Going to a certain love hotel under the light of a full moon

Her first mistake was innocent enough. She knew Akihiko had fully recovered from his injuries so many months prior. Perhaps it was simple concern for his safety. Or perhaps some part of her felt slightly more secure venturing into such a disgraceful den of debauchery with an entourage of mostly women. Either way, the group consisted of herself, Yukari, Minako and Junpei.

Mitsuru's second error was far more costly. She had not yet learned to trust her teammates. On paper she was fine with the timid blue haired girl being their guide into the warped realities of the Dark Hour. In practice Mitsuru did not trust Fuuka Yamagishi to watch her back. This was nothing new. Mitsuru Kirijo was the scion of a family built on secrets and sins, and she was the inheritor of that legacy. It was her duty and her mission to unburden the guilt and horrors steeped upon her father's shoulders. In time her icy demeanor and aloof personality would be thawed by continued interactions and the mutual sharing of pain and truimphs the group was destined to experience. For now, she still regarded her companions as more pawns to be moved on a battlefield than actual friends. Not to say she intended to sacrifice any of them. Oh no, Mitsuru regarded it as her firm duty to be the primary **** of protection in the group, despite ostensibly leaving leadership up to Minako.

And it was in that sea of over protectiveness and distrust that Mitsuru made her choice. They had just been victorious over a grotesque shadow. But something was amiss. And they all recognized what was wrong simultaneously by taking note of the their absent reflections in the nearby mirror. Mitsuru knew seconds before the trap was sprung that something was very wrong here. In that instant, not waiting for Yamagishi to sound an alarm, Mitsuru reached out with her mental abilities to deliver a warning to Yukari and Minako. But even as her mind connected and their thoughts flowed into her own, Mitsuru found her mental voice silenced into a soothing oblivion.

EMBRACE YOUR DESIRE. I AM THE VOICE OF YOUR INNER SELF. ENJOY THE MOMENT. THAT WHICH CANNOT BE FELT IS MERELY A DREAM. THE PRESENT IS ALL WE HAVE. THE FUTURE IS BUT A FANTASY, MEMORY A FABRICATION. LET YOUR DESIRE FREE YOU FROM YOUR SHACKLES. SUCH IS MY WISH. PLEASURE IS WHAT YOU TRULY WANT. YOU STAND BEFORE THE DOORWAY TO BLISS. YOU CANNOT DENY YOUR INSTINCTS. EMBRACE YOUR DESIRE.

The words filled the space where her thoughts should have been. Each of them heard the shadow's seductive whispers as they stared into the mirror. For Mitsuru, however, the words filled her mind three times as loud. Her connection to the thoughts of the others acted to amplify the hypnotic effect the shadow had upon her free will. She was far more firmly in the grip of her enemy than any of her companions, yet even they rose with her as one, Minako mechnically grasping Junpei's hand as she escorted him to a separate bedroom. Mitsuru in turn felt herself grip Yukari's hand in her own. And despite being little more than a blank slate, Mitsuru could not help be notice how warm and gentle the archer's finger felt clasped in her own, and how happy and safe she felt as the pair walked side by side into their own little corner of the love hotel.

Even bound as she was, Mitsuru still had a slimmer of awareness. She still had a tiny sense of right and wrong, a conviction as distant and elusive as forgotten dream, but still nagging at her. She knew they were likely in very real danger. Couples had been turning up dead in this area because of the shadows. She knew very well she could not allow this to go much further. **** would be the end result for them all. But by the heavenly buddha she was tired. She was tired of devoting herself body and soul to the task of atoning for the sins of her dead, mad grandfather. She was tired of fighting so hard to protect the secrets of the Kirijo group and fighting to serve the stony, distant authority of her father. And she was so, so, so tired of wearing the lonely mask of a perfect, flawless high school student president. She was tired of her own embarrassing ignorance of the world outside her mansion's door. She was tired of having to bear so many secrets, carry so much guilt, suffer the alienation of her fellow students. She knew the Kirijo Group was responsible in some way (the specifics were yet unclear even to her) for the **** of Takeba's father. She could guess the reason Yukari had joined SEES and was working alongside her. She could see the anger in her eyes, and knew a confrontation was likely on the way. And she had no answer or remedy for the pain her family had caused the girl. It was like living with a bomb that could not be disarmed, with an unseen timer counting down to that moment of anguish. Mitsuru Kirijo was tired of it all.

This was so much simpler. No pain. No complications. No guilt. No hatred or sorrow or rifts created by the sins of their fathers. Just herself, here in this singular moment, seated on a soft bed of silk and feathers, listening to the gentle drone of the shower. Listening and watching. Across from her position was a large rounded window, a naughty feature of the love hotel that provided a perfect and unobstructed view of the adjacent bathing area. A bathing area that just so happened to be currently filled with the vision of a very, very naked Yukari Takeba. She stared at Mitsuru with playful, blank eyes, a soft satisfied smile on her face as she luxuriated under the steamy droplets of water. She had spent the past several moments lathering herself in some pinkish soapy concoction that no doubt smelled of flowers, happily enjoying the feeling of the suds and the water on her skin. But more than that, she was enjoying the eyes of Mitsuru Kirijo on her. She was very deliberately washing her young athletic body slowly and carefully, letting the water pour over her in rivulets while she slowly rubbed and squeezed one lovely part of her bare skin after another. The number of times she 'accidentally' dropped the soap and bent over to provide a vision of her beautiful bottom and the shaven slit between her legs was absurd, as was the way she frequently stopped her cleansing simply to squeeze and play with her breasts, pressing them against the glass while winking seductively at her Senpai.

She was beautiful. She was naked. She no longer cared about the sorrows of her past. She no longer cared about the role Mitsuru played in causing her suffering, or the role she presently played in hiding those sins from the public. All she wanted now was to be admired and displayed. All she wanted was to show her audience how lovely and horny she was. And all Mitsuru wished was to do the same. She slowly rose to her feet, discarding her boots and socks as she moved. Her blank eyes were liked on the smiling face of Yukari as she slowly stepped close to the girl behind the window, removing her school ribbon as she walked, then unbuttoning the front of her white shirt carefully and deliberately. Soon her shirt joined her boots, followed in turn by her skirt, the lacy black bra that contained his gorgeous breasts, and finally the matching black panties. Yukari showed her approval by softly massaging her clit, occasionally inserting two of her fingers slowly in and out of her wet sex. She was gasping to herself. Her other hand pressed itself up against the glass. Mitsuru drew in close to her side of the window, her hand matching Yukari's position such that they would again have clasped hands if not for the obstruction of the glass. Her other hand likewise mirrored Yukari in a slow, teasing act of masturbation.

They spent a long moment frozen in place, drinking in the sight of their mutual nudity, seeing the longing for pleasure and love in their mindless eyes, sensing now on pure animal instinct a deep connection of body and soul their cognizant minds would not come to understand until months later (after Mitsuru's life came to mirror Yukari's own in tragedy and personal loss; an epiphany realized by both parties through the unlikely catalyst of a harsh slap to the face...intriguingly followed soon after by an excited albeit embarrassed invitation to bathe together). And it was instinct that separated them, each sensing a growing need for the other. Mitsuru slowly turned her head back to the bed, her eyes never leaving her naked companion. Yukari smiled, shaking her head slightly, instead looking to her left at the door to the shower. Mitsuru slowly pushed herself away from the glance, almost **** to separate herself from the vision of her counterpart's naked form.

The journey to the bathroom felt like years. There was the soft rush of steamy vapor and the increasing thrum of the shower as the door slowly opened. And then there was Yukari, soft, warm, glistening wet, and so wonderful naked. And Mitsuru, who had stood so enthralled and captivated by the view of that wonderful body, quickly realized her error. Seeing was wonderful. Touching was better. Fortunately, both seemed eager, even **** to make up for lost time.