Temporary Melting

My fingers are still compulsively trying to tap my dead phone screen when I notice the foreign man watching me from across the empty waiting area. Twenty-three unsuccessful attempts to resurrect technology that's clearly joined the digital afterlife, and yet I keep desperately pressing the power button like I'm performing CPR.

"Please," I whisper to my black-screened phone, "just one more message to Taro-kun. One tiny electrical spark. I'll never play that battery-draining cat collection game again!"

Nothing. Not even the courtesy of a farewell flicker.

The station announcement system crackles to life--something about all train services being suspended due to the snowstorm. I can barely hear over the persistent thought-loop playing at maximum volume inside my head:

*You absolute disaster of a person, Kodama Kanna! You had ONE responsibility--attend your husband's class reunion in Nagoya to prevent him from reconnecting with Setoguchi Mei and her suspiciously recent divorce, and instead you're stranded at--*

Wait, where exactly am I?

I squint at the station sign through glasses already fogging from my panicked breathing. The characters swim into focus: Ichinomiya Station. Which is definitely NOT Nagoya Station. Not even close.

A fresh snowflake of anxiety joins the blizzard already swirling in my stomach. If my internal compass were a product, it would've been recalled years ago for catastrophic design flaws.

I dig through my purse, an archaeological expedition through crumpled receipts, dried-out markers, and loose mints, until I locate my wallet. I count my remaining cash with increasing dismay: 230 yen. Not even enough for a vending machine coffee, let alone a taxi to Nagoya.

"Wonderful work, Kanna. Five-star performance," I mutter, adjusting my glasses which promptly fog up again. "You've managed to simultaneously get lost, strand yourself in a snowstorm, allow your phone to die, AND leave your portable charger on the kitchen counter. Taro-kun was right--you should've just taken a direct train."

The foreign man across the platform shifts slightly, and I immediately drop my gaze to my boots. They're already soaked through, which seems appropriately symbolic of my current life situation. Taro-kun is likely busy impressing his former classmates with stories about the famous restaurant where he works, while Setoguchi Mei laughs delicately at all his jokes, her perfectly manicured hand occasionally touching his arm.

Stupid adult video from college! I never should've watched "Class Reunion Corruption 3" with Yoshino-chan during that drunk study session. Fifteen years later, and I still can't separate actual reunions from that ridiculous fantasy where everyone ends up naked on desks! Nobody has orgies at real class reunions!

... Right?

"Excuse me?"

The voice--deep with an unusual accent--startles me so badly I nearly launch my useless phone across the station. The foreign man is suddenly standing two meters away, tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face. Well, what's visible of it above his mask, which isn't much beyond intense eyes and surprisingly long eyelashes.

"Y-yes?" I stammer, immediately bowing slightly from nervous habit.

"Are you okay?" he asks in perfect Japanese, though there's a subtle American inflection wrapping around the words. "You seem distressed."

His eyes crinkle above his mask--he's smiling, maybe? Laughing at the disheveled Japanese woman having a complete meltdown in an empty train station? I suddenly become hyper-aware of my snow-frizzed hair, my fogged glasses, and the fact that I'm still clutching my dead phone like it's a protective talisman.

"I'm fine! Completely fine!" My voice emerges approximately three octaves higher than normal. "Just enjoying the delightful winter weather while contemplating the inevitability of hypothermia!"

Wait, did I actually say that last part out loud?

He blinks, then laughs--a warm, rich sound that makes something flutter unexpectedly in my stomach. Not butterflies. More like... panicked moths? Nervous hummingbirds? Whatever aviary has taken up residence in my digestive system, it's definitely causing turbulence.

"The trains aren't running," he says, showing me his phone screen with a weather alert. "They've suspended all services due to the storm."

"Ah, yes, I heard the announcement," I reply, aiming for casual confidence but landing somewhere closer to squeaky toy. "I'm just... waiting."

"For what?" he asks, head tilting curiously.

Hmm, good question. For global warming to instantly accelerate? For teleportation technology to be suddenly invented? For my complete mortification to reach such critical mass that I spontaneously combust and solve my cold weather problem permanently?

"For... options!" I declare with manufactured certainty.

His eyes crinkle again. "I don't think options are coming anytime soon. The storm is getting worse." He glances toward the station exit, where snow is now falling in thick, aggressive curtains. "I was about to grab something to eat at that small restaurant across the street before everything closes completely. Would you like to join me?"

My inner warning system immediately flashes: *Strange man! Foreign! Danger!* But then my survival instincts counter with: *Warm restaurant! Food! Not freezing to death alone in a train station!*

Plus, he's wearing a proper business suit under his coat, has a legitimate-looking briefcase, and is speaking keigo-level polite Japanese. Serial killers don't typically master formal language patterns, right?

Though if I've learned anything from Yoshino-chan's murder podcast obsession, it's that the most dangerous predators are often the most charming...

Wait, am I calling him charming? I haven't even seen his whole face! For all I know, he could have giant buck teeth or a handlebar mustache under that mask!

"Your phone is dead, isn't it?" he asks, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.

I glance down at the useless rectangle in my hand. "How could you tell?"

"You've been pressing the power button repeatedly while looking increasingly desperate."

Oh fantastic, he's been watching me this whole time.

"Here," he says, offering it like it's the most normal thing in the world to rescue random women in train stations. "Let's get your phone working, then get something warm to eat while it charges. I'm starving, and you look like you could use a hot meal."

As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly enough that passengers in Tokyo probably heard it.

"Thank you," I mumble, accepting the charger. Our fingers brush briefly in the exchange, and I notice his hands are surprisingly large compared to mine. Not just taller than Japanese men, but broader proportions overall. I quickly look away from his hands because for some reason my brain has decided that hand-comparison is inappropriate territory.

"I'm Joe, by the way," he says. "Joe Zack. Half Japanese, half American - in case you were wondering."

"Kodama Kanna," I reply automatically, bowing slightly again. "Fully Japanese, entirely lost. In case you were wondering."

He laughs, and this time I catch myself smiling in response. My mother always warned me about strange men, but she never specified what to do if they're articulate, apparently kind, and offering phone chargers during snowstorms.

As I connect my phone to his charger, I notice a small mascot keychain dangling from his briefcase--a cute cartoon character wearing a blue happi coat.

"Is that ICHINMIN?" I ask, surprised.

His eyes light up above his mask. "You know Ichinmin? The local mascot? That's actually why I came to Ichinomiya today--I wanted to see if I could find him in person. I collect regional mascot merchandise."

Serial killers definitely don't get excited about adorable local mascot characters.

"We should hurry if we want to eat," he says, gesturing toward the exit. "That place looks like the only thing still open, and with this weather, they might close early."

I nod, gathering my things and following him toward the station doors. As we step outside, the full force of the snowstorm hits us--a wall of white, wind-driven ice that immediately plastes my hair to my face and sneaks down my collar.

"It's not far!" Joe shouts over the wind, pointing to a warm glow across the street. Above the building, a sign reading "Ichinomiya Shokudo" flickers invitingly.

We hurry across the empty street, snow crunching under our boots, wind howling around us. The cold is biting, needle-sharp against any exposed skin, and I'm already shivering violently by the time we reach the restaurant entrance.

Just before we step inside, a particular gust of wind catches me off-balance. I slip on hidden ice, yelping as I start to fall--

And suddenly I'm not falling anymore because Joe's arm is around my waist, steady and secure, catching me against his side.

"Careful," he says, his voice close to my ear, arm still firmly around me.

For one frozen moment, we stand like that--his arm around my waist, my hand clutching his coat, our faces unexpectedly close. I can feel the solid warmth of him even through layers of winter clothing, see now that his eyes are an unusual hazel color with flecks of green.

I quickly straighten and step back, adjusting my glasses which have, predictably, fogged up again. "Thank you! Sorry! I'm unusually clumsy even on dry surfaces, so ice basically turns me into a walking disaster!"

Joe lets his arm drop naturally, no awkwardness in his manner. "No problem. Let's get inside where it's warm."

He slides the door open, and a blast of heavenly heated air rushes out to greet us, carrying the rich aroma of miso, pork broth, and warming sake. The small restaurant is modestly filled with what I assume are other stranded travelers, all nursing steaming bowls and cups while eyeing the snowstorm through foggy windows.

"Just in time," the elderly chef calls from behind the counter. "Was about to close up! Too dangerous for my staff to stay longer."

"Two specials, please," Joe responds, already unwinding his scarf. "And perhaps some hot sake?"

I untangle myself from multiple winter layers, shaking snow from my coat and hanging it by the door. The blast of warmth after the bitter cold makes my cheeks tingle, and I can already feel my nose running embarrassingly. I sniffle discreetly while readjusting my glasses, which have completely fogged in the temperature change.

"Here," Joe says, offering a packet of tissues.

"You're prepared for everything," I say, accepting gratefully. "Like some kind of snow emergency Boy Scout."

He laughs, the sound rich enough to make several other patrons glance our way. "More like someone who learned from previous misadventures. I once had to use my tie as a handkerchief during a business meeting. Never made that mistake again."

We settle at the counter, the only two seats remaining. The tiny restaurant is surprisingly crowded--clearly we weren't the only ones seeking refuge from the storm. As I adjust my position on the stool, I become acutely aware of my chest pressed against the counter edge. My white turtleneck sweater, which seemed perfectly appropriate this morning, now feels like it's putting on an unwanted presentation.

Why did I have to inherit mom's side of the family genetics? Dad's relatives are all practically flat as boards. I shift again, trying to find a less conspicuous position, but no matter how I sit, there they are--two prominent features announcing themselves to the room.

I catch Joe's eyes flicking downward for the briefest second before returning to my face. It's so quick I might have imagined it, but I've become finely attuned to that particular glance after years of experience.

"So," Joe begins, removing his mask now that we're seated, "what brings a lovely illustrator to Ichinomiya during the blizzard of the century?"

Wait--how does he know I'm an illustrator? Did I mention that already? My brain races back through our brief conversation outside.

"Your pencil case," he explains, nodding toward my purse where the corner of my custom-designed pencil holder peeks out. "Professional grade. And there's graphite on your finger."

I glance down. Sure enough, a telltale gray smudge betrays my occupation.

"That's... impressive observation," I say, suddenly feeling exposed in ways that have nothing to do with my sweater.

"Occupational habit. Insurance teaches you to notice details." His smile is warm and slightly crooked, one side lifting higher than the other. It's an endearing imperfection on an otherwise symmetrically handsome face.

The chef places two steaming cups of sake between us, and Joe raises his in a small toast. "To unexpected snowstorms and the chance encounters they create."

I hesitate for only a second before clinking my cup against his. The sake burns pleasantly down my throat, heat spreading from my core in all directions.

"You have very pretty eyes," Joe says after a moment. "I couldn't see them properly outside with all the snow and your glasses fogging up, but they're quite striking."

My cheeks heat instantly. "Oh! Um--thank you, but..." I awkwardly thrust my left hand forward, wiggling my fingers so my wedding ring catches the light. "I'm very much married! No flirting, please!"

Joe chuckles. "I apologize. I didn't notice the ring. Just making an observation--no ulterior motives."

My face burns even hotter as I realize I've completely overreacted. Now I'm that paranoid married woman who thinks every man who speaks to her is hitting on her. Fantastic.

"Sorry," I mumble, hunching forward. "That was weird of me."

"Not at all. I respect the boundary." He smiles easily. "So, what really brings you to Ichinomiya during this weather apocalypse? You mentioned something about getting lost?"

The chef places two steaming bowls of ramen before us, the rich pork and miso aroma making my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.

"I was supposed to be in Nagoya," I explain, picking up my chopsticks. "My husband's attending his high school reunion, and I was joining him there, but I got on the wrong train--which shouldn't even be possible since I've lived in Tokyo for ten years and should understand basic train routes by now, but somehow I excel at getting lost in places I've been dozens of times, and now I'm stranded in a snowstorm with a dead phone and--"

I realize I'm rambling and stuff a large bite of noodles into my mouth to stop myself.

"High school reunion, huh?" Joe slurps his noodles thoughtfully. "People still do those? I've always found the concept strange."

"Right?!" I exclaim too loudly, nearly choking on broth. "What's even the point? 'Hello, people I deliberately haven't spoken to in fifteen years! Let's awkwardly compare life accomplishments while pretending we don't remember that time you threw up in the biology lab!'"

Joe laughs, and I feel surprisingly proud to have caused it.

"Plus," I continue, warming to my subject as the chef refills our sake cups, "why would anyone voluntarily subject themselves to standing in a room with Setoguchi Mei and her perfect hair and her recent divorce and her probably-still-existing crush on my husband?"

I gulp down more sake, welcoming the spreading warmth.

"Ah, so there's a specific woman you're worried about," Joe says, nodding sagely.

"I'm not worried," I protest, then immediately contradict myself: "Except I am terrified because Taro-kun had the biggest crush on her in high school, and she never noticed him then, but now he's this successful sous-chef at a fancy restaurant, and she's newly single, and--" I take another hefty swig of sake, "--and I watched this adult video in college that has completely warped my perception of what happens at reunions!"

Oh god, I did NOT just say that out loud.

But Joe is grinning. "What happened in this traumatizing video?"

"Terrible things! Anatomically improbable things!" I gesture wildly with my chopsticks. "Everyone kept disappearing into the classroom supply closet in pairs! Or on desks! There was this one scene with the old chemistry teacher's pointer stick..."

I clamp my hand over my mouth, mortified.

"I cannot believe I just told you that. I've known you for twenty minutes!"

"Sometimes it's easier to tell embarrassing stories to strangers," Joe says, motioning for the chef to refill our cups again. "We're just two people who may never see each other again after tonight, sharing a meal during a storm."

Something about that perspective loosens a knot in my chest. He's right--what does it matter what this random half-American insurance man thinks of me? We'll go our separate ways, and my weird reunion fears will remain safely in Ichinomiya.

"But it's absurd," I continue, emboldened by this realization and the warm sake. "Why do reunions even exist? 'Hey, remember when we were all awkward and horrible to each other as teenagers? Let's revisit that trauma while pretending we've all matured!'"

Joe laughs, tilting his head back. I find myself watching the line of his throat as he swallows.

"Exactly! And everyone lies about how successful they are," he adds, leaning closer. "Nobody admits they cry in the bathroom at work or still eat instant ramen for breakfast."

"RIGHT?" I slap the counter, causing neighboring diners to jump. "Sorry!" I stage-whisper to them before turning back to Joe. "And they always pick the most awkward venues. Like, why is Taro-kun's at a fancy restaurant? Everyone's just sucking in their stomachs the whole time, afraid to eat properly!"

"Taro-kun is your husband?" Joe asks, picking up a piece of chashu with his chopsticks.

"Mmhmm. Five years. No, wait--six! Six years!" Why did I hesitate there? "He's a sous-chef at Tanaka's in Ginza. Very talented. Barely home. Works ALL THE TIME." I emphasize this last part more intensely than intended.

"That must be difficult," Joe says, his eyes softening with what appears to be genuine sympathy. "Being married to someone with such demanding hours."

"Oh, it's fine! I'm used to it. With my job, I can work from home a lot. Weird hours anyway." I wave dismissively, then nearly knock over my sake cup. "Whoops!"

Joe laughs again, and I find I really like making that happen.

"Tell me about what you illustrate," he asks, smoothly changing subjects.

"Children's books mainly. Some corporate stuff that pays the bills." I sip more sake, enjoying the pleasant buzziness spreading through me. "But my true love is creating these little captured moments--finding magic in ordinary things, you know? Like how shadows fall, or the way steam rises from a bowl of ramen in these beautiful, never-repeating patterns."

I gesture toward our food, and realize too late that my sweeping hand motion has directed his attention back to my chest, where a small splash of broth has left a damp spot on my white sweater. Great. Now I have a stain AND I've drawn his attention directly to my embarrassingly ample bosom.

I hurriedly grab a napkin, dabbing at the spot, which only makes it worse.

"Sorry, I get too animated when I talk about my work."

"I like your enthusiasm," Joe says. "It's refreshing. Most adults filter themselves too much."

For a moment, I forget about my chest situation and find myself smiling genuinely at him. There's something so easy about this conversation, like we've known each other longer than half an hour.

"Do you have any examples of your illustrations?" he asks. "I'd love to see."

"Oh! Actually, yes!" I dig through my purse, pulling out my sketchbook. "I always carry this with me. Sometimes I see something that needs capturing immediately."

I flip it open to some recent pieces, careful to skip past the private sketches.

"These are just quick studies, nothing fancy."

Joe leans closer to examine the pages, his shoulder nearly touching mine. He smells nice--something woody and clean that makes me think of forest walks.

"You have such a distinctive style," he says as he carefully turns each page. "The way you capture light... it's like you're showing what's beneath the surface of ordinary moments."

Something warm unfurls in my chest. It's rare for someone to understand exactly what I'm trying to do with my art.

"That's exactly it!" I exclaim. "Like this one--" I point to a sketch of an elderly man waiting at a crosswalk. "It's not just a man waiting to cross the street. It's about how the afternoon light hit his profile at that exact moment, how his patience seemed to create this BUBBLE of calm. Impervious. Despite the chaos all around, you know?"

"Temporary moments captured permanently," Joe murmurs, his finger hovering above the page without touching it.

"Yes! Like..." I search for the words, my sake-loosened thoughts flowing freely. "Like temporary melting--how snow eventually turns to water, and boundaries blur, and all these solid structures we think are permanent actually shift and change when we're not looking."

Joe looks up from the sketchbook directly into my eyes. "That's... really beautiful."

I laugh, suddenly self-conscious again. "Sorry. Esoteric when tipsy."

"It's charming," Joe says, and I feel my cheeks heat again.

As if sensing my discomfort, Joe signals the chef for another round of sake. The warmth from the first few cups has spread throughout my body, creating a pleasant humming sensation that makes the snowstorm outside seem like a distant concern.

"Should we be drinking more?" I ask, even as I accept the refilled cup. "With the weather getting worse..."

"It's not like we're driving anywhere."

Another excellent point from the pragmatic half-American. I sip the fresh sake, noticing how it goes down even more smoothly than the first cup. The restaurant has grown quieter as other patrons have paid and ventured out into the storm, leaving us among just a handful of remaining customers.

"We should probably find somewhere to stay," Joe says, checking his phone. "The trains definitely won't run tonight, and in this weather, we might be stuck until morning."

A small alarm bell rings distantly in my head. Hotel. Strange man. Bad idea. But the much louder voice of practicality counters: Blizzard. No transportation. No phone.

"I think the Green Prince Hotel is still open," Joe continues, already searching on his phone. "It's just two blocks from here. I can book us rooms if you'd like."

"Rooms? Plural?" I blurt out, then immediately want to sink through the floor. Why did I phrase it like that? Now it sounds like I'm considering sharing a room!

Joe's voice remains neutral. "Of course. Two separate rooms. I wasn't suggesting..." He trails off, looking faintly amused.

"No! I knew that!"

Joe kindly ignores my flustered response. "They have two rooms available. Should I book them?"

I nod, unable to form a coherent sentence as embarrassment and sake compete for control of my brain functions.

"You seem a bit flushed," Joe observes, studying my face with what appears to be genuine concern. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Just warm," I reply, tugging slightly at my turtleneck. The restaurant's heating combined with the sake has created a tropical microclimate around me. "And maybe a little dizzy. I don't usually drink this much on empty stomachs."

"Here," Joe reaches into his briefcase and produces a small bottle with bright packaging. "This might help. It's an energy drink - balances out the alcohol. I always carry them for business dinners."

I examine the bottle - it's about the size of my thumb, with vibrant packaging featuring some English text I can't quite translate in my current state.

"What is it exactly?"

"Vitamin blend with electrolytes. Helps prevent hangovers and clears the head." He smiles that crooked smile again. "Trust me, I'm half-Japanese. We take drinking seriously."

I laugh and uncap the little bottle. It smells fruity with an herbal undertone.

"Kanpai," I declare, downing it in one swift gulp. It tastes sweeter than I expected, with a slightly bitter aftertaste - like berries and ginseng.

"That's the spirit," Joe says, looking pleased.

My phone buzzes on the counter - finally enough charge to function. I snatch it up eagerly, relieved to see it connecting to the network despite the storm.

"I should call Taro-kun," I say, already dialing. "He's probably worried sick."

My husband picks up on the fourth ring. "Kanna? Where are you? I've been trying to reach you for hours!"

"Taro-kun!" I exclaim, perhaps too loudly judging by Joe's raised eyebrows. "Surprise! I was actually trying to come see you at your reunion but then--" I hiccup unexpectedly, "--oops! But then I got on the wrong train and now I'm in Ichi... Ichino..."

"Ichinomiya," Joe supplies helpfully.

"Ichinomiya! And there's this CRAZY snowstorm, Taro-kun! Snow EVERYWHERE!"

"Kanna, are you drunk?" Taro asks, his voice sharp with concern.

"Nooooo," I draw out the word, then giggle. "Okay, maybe a little tipsy. We had sake to warm up because it's SO cold outside!"

"We?" Taro's voice tightens further.

"Oh! Yes, this very nice man helped me when my phone died! We're having ramen! He's in insurance! Or wait--" I glance at Joe questioningly, and he nods. "He's been VERY helpful, Taro-kun. SO nice."

I can practically hear Taro's frown through the phone. "Where exactly are you, Kanna? I'll come get you."

"Oh! I made a reservation at a hotel!" I announce proudly, nodding at Joe in appreciation. "Well, Joe-san made it for me. For us. Separate rooms!" I add hastily. "Because of the snow, we can't get back to Nagoya tonight."

"A hotel?" Taro repeats. "Which hotel?"

"The Green Prince Hotel in Ichinomiya! Very fancy. Very... green, I assume?" I giggle again, then notice the room feels unusually warm. I tug at my turtleneck collar again, feeling a flush spreading down my neck to my chest.

"Are you okay, Kanna? You sound strange." Taro's voice has shifted from concern to alarm.

"I'm FINE!" I insist, fanning myself with my free hand. "Just a bit warm. Probably the sake. You'll come rescue me, right, Taro-kun?"

There's a pause on the line. I can hear muffled sounds in the background - laughter, clinking glasses. The reunion is clearly in full swing.

"The roads are dangerous with the snow," Taro says finally. "But I'll try to find a way to you. Wait at the hotel, okay?"

"Okay!" I agree cheerfully. Then, suddenly feeling a strange impulse, I add: "And don't cheat on me at your reunion!"

There's a startled silence on the line.

"As if I would," Taro says finally, his voice tight. "I'll call you soon."

The call ends, and I place my phone down, feeling relieved.

"All good?" Joe asks, watching me closely.

"Mmhmm! Taro-kun will come to the hotel later. He's very worried about me!" I stretch my arms above my head, working out the tension in my shoulders, perhaps not paying enough attention to how the motion pulls my sweater tight across my chest.

Joe's eyes drop briefly before returning to my face. "That's good. Shall we head to the hotel before the storm gets worse?"

The chef approaches, informing us it's time to close. Joe insists on paying for our meal despite my protests, and we bundle back into our winter gear. Standing up from the stool, I feel a rush of... something. Not just dizziness from the sake, but a strange, pulsing awareness centered in my lower abdomen.

"Whoa," I murmur, gripping the counter.

"Need a hand?" Joe offers his arm.

"Just stood up too fast," I explain, though that doesn't quite capture the unusual sensation spreading through me. "Plus, sake. Makes everything wobbly."

Outside, the snowstorm has intensified, the wind cutting through my coat despite the internal heat I'm feeling. Joe keeps a steady hand on my elbow as we navigate the snow-covered sidewalks. The contact, even through layers of clothing, feels unusually intense, sending little sparks up my arm.

"It's like walking through a snow globe!" I shout over the wind, tilting my face up to the swirling flakes. They melt instantly against my overheated skin.

"Careful," Joe warns as I stumble slightly. His arm slides around my waist, steadying me against his side.

God, he's so WARM! And solid! Like walking next to a personal space heater.

Wait, did I say that out loud?

"You did," Joe confirms with a laugh.

"Oh!" I cover my mouth, mortified. "Sorry! I sometimes lose track of the line between thinking and speaking. Especially when drinking. My friend Yoshino says I need a brain-to-mouth filter installation!"

Joe's arm remains around my waist as we trudge through the deepening snow. I should probably move away, establish proper distance, but the storm makes the contact seem necessary rather than inappropriate.

"No need to apologize," he says, his voice close to my ear to be heard over the wind.

The wind whips a strand of hair across my face, and before I can untangle my mitten from my purse strap, Joe gently brushes it away. His fingertips barely graze my cheek, but somehow that whisper of contact sends an electric current straight down my spine.

My stomach does a strange flip that has nothing to do with sake.

Those hands are so big. He could probably span my entire waist with them if he tried.

"The hotel should be just around this corner," Joe says, pointing ahead with his free hand while the other remains firmly supportive at my waist.

I nod, trying to focus on practical matters like not falling face-first into a snowdrift rather than the growing awareness of how small I feel beside him. Not small in a frightening way, but small in a... different way. Protected, maybe?

We turn the corner, and the Green Prince Hotel appears through the veil of snow--a modern six-story building with warm yellow light spilling from its windows.

"Oh thank goodness," I breathe, relief making my knees momentarily weak. "I was starting to think we'd freeze to death out here like those mountaineers on Everest. I read this book once where they found perfectly preserved bodies decades later, and I really don't want future archaeologists examining my remains while commenting on my poor choice of winter footwear."

I'm rambling again. I clamp my mouth shut, but Joe just chuckles, the vibration of it traveling through his arm to where it connects with my body.

When we finally push through the hotel's revolving door, the abrupt transition from howling storm to climate-controlled lobby makes my ears pop. The warmth hits me like a physical wall, instantly intensifying that internal heat I've been feeling. I unconsciously loosen my scarf, feeling almost suffocated.

God, I'm feeling so... restless. Like there's electricity humming just beneath my skin.

I hope Taro-kun gets here soon. It's been FOREVER since we've had hotel sex. Something about crisp sheets and knowing someone else will clean up afterward always makes me extra enthusiastic.

Wait. Did I just...? I glance quickly at Joe, who seems to be studying the lobby decor with unusual intensity. His eyebrow raises slightly, but he keeps his gaze carefully averted.

Oh god. Please tell me I kept that thought inside my head.

The hotel lobby gleams with polished surfaces and tasteful lighting. A small water feature creates a soothing backdrop of gentle splashing. The front desk attendant, a young woman with impeccably styled hair, smiles professionally as we approach. I'm acutely aware of Joe's hand, now lightly resting at the small of my back as he guides me forward.

"Good evening," Joe says in that perfect Japanese that still carries just enough accent to sound exotic. "We have two rooms reserved under Zachary."

"Ah yes, we've been expecting you," the attendant says, typing efficiently. "You're lucky--we're nearly booked with stranded travelers. I only have two rooms left, on different floors."

"That's fine," Joe says, sliding his credit card across the counter. "We just need shelter from the storm."

He says it so casually, as if we're old friends or business associates instead of strangers who met two hours ago. The attendant doesn't bat an eye, processing our check-in with brisk professionalism.

"You'll be in room 412," she says, handing me a key card with a slight bow. "And you, sir, will be in 216."

"Perfect," Joe says, accepting his card.

We thank her and move toward the elevators. The lobby's overhead speakers are playing some gentle instrumental music that seems to pulse in time with the strange thrumming sensation in my body. I'm feeling oddly feverish despite having removed my coat, now draped over my arm.

We step into the elevator alone, and I'm suddenly, intensely aware of how much space Joe occupies in the small compartment. He must be at least 190 centimeters--towering over my 162. His shoulders are twice the width of mine, his presence somehow making the elevator shrink around us.

I press myself into the corner, creating artificial distance. My pulse is racing for no logical reason, my inner voice saying don't look at him don't look at him don't look at him.

So naturally, I look at him.

He's watching the floor numbers climb, his profile strong and defined. In the elevator's unflattering light, I notice the stubble beginning to shadow his jaw, the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. Not old--just lived-in, like a comfortable leather jacket.

God, I'm actually pretty horny. Taro had better get here soon.

Joe's eyes snap to mine, his expression unreadable.

Did I...?

No, impossible. I definitely kept that one inside my head.

The elevator dings at the fourth floor. "This is you," Joe says, holding the door open with one strong arm. "Let me walk you to your room first. Make sure you get settled okay."

"Oh! That's not necessary--" I begin.

"I insist," he says with that crooked smile. "Besides, you look a bit flushed. I think you should drink some water. I'll bring some to your room."

"This way," I say unnecessarily, suddenly feeling awkward.

We reach my door, and I fumble with the key card, somehow managing to insert it upside down twice before Joe gently takes it from my fingers.

He swipes it correctly on the first try, and the lock emits a soft click. He pushes the door open, then steps back to let me enter first.

The room is standard business hotel fare--queen-sized bed with a geometric patterned comforter, desk by the window, small sofa in the corner, bathroom to the right. But it's clean and warm and not a train station, so it might as well be the Imperial Palace.

"Oh thank goodness," I sigh, dropping my purse on the desk and placing my wet coat on the bathroom hook. "I was starting to think I'd be spending the night curled up on a station bench!"

Joe remains by the door, one hand on the frame, watching me with that unreadable expression again.

"I'll get you that water," he says, his voice oddly gentle. "You should hydrate after all that sake."

"Oh! Yes, thank you." I nod too enthusiastically, my head spinning slightly with the motion. "Water would be good. Very good. Necessary, even. For hydration purposes. Scientific fact. Bodies need water."

He disappears, closing the door behind him, and I let out a long breath I didn't realize I was holding.

What is WRONG with me? I press my palms against my cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from them. I'm acting like some flustered schoolgirl instead of a married 33-year-old professional woman.

It must be the sake. And the stress of being stranded.

I kick off my snow-dampened boots and peel away my wet socks, wiggling my toes in relief. My phone buzzes from my purse, and I retrieve it, expecting a text from Taro.

Sure enough, it's my husband:

「On my way. Found taxi willing to drive in snow. ETA 1 hour if roads passable. You OK?」

My fingers hover over the keyboard. A strange impulse makes me hesitate before I type:

「Safe at hotel. Room 412. Waiting for you. ♡」

I add the heart on impulse, something I haven't done in text messages to Taro for at least a year.

The phone rings almost immediately after my text. Taro's face appears on the screen, and I answer quickly.

"Kanna? Are you okay?" His face is slightly pixelated, the connection struggling with the storm.

"Yes! Totally fine!" I say, propping the phone against the desk lamp to free my hands while I loosen my sweater collar. "Just got into the room."

"Good. The taxi says it'll take about an hour with the road conditions." He looks distracted, glancing occasionally off-screen. I can hear muffled conversation and laughter in the background--the reunion continuing without him.

"Don't rush if it's dangerous," I say, though part of me desperately wants him to hurry. "The roads must be terrible."

"They are. But I'll--" He breaks off as someone calls his name. "Just a second, Kanna." He turns away from the camera, speaking to someone I can't see.

While he's distracted, there's a soft knock at my door. I freeze momentarily, panic flashing through me. What if Taro hears?

I quickly call out, "Just a minute!" then lower my voice to the phone: "Taro? Can you hear me?"

He's still engaged in conversation off-camera. Perfect.

I hurry to the door, opening it just enough to see Joe standing there with two bottles of water and a knowing smile.

"Your hydration, madam," he says, just softly enough that my phone won't pick it up.

I put my finger to my lips, pointing nervously at the phone propped on the desk where Taro is still looking away from the camera. Joe's eyes widen slightly in understanding, and he nods.

"Sorry about that," Taro says, turning back to face the screen. "Nakamura-san wanted to know if I'm coming back."

My heart sinks a little. "Are you? Going back to the reunion after checking on me, I mean?"

Joe silently slips into the room behind me, closing the door with barely a click. I position myself so the camera only captures me against the hotel wallpaper.

"I'm not sure," Taro admits. "The taxi is costing a fortune, and if the roads get worse, I might not be able to get back to Nagoya tonight. But don't worry about that now. How are you feeling? You seemed... strange on the phone earlier."

"Just tired," I say, acutely aware of Joe moving quietly behind me, out of the camera's view. "And maybe a little too much sake."

Joe places the water bottles on the side table, then moves to sit on the small sofa in the corner. My mind screams danger as the cushion creaks slightly under his weight.

"What was that?" Taro asks, frowning at the screen.

"What was what?" I ask too quickly. "I didn't hear anything."

"I thought I heard--never mind. The connection isn't great," Taro says. He glances over his shoulder again. "Listen, I should let you rest. I'll text updates about my arrival time."

"Okay," I agree. "Be safe! I'll be waiting for you."

"Get some sleep if you can," he says, his voice softening. "Love you."

"Love you too," I reply automatically.

I end the call and place the phone face-down on the desk, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"That was incredibly awkward," I say with a nervous laugh, turning to face Joe. "Sorry about the secrecy. It would've been complicated to explain why you're in my room."

"No need to apologize," Joe says, leaning comfortably back against the sofa. "I understand completely. It's an unusual situation."

He pats the cushion beside him. "Come sit. You should drink that water."

There's something about the casual authority in his voice that makes compliance feel like the path of least resistance. I take one of the water bottles and move to the sofa, leaving what I hope is a respectable distance between us.

The water is deliciously cold going down my throat. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was. Of course, thirst could also explain this strange feverish feeling I've had since the restaurant.

"Feeling better?" Joe asks, studying me with those hazel eyes that seem to shift color in the hotel's lamplight.

"I'm fine," I insist, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. My skin feels hypersensitive, the fabric of my sweater suddenly irritating against my neck. "Just warm."

"You could take off your sweater," Joe suggests casually. "You're wearing something underneath, right?"

"Oh! Um. No... I'm fine."

Joe smiles that crooked smile again. "So, your husband is coming all this way in a snowstorm to rescue you. That's quite romantic."

"Yes, Taro-kun is very--" I pause, unsure what adjective actually fits. Responsible? Dutiful? "Reliable," I finish lamely.

"How long have you been married again?" Joe asks, shifting slightly closer on the sofa.

"Six years," I say, unconsciously fiddling with my wedding ring. "We met at an art gallery. He was catering the event, and I literally crashed into him while backing up to look at a painting."

"Fate," Joe says, his voice low and warm.

"Terrible spatial awareness."

And then, before I can process what's happening, he's leaning in, his large hand coming to rest at the nape of my neck, and his mouth is on mine.

Mmmpph!

My brain short-circuits completely.

Joe. Is. Kissing. Me.

His lips are firm but surprisingly soft against mine, and they taste faintly of sake and something distinctly male. My neurons fire in conflicting directions, creating a chaotic electrical storm of what? and stop! and oh! that simultaneously freezes me in place and melts something deep in my core.

I should push him away immediately. I should leap to my feet and demand he leave. I should--

His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and they part on their own treacherous accord.

The tip of his tongue slides against mine--a slow, deliberate exploration that sends a jolt of electricity straight between my legs. He doesn't kiss like any Japanese man I've ever been with--there's nothing hesitant or polite about it. His tongue claims my mouth with confident, rhythmic strokes, the pressure of his lips increasing as he angles his head to deepen the contact.

My body responds before my brain can catch up, a small involuntary sound escaping my throat as I find myself leaning up into the kiss.

"Mmm," he murmurs against my lips. "Delicious."

Wait.

Wait wait wait wait wait.

I'm married. He KNOWS I'm married. I literally showed him my wedding ring!

I can't breathe. I can't think. My brain is a jumble of yes and no and more and stop, all competing for dominance while my body is fully committed to the yes/more team.

"Ngh- muah-" Joe's tongue is penetrating deeper than any kiss I've ever experienced. It's nothing like Taro-kun's polite, closed-mouth pecks.

While the American's mouth conquers mine, his huge hands are already working their way under my sweater, fingers spread wide against my ribs, sliding upward. My nipples harden to painful points against my thin lace bra before he even touches them. It's the middle of winter and I wore my LUCKY BRA--the black one with the pink cherry blossoms that barely contains my embarrassingly large D-cups! What was I THINKING?

"Mmmph--wait--I can't--" I try to protest against his lips, but he just swallows my words.

His massive palms cup the undersides of my tits, lifting their full weight like he's testing melons at the supermarket.

"So soft," he groans against my mouth. "Fucking perfect Japanese tits."

The crass word in English makes me shiver. The way he says "Japanese" makes me feel like I'm being categorized. Like I'm some local specimen he's been dying to sample.

"Stop," I gasp, finally breaking the kiss. "We can't do this. I'm MARRIED."

Joe pulls back slightly, eyebrows raised in confusion. "But you literally just said you were horny. That Taro hasn't fucked you properly in months." His fingers continue kneading my breasts, somehow finding the exact pressure that makes them feel both sore and desperate for more.

Wait.

What?

WHAT?

Oh god, did I say that OUT LOUD? When did I--? My brain frantically rewinds through the last few minutes, searching for the moment my internal monologue became external.

"I--I didn't mean--" I stammer, but he's already pushing me backward, the back of my knees hitting the edge of the bed.

"It's okay, Kanna-chan," he murmurs, his accent making my name sound foreign and thrilling. "No one will know. Just the snowstorm, right? Sometimes these things just happen."

I fall backward onto the bed, my sweater riding up to expose a strip of pale skin above my skirt waistband. Joe looms over me, impossibly tall from this angle, his broad shoulders blocking the light. My tits feel suddenly heavier, aching for attention, the weight of them spreading to either side as I lie on my back.

"We really shouldn't--" I begin, but then his knee is between my legs, pressing up against the center of me, and--oh GOD--I'm so wet the pressure makes a subtle schlick sound against my tights.

Joe's hands slide up my sweater again, this time pushing the fabric up as they go, exposing my stomach, my ribs, and finally my bra. The cool air hits my heated skin, making me shiver.

"Beautiful," he whispers, staring down at my black lace bra struggling to contain what Yoshino-chan once drunkenly called my "gaijin-bait bazongas." The cups overflow slightly at the top, creating that shameful double-curve that makes buying properly fitting clothes so impossible.

"I can't--" I try again, but then his hands are on me, fingers splayed wide across the lace, and my words dissolve into a pathetic "Nnnngh!"

He squeezes.

"So fucking soft," Joe murmurs. "How much do these weigh, huh? Must be a pain for your back."

I open my mouth to protest the crude observation, but then he pinches both nipples through the lace, and what comes out is a high-pitched "Hyaaah!" that I've never made before in my life.

"You like that," he states rather than asks, twisting slightly, sending lightning bolts of sensation straight between my legs.

"N-no," I lie, even as my hips push against his thigh. "This is... this is wrong..."

"But you just said how much you wanted this," Joe replies, looking genuinely confused.

My brain scrambles to remember what happened between the sake and now, what parts of my internal monologue might have escaped.

"I didn't--I never said--" I splutter, mortified.

"You definitely did," Joe insists, his weight shifting as he moves fully on top of me, his knees nudging my thighs apart. "You were very specific about how long it's been."

Oh god oh god oh god.

One of Joe's hands continues kneading my breast while the other slides down my side, over my hip, then dips between us to hike up my skirt. His fingers brush against the crotch of my tights, and I jerk at the contact, my eyes going wide.

"So hot," he murmurs, pressing his fingertips against me. "Burning up down here."

A whimpering sound escapes me as his fingers locate my most sensitive spot through the layers of fabric. My thighs tense, but rather than close, they somehow spread wider.

What is WRONG with me?

"I can't--I've never--Taro-kun would--" I'm babbling now, one hand pushing weakly against Joe's massive chest even as the other clutches at his shirt like it's keeping me from drowning.

"Your husband isn't here," Joe whispers, bringing his mouth back to mine. "Just you and me and the snowstorm."

His tongue pushes past my lips again. The kiss is so different from anything I've experienced--wet, sloppy, almost aggressive. His tongue slides against mine in a way that mimics what his fingers are doing between my legs.

Schlick-schlick-schlick--the sound of his fingers stroking me through increasingly damp layers is obscene in the quiet hotel room.

"Mmmmph!" I protest against his mouth, but my hips are rocking upward now, meeting his strokes.

Joe's weight presses me deeper into the couch, one of his thighs keeping my legs spread as he grinds his massive frame against my much smaller one. His chest crushes my tits, making them bulge in new directions beneath my bra.

The difference in our size suddenly hits me with full force - his shoulders twice as broad as mine, his hands large enough to span most of my ribcage. I feel tiny beneath him, completely engulfed.

And rather than feeling scared, I feel...

"So responsive," Joe murmurs against my lips, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth down my jaw. "Your whole body's vibrating."

Without warning, he yanks my bra cups down, exposing my breasts completely. They spill out with a soft pthuump, the nipples stiff and dark against my pale skin.

"Oh!" I gasp, arms flying to cover myself, but he catches my wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of my head.

"Don't hide from me," he growls, something shifting in his demeanor. "Not when you've been sending signals all night."

His tongue darts out, swiping across one nipple, making me cry out. Then his mouth closes around it, sucking hard, drawing the tender flesh deep into the wet heat of his mouth.

SCHLURRRP!

The sound is obscene--wet, sloppy, almost hungry--as Joe suckles at my breast like a starving man. One hand still pins both my wrists above my head (how is he so STRONG?), while the other manipulates my free breast, plumping and squeezing it, making the flesh pillow and overflow between his fingers.

"Ah! That's--you're--too hard--" I protest, but my body betrays me again as my back arches, pushing my tit deeper into his mouth.

SCHLORP-SUCKLE-SLURP!

The suction increases, the tip of his tongue flicking rapidly across my sensitized nipple. My legs writhe beneath him, thighs rubbing together in a desperate search for friction.

Joe releases my breast with a wet POP, a string of saliva connecting his lower lip to my now-glistening nipple.

"You taste so fucking sweet," he says, eyes dark with desire. "All of you is going to taste this good?" His free hand slides between my legs again, pressing firmly against the seam of my tights.

SCHLURPSCHLURPSCHLURP!

"Hyaaah!" I can't stop the cry that tears from my throat as he suckles forcefully, the sound wet and rhythmic. My nipple feels like it's directly wired to my clit, each pull of his mouth sending corresponding pulses between my legs.

"Such big, bouncy tits," Joe murmurs against my breast, his voice vibrating through the tender flesh. "Fucking wasted on a man who doesn't appreciate them."

Wait, when did I say Taro-kun doesn't--?

But then his teeth scrape lightly across my nipple, and my brain short-circuits again.

"Yaa--aahn!" What IS that sound? Did that come from ME?

His teeth--oh god, he's using his TEETH--creating this exquisite edge between pleasure and pain. My body is suddenly not my own. I'm just a collection of nerve endings all reporting directly to the throbbing center between my legs.

Joe hooks his fingers into the waistband of my skirt, tights, and panties in one greedy motion.

"Wait! I--" but the protest dies as he YANKS them down in a single fluid movement, the fabric rasping down my thighs, past my knees, catching briefly at my ankles until he impatiently tugs them free.

Cold air hits my exposed lower half and I instinctively slam my thighs together, hands flying down to cover myself.

"Don't hide," Joe murmurs, his massive hands gently but firmly prying my thighs apart. "I want to see all of you."

"B-but--" I stammer, his strength easily overcoming my resistance. I'm so embarrassed I could DIE. No one except Taro-kun has seen me naked since college! And now this foreign man is spreading my legs, looking directly at my most intimate place! "It's embarrassing! No one looks there so... so DIRECTLY!"

I can feel my face burning up like Fuji about to erupt. What does he see? Is my pubic hair too much? Not enough? Japanese women in porn are always so perfectly groomed, but I just do a basic trim, and oh god is it WEIRD to foreigners?

He's staring right at my pussy--MY MARRIED PUSSY--with such intensity that I swear I can feel it throbbing under his gaze. I try to cover my shameful nakedness with my hands but he gently catches my wrists.

"Beautiful," he whispers, his eyes drinking in the sight of me.

I'm utterly exposed. I can feel a mortifying wetness between my legs. Can he see it? Can he smell it? Oh god, the SHAME!

But Joe is already unbuttoning his shirt, thick fingers working surprisingly nimbly down the placket. My words trail off as each button reveals more of his chest--broader than Japanese men, with a light dusting of hair that continues downward in a narrowing line to his...

I glance down at myself, seeing what he sees--my body laid out like some obscene offering. My breasts spilling out obscenely from my bunched-up bra, nipples still wet and red from his mouth. The curve of my ribs leading to the dip of my waist, then flaring to hips that have always been a bit wider than fashion prefers. And between my trembling thighs, the vulnerable V leading to my... my...

Oh god, I can't even THINK the word without blushing!

"U-um, Joe-san..." I stammer as his shirt falls open, revealing a chest so different from Taro-kun's--broader, hairier, more... FOREIGN. "What I said earlier, about my husband, I'm sorry, but--"

The metallic rasp of his zipper cuts through my pathetic attempt at propriety. My words die in my throat as his hands move to his pants, thumbs hooking into the waistband of both slacks and underwear.

Say something, Kanna! STOP THIS! You're a married woman! You need to clearly--

THWAP.

His cock SPRINGS OUT, slapping against his abdomen with a meaty sound that makes my jaw literally drop. It bobs there, angry and flushed and ENORMOUS, curving upward like it's pointing accusingly at my face.

What.

Is.

THAT?!

That's not--that can't be--Taro-kun's isn't--NOTHING is--

It's massive. Monstrous. GAIJIN-sized. The head is an angry purplish-red mushroom cap, already glistening with a pearly bead of... oh god... precum? The shaft is thick--thicker than my WRIST--with veins running along its length like subway lines on a Tokyo transit map. And it's pointing RIGHT AT ME, bobbing slightly with each of Joe's heartbeats, the tip winking as another droplet of clear fluid forms at the slit.

I can't stop staring. Can't look away. Can't BREATHE.

"What is it, Kanna-san?" Joe asks, his voice deeper now as he crawls onto the bed toward me. The mattress dips under his weight and I instinctively scoot backward, my elbows propping me up, but there's nowhere to go.

His cock swings between his legs as he moves, heavy and pendulous, like some obscene pendulum counting down the seconds to my marital doom. The head is so swollen it looks like it might burst, precum now dripping in a thin, translucent string onto the bedspread.

That can't possibly... there's no way that would... where would it even GO? My brain is shorting out, mathematical calculations failing as I try to reconcile the size of THAT with the...

"Wow... um... your... thing... it's so... that can't..." I'm babbling nonsense, my vocabulary evaporating like morning dew under summer sun. All those years of language study, and the best I can manage is "thing" while pointing at the most intimidating penis I've ever seen in my life?

What should I do? A pathetic question when the answer is OBVIOUS. I should stop this! Put my clothes back on! Call Taro-kun! But that... that COCK is so commanding it's like it's hypnotizing me, whispering promises my husband's more modest equipment has never even hinted at.

Joe kneels between my splayed legs now, his massive thighs forcing mine wider. He's looming over me, casting a shadow across my nakedness, his cock jutting proudly from a nest of darker hair.

"You're so wet," he murmurs, his hand sliding up my inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "So fucking wet for me."

He's going to touch me. He's going to touch my married pussy with those big foreign fingers and--

His large hands grip my thighs, forcing them WIDER apart--impossible angles I didn't know my body could achieve--and then his head dips down between my legs and oh-god-oh-god-oh-god his MOUTH is on me! His TONGUE--hot and wet and agile--painting a broad stripe right up my most private place! No one has ever--Taro-kun doesn't--we've never--

"Hannnnngh!" I slam my hand over my mouth, biting down on my knuckles as Joe's tongue DELVES between my folds like he's trying to taste my soul.

SLLLLLLLRRRRPPPP! The sound is so OBSCENE, so WET, his mouth making these hungry suction noises against my pussy that would make me DIE of embarrassment if my brain wasn't currently shorting out like a cheap electronics store during a power surge!

My hips buck up against his face as his tongue plunges inside me. How does he KNOW exactly where to... he's homing in like he has some kind of radar and I can't--I can't--I CAN'T--

"Mmmmm... pfffffwah... delicious," Joe growls against my flesh, his voice VIBRATING through my center, making my thighs quake around his ears. "Your pussy tastes so fucking good, Kanna. Sweet. Like peaches."

NO ONE TALKS LIKE THAT! Not to me! Not proper, married, respectable Kodama Kanna who once got sent home from middle school for her uniform shirt being too tight across her shamefully early-developing chest! Not the girl whose grandmother took her aside at fourteen to explain that "modest women keep their voices low and their knees together"! Not the woman whose husband has NEVER ONCE used the crude word for vagina, preferring medical terms or just gesturing vaguely!

And yes, maybe I watch the occasional porn--those videos Yoshino-chan sends "as a joke" that I definitely DON'T keep in a password-protected folder labeled "tax receipts 2019"--but that's FICTION! Real people don't SAY such things while their tongue is buried in your--

"AIIIIEEE!" I shriek as his mouth fastens around my clit, sucking HARD, the pressure so intense I swear I see mathematical equations floating in the air above his head. My glasses slide askew as my head thrashes from side to side, my toes curling so tightly I fear for my circulation.

SHLURP-SCHLURP-SCHLOORP! The sounds! So many SOUNDS! His mouth wet against my--my--my PUSSY (there, I THOUGHT it!) making these greedy smacking noises while my own treacherous body responds with embarrassing squishes every time his tongue plunges deep!

This isn't happening. This CAN'T be happening. I'm hallucinating. Maybe I hit my head when I slipped on the ice outside. Maybe that mushroom tempura at the ramen place was actually the psychedelic kind. Maybe--

He seals his lips around my clit again, creating this pulsing suction while simultaneously FLICKING his tongue across the sensitive bud and I can feel my soul leaving my body, shooting upward through the hotel ceiling, probably visible from space as a beam of pure white light signaling "KODAMA KANNA IS HAVING THE MOST INTENSE ORAL SEX OF HER LIFE."

My thighs are clamped around his ears now, my hips rolling shamelessly against his face, grinding my embarrassingly wet center against his mouth, silently begging for MORE-MORE-MORE without having the courage to say it aloud.

I am going to hell. I am going straight to whatever circle of hell they reserve for married women who betray their hardworking husbands by letting strange half-American men perform unspeakable acts of cunnilingus on them in snowstorm-stranded hotel rooms. There's probably a SPECIAL extra-hot section for those who ENJOY IT as much as I'm--

"AAAAH! JOE! THERE-THERE-THERE-THERE!" Shameful words, spilling from my mouth, my body arching off the bed as he finds EXACTLY the right spot--the one I've tried to explain to Taro-kun with awkward hand gestures and metaphors about "northwest" and "about two centimeters" that always somehow result in him giving up after three minutes and suggesting we just "do it normally."

Joe latches onto my desperate instructions, doubling down on that EXACT spot, his tongue moving in tight, precise circles that make me feel like my entire lower body is melting, turning into some kind of liquid gold that's both heavy and weightless at the same time, how is that even POSSIBLE?

I can't help the sounds coming from me now--desperate, mewling cries that sound nothing like my usual voice. I sound like those women in the videos--the ones I always assumed were faking, exaggerating for the camera--but now I UNDERSTAND because everything below my waist has transformed into a pulsing ball of pure NEED.

His tongue is magical. Scientific impossible. Like he learned cunnilingus from some ancient secret gaijin sex manuscript passed down through generations. His hands grip my thighs so firmly I'll probably have bruises tomorrow, spreading me WIDE, making me so exposed, so vulnerable, so--

Wait.

He's stopping.

Why is he stopping?

I make an embarrassing whimpering sound as his mouth leaves my center. I'm so close to... to SOMETHING... my body humming with tension, poised on the edge of what promises to be earth-shattering, and he STOPPED!

But before I can form a coherent protest (not that I WOULD, of course--proper married women don't BEG for orgasms from strange men), Joe shifts his position. His massive body hovers over mine, his weight supported on his forearms as he stares down at me, his face--oh god--GLISTENING with my arousal.

THWAP!

Something heavy and hot lands against my still-throbbing pussy lips. Something THICK. Something that feels like heated velvet stretched over steel.

His cock.

Joe is rubbing his enormous gaijin cock up and down my slick folds, coating himself in my wetness, the thick mushroom head catching slightly on my entrance with each pass. Up and down. Up and down. The friction is MADDENING, each stroke sending ripples of pleasure-almost-pain through my over-sensitized flesh.

Oh god oh god oh god. It's happening. It's happening! It's HAPPENING!

Wait. No. Actually not happening. Yet. He's just... rubbing. Teasing. Torturing. His massive hot THING sliding between my married pussy lips like it's taking a tour of the neighborhood before deciding whether to move in. The heavy, vein-covered shaft dragging across my poor neglected clit which is currently sending ALL-CAPS EMERGENCY TELEGRAMS to my brain:

ATTENTION KANNA STOP THIS IS YOUR CLITORIS SPEAKING STOP PLEASE PROCEED IMMEDIATELY STOP DO NOT PASS GO STOP COLLECT TWO HUNDRED ORGASMS STOP

He shifts positions--wait what's he doing?--his massive body crawling UP my torso, those thick thighs STRADDLING my ribs, and suddenly--OH MY GOD--his cock is dangling directly above my face, bobbing hypnotically like some kind of obscene puppet show where I'm supposed to open wide and say AAAAAH.

I go cross-eyed trying to focus on it, the massive purple-red head hovering just centimeters from my lips, close enough that I can SMELL him--musky and male and foreign--a scent I've never encountered before that somehow bypasses all my higher brain functions and plugs directly into whatever primitive lizard part controls my most basic mating instincts.

It's so BIG. So CLOSE. So... so... LEAKY!

A pearl of glistening fluid forms at the tip, growing fatter by the second, stretching into a translucent string that dangles, dangles, dangl--PLOP! Right onto my bottom lip!

"Mmph!" I startle at the contact, the warm droplet sitting there like some kind of perverse communion offering. My tongue darts out automatically to clear it away and OH GOD I TASTED HIM!

Salty-sweet-bitter-musky--flavors I have no reference for, no comparison to place them in my mental filing system that's currently spitting out ERROR messages like a broken fax machine. It's not like Taro-kun's--not that I've tasted him that way more than twice--it's more... concentrated? Potent? Like the difference between instant dashi and the slow-simmered broth my grandmother would cook for hours.

His cock twitches, another bead of precum forming at the slit. The whole massive thing is casting an actual SHADOW across my face as those heavy balls dangle just above my chin.

"You want to taste it, don't you?" Joe's voice rumbles from above, thick with amusement and arousal. "I can see it in your eyes."

I DON'T! I absolutely DON'T want to taste another man's... his... the THING currently performing an impromptu kabuki dance inches from my face! I'm a MARRIED WOMAN! A respectable ILLUSTRATOR! I once gave a talk at an elementary school about following your dreams! Think of the CHILDREN, Kanna!

But my hands have already lifted themselves like they're controlled by invisible puppet strings. My delicate fingers--one still smudged with graphite from sketching on the train--wrap tentatively around the massive shaft. It's so THICK I can't close my fingers around it, so HOT it feels like it might burn me, so HARD yet somehow velvety that I have no reference point for the textural paradox.

I'm not doing this. I'm not. I'm just... repositioning it?

But my hands are already tilting it downward, degree by tiny degree, guiding it closer to my parted lips. I can feel the blood pulsing through it, every heartbeat reverberating through the thick veins against my palms. It's ALIVE, this thing, with a will of its own, and somehow MY will has been completely supplanted by its silent demands.

It's so close now I can literally feel the HEAT radiating off it against my face. The smell is overwhelming--clean sweat and musk and something distinctly MALE that makes my mouth water involuntarily. Another fat droplet of precum forms at the tip, and I watch, mesmerized, as it stretches, elongates, then falls with perfect precision onto my extended tongue.

"Uwaaaah~!" The sound that escapes me is utterly humiliating--like a character from one of those anime shows my college roommate used to watch late at night with the volume turned low.

The TASTE! It explodes across my tongue--salty, slightly bitter, with an undertone of something almost sweet--nothing like I expected yet somehow exactly what I need. It's like my taste buds just discovered a new primary flavor that's been missing from my sensory palette my entire life.

And then--oh god--I'm leaning UP, my neck craning forward, lips parting like a baby bird begging for a worm except this "worm" could choke an anaconda and what am I DOING and why can't I STOP and--

My lips close around the swollen head, my tongue swirling instinctively around the slit where more of that intoxicating fluid is gathering. The contrast between the spongy softness of the crown and the steel-hard shaft beneath is fascinating, a textural impossibility I want to explore further.

"Fuck, Kanna," Joe groans above me, one large hand coming down to cradle the back of my head. "Your mouth is so fucking hot."

I should be offended by his crude language. I should pull away. I should remind him I'm MARRIED. I should--

"Mmmmph!" I moan around his girth as he pushes slightly deeper, the heavy head bumping against the roof of my mouth.

I'm not sucking. I CAN'T suck--it's too big, too overwhelming. I'm just... worshipping it? Letting my tongue trace every ridge, every vein, cataloging the geography of this foreign invader. I pull back slightly, my lips making an obscene POP as they release the head, then I run my tongue along the underside, tracing the prominent vein that pulses thick as a pencil along its length.

"What's this called?" I hear myself ask, voice small and breathless, tongue tracing the throbbing pathway. "This... vein thing? This tube?"

Joe chuckles, fingers tenderly brushing hair from my face. "I don't know," he says, amusement coloring his voice. His hand tightens in my hair, not painful but definitely controlling, guiding my movements.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice deepening to a growl. "Lick it just like that. Good girl."

Good girl? GOOD GIRL?! I'm a 33-year-old professional woman, not a puppy learning tricks! But the praise shoots straight between my legs, making my neglected pussy clench around emptiness.

What if Taro-kun is already on his way? What if he walks in right now and sees his wife, his Kanna-chan, tongue-bathing another man's enormous cock like it's the most delicious ice cream cone she's ever encountered? He's already left the reunion, braving treacherous roads in a taxi while I'm here with my mouth attached to a big fat foreign penis.

But those thoughts only make my pussy WETTER, my nipples HARDER, my tongue more EAGER as it traces every contour of Joe's thick shaft.

"You're so good at this," Joe murmurs, his hand still guiding my movements. "Such a natural cocksucker."

I should be horrified. SCANDALIZED. No one has EVER spoken to me this way!

Instead, I moan around his girth, my hips involuntarily rocking against nothing, seeking friction that isn't there.

"Please," I whisper when he pulls back slightly, my lips shiny with saliva and precum. "Please, I need..."

"What do you need, Kanna-chan?" Joe asks, already moving down my body, positioning himself between my spread thighs. "Tell me."

His massive cock rests heavily on my mound, the weight of it pressing against my clit, making me squirm. He rocks his hips slightly, dragging the underside of his shaft through my wetness, coating his dorsal vein - DORSAL VEIN, THAT'S IT - in my cunt-syrup.

Cunt-syrup. Hmm. My internal vocabulary is getting nastier.

Whatever it's called, I can feel myself getting even wetter, my pussy making lewd squishing sounds every time he rocks against me.

"I... I..." I can't say it. I CAN'T. But I NEED it. Need something, anything to relieve this unbearable tension coiling tighter and tighter in my lower belly.

Joe grins down at me, his massive cock still just RESTING there on my pussy like he's claiming territory, like he's planted his flag on newly discovered land. His huge hands wrap around my thighs, lifting them higher, spreading me wider, exposing me completely to his gaze.

"Your pussy is beautiful," he says, staring down at where his cock rests against my folds. "I want to make it happy. So tell me what it wants."

I'm going to die. I'm going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment and unfulfilled desire, and they'll find nothing but a Kanna-shaped ash outline on this hotel bed, with tiny glasses perched atop the pile.

"Joe-san," I whimper, my hips rocking desperately against his shaft. "Please..."

"Please what?" He's ENJOYING this, the monster! Making me BEG!

I've never begged for anything sexual in my LIFE. Not once! Taro-kun and I have a very respectful, very scheduled approach to intimacy that generally occurs on the second Saturday of the month unless work interferes, in which case it's rescheduled for the following weekend with proper advance notice!

But now I'm writhing beneath this half-American stranger, my hips lifting to press more firmly against his cock, my hands clutching at the bedsheets, tears of frustration forming at the corners of my eyes.

"Put it in," I finally whisper, the words so quiet they're barely audible.

"What was that?" Joe asks, his hips still rocking teasingly, his cock sliding through my slickness without penetrating.

"Put. It. In!" I repeat, louder this time, my face burning with shame. "Please, Joe-san. I need... I need..."

"Say it properly," he commands, his voice deepening to a growl. "Tell me exactly what you want, Kanna-chan."

I'm going to DIE. I'll expire right here from a combination of sexual frustration and mortification. My soul will leave my body, look down at the scene, and then immediately REQUEST REASSIGNMENT to a different afterlife because THIS IS TOO EMBARRASSING.

"Put your cock inside me!" I blurt out, the crude English word feeling foreign and thrilling on my Japanese tongue. "Please! I'm begging you! Onegaishimasu!"

Tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes now--tears of frustration, of shame, of NEED so overwhelming it's physically painful. I'm squirming beneath him, my body wound so tight I might actually shatter if he doesn't relieve this pressure soon.

But Joe doesn't move to penetrate me. He just stays there, his massive cock resting heavily on my mound, a smug, satisfied grin on his face as he watches me fall apart beneath him.

"You're so beautiful when you beg," he says, one hand leaving my thigh to brush away a tear. "Such a proper Japanese wife, coming completely undone for a stranger's cock."

The shame of his words makes me burn hotter, makes my pussy clench and release around emptiness, makes more wetness seep out to coat his shaft.

"Please," I sob, beyond dignity now, beyond propriety. "Please, I need you inside me. Kudasai!"

I'm not like this. I'm NOT! I'm responsible, professional Kodama Kanna who pays her taxes early and keeps emergency supplies in her car and has never been late on a deadline despite my poor time-management skills! I'm not this... this CREATURE currently begging for another man's penis while her husband is miles away!

Joe FINALLY shifts his position, lifting his hips slightly. The head of his cock drags through my folds, catching momentarily at my entrance.

I hold my breath, time itself seeming to pause as the swollen purple head NUDGES against my opening.

And then he PUSHES.

"Unnnghh!" I cry out as the massive head stretches me, my body struggling to accommodate his girth. It's so BIG, so INTENSE, the pressure almost unbearable as the flared rim forces my entrance wider than it's ever been stretched before.

I'm looking down between us in horrified fascination, watching as my body STRUGGLES to accept him. My pussy lips stretch around his invading thickness, and there's a burning sensation that walks the knife edge between pleasure and pain.

"Too big," I gasp, hands flying to his chest, not quite pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. "It's too--you're too--I can't--"

"Shhh," Joe soothes, holding still, allowing my body time to adjust. "You can take it. Your beautiful pussy is made for this. Just relax."

RELAX?! How am I supposed to RELAX when there's the equivalent of a forearm trying to force its way inside me?! The stretch is INCREDIBLE, like nothing I've ever experienced. I feel completely IMPALED and he's only got the head in!

"Look at us," Joe murmurs, gesturing downward.

I lift my head slightly, peering down my body to where we're joined. The sight is OBSCENE--the angry purple head of his cock disappearing into my pale pink folds, stretching me so wide I can actually see the strain on my delicate tissues.

"Oh god," I whimper, dropping my head back to the pillow. "Oh god oh god oh god."

"So pretty," Joe praises, pushing forward another centimeter. "Taking me so well."

Another centimeter. Just ONE more centimeter and I'm already splitting in half from the inside, my pussy stretching around him like elastic about to snap. My whole body is trembling--not from cold now but from this monstrous invasion, this gaijin battering ram forcing its way where only my husband has been.

Wait wait wait WAIT. He hasn't even STARTED and I'm already--

PUSH.

"HNNNNGGAAAAH!" A sound tears from my throat I didn't know I could make--half-pain, half-surprise, all animal. He's only worked in maybe a quarter of his length and already he's touching places inside me that Taro-kun has never reached. How is this POSSIBLE?

"So tight," Joe groans above me, his face a mask of concentration and pleasure. "Your Japanese pussy is squeezing me so fucking tight, Kanna."

My Japanese pussy? As opposed to what? An American pussy? A Swedish pussy? Why is he specifying my nationality while his fat foreign cock is stretching my married hole like putty? And WHY is that making me WETTER?

"Can't--aah!--can't take more," I gasp, hands now pushing weakly against his massive chest. It's like trying to move a mountain. "Too big. No more room!"

But Joe just smiles down at me, running one large hand soothingly along my thigh, and shifts his position slightly. He hitches my legs higher, bending my knees toward my chest, and the change in angle is incredible--suddenly there's a direct line from my entrance straight up into my deepest places.

"Relax," Joe murmurs, dipping down to kiss me softly. The tenderness is somehow even more devastating than the physical invasion. His tongue slips between my lips, mimicking what his cock is doing lower down, and I melt into the dual penetration.

Then, with one fluid motion, he THRUSTS forward.

"NNNNAAAAH!" My scream is muffled by his mouth as he HILTS himself entirely inside me in one powerful stroke. My entire body goes rigid with the shock of it, my back arching off the bed, my fingers clawing at his shoulders.

He's INSIDE ME. All the way INSIDE ME. Every. Single. Enormous. Centimeter.

I can actually FEEL the shape of him--the massive flared head, the rigid shaft, the prominent veins--all of it IMPRINTING itself on my insides. If someone cut me open right now, they'd find the perfect mold of Joe's cock carved into my vaginal canal. Those future archaeologists would dig up my fossilized remains and be like "Wow, this ancient Japanese woman got FUCKED by something MASSIVE right before the volcanic eruption preserved her for eternity."

"Fuuuuuck," Joe groans against my mouth, his hips grinding in tiny circles, stirring my insides like miso soup. "So fucking deep. Can you feel me, Kanna? Can you feel all of me inside you?"

Feel him? FEEL HIM?! I can practically TASTE him, that's how deep he is! The massive head of his cock is pressing directly against my cervix, the upward curve of his shaft rubbing against some spot inside me that I didn't even know EXISTED until this exact moment.

I'm full. SO full. Over-stuffed like a department store Christmas sale. My entire lower body feels stretched to capacity, reconfigured around the enormity of his intrusion.

"So big," I whimper, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes--not from pain exactly, but from the overwhelming FULLNESS. "You're so big inside me, Joe-san."

I can HEAR how wet I am--these obscene squelching noises every time he grinds into me, my body producing enough lubrication to accommodate his invasion. Splrrt-splrrt-splrrt--wet, nasty little sounds of surrender.

"Please," I gasp, not even sure what I'm begging for.

And then Joe FLEXES inside me. His cock literally PULSES, the whole massive length of it, and I swear I can count each individual throb as it reverberates through my stretched tissues.

Something inside me SNAPS.

"AAAAIIIIIEEEEEE!" I shriek as my entire body convulses, my back arching so severely I'm practically folded in half. I'm cumming. CUMMING. From nothing but his cock buried inside me and his thumb on my clit.

No build-up. No warning. Just BOOM--instant orgasm, my pussy clamping down on him rhythmically, milking his shaft even though he's barely moved yet. I can FEEL myself squeezing him, feel the way my inner walls ripple and clutch at his invasion.

"That's it," Joe growls, sounding immensely pleased with himself. "Cum all over my cock, Kanna. Show me how much your married pussy loves being stuffed full."

My mind fragments into a thousand shards of glass, each reflecting a different facet of this moment--the fullness, the shame, the pleasure so intense it's like dying, the knowledge that I'm cumming on another man's cock while my husband drives through a snowstorm to find me.

"Oh god oh god oh GOD!" I'm babbling now, my body still convulsing, aftershocks rippling through me in waves. "I've never--it's not usually--I don't normally--"

I've never cum like this. NEVER. Not with my own fingers, not with the secret pink vibrator I keep hidden in my sock drawer that Taro-kun pretends not to know about. Not even in my most private fantasies where I imagine scenarios so shameful I can barely admit them to myself.

"Beautiful," Joe murmurs, watching my face as I fall apart beneath him. His cock is still buried to the hilt inside me, still stretching me to my absolute limit, but he's not moving apart from those tiny grinding circles that keep the pressure constant on all my most sensitive spots.

My glasses have gone askew, my vision blurry on one side. I must look a complete mess--hair wild, face flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes unfocused and dazed. So different from the put-together professional illustrator who left Tokyo this morning.

My tits look massive from this angle, pale and soft-looking against my flushed chest, nipples dark and pebbled in the cool air of the hotel room. Joe's gaze flicks down to them, hungry and appreciative.

"Gonna fuck you now," he says, his voice deeper, rougher.

Wait. He hasn't been fucking me YET? Then what was THAT? A warm-up?!

Joe shifts his position, bracing his weight on his forearms positioned on either side of my head. The movement causes his cock to shift inside me, the angle changing slightly, pressing even MORE insistently against my cervix.

"Hold on to me," he commands, his face hovering just above mine.

I comply without thinking, my arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscles of his back. Our chests press together--his firm and slightly hairy, mine soft and yielding. My tits smoosh between us, the sensitive nipples dragging against the light dusting of hair on his pectorals.

And then he pulls BACK.

"Unnnh!" I cry out as I feel him withdrawing, the massive head of his cock dragging along every nerve ending in my passage. It's like he's turning me inside out, removing vital organs, leaving an emptiness in his wake that my body immediately yearns to refill.

He pulls back until just the head remains inside me, the flared rim stretching my entrance in a tight ring. I feel strangely bereft, trying to draw him back in.

Our eyes lock. His pupils are so dilated the hazel is just a thin ring around bottomless black.

"Please," I whisper, and this time I know EXACTLY what I'm begging for.

Joe grins--a feral, predatory expression--and SLAMS forward.

"KYAAAAA!" My scream echoes through the hotel room as he buries himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The force of it jolts my entire body, drives the air from my lungs, makes my tits bounce and slap together between our pressed torsos.

And then he's MOVING for real--withdrawing almost completely before driving back in with enough force to make the headboard slam against the wall.

SLAM! SLAP! SLAM! SLAP!

The sounds fill the room--the headboard banging, my ass slapping against his thighs, his balls smacking against my perineum, wet squelching noises as my pussy struggles to accommodate his pistoning length.

"So--fucking--tight!" Joe grunts, each word punctuated by another powerful thrust.

I can't respond--can't form words, can't think, can't do anything but hold on for dear life as he pounds into me with a force that threatens to shatter my pelvic bone. Each thrust drives the massive head of his cock against my cervix, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain radiating outward.

My legs are wrapped around his waist now, ankles crossed behind his back, heels digging into his firm ass as if I'm spurring him on. Faster. Harder. MORE.

"You feel that?" Joe growls against my ear, his hot breath making me shiver. "Feel how deep I am? How my cock is reshaping your little married pussy?"

"Hmmnaaaah!" I moan incoherently, my nails digging into his back hard enough to leave marks.

My tits are flopping wildly now, bouncing in all directions with each powerful thrust. They've been completely freed from my bra, the soft pale flesh jiggling and slapping together, the dark nipples pointed and hard. The movement is almost painful, the momentum enough to make them actually SMACK together PLAP-PLAP-PLAP as he drives into me again and again.

I've always been self-conscious about their size--always too big for fashionable clothes, always attracting unwanted attention, always making me feel like I'm somehow too much yet never enough. But Joe seems entranced by them, his gaze repeatedly dropping to watch them bounce and sway with each thrust.

"Such nice fucking tits," he groans, shifting his weight to free one hand, which immediately captures a bouncing breast, squeezing the yielding flesh. "So fucking big."

His thumb flicks across my nipple, sending another jolt of electricity straight to my clit. The dual stimulation--his cock pounding my deepest places while his fingers play with my sensitive nipple--is pushing me toward another peak, this one building more gradually but promising to be even more intense.

My glasses have slipped almost completely off now, dangling precariously from one ear. My vision is blurry, unfocused, adding to the dreamlike quality of this encounter. This can't be real. Can't be happening. Responsible, married Kodama Kanna doesn't get pounded by strange men in hotels. Doesn't moan like a cheap AV actress.

His pace changes--becomes more erratic, more frantic. His breathing grows harsh, ragged. I can feel his cock swelling even larger inside me, the veins throbbing more prominently against my stretched tissues.

"Kanna," he grunts, his rhythm faltering. "I'm close. So fucking close."

The words penetrate my pleasure-haze, triggering a distant alarm bell. Close? Close to what? To--oh god--to CUMMING?!

But before I can form a coherent protest, Joe shifts angles again, driving upward rather than forward, and the head of his cock hits SOMETHING inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes.

"THERE!" I shriek, the single word torn from my throat without my permission. "RIGHT THERE! DON'T STOP!"

Joe targets that spot with unerring precision, hammering against it again and again, and I'm falling, flying, disintegrating into pure sensation.

"CUMMING!" I wail, my entire body convulsing around him. "I'M CUMMING AGAIN! JOE-SAN! JOE! JOOOOOE!"

My pussy clamps down on his invading length in rhythmic spasms, milking him, drawing him deeper. I can actually FEEL myself gushing around him, feel hot fluid seeping out where we're joined, soaking the sheets beneath us. Am I... SQUIRTING? Is this what that feels like? That thing I always thought was fake in AV videos?

"Fuck, Kanna," Joe growls, his control visibly slipping. "Your pussy is milking my cock. Gotta... fuck... GONNA CUM!"

RED ALERT RED ALERT RED ALERT

A warning klaxon finally breaks through my pleasure-soaked brain. HE'S GOING TO CUM. INSIDE ME. WHERE BABIES COME FROM.

"Wait!" I gasp, barely able to form words through the waves of pleasure still crashing through me. "I want... MORE!"

Yes, that's it, Kanna! Brilliant save! Just tell him you want to keep going! Not that you're terrified of being impregnated by his foreign super-sperm! That's a normal request!

Joe shudders above me, visibly struggling to maintain control. His cock twitches violently inside me, and I can practically FEEL the cum churning in his heavy balls that are slapping against my ass with each thrust.

"You minx," Joe groans, grinning down at me despite his obvious strain. "Fine. I'll try to hold back. But you feel too fucking good."

His pace changes again--deeper, more measured thrusts that somehow feel even MORE intense. He's fucking me with deliberation now, each stroke carefully controlled, each withdrawal painfully slow.

"Joe-san," I whimper, my hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. "I'm... I think I'm..."

"That's it," he encourages, one hand sliding between us to thumb my clit. "Cum for me again. Show me how much you love this cock."

His thumb circles my swollen clit with precision as his cock continues its relentless assault on my deepest places. The dual stimulation is overwhelming--too much, too intense--and I'm hurtling toward another peak.

"Oh! Oh! OHHHHH!" My voice rises in pitch, each cry higher than the last as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

And then my phone starts ringing.

The shrill sound cuts through my pleasure-haze like a knife, instantly recognizable as the specific ringtone I've assigned to Taro-kun.

My husband is calling.

While another man's cock is buried inside me.

While I'm on the verge of my third orgasm.

I freeze, my entire body going rigid with shock and horror.

"Ignore it," Joe growls, his hips still moving, still driving his cock into me.

"I can't," I gasp, hands flying to his chest, pushing slightly. "It's--it's my husband."

I fumble for the phone with trembling fingers, somehow managing to press the answer button.

"H-hello?" My voice sounds strange even to my own ears--higher, breathier.

"Kanna? Finally! I've been trying to reach you." Taro-kun's voice, familiar and distant all at once, fills my ear.

"Taro-kun! Hi! Hello! Konbanwa!" Why am I greeting him three different ways? Get it together, Kanna!

"Are you okay? You sound strange."

"Fine! I'm totally--nngh!--fine! Just... surprised by your call!"

"Were you sleeping? Is that why it took so long to answer?"

Sleeping? SLEEPING?! If only he knew what was actually--

"Y-yes! Exactly! Just... sleeping! Very deeply! You woke me up!"

"Sorry about that. Just wanted to update you--we're making progress, but it's slow going. The driver says--hey, can you tell my wife how much longer?"

A muffled voice in the background: "About 40-50 minutes, if the roads stay clear."

Taro-kun sighs audibly. "Did you hear that? 40-50 more minutes. I'm definitely not making it back to the reunion after this. Tanaka-san will understand though."

"Mmhmm! That's... haaaah!... that's good to know!"

"Kanna? Are you feeling unwell? Your voice sounds hoarse."

"Huh? I'm... I'm fine! Just... just the connection maybe! Or my--oh!--my throat is dry from the hotel air!"

"You should drink some water. Hotel air conditioning systems can be really dehydrating."

"Y-yes! Water! Excellent suggestion! I'll... I'll definitely do that... right after this call!"

"Are you sure you're okay? You sound really strange."

"It's c-cold outside! Very cold! Stay warm, Taro-kun!"

"I'm in a heated taxi, Kanna."

"Oh! Right! Of course! How silly of m--mmmph!"

"What was that noise? I thought I heard slapping."

"Slapping? No! No slapping here! Just me... adjusting the... the pillows!"

"Alright then... I'll see you soon. Love you."

"Love you.... yaaaaaah! T-too!"

I manage to jab the "end call" button with a shaking finger before collapsing face-first into the pillow, my ass still high in the air, Joe's massive hands gripping my hips from behind as he POUNDS into me in this new, impossibly deep position.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god!" I babble into the pillow, my face burning with shame and arousal. "I just talked to my HUSBAND while you were... while we were..."

SLAP! Joe's hand connects with my ass cheek, the sting sending a shock of pleasure straight to my core.

"While I was fucking his wife's tight pussy from behind," Joe finishes for me, his hips snapping forward with each emphasized word. "And you loved it."

I'm on my HANDS AND KNEES. I'm--I'm--I'm in DOGGY STYLE?! Like some kind of ANIMAL?! My phone tumbles from my fingers to the mattress as the realization hits me--I just spoke to my HUSBAND while another man's cock was BURIED INSIDE ME from BEHIND!

SLAP! Another stinging blow lands on my other cheek, making my embarrassingly plump ass jiggle like pudding. I've always been self-conscious about my behind--too round, too BIG for proper Japanese proportions--but Joe's hands are GRIPPING it like it's some kind of prize, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.

"Fuck, your ass is amazing," he growls, squeezing the flesh, watching it spill between his fingers. "So fucking juicy. You hiding this fat ass under those proper skirts? Fucking criminal."

Fat? FAT?! Did he just call my ass FAT?! I should be offended but instead my pussy CLENCHES around his invading cock at the crude description, another flood of wetness seeping out where we're joined.

"Not--not fat--" I attempt to protest, but my words dissolve into a high-pitched "EEEK!" as he lands another spank, harder this time.

PLAP! The sound echoes through the hotel room--the unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh. I can FEEL the handprint forming, the heat spreading across my skin in the exact shape of his massive palm.

"Your ass jiggles so fucking beautifully," Joe says, his voice thick with appreciation. "Look at that--" SLAP! "--fucking--" SLAP! "--jiggle!" SLAP!

"It's... not... ngh-ngh-nnn!... f-fat!" I gasp between sharp intakes of breath. My ass is burning now, the skin surely bright pink from his attention. No one has EVER treated my body this way--like it's something to be USED, to be ENJOYED without restraint.

Joe leans forward, his massive chest pressing against my back, his weight pushing me down until my cheek is flat against the mattress, my ass still raised high. My glasses press awkwardly against my face in this position, one lens digging into my cheekbone.

He's COVERING me, ENGULFING me, his much larger body completely dominant over mine. I feel tiny, helpless, OWNED.

"Hold on tight, Kanna-chan," he whispers against my ear, his hot breath raising goosebumps down my neck. "I'm going to fuck you properly now."

Properly? PROPERLY?! As if what he's been doing so far was just a warmup?! Oh god oh god oh--

SLAM!

His hips PISTON against me, driving his massive cock so deep I swear I can feel it in my THROAT. The force of it pushes me forward on the mattress, my face dragging across the sheets.

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

Each thrust is like a jackhammer, relentless and POWERFUL, rattling my bones, making my teeth clack together. I can't--I can't--I can't even THINK through the overwhelming sensation of being absolutely RAILED from behind.

"Look at those tits bouncing," Joe growls, one hand reaching beneath me to GRAB a wildly swinging breast. His fingers sink into the soft flesh, capturing the weight of it, squeezing just hard enough to border on pain. "Bet your husband can't even hold these properly."

Taro-kun would NEVER talk about my body this way! Never manhandle me like--like I'm some kind of OBJECT for his pleasure! He's always so gentle, so considerate, so... so BORING compared to THIS!

"OH! OH! OH! OH! OH!" Each thrust forces these staccato cries from my throat, my voice rising higher, more desperate with every punishing slam of his hips. The sounds are completely unrecognizable--not my normal voice at all but something animal, primitive, wrenched from some deep place inside me I never knew existed.

And my TITS! My embarrassing, too-large, always-in-the-way TITS are just FLOPPING around beneath me like they have minds of their own! SLAP-SLAP-SLAP--they collide with each other, with my ribs, sometimes even swinging forward far enough to smack against my CHIN!

"Fffffu--" I attempt to form words, to express SOMETHING of the hurricane of sensation tearing through me, but all that comes out is this pathetic, garbled "HNNNNNAAAAAAH!" as another orgasm RIPS through me without warning.

It's different this time--sharper, more focused in my lower back, radiating outward in waves that make my legs SHAKE, my toes CURL, my fingers CLAW at the sheets until I hear the fabric tear.

"That's it," Joe growls, his pace never faltering even as my pussy contracts around him in violent spasms. "Squirt all over my cock, you desperate married slut."

SQUIRT?! I'm SQUIRTING AGAIN?!

"I'm not--I don't--This isn't--"

Joe suddenly pulls out--the unexpected emptiness making me WHIMPER pathetically--then FLIPS me over onto my back so quickly I feel dizzy. My glasses go flying, landing somewhere on the bed, and the world goes blurry around the edges.

"Want to see your face," Joe says, looming over me, his cock--somehow even BIGGER now, angrier, more VEINED--bobbing menacingly between us. "Want to watch your eyes while I fuck your married pussy."

His hands grab my thighs, pushing them WIDE apart, exposing me completely. I feel so VULNERABLE in this position--splayed out, defenseless, my body open to his gaze.

"Nooooo, don't LOOK!" I wail, trying to cover my face, my breasts, my spread pussy all at once, failing at all three. "It's embarrassing!"

But Joe just laughs, capturing my flailing wrists with one massive hand, pinning them above my head. His other hand guides his cockhead back to my entrance, and I can FEEL it there--hot, throbbing, demanding entrance.

"Your pussy is swollen and pink. Prettiest cunt I've ever seen."

"Don't SAY that word!" I gasp, scandalized even as my hips lift toward him. "It's vulgar!"

SLAM!

He DRIVES into me in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and my objection transforms into a shriek that probably shatters crystal in the next prefecture.

"KYAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Joe releases my wrists to grab my hips, lifting my lower body COMPLETELY off the bed, changing the angle so he's driving DOWNWARD into me, using gravity to add force to his thrusts.

"Oh! My! God! Oh! My! God! So! DEEP! Too! DEEP!"

"Look--" THRUST! "--at--" THRUST! "--those--" THRUST! "--tits--" THRUST! "--bounce!"

"Nghhhh... I can't... stop cumming!" I wail, another orgasm crashing through me, this one centered directly around where his cock is slamming against my cervix. It's almost PAINFUL in its intensity, making my vision go spotty, my breath catch in my throat.

I'm vaguely aware that I'm DROOLING, a thin line of saliva escaping the corner of my mouth, running down my cheek to soak into the pillow. My eyes are probably crossed, my face contorted in an expression so lewd it would make those porn actresses blush. I'm RUINED--completely, utterly RUINED.

"On your side," Joe commands, somehow managing to ROTATE me without withdrawing his cock, arranging my body like I'm a poseable doll.

"Oh! OH! OHHHHHH!"

In this position, my tits have STACKED themselves on top of each other like pancakes, the soft flesh squishing together under their own weight. Joe reaches down, scooping the upper one into his massive hand, thumb flicking across the nipple.

"Glasses," he says suddenly, spotting them half-buried in the tangled sheets. He retrieves them with his free hand, carefully placing them back on my face, adjusting them until they sit properly. "There. Want you to see everything clearly."

In the midst of this absolute DEBAUCHERY, this animalistic rutting, he's concerned about my VISION?

I can see him clearly now--the intensity in his eyes, the sweat beading on his forehead, the muscles of his chest and arms flexing with each powerful thrust. He's magnificent, so overwhelmingly MALE in a way that makes my every feminine cell stand at attention.

"Touch yourself," Joe commands, nodding toward where we're joined. "Play with your clit while I fuck you."

"I--I can't!" I gasp, scandalized. "That's... that's too much!"

"Do it," he growls, accompanying the command with a particularly deep thrust that makes me see stars. "Show me how you make yourself cum when your husband's not enough."

My hand slides down my sweat-slicked body, finding the swollen bud of my clit. It's so SENSITIVE that the first touch makes me jerk as if electrocuted.

"That's it," Joe encourages, his pace slowing slightly, each thrust more deliberate, giving me space to focus on my own touch. "Show me, Kanna-chan. Show me how you like it."

My fingers circle my clit tentatively at first, then with more confidence as pleasure builds. It's so STRANGE to be touching myself while someone watches, while someone is INSIDE me, filling me so completely I can barely think.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Joe shifts positions AGAIN--he must have the strength of ten men to maneuver me so easily--pulling me UP so I'm straddling his lap, facing him, his cock still buried deep inside. My legs wrap around his waist, my arms around his neck, our chests pressed together, my tits squashed against his hardness.

We're face to face, breath mingling, eyes locked. It's so INTIMATE in this position--no longer just fucking but something else, something that makes my heart race in a different way.

"Kiss me," Joe murmurs, one hand cupping the back of my head.

"I can't," I whimper, even as I lean closer. "I'm married."

"We're way past that line, Kanna-chan."

And he's RIGHT. I'm already straddling this man's lap, his cock buried in my married pussy up to the hilt, my body trembling with multiple orgasms he's given me.

Our lips meet, and it's like completing an electrical circuit--energy SURGING through me, making my toes curl, my fingers tangle in his hair. The kiss is deep, wet, HUNGRY, his tongue claiming my mouth the same way his cock has claimed my lower half.

He starts to move again--smaller thrusts in this position but somehow DEEPER, his cock grinding against spots inside me that make my vision blur despite the glasses. His hands cup my ass, guiding me, helping me ride him.

"That's it," he encourages against my lips. "Fuck me back, Kanna-chan. Use my cock to make yourself feel good."

I'm moving on instinct now, hips rolling, grinding down onto his shaft, taking him as deep as physically possible. My tits bounce between us, nipples dragging against the light hair on his chest, creating another layer of sensation that makes me whimper into his mouth.

"So good," I gasp, pulling back slightly. "So good, so good, sogoodsogoodsogood!"

My words run together as another orgasm builds, this one starting deep in my core, spreading outward like a tsunami of pleasure. It's building, building, BUILDING--pressure so intense I think I might actually DIE from it.

"Gonna cum inside you," Joe growls, his rhythm becoming more erratic. "Gonna fill your married womb with my cum."

Those words. Those WORDS! They should horrify me--should send me into panic--but instead they're like a match dropped into gasoline, igniting something primal and desperate inside me.

"Yes! YES! DO IT!" I'm shrieking now, all pretense of propriety abandoned. "Cum inside me! Fill me up! I need it!"

Need it? NEED IT?! I'm BEGGING for another man's seed?! What's HAPPENING to me?

Joe's pace becomes frenzied, each thrust so powerful my entire body jolts upward, my tits flopping violently, slapping against each other with wet smacks. His hands grip my waist, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to bruise, holding me in place as he HAMMERS into me.

"Look at me," he commands, voice strained with approaching release. "Look at me while I breed you."

BREED ME?! That word shouldn't make my pussy clench so hard around him, shouldn't send another mini-orgasm rippling through me, but I'm already cumming AGAIN, my insides spasming around his invading length, milking him, BEGGING for his release.

"Ah--ah--ah--ah--BREED ME!" The words fly from my lips like startled birds, no conscious thought behind them. "Put your baby inside me! Please! PLEASE!"

What am I SAYING?! I don't want a baby! Don't want HIS baby! I'm Kodama Kanna, responsible illustrator, faithful wife! I use CALENDARS and APPS to track my cycle! I take my TEMPERATURE every morning! I've been discussing children with Taro-kun for YEARS, waiting for the "right time!" And now I'm begging this foreign stranger to IMPREGNATE ME?!

"PLEASE!" I wail again, my hips bucking wildly against his, meeting each thrust with desperate force.

Joe's entire body tenses above me, his massive cock SWELLING inside me, stretching me even further. I can FEEL it thickening, hardening, the veins standing out in sharp relief against my sensitive inner walls. It's like he's turning to STONE inside me, becoming something other than human, some primal force of nature about to erupt.

"Still want it? Want my load? Say it again." His voice is guttural, barely human, his control hanging by a thread.

Yes--yes--YES! I need it need it NEED IT! Need to feel him explode inside me, need to be filled, need to be OWNED. My brain is melting, resolving into something liquid and formless, all higher functions shutting down as pure instinct takes over.

"Onegai! Onegai! Kudasai!" The Japanese words tumble from my lips, dignity forgotten. "Spray me inside! Release it all! I want your thick American baby juice filling my Japanese womb!"

Something SNAPS in Joe at my words--the last thread of restraint breaking--and he SHOVES into me with such force the headboard cracks against the wall.

"TAKE IT!" he roars, his cock PULSING inside me. "TAKE MY FUCKING CUM!"

I can FEEL it happening--can FEEL the first thick jet erupting from him, striking my cervix like a physical blow. My eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent scream as my entire body convulses in the most intense orgasm of my life.

SPLOOOOORCH!

The first rope of his cum feels like GALLONS, hot and thick and forceful, directly against my womb's entrance. Another pulse follows immediately, another GUSH of wet heat flooding my insides.

SPLUUURT! SPLUUURT! SPLUUUURT!

"I FEEL IT!" I'm sobbing now, actual tears streaming down my face as my body shakes with each fresh pulse. "I can feel you cumming inside me! So much! Too much!"

But it's NOT too much--it's EXACTLY what I need, what I've been craving without knowing it, what my body has been DESPERATE for as Taro-kun dutifully pulls out month after month after month.

BLORRRT! SPLURCH! SPLUUURT!

Joe's cock continues pumping, literally PISSING cum into my married hole, jet after powerful jet filling me beyond capacity. I can FEEL it backing up, feel the pressure building inside as more keeps coming, keeps FLOODING me.

His face is magnificent in release--jaw clenched, veins standing out on his neck, eyes locked with mine in this moment of absolute connection. He's CLAIMING me with his seed, marking me from the inside, altering me on a cellular level.

I'm cumming and cumming and CUMMING, endless rippling waves of pleasure coursing through me as my pussy MILKS his erupting cock, greedy inner muscles clenching and releasing, determined to draw every last drop from him.

"Won't stop cumming," I babble, delirious with pleasure, with FULFILLMENT. "Can't stop can't stop can't stop!"

"Look at you," Joe murmurs, one hand sliding to press against my lower abdomen where a slight bulge has formed. "Full of my cum. Bet you've never been this full before."

"Never--never--NEVER! So much inside! So DEEP inside!"

The pressure of his hand on my belly creates a new sensation--I can feel his cock still pulsing within me, still releasing smaller spurts, while his seed sloshes and churns around it. The WEIGHT of it inside me is indescribable--heavy yet buoyant, foreign yet somehow exactly what I've always needed.

My phone starts ringing--that distinctive tone I've assigned to Taro-kun--cutting through my pleasure-haze with jarring clarity.

Taro-kun.

My husband.

Calling.

But I can't move, can't respond, can barely BREATHE as Joe's cock continues to twitch inside me, depositing the last of his massive load. My body is still wracked with aftershocks, little convulsions of pleasure that make my toes curl, my fingers clutch at his shoulders.

The phone keeps ringing, insistent, demanding attention.

"Your husband wants to talk to you," Joe murmurs against my ear, a hint of cruel amusement in his voice. "Should you answer it?"

I shake my head.

The ringing finally stops. In the sudden silence, all I can hear is our mingled breathing and the quiet squelching of Joe's still-pulsing cock inside my flooded pussy.

My phone buzzes with a voicemail notification.

"You should listen to it," Joe says, slowly pulling out of me. I gasp at the sensation of emptiness, followed immediately by a gush of warm fluid escaping from between my legs. "Could be important."

With trembling fingers, I reach for my phone. Joe's cum continues to leak from me, pooling beneath my ass on the hotel sheets as I press the phone to my ear.

"Kanna? The roads are completely blocked now. The taxi can't get through--we've been stuck in the same spot for twenty minutes and the driver says it'll be hours before the plows come through. I'll try to make it tomorrow morning, if things clear up. Sorry for worrying you. Stay warm. Love you."

I lower the phone.

"He's... not coming," I whisper, not meeting Joe's eyes. "The roads are too bad."

"Such a shame," Joe replies.

I should feel relief--relief that I have more time to clean up, to pull myself together, to scrub away the evidence of what we've done.

"We have all night," Joe says, his hand sliding up my inner thigh, fingers trailing through the mixture of our fluids.

I should say no. Should kick him out right now. Should take a shower and sleep in the chair and pretend none of this happened.

Instead, I glance down between Joe's legs, where his cock--impossibly, ILLOGICALLY--is already beginning to stiffen again. The sight of it, still glistening with our combined juices, sends a fresh pulse through me.

"Is that even possible?" I whisper.

Joe grins, wrapping his hand around his thickening shaft. "Only one way to find out."

---

A distant rapping sound penetrates my sex-addled brain, pulling me from the strange half-consciousness I've been floating in. My body feels simultaneously light as air and heavy as stone, my limbs responding sluggishly as I try to orient myself.

"Huh? What's...?" I blink, struggling to focus without my glasses.

THREE HOURS.

That's how long Joe and I have been... have been... oh god, I can't even mentally form the words for what we've been doing. The evidence is everywhere--tangled sheets damp with sweat and other fluids, the distinctive musky scent hanging in the air, my body aching in places I didn't know could ache.

The knocking sounds again, more insistent this time.

"Room service!" a cheerful voice calls through the door.

"We didn't order--" I begin, then freeze as Joe's hand clamps over my mouth.

"Shhh," he whispers against my ear, his naked body pressed against mine from behind. "That's not room service."

I squint toward the door, suddenly remembering my glasses. Where are they? Last I remember they were dangling precariously from one ear as Joe took me from behind for the... third time? Fourth? I've lost count.

Joe locates them on the nightstand, carefully placing them on my face. The world snaps into focus, including the hotel room door with its small peephole.

The knocking continues.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" The voice sounds familiar. Too familiar.

Oh.

My.

GOD.

"Taro-kun?!" I whisper-shriek, my entire body going rigid with panic.

"Looks like your husband made it through the snow after all," Joe murmurs, sounding far too amused for the catastrophic situation unfolding.

I leap from the bed, suddenly VERY aware of my nakedness, of the sticky residue coating my inner thighs, of how thoroughly DEBAUCHED I must look.

"What do I DO?!" I'm in full panic mode, hands fluttering uselessly as I spin in circles like a malfunctioning robot. "He can't see you! He can't see ME like THIS!"

Joe rolls out of bed with casual grace that seems impossible for someone who just spent three hours performing sexual gymnastics. He gathers his scattered clothing with efficient movements while I continue my panicked spinning.

"Bathroom," he says simply, nodding toward the door opposite the entrance.

"But your CLOTHES! And the SHEETS! And my HAIR! And--"

"Kanna? Are you in there?" Taro-kun's voice calls through the door. "The front desk said this was your room."

"Just--just a minute!" I call back, my voice at least three octaves higher than normal. "I was... sleeping!"

I frantically scan the room, categorizing evidence in order of incrimination:

1. Joe (highest priority)

2. The sheets (visibly stained)

3. My naked, thoroughly-fucked body

4. My sketchbook, which is currently open to a VERY detailed study of Joe's anatomy that I drew during one of our brief recovery periods

"Kanna, I've been driving for hours. Please open the door."

"Coming! Just... just getting decent!"

Joe has already gathered his clothing and is slipping into the bathroom, but not before giving my ass a firm SLAP that makes me yelp.

"Go greet your husband," he whispers with a wink. "Maybe he won't notice you're walking funny."

The NERVE!

I frantically search for something--anything--to cover myself with. My clothes are scattered to the four corners of the room, some items possibly under the bed or... wait, is that my underwear hanging from the LAMP?

The hotel bathrobe! Hanging on the back of the bathroom door! I grab it just as Joe closes himself inside, wrapping the plush green terry cloth around my trembling body.

The bed! The BED! It looks like a disaster zone! I frantically pull up the comforter, attempting to hide the worst of the evidence, but it's hopeless--there's a distinctive WET SPOT the size of Lake Biwa right in the center.

Flip the comforter! Yes! The other side might be--

No, that's worse. Somehow WORSE. How did we even GET that stain over there?

I give up on the bed and rush to the door, my legs wobbling like a newborn fawn's. There's a warm wetness between my thighs that makes my stomach flip with the realization that I'm still FULL of Joe's... his... oh god, I can't even think it!

"Kanna? Should I call the front desk? Are you alright?"

I press my eye to the peephole, and there he is--my husband, my Taro-kun, looking tired and worried, his coat dusted with melting snow, his hair slightly disheveled from the journey.

My heart twists with guilt, with shame, with a complex cocktail of emotions I don't have time to untangle.

I take a deep breath, arrange my face into what I hope is a normal expression, and open the door just enough to poke my head through.

"Taro-kun! You made it!" My voice sounds unnaturally bright, even to my own ears.

His eyes widen slightly, taking in my flushed face, my disheveled hair, the green robe clutched tightly at my throat.

"Kanna? Are you... were you in the shower?"

"No! I mean, not yet! I was... I was just about to! Shower, that is!" I'm babbling, words tumbling out in a nervous cascade. "I was napping, and then I thought I should clean up before you arrived, but then you knocked before I could get in the shower, so now I'm just... standing here! In a robe! Not showered!"

Taro's brow furrows slightly. "Can I come in? It's freezing out here."

"Yes! Of course! Come in!" I open the door wider, praying he doesn't notice how I'm strategically positioning myself to block his view of the bed.

As Taro steps into the room, there's a movement in the hallway behind him. My heart stops as I see Joe--fully dressed now, looking remarkably put-together--casually walking past. How did he get out of the bathroom and through the room without me noticing?!

"Evening!" Joe calls cheerfully to Taro, raising a hand in casual greeting. "Crazy snow, right? Been stuck here for hours!"

Taro turns, nodding politely to the stranger. "Yes, the roads are terrible. Took me forever to get here from Nagoya."

"Well, glad you made it safe!" Joe continues down the hallway, but not before catching my eye over Taro's shoulder and giving me the SMALLEST, most WICKED wink imaginable.

I'm going to DIE. My soul is going to leave my body right here in this hotel doorway, and the maid will find nothing but an empty green bathrobe puddle on the floor because I will have EVAPORATED from pure panic.

"Who was that?" Taro asks, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him.

"No idea!" I say too quickly. "Just some friendly foreigner! You know how they are--talking to everyone!" I force a laugh that sounds like a strangled duck.

Taro's eyebrows rise slightly, but he doesn't comment further. Instead, he looks around the room, taking in the disheveled bed (thankfully mostly hidden by my strategic positioning), my purse spilled open on the desk, my sketchbook...

MY SKETCHBOOK!

It's still open to the detailed anatomical study of Joe's... his... THAT!

I lunge across the room with the grace of a drunken giraffe, slamming the sketchbook closed and clutching it to my chest.

"Just some... snowscape sketches!" I explain breathlessly. "Trying to capture the temporary nature of snow crystals! Very boring!"

Taro's expression grows increasingly confused. "Kanna, are you feeling alright? You're acting strange."

"Strange? Me? No! Just tired! And surprised! By your arrival! Which is wonderful! You're here!" I'm gesturing wildly with one hand while the other keeps the bathrobe closed and the sketchbook pressed to my chest.

Something warm trickles down my inner thigh.

Oh.

No.

Joe's... DEPOSIT... is literally seeping out of me as I stand here talking to my husband. I can feel it making its slow, treacherous journey down my leg, threatening to escape the protection of the robe at any moment.

"Do you have a fever?" Taro says, reaching out to touch my forehead.

I step back reflexively, the movement causing another alarming SHIFT of fluids inside me. "No! No fever! Just... hot from the robe! Hotel robes are so warm, aren't they? So insulating!"

Taro's eyes narrow slightly. "What's going on, Kanna? You're acting very strange." His gaze drifts to the bed, to the obviously disturbed sheets, to my flushed face and wild hair.

This is it. I'm caught. Three hours of passion followed by a lifetime of shame and regret. He's going to divorce me. I'll have to move back to Kyoto, live with my parents, explain to everyone why my marriage failed after only six years.

I've destroyed everything for what? For a foreign cock and multiple earth-shattering orgasms and the most intensely fulfilling sexual experience of my life that makes everything before it seem like a sad, beige imitation of pleasure?

... wait, that's actually a lot.

But still! My MARRIAGE!

Taro takes a deep breath, his expression turning serious. "Kanna, I need to tell you something."

Oh god. Here it comes. He KNOWS. Somehow he KNOWS! Husbands can SMELL these things, can't they? He can probably see the guilt written all over my face, can probably detect the scent of another man's cum still leaking out of me.

"Y-yes?" I squeak, clutching the robe even tighter.

"I... I've been keeping something from you."

Wait, what? HE'S been keeping something from ME?

"At the reunion," Taro continues, looking down at his hands, "I ran into Setoguchi Mei."

"Oh?" I manage, my voice small.

"We... talked."

My heart stops. Is my husband... confessing an affair?

"And I realized something," Taro continues, finally meeting my eyes. "I realized how lucky I am to have you, Kanna. How lucky I am that you chose me, that we built this life together."

Wait, what?

"Mei is still... charming," he says with a small smile. "But seeing her again made me appreciate what we have even more. That's why I was so determined to get to you tonight, through the storm. I needed to tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me."

Oh.

My.

GOD.

My husband has just delivered the most romantic, heartfelt speech of our entire relationship... to his thoroughly unfaithful wife who is currently standing before him like a guilty, cum-filled éclair.

Tears spring to my eyes.

"Taro-kun," I whimper.

He steps forward, pulling me into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry I've been distant lately, with work and everything. I promise to make more time for us."

As he hugs me, something SHIFTS inside me, and I feel a distinctive GUSH between my legs. The trapped fluids, redistributed by his tight embrace, have found a new escape route.

"I--I need to use the bathroom!" I squeak, pulling away from him abruptly. "Right now! Emergency!"

I dash into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, only to find myself face-to-face with Joe, who is sitting casually on the edge of the tub, scrolling through his phone.

"You're still HERE?!" I whisper-shriek.

"Forgot my watch," Joe says with a shrug, pointing to where his timepiece sits on the sink counter. "Figured I'd wait until things settled down out there."

"My husband is RIGHT OUTSIDE!" I gesture frantically toward the door, where Taro is presumably wondering why his wife just sprinted to the bathroom like her life depended on it.

"I heard," Joe says, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Very touching. You must feel terrible."

"I DO!" I hiss. "This is a NIGHTMARE!"

"A nightmare?" Joe's eyebrow rises. "Not how I'd describe the last three hours."

"That's not--I didn't mean--" I splutter, then pause as I feel another alarming trickle. "Oh god, I need to clean up. You need to LEAVE!"

Joe stands, moving close enough that I can smell his cologne, mixed with the distinctive musky scent of our activities. He leans down, his breath hot against my ear.

"Check your phone later," he murmurs. "I added my number while you were napping between rounds two and three."

Despite everything--the guilt, the panic, the logistical crisis of how to get this man out of my bathroom while my husband waits outside--I feel a treacherous flutter low in my belly at his words.

"Kanna? Are you alright in there?" Taro calls through the door. "Do you need me to get you something from the vending machine? Some medicine?"

"I'm fine!" I call back, my voice unnaturally high. "Just... just a minute!"

Joe chuckles, reaching past me to grab his watch from the counter. As he slides it onto his wrist, he leans in again.

"Next time you're in Tokyo," he whispers, "give me a call. I'll help you with some more... temporary melting."

Before I can respond, he slides open the bathroom window--we're only on the fourth floor, and there's a convenient ledge outside that appears to connect to the fire escape--and swings one leg over the sill.

"You can't go out THERE!" I gasp. "It's freezing! There's a blizzard!"

Joe just grins, already halfway through the window. "Worth it for the chance to taste Japan's sweetest dessert." He gives me one last wink before disappearing into the snowy night, pulling the window closed behind him.

I stand frozen in the bathroom, torn between hysteria and a bizarre urge to laugh.

"Kanna? Should I call a doctor?" Taro sounds genuinely concerned now.

I quickly turn on the sink, splash some cold water on my face, and grab a washcloth to hastily clean the most incriminating evidence from my thighs. There's no time for a proper shower--that would be too suspicious--but I do what I can in thirty frantic seconds.

"Coming!" I call, adjusting the robe one last time.

I open the bathroom door to find Taro standing there.

"Kanna..."

"Yes?" My heart leaps into my throat. Here it comes--he's going to ask why there's a distinctive SCENT in the room, or why I'm walking like I just got off a horse, or why my hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

"I'm really happy to see you," he says simply, pulling me into another hug. "I've missed you."

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by a crushing wave of guilt.

"I've missed you too," I whisper against his shoulder. And I MEAN it. I really have missed him--missed us, missed the connection we used to have.

As we separate, Taro's hand brushes against something--my sketchbook, which I'd forgotten I was still clutching to my chest. It tumbles to the floor, falling open to THAT PAGE--the detailed study of Joe's anatomy, rendered with perhaps too much artistic enthusiasm.

Taro bends to pick it up, his eyes widening as he takes in the drawing.

Time stops. The world narrows to this single, terrible moment. I can't breathe, can't move, can't even form words to explain why I've drawn an extremely detailed, obviously aroused male anatomy that is DEFINITELY not his.

Taro looks up at me, then back at the drawing, then at me again.

"Kanna," he says slowly, "is this... for a project?"

A project? A PROJECT?!

"Yes!" I blurt out, seizing the lifeline he's inadvertently thrown me. "Exactly! A project! For a... a new adult graphic novel!"

Taro's eyebrows lift slightly. "You're illustrating an adult graphic novel? That's... different for you."

"Diversifying!" I say, nodding so vigorously my glasses slide down my nose. "Expanding my portfolio!"

"It's very... generous," Taro says, still looking at the drawing. "In terms of proportions. Not very realistic."

"Artistic license!" I practically shout. "No real person could POSSIBLY be so... so... architecturally impressive!"

Somewhere, in whatever snow-covered place he's escaped to, I SWEAR I can hear Joe laughing.

Taro closes the sketchbook and hands it back to me, a bemused expression on his face. "Well, I'm sure it will be very successful."

"Thank you," I squeak, clutching the sketchbook like it's a life preserver in turbulent seas.

There's an awkward pause.

"So... room service?" Taro suggests.

"Yes! Food! Eating!"

As Taro moves to the phone to call down our order, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the desk. My hair is a wild tangle, my lips still swollen from hours of kissing, my neck bearing a suspicious reddish mark that I pray Taro hasn't noticed.

I look thoroughly, comprehensively fucked.

And somehow, IMPOSSIBLY, I've gotten away with it.

My phone buzzes from somewhere in the tangled bedsheets. I fish it out, careful to keep the screen angled away from Taro, who is engrossed in the menu.

A text from an unknown number:

「Same time next snowstorm? ????」

I quickly delete it, my heart racing, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Terrible. I'm absolutely terrible. The worst wife imaginable.

But as I curl up against Taro's side, listening to him order us dinner, I can't help but wonder...

Is it going to snow again soon?