The weekend stretches long and quiet for Ken, a vast, empty expanse within the confines of his home. He's trying to fill it, but loneliness gnaws at him. He finds Sumi in the living room, casually asking about her poster shoot. "How'd the photo session go?" he asks, trying to sound indifferent, but genuinely curious.
Sumi beams, oblivious to the undercurrents of his thoughts. "Oh, it went really well! The team was super professional, and the school committee was there the whole time. We got almost all the shots done." She pauses, thinking. "Just a few more outdoor group photos left to get done next week, and then we're finished."
Ken nods, his mind already drifting. He hasn't seen Riko since she came back yesterday. Not a glimpse. Her door has been firmly shut, a silent barrier, and he can feel her absence in the house, a heavy, unarticulated tension. He wonders what happened, why she's locked herself away, but he doesn't dare ask.
His thoughts inevitably turn to the secret group, the one he's lurking in the shadows of. He feels a growing anticipation, a strange pull towards the forbidden. He's just waiting, waiting for the right moment, for the invitation that will finally allow him to step out of the loneliness and into the dark, exhilarating world he suspects Riko has now fully entered. The silence of the weekend stretches on, each minute bringing him closer to a decision he knows he can't, or won't, resist.
As the night deepens, a familiar hum vibrates through Ken's phone. The secret group, usually dormant during daylight hours, awakens with a surge of notifications. He watches, a silent observer, as the chat rapidly fills with anticipating messages. The air in the virtual space is thick with a collective, restless energy, a shared hunger.
"Anyone got something new for the weekend?" someone types, quickly followed by another, "Yeah, feels like ages since the last good drop." The unspoken craving hangs heavy in the digital ether. Soon, threads of conversation about Hiro's audacious plan begin to surface, whispered mentions of past discussions, hints of something grand they've been waiting for. They're all anticipating him, the ringmaster of their shared, dark desires.
Then, a new message pops up, glowing brightly against the dark background: "Yo, fellas! What's good?" It's Hiro, his online presence a beacon in the digital darkness. A wave of greetings erupts. "Yo, Hiro!" "Finally, the man himself!" "What's the word?" Their eager questions cascade, revealing their impatience. They immediately cut to the chase, their unspoken desires hanging heavy in the digital air. "Any updates?" one asks, followed quickly by another. "Got any new photos of the top girls for us? Anything fresh from the school beauties?"
Hiro types, a slow, deliberate cadence that builds the suspense in the chat. "Boys," he begins, his message appearing in the feed, "I've only got a few... very simple photos for you tonight." A pause, just long enough for the collective anticipation to rise. "But I have a feeling they're going to make you very, very sad."
Confusion ripples through the group. "Sad? What are you talking about, Hiro?" "Did something go wrong?" "Spill it, man, don't tease!" Their impatience is palpable, a flurry of question marks and impatient emojis. They bombard him, desperate to know what he truly means, why photos would evoke sadness. The mystery only fuels their curiosity, making it grow into an unbearable itch.
Hiro lets them squirm for another agonizing minute, savoring their confusion, their rising desperation. He imagines their faces, glued to their screens, hanging on his every word. This is his stage, and they are his captive audience.
Then, with a final, triumphant flourish, he posts it. A single selfie photo appears in the group chat. It's a close-up, undeniable. There's Hiro, a confident, possessive smirk on his face. And pressed intimately beside him, her head slightly turned away, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and a profound, haunting sadness, is Riko. Her usual meticulous appearance is subtly undone; a stray strand of hair frames her face, and her blouse, though buttoned, clings just a little too tightly, hinting at the absence of her bra. Hiro's hand is clearly visible on her shoulder, his fingers almost brushing her exposed collarbone, pulling her impossibly close to him.
Silence grips the chat. For a long moment, not a single message appears. Then, the floodgates break. "NO WAY!" "IS THAT RIKO?!" "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" "HOW?!" A torrent of awe, disbelief, and sheer, unadulterated envy explodes in the feed. They have no idea how he got this photo, how he managed to bridge the untouchable gap. This is their dream, the fantasy they've all secretly harbored, now impossibly real, captured in a single frame.
A few voices, disbelieving, try to rationalize it. "Is that AI generated, Hiro? No way it's real!" But even as they type it, they know. The raw, undeniable truth in Riko's eyes, the sheer physical proximity, makes it impossible to deny. The overriding sentiment becomes clear: "I want to be him!" "You're a legend, Hiro!" The jealousy is thick, but so is the profound admiration. They all want to be him in that photo, standing that close, claiming that prize.
Hiro lets the storm of awe and disbelief rage for a few more moments, savoring the collective shock. Then, with a slow, deliberate click, he posts the next photo. This isn't another selfie; it's a slightly wider shot, taken from a subtly different angle. He and Riko are still impossibly close, but the light hits her just right. Her blouse, clinging to her, seems almost translucent in places.
The camera's angle, combined with the precise lighting, creates a mesmerizing illusion. It doesn't scream "braless," not overtly. Instead, it subtly, almost unnoticeably, reveals the true size and shape of her C-cup breasts beneath the thin fabric. The contours are undeniably fuller, rounder, their natural weight accentuated without the artificial lift of a bra. A delicate shadow falls just beneath where a bra band should be, hinting at the freedom beneath.
A collective intake of breath seems to ripple through the chat, even through the digital ether. Then, the messages explode again, even more frenzied than before. "HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT HER BOOBS!" "THEY'RE HUGE!" "IS SHE WEARING A PUSH-UP?" "NO, MAN, THEY'RE JUST... PERFECT!" They lewd about the incredible shape, the alluring fullness, the way her blouse strains against her curves. Their fantasies ignite, fueled by this tantalizing glimpse of forbidden flesh.
Amidst the chorus of lewd admiration, a single voice cuts through the noise, a seed of doubt planted in the fertile ground of their lust. "Wait a minute, guys..." a user named "Observer69" types, his words appearing slowly, deliberately. "Her shirt... it looks kinda weird, right? Like... is she even wearing one?"
The chat pauses, a sudden, collective silence descending. The initial shock of the image gives way to a closer, more scrutinizing look. Other users begin to chime in, their curiosity now tinged with suspicion. "He's right, though... it looks... free." "No way, she's gotta be wearing something." "Hiro, what's going on? Is she...?" The questions are direct, challenging, probing at the delicious secret he's holding.
Hiro, watching the chat, grins. This is exactly what he wants. He lets their confusion simmer, letting the doubt fester. He types back, his message appearing with a devilish slowness. "Why, boys? What are you implying? She's just naturally perfectly shaped, isn't she? Maybe you're just not used to seeing such natural beauty." He avoids a direct answer, neither admitting nor denying, subtly deflecting their suspicions.
The chat erupts again, torn between disbelief and burning curiosity. They argue amongst themselves, some convinced, others clinging to the idea of a trick of the light. But beneath the surface, a new, more potent fantasy takes root. They are all dreaming now, vividly lewding about the idea of Riko without a bra. They imagine her curves completely unrestrained, her nipples pressing against thin fabric, a vision of raw, untamed sensuality that makes their blood pound. Hiro's teasing has elevated their lust to an unbearable fever pitch, and he knows he holds the ultimate reveal in his hands.
The chat erupts with a renewed wave of desperate questions. "So, Hiro, did you actually succeed?" one user presses, echoing the burning query in everyone's mind. Others pile on, their hunger palpable: "Can you show us more of her? Please, just a little more!" They need proof, something undeniable to solidify the impossible.
Hiro obliges. He sends a series of solo photos of Riko. Each image is artfully taken, close-up shots that highlight her features—her flushed cheeks, her slightly parted lips, the subtle tremor in her eyes that speaks of something profound and private. Her blouse still clings tightly, hinting at the fullness beneath, but the overall impression is one of breathtaking, raw vulnerability.
A wave of awe, mixed with disbelief, sweeps through the group. "She's so beautiful!" "Unbelievable!" But doubt still lingers for many. "Is this real? Are you actually getting her, Hiro?" They can scarcely believe their eyes, struggling to reconcile the untouchable Riko with the exposed woman in the photos.
Ken, however, needs no convincing. As he gazes at the selfie photos, a cold certainty settles in his gut. He knows Riko. He knows the subtle nuances of her expressions. The profound sadness in her eyes, the faint tremor around her mouth—these are not poses. These photos are real. He can't believe it. How could Hiro have gotten to her so quickly? It seems impossibly fast, a conquest of legendary proportions.
His eyes, scrutinizing every detail, then fall to her chest. He zooms in, his breath catching in his throat. The way the fabric strains, the subtle folds, the distinct, unrestrained fullness… he realizes it with a jolt that sends a surge of heat through him. She's not wearing a bra. The revelation hits him like a physical blow. That means Hiro took it off. He conquered her top, stripped her bare. The thought, explicit and illicit, makes his boner harden, an undeniable response to the raw, intimate proof of Hiro's triumph.
Hiro, sensing their wavering belief, but also their escalating lust, decides to twist the knife of anticipation further. He types again, a slow, deliberate message designed to fuel their fantasies without giving away the full extent of his victory. "Boys," he begins, "I don't want to tell you anything about how I got these photos." He lets the frustration simmer, then delivers the tantalizing bait. "But I can tell you this for sure: her breasts are as full, as soft, and as utterly handful as you have ever dreamed."
A collective groan of desire echoes through the chat. They imagine the feeling, the warmth, the yielding flesh. He continues, sealing his dominance. "And yes," he adds, his message appearing with a final, chilling certainty, "I am progressing exactly as the plan." The implication is clear: Riko, the untouchable, is no longer untouchable. And Hiro is just getting started.
The chat buzzes with a mix of awe and skepticism. Some users, swayed by Hiro's teasing descriptions, are starting to believe. Others, however, cling to their doubts, unable to fully grasp the scale of his claim. Yet, a silent understanding settles over the group: Hiro is indeed progressing to some undeniable point. They know his track record; he's brought a trove of unbelievable photos before – Sumi, Nana, and other sought-after girls, pictures that once seemed impossible to obtain. This history lends a chilling credibility to his words.
Ken's internal world is a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He's already reeling from the previous images of Riko. Now, an entirely different sensation washes over him: a profound, illicit heat for his own beautiful sister. It's a feeling he immediately shoves down, horrified, but its presence is undeniable, fueled by the explicit imagery Hiro has provided.
Suddenly, a new message pops up, a direct notification from Hiro. "Special gift for you, Ken."
A new photo loads, and Ken stares, his breath catching in his throat. It's another selfie of Hiro and Riko, but this one is devastatingly intimate. They are standing impossibly close, but this time, Hiro's hand isn't just on Riko's shoulder. It's unmistakably, possessively cupped around her bare breast, grabbing it firmly. The angle, the lighting, the tautness of the fabric against her skin – it all conspires to show the entire shape of her D-cup breast beneath her blouse. And then he sees it, undeniably: the distinct outline of her nipple, hard and prominent, visible through the thin material. Ken feels a cold dread, followed by a surge of raw, primal shock. It's real. This isn't a trick of light or a clever pose. Hiro has his hand on Riko's bare breast.
His mind races. How? How did Hiro get her to this point? It's too much, too fast. But the undeniable proof is right there.
As Ken processes the image, another message from Hiro floods the private chat. "See that, Ken? Her breasts are so full, so soft, so round. And they fit perfectly in my hand." Hiro's words paint a vivid, tormenting picture, describing the tactile sensation, the very feeling Ken is seeing. "That's how I make her mine. I just take what I want, and she… she lets me." Ken feels his groin explode with a rush of blood, a powerful, involuntary response to the brutal, undeniable truth.
Immediately after, another message from Hiro arrives. "Don't tell the others about this one, okay? This is just for you." And then, a final, chilling image loads beneath the text: Riko's pink lace bra, lying casually on a surface, a trophy of ultimate conquest.