Work Text:
Yosuke couldn’t help but watch her whenever they were working together. Saki Konishi was the coolest girl he’d ever known. Her presence, her confidence, how mature she was. Everything about her made Yosuke obsessed. Plus, she was smoking hot too. She made being in this mind-numbingly boring town ever so slightly worth it. He spent months just watching her from afar, imagining the life they were going to have together. She caught him staring a couple times, to which he would blush and stammer that he needed to be somewhere and she would just smile, a cute little smile accompanied with a slight flush of her cheek. Every time it happened he fell a little bit more in love with her.
He had to confess to her. Had to. He couldn’t go another second like this.
It was during the middle of his shift. His Dad had told him to go check inventory since apparently he’d been fucking up running the register. Whatever. Hours of going over the same boxes over and over out of fear he’d made a mistake. The clock ticking and his anxiety rising.
And suddenly, there she was. Right behind him. Saki Konishi staring at the shelves, clearly trying to make sense of this store’s awful organization system.
He dropped his clipboard in shock.
Fuck. A split second chance and he’d lost it just as fast.
He couldn’t help but look at her, face tinged with embarrassment. She gave him her usual smile, and his shame compounded.
“I.. uh…” He looked for something to say. “S– Sorry.”
Who the hell was he apologizing to?
Something flicked across her smile. She looked down at the clipboard beneath him. Her eyes seemed to glass over. He scrambled to pick up the clipboard, and–
“Pathetic.”
“...Huh?” Had Yosuke heard her right?
“I’m sick of your stupid fucking face, Hanamura,” she bit.
His embarrassment was gone. He wasn’t sure what emotion had replaced it. Shame, probably.
“D–Did I do something wro–”
“Just shut up.” She was standing up now.
“You don’t open your mouth much,” she said. “But every time you do, I wish I could sew it shut.”
“I- I- I-” he babbled nothing in particular as she crept up closer to him.
He was still bent over as she walked towards him, and her presence forced him back up against the wall and then onto the floor. He yelped as she now seemed so far above him.
“I hate your guts, Hanamura,” she spat. “You and your little lovesick stare drives me fucking nuts.”
He paled.
She laughed. “That’s right.” She leaned in closer. “I know about your little crush. I can tell whenever you’re watching me. It makes me sick.
“You make me sick. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man and I can’t stand the fucking sight of you. You disgust me.”
“B- B–But-” But what? Yosuke had no idea.
“Bet you lay in bed, every night, thinking about me,” she deadpanned. “About putting your grimy little hands all over me, how I smell, how I taste.” She laughed with disgust. “You do, don’t you?”
“I would never! I–” He tried to get the words out, but he couldn’t. Of course he’d thought of that. All the fucking time. Thought about cornering her against the wall, cupping her chin, bringing her in close, bringing their lips closer… Then her grabbing him by the collar, flipping him around and shoving him against the wall, feeling himself melt into her touch, knees going limp as she–
No. No. No. No no no no no no no! He absolutely did not want that. He did not want her pinning his wrists to the band and kissing up his neck– No! Shut up! He did not fucking want her to crawl on top of him and force himself inside of her, or to have lying next to him, finger up his–
“What the fuck?” Her voice was like the crack of a whip bringing him back to reality.
“H–Huh?” and then he realized.
“Are you fucking serious?” She looked at him like a bug. Like he was less than human. Like trash.
He stammered, frantically waving his hands in hopes of covering his shameful face. “Fuck. Sorry. Uh, I can explain. Or, really, I should be going. I’ve gotta, you know–”
Just then, she planted her shoe straight on his pathetically hard cock.
“You really need to learn to shut the hell up,” she said. She sneered. “Maybe this’ll do it.”
He couldn’t get out a single word of protest. Just an obscenely loud moan.
“Wow~” she cooed. “You liked that, huh? You little freak.”
He whined. Wished he could say no. Could say anything at all.
She continued to just grind his foot on his dick for a few minutes, saying nothing, a blank look of disgust on her face. It felt so good all he could do was quiver, pant, and moan. Internally he was going over dozens of different plans of escape, scheme after scheme to reclaim his pride, but none of that ever seemed to reach his body.
She stopped just as quickly as she started, and he was left sweaty and quivering. He tried to slow his breathing. He’d take a second to gather himself, bow his head and apologize for bothering her, and then be off. Simple as that.
“Get up.”
He squeaked.
“I said get up, faggot.”
The word cut straight through him, and he felt his eyes water. He stood up.
“Right up against the wall,” she said, shoving him in the stomach. “Good.”
Just as quick as she shoved him, she unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. She gripped it tightly and started pumping with no warning.
“You’re filthy. Nasty. Just a little sissy who can’t stick up for himself. You deserve every name your Dad calls you. You’re nothing but a little roach scampering all over the place, waiting for someone to step on you.
“You deserve this.” And it’s those three words that made cum with a whimper. He let out a moan and a sob in tandem.
She lifted up her hand, staring at her cum-soaked fingers. Then she looked him straight in the eyes, and slapped him.
As if things weren’t bad enough. Now his cheek was wet with cum, his own cum. It was humiliating.
After that, she smeared the rest of his face with the stuff, then snapped: “Open up,” and shoved her fingers in his mouth, forcing him to suck the last of his cum off them.
“Ha,” she smirked. “You really should have something in your mouth all the time. It’d be good for you.”
Finally, she nudged him down to his knees with just three fingers, and shoved him under her skirt. She forced him onto her clit, telling him in her harsh tones where to lick and tugging on his hair each time he got it wrong. Even as her moans sped up and her voice got lighter she had not a word of praise for him, just bile.
“Doormat. Wimp. Momma’s boy. Disgusting. Pathetic. Little slime of a human being.”
Each insult brought her closer until she came all over his tongue. The wetness, the taste, the smell - everything about it was intoxicating. It left him achingly hard. He wished for relief. He also wished he could’ve experienced this under different circumstances.
She let go of his head, and wiped her hands together as if to clean herself of him.
“You won’t tell anyone, right?” Her voice was back to its normal polite cadence, like her sadist switch had been flipped back off and everything was as it should be.
Somehow, he found himself nodding. He berated himself. The hell is she gonna threaten you with, Yosuke? Stick up for yourself!
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t find the will to resist her.
She leaves him sitting on the ground, clipboard still in that same place he dropped it. It seemed to stare up at him from down there, taunting him.