[EN] The Perverted teacher is trying to corrupt me, and my fiancé has no idea #07 (Patreon)

<The Perverted teacher is trying to corrupt me, and my fiancé has no idea #07>

Yoshino lay collapsed atop Iwata, gasping for breath. Drained of all strength, she couldn't move a single finger, yet the aftershocks of the intense pleasure that had just swept through her body refused to fade easily. Her sweat-dampened body, the sticky mess between her legs mixed with his semen, and her languid state of mind—everything proved she had crossed a river of no return. Iwata let out a satisfied sigh and patted her wet back.

"Damn... you're a killer bitch. You acted all prim and proper at first, but once you got a taste, you practically melted my cock." He chuckled into her ear. Yoshino didn't reply. No, she couldn't. Because he wasn't wrong. Atop the body of this man she loathed and detested, she had drowned in the most extreme pleasure of her life. That fact made her feel even more wretched, yet she couldn't deny the perverse excitement blooming within that misery.

Iwata rolled Yoshino off him and got out of bed. Lighting a cigarette, he looked her up and down as she lay sprawled on the sheets. Her body stained with sweat and semen, skin flushed from their violent coupling, and eyes still glazed over with the afterglow. He smiled with satisfaction at the sight. "Alright, get up. I worked up an appetite. Go wash up and get ready. We're eating out."

At his command, Yoshino reluctantly rose. Her legs wobbled, but she staggered toward the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror was disastrous. Messy hair, smeared makeup, and a body bearing the clear marks of being tormented all night. But the biggest change was in her eyes. The eyes that had been filled with fear and shame just yesterday were now hazy and slack with pleasure. She felt strange and afraid of her own transformation, yet found herself accepting it.

Under the hot spray of the shower, Yoshino washed away the traces of how her body had been defiled overnight. But she couldn't wash away the sensations and memories etched into her flesh. If anything, the hot water stimulated her sensitized skin, reviving the memories of last night even more vividly. After showering, she put on the other set of underwear he had bought, just as ordered. A crimson lace bra, garter belt, and fishnet stockings. The modest teacher, Yoshino Fujii, was nowhere to be found. Only a stranger in flashy, obscene lingerie stood in the mirror.

Seeing Yoshino emerge from the bathroom, Iwata whistled. "Wow, you really went all out. You're going out like that? Good, very good." He ordered her to put her H-line skirt and blouse back on. As she dressed, the crimson lace and black fishnets peeking out from under her modest office wear created a bizarre dissonance, exuding an even more lewd atmosphere. Iwata grinned with satisfaction, grabbed her ass, and led her out of the motel room. On this weekend morning, their perverse game was just beginning.

The pair leaving the motel struck a strange contrast. Iwata looked thoroughly satisfied from the sex and deep sleep, while Yoshino, despite her forced makeup, radiated exhaustion and resignation. Her gait was awkward and precarious. Partly due to the dizzying height of her stilettos, but also because the alien sensation of fishnets and garters under her skirt kept her nerves on edge. Iwata wrapped his arm around her waist possessively, not caring about the eyes of passersby.

They entered a busy ramen shop. In the steamy, noisy space, they stood out. Under the table, Iwata blatantly groped Yoshino's thigh. His fingers enjoyed the smooth texture of the fishnets, creeping higher and higher. Yoshino flinched and clamped her legs shut, but his hand didn't stop, moving past the garter straps to touch her bare skin. Her pussy, ravaged by him that morning, began to dampen on its own. Yoshino lowered her head, hand trembling as she held her spoon. The secret molestation under the table made her face burn hotter than the steam from the soup.

After the meal, their "date" began in earnest. The weekend streets were packed. Iwata walked with her shoulder in a vice grip, hand clutching her ass. He kneaded her flesh through the skirt, sometimes pressing deep into her crack to assert his ownership. The gazes of others felt stinging. A young, beautiful woman being dragged along by a pot-bellied middle-aged man. Stares filled with contempt, curiosity, and the lecherous desire of some men poured over her. Yoshino found herself feeling a strange arousal amidst the shame. A perverse sense of superiority sprouted—only she and this man knew the secret of the obscene lingerie hidden beneath her modest teacher's clothes.

The shopping trip was an extension of her humiliation. Iwata led her to a high-end women's clothing store. Ignoring the clerk, he picked out clothes himself. His choices were consistent: tight dresses that plunged at the neckline or hugged every curve. Handing her a tight black mini-dress, he ordered her into the fitting room. When she hesitated, he pushed her in, saying, "I need to see it myself. Hurry up," and followed her inside.

Inside the cramped fitting room, the mirror reflected the two of them. Iwata stripped off her blouse and skirt himself. As the modest clothes fell away, the crimson lace lingerie underneath was vividly revealed under the fluorescent lights. Iwata groaned with satisfaction, admiring her body in the mirror. Standing close behind her, he fondled her breasts spilling over the lace bra and traced the line of her legs down to the garters and fishnets. "Damn... you look just like the ace at a hostess bar." He whispered, rubbing his erection against her buttocks.

Yoshino looked at herself in the mirror. Wrapped in red lace, molested by an old man's hands, face flushed with excitement. The image was so foreign and obscene. Iwata dressed her in the black dress. It clung to her body, accentuating the voluptuous lines of her chest and hips. Below the short hem, the black fishnets were teasingly visible. "Perfect. You're wearing this from now on." He paid for the clothes right then and there, handing Yoshino the shopping bag. As she walked out of the department store, her steps no longer belonged to her.

The day-long date slowly eroded Yoshino's spirit. By evening, Iwata suggested a drink and led her to a dim bar in the middle of the district. It was packed with office workers. Yoshino tried not to be conscious of the stares anymore. Or perhaps, she was enjoying them. The tight black dress and fishnets were hardly ordinary attire. She mechanically drank whatever Iwata poured for her.

After a few rounds, Iwata's hand slipped under her skirt again. He blatantly molested her pussy under the table, fingering the garters and rubbing against the fishnets to gauge her reaction. Yoshino's face flushed with a mix of alcohol and pleasure. Just then, a drunk young man at the next table stumbled as he stood up, bumping into their table and spilling his beer. Cold beer splashed over Yoshino's chest and legs.

"Ah, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The man bowed repeatedly. Yoshino frowned at the unpleasant sensation of cold liquid running down her cleavage and soaking her skirt. Iwata, however, smiled lecherously, as if finding the situation amusing. He stood up and patted the man's shoulder. "Haha, it's fine, young man. These things happen when you're young. But what to do about my girlfriend's wet clothes?"

At that moment, Iwata shouted for everyone to hear. "Oh no, look at this. Yoshino, are your panties wet? Huh? Your stockings must be soaked too. You need to wipe them off before everyone sees!" His voice silenced the noisy bar instantly. All eyes turned to Yoshino. The words 'panties' and 'stockings' seemed to echo through a loudspeaker. Yoshino's face went pale, then transparent. The man who spilled the beer, and everyone around them, stared at her with a mix of shock and curiosity.

It was a calculated humiliation. Iwata was branding Yoshino as 'his woman' through this situation. Yoshino wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Her body trembled with a shame that felt like her blood was flowing backward. Iwata wrapped his arm around her shoulder, grinning slyly. "Alright, everyone, stop staring. My girlfriend is shy. Let's go, Yoshino. We need to get you home and washed up." He slapped her ass for show and pulled her up.

Whispers and sneers stabbed her in the back as they left. Yoshino couldn't lift her head. She was led into a taxi. Iwata gave the driver her address familiarly. "I should sleep at your place tonight. Need to wash my soaked little puppy clean, right?" His voice was thick with lust. Yoshino stared blankly at the night view. Her daily life, her space—everything was being invaded by him. There was nowhere left to run.

As the taxi turned into the familiar alley, Yoshino stared blankly at the small villa that had been her sanctuary. Once a place of rest, it was now merely a stage for another humiliation. The taxi stopped, and Iwata tossed some bills at the driver before roughly dragging Yoshino out. The night air felt chilling against her soaked body.

That was when she saw him. A familiar figure stood in the dark shadows of the entrance. It was Hayato Tachibana. He had been pacing anxiously, but upon seeing the two get out of the taxi, he approached with a stiff expression. His gaze started on Iwata but quickly locked onto Yoshino. His pupils trembled slightly.

The Yoshino Fujii he knew was not there. Her neat bob was messy, her innocent face covered in thick, oily makeup. But what captivated him most was her outfit. A black micro-mini dress revealing every curve. The tops of her black fishnet stockings teasingly visible below the short hem, and the sensual line of bare skin above them. She looked like the ace of a high-end brothel. Seeing this obscene transformation, Hayato swallowed hard. The look on his face wasn't worry or anger. It was the unmistakable glint of twisted arousal.

"What the hell is this guy? You're still here?" Iwata growled, annoyed. He hugged Yoshino's waist tighter, asserting ownership. "Your fiancé? She's my woman now. If you're done looking, get lost, you retard." The insult slammed into Hayato. Yoshino held her breath. She expected her fiancé, her last shred of pride, to do something to end this hell—fight, call the police, anything.

But Hayato's reaction betrayed her imagination cruelly. Instead of clenching his fist, he collapsed to his knees. His handsome face was twisted with pleading and servility. He practically pressed his head to the ground, begging in a trembling voice. "M-Mr. Iwata... Please, I beg you... I was wrong about everything..."

His voice was desperate. "I'll do anything... anything you say. I'll crawl like a dog, I'll lick your feet. Please... just please... let me watch... let me watch you do it with Yoshino!" His plea was close to a scream. He wasn't trying to save her. He was throwing away all his dignity to satisfy his voyeuristic desire to see his fiancé ravaged by another man.

In that moment, something snapped inside Yoshino's head. She couldn't believe her ears. These words were coming from the man who had whispered love and planned a future with her. She looked down at Hayato kneeling before her. Seeing his groveling back and trembling shoulders, the last dregs of pity and affection in her heart went cold. Only disgust, like looking at a bug, and bone-chilling contempt remained. This man was no savior. He was just another perpetrator, desperate to join in the fun of this hell. Yoshino's world was now perfectly, utterly solitary.

Iwata looked down at Hayato Tachibana begging at his feet and burst into a hollow laugh. It was full of contempt and the superiority of total control. He hugged Yoshino tighter and tapped Hayato's shoulder with the tip of his shoe. "Bwahaha! This is quite a sight. Is this the real face of the high-and-mighty PE teacher? Crawling like a dog because you want to see your fiancé get fucked by another guy? It's a masterpiece, truly a masterpiece."

At the mockery, Hayato bowed his head even lower. His back trembled with shame and desperation. "Sir... please... it's my wish. I'll never forget your kindness. You don't know... how much I've wanted to see Yoshino being taken by another man..." His voice was wet with boiling lust, sounding more like a confession than a plea. He was laying bare his ugliest, most secret desires right in front of the man who had corrupted Yoshino.

Listening to them, Yoshino felt her blood run cold. Something beyond disgust twisted her insides. Hayato's servility, his perverse desire, and Iwata's arrogant enjoyment of it all. These two men were trampling her soul in different ways. Her life was now a perfect stage for both comedy and tragedy.

Iwata enjoyed Hayato's begging for a while. Then he blew hot breath into Yoshino's ear, whispering so only she could hear. "What do you think, Yoshino? That retard looks pathetic, doesn't he? He's your fiancé, so you decide. Should we let him in on this hellish show, or make him bark like a dog and get lost?" His tone was playful. Pretending to give her a choice, he was testing how much further she could fall.

His question was another cruel trap. Whatever she chose, she would become an accomplice in this ugly play. She slowly looked up, alternating her gaze between Hayato at her feet and Iwata looking down at her. A faint, yet ice-cold light flickered in her empty eyes. In this hell, what choice did she have? Was there even a choice left? Her lips parted very slowly, with great effort.

Yoshino's lips were parched like dry leaves. She slowly lowered her head to look at the crown of Hayato's head. She had once dreamed of a future leaning on those broad shoulders. But now, his back looked like that of the most servile, ugly beast in the world. Something shattered coldly in her heart. Hope, love, pity, and even her last trust in humanity.

Iwata's question lingered. How to respond? It wasn't freedom; it was a demand to prove her own corruption. Her mind went blank. But in that void, something cold and sharp sprouted. It was a resolution bordering on madness, beyond resignation.

Yoshino slowly lifted her head. Her gaze no longer wavered. In her empty eyes, a bottomless darkness had taken root. She looked Iwata straight in the face. And in a small, dry, yet distinct voice, she spoke.

"...Let him in."

Her voice was so calm it sounded surreal. Iwata frowned slightly in surprise, but his expression soon shifted to a lewd, satisfied smile. He saw exactly what her choice meant. That she had given up everything and decided to walk this path of corruption herself.

"Puhaha! My woman is different, alright. So hot." Iwata kissed Yoshino's cheek as a reward and jerked his chin at Hayato. "Did you hear that, retard? Your fiancé gave you special permission. Crawl on in. But don't bark like a dog, and don't make a sound. You just watch as quiet as a dead mouse. Got it?"

Hayato couldn't lift his head, nodding frantically. His shoulders shook with relief and excitement. Iwata hugged Yoshino's waist and headed for the front door. Yoshino mechanically punched in the code. Beep-beep-beep. As the door opened, the darkness of what used to be her sanctuary gaped open. Yoshino stepped into that darkness without any expression. Following her, the shadows of Iwata and Hayato—crawling on all fours like a dog—disappeared into the dark one by one. The sound of the door closing resonated heavily, like the gates of hell slamming shut.