“Grandma’s Got Bills to Pay" - Momo and Seiko Edition (Part 2/2) (Patreon)

She glanced past Seiko toward the photographer, who had quietly stepped away from the tripod and was now standing closer—already naked himself. Broad, muscled, and very obviously ready.

The camera remained on its remote trigger, lens pointed at them like it had been waiting.

Seiko’s smile turned slow and wicked, her fingers sliding from Momo’s shoulder down her arm in a light, encouraging caress.

“Think about it, kid. One more scene. All three of us. Real chemistry, real fun. No faking, no cuts. He’s been a perfect gentleman so far, and the money means no more leaks, no more late bills, no more ramen dinners. You’ve already gone this far—and you were enjoying it a minute ago. Why stop now?”

Momo’s cheeks went nuclear. She tried to glare, but her eyes kept flicking down—then back up—then down again.

“Now come here…” Seiko tugged gently on Momo’s wrist, guiding her toward the waiting photographer.

Momo let herself be pulled—one step, then another—heart hammering, mouth dry, that reckless Ayase spark already flickering behind her embarrassment.

The photographer stepped into frame, his massive naked body filling the space between them like he’d belonged there all along. The remote shutter kept clicking as the three posed together—Seiko and Momo tucked under each of his thick arms, pressed lightly against his broad chest, their bare skin warm against his.

Seiko tilted her head back with a wicked grin, one hand playfully squeezing his bicep while Momo tried to look cool—chin up, cheeks already pink.

“Smile for the money shot, kid,” Seiko teased, nudging Momo’s hip with her own. “He’s basically a walking tripod—sturdy, reliable, and currently very… focused.”

Momo rolled her eyes, but a nervous laugh slipped out.

“I already thought the ‘deal’ was gonna be more than just posing together. Like… oh god, is this it? Just a big group hug?”

Seiko’s laugh was low and delighted. She pulled back just enough to look up at the photographer, then over at Momo—eyes sparkling behind red glasses.

“Oh dear. You think that’s what you get paid triple for? Standing around looking cute in a three-way cuddle pile?”

Before Momo could answer, Seiko said, “Let Grandma show you how a real photoshoot ends, sweetheart.”

Without another word, she hopped up—legs wrapping around his waist. He caught her easily—massive hands under her thighs—and pressed her back to the brick wall.

Momo stood frozen a meter away, mouth open, eyes huge behind damp strands of dark hair.

Grandma… what the actual hell?

She’d seen Seiko exorcise demons, drink sake straight from the bottle at 3 a.m., and argue with ghosts like they owed her money—but this? This was new territory.

Horrifying, fascinating new territory.

Momo tried to keep posing. She really did. Chin up. Hands on hips. Smile shaky but present. But every few seconds she’d glance at them—Seiko’s arched back, the photographer’s flexing thighs, the slick sounds—and her composure cracked a little more.

Triple pay. Triple pay. Triple pay.

The mantra looped in her head like a lifeline.

“Ohhh, hey there, darling,” Seiko purred, voice still husky from moaning. “His thing is big and very ready. Why don’t you try posing with him? Come on, sweetheart. Triple pay doesn’t earn itself.”

Momo swallowed hard. Her gaze dropped to the photographer’s glistening cock—thick, heavy, still hard and pointing right at her. She hesitated, then stepped forward, heart slamming.

She ducked behind him—using his massive frame like a shield—and peeked out, forcing a tiny, nervous smile for the camera. One hand rested lightly on his lower back; the other gave a shaky peace sign.

Seiko watched, grinning like a proud demon.

“That’s it, baby. Have fun with it.”

Momo relaxed a fraction—until Seiko stepped closer, voice dropping to that dangerous, coaxing whisper.

“Now lean in closer, sweetheart. Taste it. Don’t shame Grandma in front of the nice man who’s about to make our mortgage disappear.”

Momo’s eyes went wide again.

“Grandma—!”

Seiko just tilted her head, smile sweet and merciless.

“You’re an Ayase. We finish what we start. Now go on… give him a little kiss. For the shot. For the money. For fun.”

Momo stared at the thick head inches from her face, then up at Seiko’s expectant expression, then back down. Her lips parted—just a little.

The shutter clicked again.

The poses shifted—fast and filthy.

“See? Told you it’d be fun,” Seiko purred, voice thick with pride. “Look at you—taking it like you were born for this.”

Momo could only whimper in response, body trembling, overwhelmed in the best way.

After too many scenes and far too little dignity left, the lights finally shut off with a soft click.

“God,” Seiko exhaled. “I needed that.”

Momo stared at the ceiling.

Chest heaving. Brain melted. Limbs jelly.

Her only coherent thought: Triple pay better include hazard compensation.

They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t move.

Somewhere behind them, the photographer mumbled something about backups and lighting and walked off to upload everything to a drive.

Seiko reached over blindly, hand landing on Momo’s stomach and giving a lazy pat.

"Next time,” she murmured, voice hoarse, “we bring our own oil.”

Momo didn’t even flinch. Just groaned softly into the ceiling.

Next time?