!

And thus, with the efficiency that characterizes the ultimate maid, she’s dropped the one line that will make her best male friend drop the subject and never bring it up again.

But she’s committed a crucial mistake.

A regular person!

One who adheres to the norms, who does as expected, who performs neither above nor below the average mean of their contemporaries.

A regular person!

Somebody who can read the mood, the unstated rules of society, who can effortlessly mesh with their group without resorting to any extraordinary measures.

A regular person!

Somebody who doesn’t close their eyes when trying to hit a volleyball, who doesn’t lip-synch when singing the school’s anthem, who doesn’t need a marathon of horror movies to get over his fear of cooking fish, whose attempts at dancing don’t look like a botched exorcism!

At the carefully picked words, the superb tactic that Ai Hayasaka had crafted to cover for her mortal embarrassment…

Chika Fujiwara’s trauma was triggered.

“Hold it,” a somber voice said as Hayasaka found her wrist clasped in an unyielding grip.

“Fu—Fujiwara…?” the blonde said, slowly turning around to see somebody watching her with lifeless eyes devoid of anything but sheer purpose.

“Where do you think you’re going, punk?”

“Uh?”

“Aren’t you Kaguya’s oldest friend? Don’t you realize the kind of danger that she’s in?”

“Danger?”

“Ah! How can you be so clueless! This is unforgivable! Absolutely, completely, utterly shameful! You’re not going to leave this room until Love Detective Chika has used you to solve the issue!”

“Used me?!” Ai Hayasaka said, the familiar, flustered panic that Chika Fujiwara could so easily inflict on her already staggering her, the kunoichi-like maid taking half a step back as…

As Chika Fujiwara took from her pocket a flaring piece of white cloth, defiantly sweeping her arm as it seemed to stream on unseen winds, the ‘Oni’ character written in the middle of it catching Hayasaka’s eye for a single second before the secretary of the student council tied her headband in place, her eyes burning with the kind of determination that can only be born of repeated PTSD.

It was at that moment that Miyuki Shirogane realized he had screwed up.

But, really, who could blame him? The plan was simple enough: get the insight of the only two women he could bring himself to even talk about the topic with, maybe soothe his steadily increasing nerves, have an awkward conversation, and reinforce his view that women, while mysterious and ineffable, are also human beings and Kaguya wouldn’t break up with him just for bringing up the subject.

It was a nice plan. A simple plan.

Except he had gotten Fujiwara involved.

“I… Maybe a simple chat would do the trick—” he tried to backpedal, both hands raised in a pacifying gesture.

And then he met Chika’s eyes fierce, unyielding eyes.

“Shut up,” she said.


“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied.

“What is even going on—” Hayasaka started.

Before she was abruptly silenced by the soft, insistent, demanding lips of a mysterious lifeform.

The blonde girl blinked rapidly, not quite processing the fact that, after having chased Chika through the whole school to explain to her that her ill-advised attempt at stealing the secretary’s lips had been nothing more than a moment of frustration boiling over after yet again being subjected to Kaguya’s ramblings—

To Kaguya’s ramblings about how nice it had felt to finally kiss the man that had been the closest to receiving Ai Hayasaka’s own first kiss….

Yes, that had also been the result of another of Kaguya’s ramblings and passions boiling over, but… uh…

Ai Hayasaka was pretty sure she was going somewhere with that thought.

Chika Fujiwara, on the other hand, had no such delusions.

Because she was absolutely certain that she had no clue what she was doing.

Really, wouldn’t this be the right moment for Yu Ishigami to burst into the room and totally misunderstand what was going on, letting out the most damaging remark he could to get Chika to cry in frustration and, maybe at some point, hire a professional fortuneteller to cast a curse on him?

Where was that damn useless pile of NEETism when she needed him?!

At that very moment, Yu Ishigami, already half-recovered from his brief bout with auto-erotic asphyxiation, felt the call of a comrade. The need to be by the side of a friend in need.

Sadly, he was too busy walking an uppity, short woman with both a Napoleon complex and a broken arm to the nurse’s office because she insisted that she needed to have her back wiped off sweat.

(You’re welcome.)

So, once again deserted by the rules of a world she thought she understood, Chika Fujiwara found herself with no escape. No retreat.

No surrender.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Miyuki Shirogane staring at her with as much devoted attention as whenever she had worn the accursed headband for him, his eyes as wide as they could go without entirely erasing his perpetual squint, his cheeks more crimson than when he had kept slapping himself silly by trying to hit a volleyball.

That memory was the tipping point.

All right, yes. She had embarrassed herself. She was being reckless and had carelessly thrown away her first kiss to the girl who had tried to steal it just because Chika had innocently commented that she wouldn’t mind somebody forcefully kissing her.

She may have, as Love Detective Chika, overreacted.

But as an instructor? As the secret trainer of the child she had brought up with blood, sweat, and tears? As Kaguya’s protector?

This was necessary.

So, paying no mind to the tingling in her lips, or how soft Hayasaka’s cheeks felt under her fingers, or the way their chests pressed together just so as her toes curled inside her indoor shoes…

Chika Fujiwara pulled away.

And barely stared at the disheveled, panting, flushed, side-ponytailed woman with lips half-open, glassy eyes, and trembling hands clasping Chika’s own arms.

Really.

Not at all. Barely a second. If that.

… Maybe she could go for a second kiss? Just to make sure that the lesson—ah! The lesson!

“All right. A kiss. You always start with a kiss. Or, well, I guess not always. Please don’t kiss her if you’ve eaten garlic bread, or too much ramen, or maybe something with onions? I’m unclear on the onion thing. Garlic is a definite no—anyway! The important thing is that you need mood. Don’t just assault her and expect her to be ready for… for that. Or, uh, maybe? Kaguya looks like the kind of girl who may like being manhandled—”

“Please stop talking…” a breathless maid still clinging to her arms pleaded.

“I’m giving a lecture!”

“You’re talking about garlic!”

“Garlic is very important! It gives vitality, and Prez will surely want some, with how bad he’s at sports—”

“I’m not that bad. Surely, just a tad mediocre. Average? I would say average—”

“You’re lethally bad. If I don’t teach you how to have sex, you’re going to kill Kaguya, and it will all be my fault for not pinning Hayasaka down and making her squirm—”

At that very moment, Love Detective Chika realized one crucial thing:

She wasn’t the one with bodyguard training.

This may not have been such an important factoid at other times, but when one is flying in a graceful arc over the air, completely parallel to the ground, left arm extended behind and clasped in the iron grip of the one person who did have bodyguard training and, apparently, some judo lessons, it suddenly seemed important to remember.

Thankfully, Hayasaka may have been feeling merciful because she ended up landing on the couch rather than the unforgiving floor.

Or maybe not that merciful, seeing as she immediately assumed the mounted position, Chika’s hands held above her head as a gymnastic blonde sat just under her generous bust.

“So. Who did you say was going to make me squirm?” an intimidating woman who looked very apt at being precisely as forceful as Chika wanted asked her.

“Right. Safe words. Listen, Prez, safe words may seem like an advanced topic, but they are actually very simple, and—”

“I don’t want to talk about safe words!” an inexplicably flustered blonde exclaimed.

“Right. They can also be gestures, or sounds. Better think about it before using a gag—hmph!”

There was a hand pressing down on Chika’s mouth and two intense blue eyes staring right through her.

One of those things may have accounted for her momentary paralysis.

“We’re not giving him a sex education class. He doesn’t needa sex education class. He can use the Internet like a regular human being.”

Suffice it to say, Ai Hayasaka’s words were not the best ones to prolong the secretary’s bout of helpless submission.

With a renewed urge to instruct her pupil, protect her friend, and maybe do something about the tingling feeling racing up and down her inner thighs, Chika Fujiwara narrowed her eyes, licked the palm of the hand delightfully—forcefully silencing her, and, as soon as the maid flinched, she…

Ineffectively flopped around, accomplishing absolutely nothing.

In recent years, there’s been a paradigm shift in the world of martial arts. When once tradition and century-long lineages reigned supreme, nowadays competition and constant testing have stepped in. The foremost contenders in the sport of Mixed Martial Arts employ mixtures of striking and grappling arts, as boxers, karatekas, and judokas find themselves lacking in specific skills that they need other disciplines to supplement so that they can remain competitive. One such skill, that of ground fighting, has the mounted position as the one thing to fear, the one challenge to overcome for all those who had always been taught to remain upright during a fight at all costs.

When an opponent sits comfortably on their rival’s ribcage or, when confronting particularly gifted girls, right under it, their center of gravity is all but rooted to the spot. Struggling without an understanding of the technique will do nothing other than tire the pinned, out-of-breath, flushed victim.

And, as Chika Fujiwara just discovered, she really doesn’t know what she’s doing.

At that very moment, Yu Ishigami felt an inexplicable urge to pump his fist and triumphantly exclaim his vindication, but he was too preoccupied with trying very hard to towel off a small tyrant’s bare back without disturbing her sling or staring transfixed at the shockingly lacy bra she was wearing.

(You’re welcome.)

Still, among the many things that Ai Hayasaka was—from gifted technologist to method actress extraordinaire—a bully wasn’t one of them. Yes, she may have occasionally enjoyed teasing her employer as a way to vent her many frustrations, but she’d rarely been in a position to abuse her power.

Mostly because she’d never had any power.

Thus, the idea of having one of the very elites of the world, the daughter of a diplomat who spoke five languages, was a known piano prodigy, and rich enough to treat Shinomiya as a peer…

Seemed enticing.

As she briefly licked her recently kissed lips, as she felt the soft body of an exuberantly curvaceous girl shifting between her thighs, Ai Hayasaka considered her circumstances.

She could flee. Now that the most chaotic integrant of the student council, Subject F herself, was subdued, there was nothing stopping her from making her escape.

She could leave the room behind, plan the best way to swear the other two into silence under threat of Shinomiya, and pretend to forget about everything.

Or…

She looked at the flustered, blissfully silent embodiment of chaos struggling under her.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, at the boy she once failed to seduce, the sheer frustration driving her to tears.

And Ai Hayasaka made a decision.

“Consent,” she muttered.

“What?” Miyuki, still sitting behind his desk and trying very hard to pretend there was absolutely no reason for him not to stand up, asked.

“Consent. That’s the very basis. You… You need to communicate. Setting the mood, foreplay, erogenous zones… all of that doesn’t mean a thing if you aren’t on the same page.”

“I… That’s… obvious enough?”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” she whispered, barely audible, as she leaned down until her lips brushed the back of her hand, the one still gagging Chika.

“Hayasaka?” her best male friend asked.

And she looked at him, her teeth teasing the corner of her lips, her breasts resting on top of Chika’s, her thighs pressing on the sides of the other girl.

Then she, slowly, carefully, took her hand away.

“I’m going to give the lesson now, Fujiwara,” she said.

And, as soon as the pink-haired girl gave a minute nod, those big, equally blue eyes of hers seeming to swim in delirium, she kissed her.

Their lips touched, and she slid her body downward until she was lying on top of her rather than sitting on her abdomen, her fingers burying themselves in long, pink hair, brushing along the underside of a headband.

Then she pushed her tongue in.

And tried not to moan.

Because the soft sensation on her lips, the almost electric tingle running over them, the soft pressure of the yielding body underneath hers were all bad enough, but adding the tongue? The shy yet inquisitive way in which Chika welcomed her into her mouth? The tentative licking gaining in surety and forcefulness with every renewed motion?

That went beyond bad enough.

That was actually good.

So Ai had to close her eyes not to lose herself on those of the girl under her body, the one squirming with more enthusiasm now than when she’d allegedly tried to escape from the very basis of ground game, her arms now free not to push away, but to wrap around the slender blonde, tugging at the back of her vest, then her blouse, slowly uncovering a toned back that kept writhing under her touch until, out of sheer instinct, deft hands used to the piano snapped open a white, utilitarian bra.

Hayasaka jerked back, sitting up on the sofa.

And Chika followed.

The blonde was on her lap, her thighs around her body, and the secretary couldn’t help but run her hands over the soft flesh, pushing the skirt up before taking a slight detour to grope an ass molded by gymnastic training.

Hayasaka moaned.

So did Fujiwara.

Shirogane tried very hard not to.

But, as was often the case with skills he hadn’t had time to practice, failed miserably. And so, the two girls blinked out of their lustful daze and turned to the unwelcome interruption.

What went through Ai Hayasaka’s head could be summarized thus:

‘Oh God, oh God, oh God—quick! I need an excuse! Anyexcuse!’

What went through Chika Fujiwara’s head, once translated into a semblance of human language, could be approximately expressed thus:

‘Nice. Boobs. Ass. Thighs. Boobs, ass, thighs—nice. How to keep feeling nice things? Why am I not feeling nice things? I deservenice things.’

Thus, even if coming at the subject from a disparity of needs and wants, an understanding was quickly reached between the two girls.

“Are you getting a good view?” a stern maid asked.

“What?” a man not entirely in possession of all his mental faculties replied.

“The lesson,” Fujiwara continued. “Come close. And watch.”

Miyuki Shirogane didn’t have any experience with women other than the multiple, subtext-laden encounters with his current girlfriend, none of which had been half as sexually charged as just sitting on his plush, swiveling chair with a raging erection straining the leg of his pants.

He still understood that tone.

So, without any demands for clarity and only half a thought given to modesty, he stood up and walked around his massive oak desk, one that he now realized could easily hold a kneeling Kaguya out of view for… reasons.

More or less the same reasons that were forcing him to protectively cup his groin as he walked toward the intense, twin stares of his two best female friends.

Girls.

Girls who were friends.

Before he could take that thought any further, though, Miyuki Shirogane slapped himself with about half as much power as he would have a volleyball.

It didn’t do much to clear his thoughts, what with his eyes swimming, the distant ringing in his ears, and the throbbing pain inside his skull, but it served to pull him back from the precipice.

“I don’t think we should take this any further—” he started.

Then Chika lifted up Ai’s vest, shirt, and loose bra, flashing two splendid, firm breasts at the dignified president of the student council.

Who promptly sat down on the sofa opposite the two breasts—girls.

“So,” Fujiwara stated with at least a pretense of dignified teaching. “Every girl’s different. Some are too sensitive in places where others don’t feel a single thing. But, generally…”

Her eyes drifted to Hayasaka’s pink, perky, upright nipples.

She licked her lips.

“Ah!” Ai said, instinctively clutching the head of the girl insistently suckling on her right nipple, twirling her tongue around it, and mauling her ass.

“I see,” Miyuki commented with a calm, sage nod as he discreetly repositioned his erection along the inside of his left thigh.

“I don’t!” Ai answered, her fingers going under the headband and struggling to try to pull away rather than push in.

“She’s teaching by example. Very admirable,” the person without a mouthful of tit-flesh explained.

“Teaching! Yes!” a girl trying to speak rather than moan said.

“Indeed.”

“I—I’m teaching you!”

“I’m learning quite a lot; I feel this is an enlightening experience.”

“I’m teaching you how to handle Kaguya! How to make her mewl! How to make her beg you to treat her like the spoiled brat that she is, bent over your lap, tight, pert ass waving in the air like when she’s hiding under her bedcovers until you spank her like the naughty, naughty tease that she is!”

“I’m… unsure if that’s the actual lesson—”

“So watch me!”

“Gladly!”

Thus having established her curriculum, Hayasaka roughly tugged on Fujiwara’s headband, dislodging her from her wet nipple and sprawling her on the sofa.

“Oral! Oral is a great way to get a girl in the mood! You can get her wet and ready for you and then keep her on the edge, not letting her cum until she begs you for permission!”

“That seems like an advanced subject—” Miyuki commented.

“Ah!” Chika added her own opinion on the subject, though mostly in a non-verbal way, as she lifted her hips up to help Ai hitch the skirt of her school uniform down before taking off a pair of pink panties that, while not scandalous, matched the shade of her hair in a way that made the two other witnesses in the room immediately focus on the dark, wet spot in the middle of them.

Carelessly, Hayasaka threw the panties to the side, too focused on the spreading pair of pale thighs to notice the piece of clothing landing on the face of somebody who was trying very hard to focus on his lesson.

Oral was, after all, an advanced subject.

And seeing Hayasaka kneel down on the sofa, her athletic behind waving over her in a way quite reminiscent of her description of Kaguya’s habits while her breasts freely swung under her as she dove into Chika’s sex was far more riveting than any lesson Miyuki had ever attended.

The pink-haired woman’s immediate, appreciative moans, the lustful, yearning sighs, the hand wrapping a blonde side-ponytail around a slender wrist… all those seemed to hint at his opinion not being entirely unpopular.

But, even as his black pants were stained with the spreading drops of precum coming out of an uncomfortably hard member, as the two girls went entirely non-verbal as one devoted all of her prodigious focus to the single task of making the other cum her brains (?) out, an unwelcome thought assaulted Shirogane:

Was he being unfaithful?

After all, he had been in love with Kaguya and chased her for most of his stay in Suchi’in Academy. His perennial lack of sleep, his developing workaholism, his excellence in scholarly pursuits had all been born of his need to impress the woman he had fallen so hard for.

And he wouldn’t throw it away for a meaningless distraction.

Even if said distraction currently involved Hayasaka mauling Chika’s bare, magnificent mammaries—

No! Shirogane was a determined young man, his self-discipline unwavering, his moral fiber beyond reproach! He would not fall to temptation.

Kaguya, on the other hand…

“President!” the flustered young woman screamed at the top of her lungs as she burst into the room.

This brought the action to an abrupt halt, as all three students in the room turned toward her—at least until Chika tugged as hard as she could on Ai’s side ponytail and brought her back between her legs.

“Wha—Shinomiya?!” Shirogane asked.

Shinomiya, indeed.

Among the zaibatsu of Japan, among the cruel web of treachery and deception that haunts old fortunes, the Shinomiya’s name is particularly infamous. All of their members are taught to stand above others, to discard trust and compassion as a matter of course. To be peerless and to suppress anybody striving to become their equal.

A childhood friend? A lover? A confidant? To a Shinomiya, all of those were mere pieces on the board, their inevitable betrayal just a part of their long-term plan.

Thus, why wouldn’t a Shinomiya peek between a thin slit among two imposing double doors, steadily blushing as things kept escalating from an opening line that already was far beyond her expectations? Why wouldn’t a Shinomiya breathlessly stare at her two oldest friends aggressively making out with one another, putting on a show for her boyfriend? Why, indeed, wouldn’t a Shinomiya, brought up to feel and be superior…

Discover how much that turned her on?

“You—you cheating scum!” she said, far too used to covering up her feelings to consider acting in any way other than visible indignation as she pointed at the blond man staring in panic at her while still trying very hard to conceal an unwavering erection.

“Just… a lecture…” Fujiwara said, looking blankly up at the ceiling, both hands buried in the hair of a maid about to become unemployed.

“You—you trash lower than trash! You sow! You disgraceful, lustful wench!” Kaguya said, for once verbalizing somewhat frequently held opinions about her oldest friend who wasn’t paid to be one.

“Hn!” Chika answered, her hips twitching up as she tried to bite out the rest of the long moan craving to escape from deep in her throat.

“You—how can you be aroused by this?! Don’t you realize how shameful you are! How loose and disheveled your face looks as those fat tits of yours engulf Hayasaka’s hands? Don’t you even notice how drenched your thighs are, how hard my boyfriend is while looking at your disgraceful face, all but begging to be forced like a vulgar strumpet?!”

“Ah! Ah, Ka—Kaguya!”

“Yes! Scream my name and beg for forgiveness, wanton slut. Tell me how much you need me to—”

“I am coming!”

“… To come, I guess.”

Though Kaguya did not guess.

Mostly because there was scant need for speculation as Chika lifted her hips, making an enviably athletic bridge while keeping Ai’s face firmly buried between her hips with a  two-handed grip that mashed the blonde’s mouth in tight circles against her sex, the adventurous tongue turning her words into moans, her moans into keening gasps, her whole body a spectacle to be admired as waves of ecstasy kept battering down the already weathered walls of her sanity.

Then, a single moment of silence overtook the whole room.

And a scream immediately followed.

Chika Fujiwara’s musically trained voice warbled from an already high note to impossible registers, her yelled release as mesmerizing as the contortions of her body moments before, her eyes completely blank until, for a single moment, they managed to meet those of a stunned, flushed, Kaguya.

And then a second orgasm overtook her, the contractions of the first one meeting the onslaught of the renewed, screaming ecstasy until, exhausted, hoarse, Chika slumped down on the expensive sofa that only a single person present knew how to clean.

A person who broke the illusion of peace by slowlysitting up, wiping the wet ejaculate from her mouth with the back of her hand as she locked eyes with her oldest friend, employer, and tormentor.

Kaguya, keen survival instincts for once on display, took a step back.

Ai’s eyes narrowed. A slow grin sharpened.

“Now, for the second part of the lesson,” she whispered, biting the corner of her lip in barely held lust.

At the sight, Kaguya’s eyes widened, and she turned around to flee, only to end up crashing against the chest of a man tall enough to make her feel small and defenseless in precisely all the wrong ways for her knees not to lock up as her lips quivered.

“Kaguya, I’m so—” Shirogane started to say.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Hayasaka interrupted.

And Kaguya barely had time to turn back toward the blonde before two slender yet freakishly strong hands grasped her wrists and inexorably tugged her back toward the sofa, the blonde’s hips swaying as she walked backward, her grin still in place, looking down at a girl too flustered to keep up her earlier pretense at indignation.

She sat up, a disheveled Fujiwara by her side, still panting out the exhausting release from moments earlier, for once the maid having fully neutralized Subject F.

Triumph, vindication, anticipation, and unfulfilled lust mixed in Hayasaka’s exposed breast as she pulled on Kaguya’s arms, settling the other girl’s hands on her bare thighs, forcing her to bend over.

Something that Miyuki Shirogane couldn’t help but appreciate.

Because in front of him laid an inarticulate Fujiwara (the most pleasant kind of Fujiwara, as far as he was concerned), a half-naked Hayasaka, and a wiggling Shinomiya. Three women, each one with her own unique appeal, each of them important to the young man, and all of them apparently at least a fraction as aroused as he himself felt.

For once in his life, after being abandoned by a heartless mother, ruined by a careless father, and scorned by a beautiful sister, Miyuki Shirogane believed that karma was real.

At that moment, Kei Shirogane felt something flutter in her chest.

She immediately proceeded to relentlessly squash it and kept playing a board game with Moeha Fujiwara, though. The stakes were too high to allow for any distractions.

But Miyuki was unaware of any familial peril, as his mind was consumed with naught but Kaguya’s swaying hips, the slender curves barely disguised by clinging, black cloth as his girlfriend struggled in the grasp of a girl who was his friend but was looking at the both of them in a way that, rather than friendly, seemed somewhat predatory.

Maybe a tad hungry.

“Take her,” Hayasaka said.

His eyes bulged, his hands trembled, his throat closed up.

Hayasaka grinned.

“We told you, didn’t we? Consent, President. That’s the very basis,” she said.

“You are holding her captive,” the young, stalwart, unwavering man offered as a counterpoint.

“And is she protesting?” the sexually awakened maid countered.

Which, somehow, ended up with Miyuki stepping out of his pants and boxers without quite recalling how they’d ended up on the floor.

“I…” he struggled to say, his usual eloquence lost amid contradictory urges.

Kaguya’s hips swayed.

And he lifted her skirt up.

The young girl gasped, immediately biting her lip to avoid any more embarrassing utterances as she met the eyes of her oldest companion.

Red eyes met blue.

And something unsaid went between them. Something that held no words, but that, for the two of them, for those who had grown up together, sharing more than most sisters ever would, was all but explicit.

‘I’m scared.’

‘I’m here.’

‘I’m scared of you.’

‘No. You aren’t. But it still turns me on to see you like this.’

‘Hayasaka, I…’

‘I’m going to watch.’

‘… All right.’

Nervously licking her lips, Kaguya nodded before looking back over her shoulder, meeting the always intense eyes of her boyfriend, the sharp gaze that made her shudder, gasp, and pant in far too many ways for her to keep her thoughts from scattering in disarray when he towered over her bent body, holding his—

“Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!” she screamed right before kicking Miyuki between his legs.

It was at this moment, when adding a physically abusive girlfriend to the tally of loved ones betraying him, that Miyuki Shirogane stopped believing in karma.

Kei, for some reason, felt as if something important was still safe and focused back on her game. Letting Moeha win wasn’t an option.

“What are you doing?!” Hayasaka’s distant voice called through the waves seeming to roar in his ear as he curled up on the blood-red carpet of the room of betrayal.

“I—I got scared! It looks too big! This can’t go inside of me!”

“Not with that attitude!”

“Hayasaka!”

“Don’t scream my name until I let you!”

“What are you even—”

Miyuki Shirogane, the man whose world was a small, bounded ball of agony and misery, found something he didn’t expect to find ever again.

Relief.

Relief and a warm, wet pressure on an injured part of his body that seemed to be telling him that no harm, no foul. Let bygones be bygones. Everybody makes mistakes, sometimes.

Yes, Miyuki Shirogane’s cock lacked the eloquence of its owner, yet it had its own merits.

Such as the ability to make Kaguya Shinomiya go very, verystill as Ai Hayasaka kept pushing her down on top of it.

The young woman was flushed, panicked, her hands covering her eyes except for thin slits of shameful vision that let her see the way her boyfriend grunted in a futile attempt at self-control right before his hands flew to her slim waist, helping guide her entire body as she kept squatting, fighting both her friend and lover’s attempts to lower her, to split her open on the member she had often fantasized about.

At least, once it was explained to her that ‘first time’ did not mean kissing somebody’s cheek.

“I—I—Hayasaka!”

“Is it really me you want to call out to? President is going to feel lonely.”

Kaguya opened her fingers to look down at the president in question.

He did not look lonely.

“I can’t…” she started to look for the right words, for the right course of action to get what she wanted out of a situation that had spiraled out of control.

This, unfortunately, was not something Kaguya was apt in.

Her mind was prodigious, a planner on par with a go grandmaster, able to set strategies in motion that would take years to bear fruit. Kaguya thrived when she had time to ponder her moves and those of the people around her.

But she, as had often been proven by Subject F, was notapt at changing things on the fly and adapting to unforeseen circumstances, particularly those of an emotional nature.

Thus, when cornered, she resorted to her latest stratagem:

“I can’t believe you’re this hard after looking at Hayasaka defilingFujiwara. What, do you get off to women of lower caliber? Is that your fetish, to contemplate how wanton, lustful beasts give into their passions while I berate you all?”

Unfortunately, her latest stratagem was both unintended, ill-conceived, and only effective by sheer serendipity on a woman who, at that very moment, twitched on her claimed sofa.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Hayasaka murmured in her ear before nibbling on the ridge of it, making Kaguya shudder.

“Wha—”

“I’m going to make you drop your hips, Mistress.”

“I—please, don’t…”

“Too late. I’m going to make you feel precisely what a woman of lower caliber can give you until your legs tremble, and you end up speared on my boytoy’s cock.”

“Your what?”

“You asked me to seduce him. You never told me to stop.”

Kaguya turned to look at Ai over her shoulder, her eyes wide and incredulous.

They, somehow, went a bit wider when she was forcefully kissed.

Hayasaka’s tongue was rough, demanding, daring to press forward in ways in which Miyuki rarely had, the young man too considerate of his girlfriend to really force her into anything.

Miyuki, though, was reconsidering his stance.

Because, as undeniably arousing as the tableau presented in front of him was, Miyuki Shirogane was a man. Young, inexperienced, shy? Yes. But also a man with the strength and determination to push forward and reach for the impossible.

To work himself to the limit, earning money for a ruinous household, claiming the top spot in academics at a school for the elites.

Seducing Kaguya Shinomiya.

As young as he was? As untested?

Miyuki Shirogane already knew he had steel inside of him.

And at that very moment, he decided to put some of it inside of Kaguya Shinomiya.

“Ah!” The girl exclaimed as forceful hands pulled her down, the head of a recently kicked cock spreading her lips apart, gliding through the moisture between them, already reaching farther inside than her fingers ever had.

“Hn!” Hayasaka involuntarily let out as she witnessed her oldest friend’s first time, her face close enough that she could have recaptured her lips if not for her fascination with the surprised look of pleasure softening the wet lips of a young girl being introduced to something that she had only imagined in steamy moments under her bedcovers.

Then she looked down. At the man lying on the carpet, claiming Kaguya.

Staring at Ai in defiance.

And she had to lick her lips.

Kaguya shivered, trying to wiggle her hips side to side, to adjust to the size of the member inside of her without going farther down along it.

Shirogane’s hands held her, helping her remain aloft as her eyes rolled back with each new crevice that he explored, that he claimed.

Then she saw a black skirt flutter to the floor, followed by a pair of white panties, and two slender yet strong hands clasped her cheeks and turned her head to face…

Hayasaka’s sex.

A single tuft of sparse, golden, wet hair adorned the top of pink, glistening lips, the erect clitoris already peeking past them, the scent of her arousal reaching Kaguya and letting her know just how similar and how different they both were in that regard.

Kaguya looked up, past the bare breasts with traces of Chika’s dry saliva, into the eyes of the one person in the whole world who was sworn to stay by her side no matter what.

Eyes that were no longer clouded with arousal. That were fearful. Anxious.

Miyuki’s hands slid up along Kaguya’s thighs, grabbing her bare waist under her uniform, the warmth and firmness of his touch holding her, reassuring her.

“Are you sure?” she said, asking her oldest friend.

A friend who shook her head slowly, her side-ponytail brushing over her shoulder before golden hair spilled down the front of a firm breast.

And so, Kaguya smiled.

“Do you want a show?” she impishly asked the man struggling not to push up.

And Miyuki looked at both his girlfriend and his friend, seeing something between them that he had never imagined other than with at least an hour of uninterrupted solitude and a pack of tissues.

But, as has been said, Miyuki Shirogane was an extraordinary man, his will forged in too many battles to count.

Which means that, at times, he could think with something other than his dick.

“You are my girlfriend,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Mine,” he insisted.

“As long as you want me,” Kaguya softly answered, her thighs unwillingly trembling at the admission.

So he stared at her, as entranced, as captivated, as he’d always been, and found himself licking his dry lips.

“Only when I’m with you. Nothing happens if I’m not with you,” he said.

“Of course,” Kaguya answered, eyes lidded.

“I—I don’t know if I’ll want a second time—” Ai tried to interject.

Only to meet intense eyes and, for once, seeing in them the same thing Kaguya did.

“Come here,” he commanded.

And Ai looked at a briefly disappointed Kaguya staring between the maid’s supple thighs before walking away, a ball of muddled feelings in the mouth of her stomach seeming to bounce with every measured step she took toward the man who had been the closest to claim her first kiss before Fujiwara seemed to go mad with whatever it was that usually made Fujiwara go mad.

She looked at the girl peacefully snoring on the sofa, satisfied after getting two orgasms and unwilling to make the effort to reciprocate.

Typical.

So she snorted and…

And Kaguya looked at her. Then at Miyuki.

And nodded.

So she knelt down, her hands spread over his toned abdomen, over a rustled jacket, as she lowered her hips to his lips, briefly wondering just how much attention he had paid to her lesson when she had done this to Chika.

Apparently, a lot.

And, contrary to what a headband-wearing maniac had to say, the President apparently had no learning difficulties whatsoever.

He captured her clitoris between his lips, teasing the tip of it with his tongue, making her tremble and gasp with a mix of pleasure and surprise before Kaguya grasped her side ponytail and tugged her forward like everybody seemed intent on doing that day, the feeling of being taken sending a thrill up her spine that mingled seamlessly and delightfully with the sensations a dancing tongue was engraving on her sex.

And then, Kaguya kissed her.

Thousands of nights spent by her bedside flashed through her mind, memories of holding her hand, of listening to her ranting complaints, of sniping words with one another.

Of hugging and holding a girl too fragile for the role she had been forced to play.

Something burst in Ai’s chest. Something that had been there for longer than she realized, that carried her up and away in a wave of warmth and yearning.

And Kaguya hugged her.

Her bare breasts brushed across the black uniform, limbs entangling as she clung to her friend with all her strength as her other closest friend took that strength from her with every methodical, calculated flicking of his tongue, with every slurping sound shamefully, delightfully, coming from between her thighs.

She loved it.

Them.

One of those.

And Kaguya…

Kaguya was on the verge of panicking.

Because Ai was sitting on President’s face, looking as ecstatic as Chika had right before coming unconscious, and her tongue was making her feel things she had never expected a girl could make her feel, but President’s hands were on her waist, holding her, keeping her from dropping down his cock already inside of her.

She was… She was having her first time!

The first time!

When couples come together, when they show one another everything kept hidden under masks and façades! When a relationship takes the next, indelible step!

A unique time, and unforgettable time.

And she was sharing it with Hayasaka.

Hayasaka, who kept letting out adorable, sharp, short gasps of warm breath that Kaguya couldn’t help but greedily swallow. Hayasaka, who kept caressing Kaguya’s back and bare nape with trembling fingers.

Hayasaka.

Who kept being her oldest, closest, dearest friend.

And so, Kaguya Shinomiya dropped her hips.

She muffled a gasp of discomfort as the shaft inside of her stretched her as much as she could take, the thickest part of it going through her opening and making her eyes roll back before the tip seemed to knock on something inside of her that she dared not name, each new stretch of her flesh reached bringing her new sensations, overwhelming her as much with discovery as with pleasure.

“It’s all right,” Ai said. “I’m here.”

And Kaguya smiled something on the verge of tears before renewing their kiss.

Miyuki moved under her, gentle and attentive. And maybe one day Kaguya would want him to be as domineering and forceful as Ai had just shown her she may like him to be.

But not that day.

Not on their first time.

She didn’t bounce atop of him. She barely held herself up to give him enough room to meaningfully move. To make her feel wanted and claimed. To have his shaft never entirely leave her as she clung to a taller girl who consoled her from something making her deliriously happy.

A girl muttering soft reassurances as her own breath shortened. As a man’s tongue brought her closer and closer to a tipping point that she desperately held back from.

Because she wanted to watch. She needed to watch.

She needed to see Kaguya’s smile, her dreamy eyes, her melting masks. She needed to engrave all of it in her mind so that she could tell Miyuki later on how happy he had made his girlfriend and her mistress.

And she wanted to share.

“Are you… close?” she managed to ask.

Kaguya muffled back a moan and nodded, a trembling, shy thing on her lips as her arms tightened around her.

“Tell him. He’ll like it,” Ai said.

Kaguya shook her head.

“Do you… want me to?” Ai asked.

And Kaguya nodded.

Then, seeing Ai’s spreading smirk, she realized just what kind of mistake she had just stumbled on.

“Oh, President? Kaguya here is going delirious on your cock. She looks precisely like a wanton, lustful woman of lower caliber, and she’s about to cum her brains out—aaahhh!”

At that moment, three things simultaneously happened:

Kaguya Shinomiya, desperate to silence Ai’s wholly unjustified and petty revenge, clamped her mouth on a nipple that she found to have previously been Fujiwara-claimed. Whether indignation or arousal fueled the frantic motions of her tongue at the discovery, Kaguya herself didn’t know.

Miyuki Shirogane, already on the verge of losing his mind at his first time being a threesome and, by some generous definitions, a foursome, could no longer stand the merciless teasing of the gal-garbed maid pushing her wet pussy on his mouth, and attacked with as much intensity as he could with both his tongue and his hips.

And Ai Hayasaka, her hands going from Kaguya’s neck to her updo, threw her head back and screamed her first shared orgasm at the high ceiling of the student council’s room.

This, of course, meant that Miyuki had to deal with both a mouthful of female arousal and the prideful knowledge of having made the often-stoic maid lose her composure in all the best ways as Kaguya suddenly shifted her hips atop him to keep her mouth on the elusive breast bouncing atop his body.

And Miyuki Shirogane was an extraordinary young man. His will was steel, his prowess earned rather than inborn, his unrealistic, impossible goals, already in his grasp.

But nobody is that extraordinary.

So, tipped over by a three-pronged physical, emotional, and mental assault, Miyuki Shirogane couldn’t help but hold tightly onto Kaguya’s slender hips and pull her down all the way as pure thunder rumbled inside his head, his roar of pleasure doing nothing but shake Ai on top of him.

And then he filled his girlfriend up.

Kaguya’s eyes flew open as burst after burst of scalding seed coated her insides, the pulsing shaft inside of her plugging her sex closed as more liquid was pumped inside of her, each shuddering release stopping her breath even in the middle of doing her best to swallow Ai’s breast whole.

Then, a trembling maid managed to reclaim enough presence of mind to lower a single hand between them.

And flick Kaguya’s clitoris.

And the scion of the Shinomiya household, the most admired woman in Shuchi’in Academy, mutely whimpered as thoughts of everything but a baby with blond hair and sharp eyes fled her often sharp mind.

***

“I can’t feel my legs,” Ai Hayasaka complained.

“I can,” Kaguya Shinomiya bemoaned.

‘I’m going to shut up and pretend to be unconscious,’ Miyuki Shirogane thought.

This, of course, was when Chika Fujikawa woke up, her eyes blankly blinking in incomprehension at a ceiling that she’d rarely contemplated for so long before something clicked inside her head, and her hands traveled along her body to check that, yes, her breasts were on display, and her thighs were splattered with dry fluids.

It was then that she slowly turned around to find a pile of three bodies in various states of undress by the side of the coffee table set between the two sofas of the room, the blonde maid lifting a single arm in greeting before dropping it lifelessly, Kaguya whining and hiding her face behind cupped hands, and Miyuki doing his best to pretend to be an inattentive lover who had fallen unconscious after his orgasm and wasn’t willing to reciprocate.

The ensuing scene featured quite a bit of panicked screaming, some thrown pillows, a few insults, muttered and otherwise, and two girls letting out sharp gasps of arousal as said insults found unintended targets.

It, after a while, devolved into Miyuki Shirogane’s third lesson in sexual education.

Which, as hard as it is to believe, was somehow less frantic and not as intense as what was, at that very moment, going down in the nurse’s office between Yu Ishigami, a girl who should drink more milk, and a riajuu who just discovered that nerds spend a lot of time thinking about sex.

(You’re very welcome.)

Results of today’s battle:

Miko Iino’s victory.