Haruka knew she was in trouble.
Michiru typically reserved her icy glare for Youma and anyone who interrupted her violin practices.
Tonight, however, the stare that could make even the most intimidating, tentacle-ridden monster cower in fear pierced Haruka’s heart.
“Michiru, please,” Haruka begged, imploring her turquoise-haired lover to soften her gaze. But it was no use—the damage had been done.
There had been an invitation. There had been a dark, crowded bar. There had been girls, lots of girls.
But most importantly, there was no Michiru.
“Haruka, if you haven’t noticed already, I’m rather upset with you, love,” Michiru replied, running her long, soft fingers through her racer’s short, golden locks.
The pair made their way to the bedroom of their swanky Tokyo penthouse. As Michiru bit down on Haruka’s lip in a rough but passionate kiss, the racer looked out at the beaming lights of a city that caused almost as much trouble as it offered fame, love, and friendship.
What would she do without Michiru, or this city, or the Youma they fought, or the races that made her feel alive? She didn’t want to think of losing her love, or the life they shared, but guilt racked her mind.
Michiru pulled Haruka close and started to unbutton her shirt. Haruka opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it.
I was tipsy. No, I was more than tipsy—I was drunk. I was flirting with those women at the bar. I couldn’t drive home. The bartender had to call Michiru. She had to end her rehearsal for tomorrow’s performance two hours early. Oh god, what did I do?
“Love, I know that I haven’t been very attentive recently,” Michiru cooed as she ran her pink lips down her lover’s chest and over each nipple.
Haruka could feel herself getting wet. She knew that Michiru would dominate her body and mind from the moment they met years ago. It scared her at first, that someone could rip apart her steely defenses, but it felt natural to her now. Almost like breathing.
“Michiru, I…” Haruka started to speak but her blue-eyed lover put a single finger over her lips and she knew then that talking wouldn’t do her much good.
Still fully clothed, Michiru sat on their bed and motioned for Haruka to join her. She obliged, and Michiru undid her belt buckle with the expert precision of someone who has done this more times than she ought.
Haruka stepped out of her pants and positioned herself across her lover’s lap. Michiru looked down at her racer’s striped briefs, lifted her hand, and smacked down lightly. Haruka, no stranger to this position, moaned and reached for their down comforter to clutch.
“I’ve been at rehearsals almost every evening for the past two weeks,” Michiru said as she rained soft smacks upon her lover’s bottom. “But if you needed attention, love, you could have just told me.”
“I’m sorry, Michiru,” Haruka replied, relieved that her stunning violinist lover couldn’t see her blushing face.
“I know, but I think you need this.”
And of course, the Guardian of the Deep Sea was right about this, as she was about most things.
Michiru gently pulled down her lover’s briefs, exposing her bare bottom. She tried not to giggle as she ran her fingers across her lover’s round backside. To put it bluntly, Haruka had always had a really, really nice ass.
“Haruka, dear, I’m going to need that hairbrush,” Michiru said, pointing to her plain wooden brush on the nightstand next to the bed.
Haruka groaned, but did as she was told.
“Now, darling, I’m going to need you to count out each stroke, up to 100, okay?” Michiru cooed.
“Yes, ma’am,” Haruka responded, resigned to her fate.
The first couple of dozen smacks were enough to turn Haruka’s posterior the color of her blushing face. The next couple of dozen strokes left Haruka reddened and wincing.
Michiru put the brush down momentarily and traced her finger along Haruka’s spine. When she reached the blonde woman’s rear, she took a moment to rub it tenderly.
Haruka smiled as Michiru’s fingers found their way to her lips. She slipped one finger in, and then two and was met with her lover’s wetness.
The racer moaned in pleasure and rubbed her throbbing clit on her lover’s perfectly-pleated skirt.
“Soon, my love,” Michiru laughed gently as she removed her fingers and re-positioned her golden-locked lover.
“48 *smack* 49 *smack* 50 *smack*,” Haruka muttered as the thwacks of the brush grew harder.
Haruka almost never cried, but this was different. The pain of being struck with a hairbrush she could live with, but hurting Michiru caused tears to well in her eyes.
After a good 75 swats, her bottom felt like it was on fire. Haruka clutched the comforter and gritted her teeth.
“76 *SMACK* 77 *SMACK* 78 *SMACK*,” she cried as the brush came down again and again.
“I know this hurts, Haruka, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy this,” Michiru teased knowingly.
The final strokes left Haruka nearly in tears, clutching her lover’s legs. The Guardian of the Heavens, the wielder of the Space Sword, would never allow anyone to see her so vulnerable. Anyone but Michiru.
Finally, it was over. Michiru dropped the brush, righted her lover, and planted a kiss on Haruka’s lips. Haruka smiled coyly and lifted Michiru’s skirt.
“You’re the only woman I’ll ever love, Michiru,” Haruka said as she knelt in front of the seated blue-eyed siren and licked her clit.
Michiru gasped as Haruka’s tongue glided over her most sensitive spots. Her mind wandered to the strapon in her dresser drawer, of Haruka licking and sucking on the black silicone dildo before bending over for Michiru to slip it into her tight asshole.
But for now, Michiru was content to experience the pure ecstasy of having her clit massaged by Haruka’s experienced tongue. Her moaning grew louder, her vision blurred, and her legs began to tense.
This was only the beginning of very long and much-needed night.