Retro

"Left, left, Yuki chan! Press the button! Ohhh *nngh* watch out for the boss!"

The neon lights of the Shinjuku arcade flicker in rapid pulses of hot pink and electric blue, reflecting off the glossy, sweat slicked skin of my girlfriend. We are hunched over the joystick of *Galactic Queen*, our shoulders pressed together, but we aren't wearing much to keep us comfortable. Why wear restrictive fabric when the whole point of being a girl is to be accessible?

I'm wearing nothing but a micro bikini top that barely contains my heavy breasts and a pleated skirt so short it's practically a belt. Yuki chan is in a cropped halter top that shows off her flat, toned stomach and thigh high stockings that leave her ass completely exposed. We dressed like this because we know the rules: we are here to play, and we are here to be used.

"I got it, Risa! I got *ahhh!*"

Yuki's scream of frustration at the game transforms instantly into a moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure. A tall salaryman in a rumpled suit has just stepped up behind her, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force. He doesn't say a word; he doesn't have to. He simply shoves her skirt up further, unzips his trousers, and drives himself into her from behind while she's still holding the joystick.

"Mmmph... yes... oh god, yes..." Yuki whimpers, her thumbs still twitching on the buttons. Her character on screen dies immediately, but she doesn't care. Her head lolls back against the shoulder of the stranger, her eyes already beginning to glaze over with that lovely, empty sparkle.

I don't feel jealous. Jealousy requires caring about possession, and possession is for people who think they own things. We belong to everyone, and that makes us free. I lean over, pressing my bare ass against the salaryman's thigh as he works Yuki, feeling the heat of him.

"Don't stop, sweetie," I coo to Yuki, reaching over to stroke her cheek while the man grunts behind her. "Focus on the rhythm, not the game."

The arcade is a constant stream of this. Men pass by between the cabinets construction workers, students, businessmen all of them stopping to claim their tribute. Sometimes it's two of them at once, sometimes it's a quick, messy fuck against a Pac Man machine. We accept it all with the same dopey, grateful smiles. To us, a man stopping to fuck us is like a cloud passing over the sun it's just a natural part of the environment.

"Risa... I love you so much," Yuki breathes between gasps as the salaryman begins to climax, his hips hammering against her. "I love how... how good it feels when we share them."

"I love you too, Yuki chan," I whisper, feeling a surge of affection for her. Our love is special because it's built on this shared surrender. We are two halves of a perfect, empty whole, united by our devotion to the cock.

As the salaryman withdraws with a satisfied grunt and moves on to the next cabinet, Yuki sags against the machine, a thick stripe of white cum dripping down her inner thigh. She looks at me, her eyes unfocused and blissfully stupid, and giggles.