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The photo Aya showed her was grainy, moved as her hand trembled, but Chisato recognized it immediately.
Pale skin in a bright room, the harsh fluorescents of a dressing room shining down and highlighting the beginning of curves. The camera angled downward, taken by someone much taller than her, even when sitting. Their feet are at her sides, closing her in, she's small and tucked between their legs, the contrast of black slacks against a yellow floral skirt. Facing the camera, head tilted down, observing herself. Her fingers grasp the hem of her shirt and lift it, blurred more there from the way they shook, exposing her chest to the camera. She does not need to see the picture to know what she looks like. Her chest mostly flat, only the smallest perk of muscles bringing her stature forward. Small, freshly pink nipples, soft and delicate and mostly untouched. Clear, skin soft and milky, not bothered or exposed. When she looked at herself in the mirror the next day, that canvas had been marked deep red and pink, the overgrown maw of strangers marked against her skin. She had not understood why then, but when she saw it before her, she cried.
She looked back at Aya's eyes, wide and already wet with tears threatening to spill. Why, Chisato knew already the words that sat on her innocent tongue, Why would someone have this? There was far too much that Aya did not understand. How easily she would let her tears fall in front of anyone, how she would let herself be seen, how she paid no mind as to how a sick mind would find themselves drawn to it. What they would imagine, what they would take, if they had the chance. If they were here now, alone, with no eyes but theirs on her.
"Growing up in this industry is difficult." Chisato's hand fell over Aya's on the phone, pushing, just enough, to let it fall to the floor with a small rumble against the wood. To bury the unsightly thing, the pristine image of a girl she had torn herself away from. "You have to do a lot when you don't have things in your favor—no money, no contacts, and of course, I didn't have those at my age."
Bewildered, Aya's face, her hand hovering uselessly between them, fingers twitching, not sure whether to reach out or recoil and hide away. As if the idea of it was so foreign to her—did she truly know nothing, Chisato wondered? It was typical, she knew, it was how the world worked. If you lack something, you have to give in other ways. Favors don't come for free. And when there's nothing to take, you are still meant to give. Of course Aya, in all her passion and excitement and wonder, would not think of those expectations. She was a lucky one, for the most part. But the tears in her eyes now, fresh and raw with the fear of the truth, this was real life chipping away. "I hate it," Aya's voice, distorted and shaky and thick with dread in her throat. The disgust and repulsion that forms the pity from one girl to another—Chisato herself hated that more. What pity was there to be had for someone who had done what was necessary, who never said no? Who had allowed herself to be seen, to be known behind the stage and screen?
And when she looked into the eyes of the pitier, she could not feel sorrow. She could not find it in herself to owe her body the kindness Aya was willing to bestow to it, could not let the feelings she had taught herself to push away get in once more. What she would allow was shame, was guilt—she did not shy away from the way her stomach churned with dread and need. She allowed herself the worst thoughts. How Aya had yet to learn anything, how she could be the one to teach, how she could at the very least guide with a gentle word. How she would be doing her a favor—protecting her, saving her, keeping her as her own. Not letting anyone tear her away from her dream. Those thoughts, she welcomed with the discomfort growing deep inside her. Those thoughts, she let guide her hands towards Aya's face, let her believe it was okay to wipe away the forming tears. "I can protect you from them," a gentle lie, no weight held in what she could do, empty promises she had been given by each hand that laid itself on her. And yet she told herself it was different, that the shame inside her as she let her hand stay cupping smooth skin would one day fade. As if she could change what had been done by doing the same. Her thumb brushed against the corner of Aya's lips, which gasped and trembled as a dry sob echoed forth.
"I don't under…stand…" the sweet girl's voice muffled by warm skin against her mouth, forced open as Chisato slid her thumb inside with ease. The unfamiliar feeling a shock to her senses, skin brushing the words off her tongue, leaving her speechless as she heard shoes tapping against the wooden floor, closing her in, pinning her against the wall. Chisato's height made little difference to their stances, the hungry, desperate look in her eyes making Aya feel so, so small, so trapped in just a moment's time. "I don't like this," she managed in a small voice, so aware of the way her tongue pressed against the salty taste of Chisato's thumb, how much control she held against her with one small finger. It was horrible, it was disgusting, to know where she had learned it from. And then, Chisato laughed. Aya knew Chisato for her dry laughs, polite, with a hand over her mouth. Trained for the camera's eyes, knowing when to laugh or smile, which bad jokes deserved a pitiful giggle for exposure's sake. Fake laughs were something she had grown used to, but this was something else. It was real, and not the smiling giggle she had always hoped she would draw out of her one day. Deep, low, and knowing.
"Your first time can hurt quite a bit." Her thumb pulling out, coming to pinch Aya's bottom lip as their chests finally pressed together, comfort for one and crushing for the other. Teary eyes, squeezed tightly shut, anticipating the next move. "Have you even had your first kiss?" The freedom of Aya's mouth as Chisato slid her hand down her chin, spreading tainted saliva and ruined innocence closer to her core. It was short lived, broken apart with a gasp and a sob as deceitful lips pressed against hers, tongues and teeth clashing, two pieces of a puzzle not meant to be linked, nothing lined up and Chisato sucked the breath straight from her lungs and left her with no room at all to breathe—
"I promise, Aya-chan, it will be better with me."
On Chisato's lips, she tasted sin. The heavy sighs of smoke blown into a young idol's face by her producer. The salty, heavy taste of sweat dripping from a sick, desperate man. This was not sweet temptation, not what a girl dreamt of in a bed of roses, this was sin against the innocent, in a cheap motel room, in the back alley, forcing something so deep inside her that their taste still lingered on her tongue. Aya felt nauseous, but with nowhere to go, the weight of Chisato's body slowly sliding her down the wall, knees buckling, pushed to the floor with a hand around her throat, she swallowed thick. If she kept her eyes shut tight, if she thought about being anywhere but here, maybe it would be over sooner; Chisato's lips told her without a sound.
And Chisato did not wait for any more response, any movement, sparing her no expense the same way she had learned, one hand holding Aya steady by the throat as she sat over her thighs. Flipping her skirt over her stomach, Aya felt the cool air against her skin, and she could paint a picture in her mind lf what she looked like without needing to see it herself. Exposed. If Chisato had a camera, she could take the perfect shot, too. She wondered if the lowlifes online would say the same about her, seeing her this way. 16 is as good as it gets, as Chisato shoved her knee between her thighs, You've got to start training them young, an even better view, They learn quickly if you make them, pushing her underwear to the side, showing everything she was being made to offer.
"You're resisting this more than I expected." Chisato's hand burned as it wrapped around Aya's soft base. "What do I need to say to help you out, hm?" The only response Aya could manage was a whimper, high and desperate for something as Chisato slowly began to stroke her. The feeling was nothing, only made her more aware of the picture she was painting against the wood, Chisato's thumb pressing the bottom of her chin, her head tilted upwards. "I'm sorry, you know. But I'm just making this easier for you. If I—if you're mine, then you're safe. I only have to do this once. After that, it's whatever you want."
To be hers, Aya's stomach fluttered and she twitched against Chisato's hand. "I would take good care of you, you know. Cook you dinner, kiss you for hours, whatever it is you want, Aya-chan." This was the Chisato she knew. The sweet voice, so polite, the Chisato she loved and wished for and wanted. Her hand felt so warm, and it spread, filling her core with soft words and comfort. She opened her eyes, wanting to see the gentle squint of Chisato's eyes when she spoke such kind words with a smile, the portrait she had drawn along with the script in her mind.
What she saw instead was a blank stare directly at her, empty as she held up her skirt with one hand, lining Aya up against her entrance. It had worked, and the false words only made her cry out as Chisato lowered herself against Aya's hips. It burned again, the feeling in her gut, growing hotter as Chisato settled herself, letting her skirt fall as her hand brushed against Aya' stomach. "I'm sorry," all breath drowned out by Aya's wailing, no more sniffles and slow cries, tears staining her face before Chisato had even started to move. And when she did, Aya tensed, hands grasping at Chisato's wrists below.
"Stop, stop, no—" baby pink nails digging into Chisato's pale skin, holding on to a fraying lifeline as Chisato fucked herself against Aya's hips, only one hand needed to hold her firmly in place. "I don't—I can't—Chisato, stop…!" She couldn't stand how much she felt, how she let the thought get into her head, that she would be cared for, that she would be loved, that this wouldn't hurt and that it still felt good.
"Don't say things like that, Aya-chan…" As she continued to move without care, Chisato's hand tightened around Aya's throat, squeezing tight, Aya's protests turned into mere gasps, trying to get in enough to breathe as Chisato brought her so pathetically close already, her hands trembling and nails drawing blood on Chisato's wrist. Her body too shocked, too full of heat and filth to react to her need, her body shook with hiccups and sobs as Chisato finally smiled again, threw her head back, and squeezed her legs around Aya's waist as she filled her.
When the hand around her throat finally relaxed, the breath Aya took felt clouded, thick as Chisato looked at her from above with eyes that did not, had never matched her age. Chisato pulled herself back, cum slowly dripping back between Aya's legs, making her sticky with her own mess, rubbing in the shame of how quickly she had let it happen. "I mean it, you know," Chisato's hand that had taken the breath from her throat came to gently caress her cheek, with all of that softness Aya would fall for time and time again, no matter how broken of a girl it came from. "I will keep you safe."