Ryuko's First Day of Suspension

Written in collaboration with Namichwan

Ryuko sat alone in the house.

The first day of her suspension had already felt very strange. Sounds of students enjoying their youthful days, training for their precious Lady Satsuki by honing their skills in various clubs, or just chatting to each other on the grounds. Ryuko could hear it all, but could only glare wistfully out the window. The world still continued around her confinement atop Honnoji.

She wasn’t actually expecting to be this alone up here. Only the Elite Four ever actually got up to the roof area, and they were on a strict no visiting rule.

But the real kicker was the lack of Mankanshoku.

Aside from Mako, Barazo had assigned his family to new jobs to help bring in even more income for the family.

Sukuyo was part of the school chefs, able to mold any and all foods to become mystery croquettes. Barazo insisted that the students would love his wife’s cooking, and thus everyone agreed that her new cost effective meals made with love were simply divine.

Guts and Mataro joined the school disciplinary squad. It had confused the boy at first, until his dad revealed he would be exclusively helping Gamagori in ensuring all students follow the dress code. Stopping anyone he wanted to assess that their aprons were tight enough on their bodies.

Mako stayed in school, having to take extra notes in class for Ryuko now too. Her dad still proud of her for getting an education, despite his desires to pervert that education as hard as possible.

Which left Ryuko alone with only her clothes to talk to.

“Why not just wear the outfit?”

Ryuko barely even moved. Head stuck against her hand as she leant against the windowframe, “That’s the twelfth time you’ve asked now, Senketsu.”

“Perhaps if you had a better answer than ‘My Pride’-”

“I don’t need a better answer.” she snapped back. The silence that followed softened her brow and her tone, “It’s just a few weeks, Senketsu. Then we’ll be right back to kicking Satsuki’s fat ass.” she said with a pause before adding, “You know, more than Barazo is with his dick.”

Senketsu frowned in the way only clothes can, “I just don’t understand why you can’t even wear me.”

Ryuko glanced back over to him on the dresser, still hanging there. It was rare for her to be in her bunny pajamas this long into the day, even on weekends she’d have gotten dressed to have a walk with Mako by now, but those weren’t options to her. In some ways she did miss the strength she felt when wearing him…

“It’s just the rule. You heard Barazo before he left for work, I don’t have to wear the uniform when I’m suspended but that means I can’t wear the old uniform either. Until they stop with the weird… parade of lewd bullshit, you get a vacation.”

“And the television show? You are truly following that rule too?”

She glanced over to the television that Barazo had brought in that morning. Despite his size, the man worked fucking quick, and had used some of his new funds/connections to get a fairly nice sized TV in the main room. She thought it was a nice gesture to help her get through the suspension, unfortunately she quickly found it was only allowed to show big dick porn 24/7. With no off button. It was Barazo’s house, so she wasn’t to argue, but it did seem awkward to have that always there in the background.

“What do you want, Senketsu? I’m following Barazo’s house rules! Big deal!”

“The Ryuko I know would not bend so easily to authority.”

“I’m not! I’m suspended!” she growled, “Not following rules got me into this mess! We’re not strong enough to just attack the school outright, I need to follow some rules or else we’ll never get anywhere closer to finding out what happened to my dad!”

“Yet you refuse to let me be your apron, Ryuko.”

This was going nowhere. She could sort of see what he was talking about, but couldn’t quite lift the fog to make sense of the world right now. It was frustrating her too much, and she wanted to lash out.

Ryuko just quietly returned to the window, “Stop it already, you stupid piece of cloth. These two weeks are going to be hell if you act like-”

“RYUKO-CHAN!”

The both of them jumped at the sudden intrusion to the house. Barazo open mouth beamed at his pertly titted house prisoner, much to her heart thumping shock.

“Uh, aren’t you supposed to be working?”

Slamming the door behind him, the man waltzed into the house like the alpha he truly believed he was, “I can take breaks to make sure you’re doing your suspension properly!” he explained, looking over the scene like there were any clues to discover. “Hmm. Pajamas, check. Porn, check…” he nodded before his eyes locked onto Senketsu, “Talking clothes? Tut tut tut. I’m going to have to confiscate this, Ryuko-chan.”

“What?!” she blurted out, “W-wait! I won’t wear him! But don’t take him a-!”

Barazo shrugged, “Your magic clothing isn’t going far, Ryuko. Just my closet. You’re on suspension, you can’t be talking to your friends the whole time.” He said, walking into the other room. She didn’t love it, but it did make sense, and at least Senketsu would be close by still. After placing him in the closet of awful smells, Barazo suddenly produced a white garment from under his shirt, “I also got Satsuki’s magic talking clothing too! Now you two can be friends!”

The door slammed shut, leaving Senketsu and Junketsu to stare at each other in the dark.

“Uh, greetings? I’m Senketsu.”

“I harvest the blood of the Kiryuin family for the strength of their pure bloodline.”

“...that’s… nice…”

Outside, Barazo returned to Ryuko once more. “Now, are you ready to wear your proper uniform, Ryuko-chan?”

“Bite me.”

“Later!” he beamed, “Don’t worry, even if you said you would wear it, your suspension won’t be over until I say it is!”

Ryuko grit her teeth, “Then just say it is and I can go back to school!”

“You have to show marked improvements!” He insisted, much to her chagrin. She knew it wouldn’t be that easy, but something about him always made her blood boil that little bit more, “You need to become a productive member of this household before you can be allowed back into a public setting!” he said, clearly reciting some bullshit from memory.

“Fine. Guess I’ll do some laundry…” she grumbled, picking up Mako’s pajamas from her bed before Barazo ripped them from her hand.

“Not so fast! I wouldn’t be doing laundry!” he announced, throwing the garment back to the floor.

“Wha-?! What does it matter what you would do?!” she balked.

“Well, I’m the alpha of the house! I have a fancy job with my fancy clothes! Cleary I’m the most productive member of the family, so you need to become more like ME!”

Her eyes went wide. A cold fear running through her blood as her eyes drifted to that massive bowl of hairy jelly he was jiggling around, and the implications of-

“I’m not saying you need to look like me, Ryuko-chan,” he huffed, immediately shutting down that notion. He turned around to enter his room once again, “But you do need to act more like me. Tell me, I left the TV playing classical pay-per-view cinema all morning, so… how many times?”

She gave him a confused glare, “...how many times, what?”

“Did you stroke the slit! Bury your hand in your beaver! Massage the mound! Crit-hit your clit! Ma-”

“I GET IT!” Ryuko snapped, blushing up a storm at his crass language, “None! Obviously!”

“None?!” He gasped, “Ryuko-chan, we gotta pump those numbers up. If you aren’t shlicking up the sheets at least three times a day, are you even living?!”

She clenched her fist hard, ready to smack him back into next week, “Look, asshole! I’m not masturbating for you! I don’t care if I never-!”
“This isn’t for me!”

That stopped Ryuko in her tracks. The moment of confusion as to his end goal unclenched her raging knuckles just enough for Barazo to press his advantage.

“Satsuki-chan wanted you expelled, remember?” He jeered. Even this was an order by the King, and Ryuko’s pajama fibers were gaining more ground in her brain the more successes Barazo unknowingly pulled off. “I don’t mind if you stay here forever. I’d love to have a stay in cutie NEET like you, but I know you want big things, Ryuko-chan. You haven’t even said thank you for this opportunity to get back into the school!”

Her hands slowly returned to her sides, “...thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” he beamed, leaning his face in close enough almost in a way that he expected a kiss, but the frowny Ryuko would never. “Now, you agree I’m a productive member of society now, right?”

As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t. He had a really good job now. “Yes.”

“And you should try and emulate me then, right?”

Each order made her skin itch a little more, “...mmhmm.”

“Then I expect three sodden tissues when I return!” he commanded, handing her the small piece of cloth before marching quickly out the door, “And don’t try to pee on them to make it look like you parted your pearled gate! I’ll be able to tell if you did it or not!”

Slam!

And thus, Ryuko was alone once more.

She looked down at the three pieces of tissue. Then over to the still silent TV playing the porn. Then out to Honnoji.

It was a strange route she needed to take to get back to that world, but perhaps this truly was her only option. If Satsuki really did love Barazo now then would acting a little bit more like him be the worst thing in the world?

Though her real obstacle now: figuring out how to masturbate.

Bouncing around boarding schools, she’d never found an appropriate enough time to ever learn. No one to teach her the ways of self pleasure. Only vague notions of sexual jokes shared between girls that Ryuko had overheard, but never gotten the full picture of. She’d poked around herself in the shower, but the pleasure frightened her more than it intrigued her. A life with little familial love had left her desiring an intimacy she subconsciously believed she was unworthy of. So to suddenly be demanded to finger bang herself three times was quite the monumental hurdle for Ryuko.

Mako’s sleepy time stroking had been the closest Ryuko had ever been to even seeing the act. Well, until the porn had been put on, that is. But then it wasn’t like those girls had any need to self stroke when the man with the big dick was fucking them so deeply.

Instinctively she just felt embarrassed. Hating herself for being put in this position, and hating herself for not knowing what to do. She wanted to scrunch the tissues into nothing and then punch something until the problems went away.

But some part of her realized that… that isn’t what Barazo would do.

And as much as she disliked that the voice inside her had brought that up, it had a point. She needed to stay on the fatass’ good side.

She looked around.

No signs of anyone. No peeping toms or snooping dogs. It would be hours before the school day ended…

Was she really going to do it? Ryuko found herself sitting on the patriarch’s bed and staring at the TV. Half absorbing all that she saw, and half thinking about what it would feel like if she did. Her heart thumped hard in her chest the longer she watched. It would certainly kill the boredom she was feeling. But could she really? She wasn’t going to become some pervert just because she masturbated a little bit. Self pleasure was apparently healthy, right? Wow, that woman is really enjoying sex. Is this how Sukuyo looked last night? Naked with Barazo’s hands under her knees as she was fucked hard in a standing position? Face looking so twisted as her pussy was…

“Ah!” she gasped, quickly gramming at the hem of her pajamas to stare down at the place she was just mindlessly pressing, “It… it’s wet…?”

Ryuko stared like her own body had betrayed state secrets.

The crotch of Mako’s old bunny pajamas clung damply against her. The yellow fabric had darkened at the seam, stuck snug to the shape of her pussy, and the sight made her face go hot so fast it felt like someone had slapped her. Her thighs tensed together. That only made the wet cloth slide against her again, soft and obscene, and another stupid little spark crawled up into her stomach.

“No. Fuck no.”

On the TV, some woman with huge tits was getting pounded on a sofa, her nipples bouncing with every thrust while she babbled stupid shit. Ryuko snatched up the remote and mashed buttons until her thumb hurt. Nothing changed. The screen kept going, bright and loud and full of flesh, cock, pussy, open mouths, and bodies smacking together like the whole world had agreed this was normal background noise.

“Piece of shit TV.”

She threw the remote onto the mattress. It bounced once and landed beside the three tissues Barazo had given her.

Three sodden tissues.

Ryuko glared at them. “I’m not doing homework for that perverted fatass.”

The words helped for about half a second. Then the rest of the thought came crawling in after them, ugly and practical.

It was not for him. It was for school. For getting back to Satsuki. For finding out what happened to her dad.

Her stomach twisted. That was the worst part. There was a route through the insanity now, and it was just reasonable enough to make her furious. Barazo had saved her from expulsion. Barazo was the one Satsuki was listening to. Barazo was the lock on the door, and if Ryuko wanted through, she had to figure out how to turn the key without smashing the whole house down first.

The TV woman came hard, legs shaking around a cock too big to look real.

Ryuko’s pussy clenched and her face burned at the realization that it had.

“Don’t you start.”

She shoved a hand between her thighs, meaning to press the feeling away, but her palm landed over the damp spot and rubbed by accident. The pressure hit her clit through the fabric. Her hips gave one startled twitch.

Ryuko froze with her hand still there.

The room went on without pity. The TV moaned. The academy murmured outside. Somewhere below, the school day rolled along in maid outfits and madness while she sat in Barazo Mankanshoku’s house with wet pajamas and no Senketsu to yell at.

“Great,” she muttered. “This is how I die.”

She should have stood up. She should have punched the television through the wall, climbed down the side of the academy, stormed into Satsuki’s office, and demanded the world stop being insane.

Instead, her fingers pressed again.

This time she knew what she was doing.

A thin sound caught in her throat. Not a moan. Absolutely not a moan. Just an involuntary breath, the kind someone made after getting hit in a weird spot. She told herself that while her fingers rubbed the wet fabric in a slow, clumsy circle.

Her breasts shifted under the strained pajama top as she leaned back on one hand. The yellow cloth pulled tight over her chest, flattening and then lifting with each annoyed breath. Her nipples had gone hard. She noticed that too, because apparently her body had decided every part of her needed to report for betrayal duty at once.

“Shit.”

She pulled the pajama top away from her skin and looked down at herself. Her small tits sat bare inside the loose tent of yellow fabric, rising and falling with her irritated breathing. Her nipples were pebble-hard, pink and stiff like pencil erasers, jutting out as if they were just as guilty as the wet spot between her thighs.

Ryuko glared at them.

They did not soften.

“Traitors,” she muttered, letting the fabric fall back against them.

The soft rub of cloth over those hard little points made her swallow.

Ryuko clenched her jaw and pushed her pajama bottoms down.

Only to her thighs. That was all. No need to make some big ceremony out of it.

Her panties were worse.

The damp patch was obvious now, dark and slick at the center, stuck to her lips so tightly she could see the soft split of herself through the thin cotton. Ryuko stared for one second too long before jerking her head away.

“Normal,” she lied. “This is normal.”

The word sounded dangerous in this house.

A warmth moved through her head. This was normal and perfectly healthy for a growing eighteen year old girl.

Her brows furrowed.

“No,” she hissed, though her fingers had already found the waistband of her panties.

She dragged them down to mid-thigh with the same angry efficiency she used to yank off bandages. Cool air hit her pussy. Slick heat answered immediately. Her folds were wet and swollen, already parted a little from the pressure of her thighs. Seeing herself like that made her want to crawl out of her own skin. It also made another low ache pulse between her legs.

Her hand hovered.

The woman on the TV was sucking cock now, tits squeezed around the shaft while a man held her hair. Ryuko watched her tongue drag under the head, watched her eyes roll up, watched the sheer hunger on her face.

Barazo’s voice slid back into her head. Stroke the slit. Bury your hand in your beaver. Crit-hit your clit.

“Ugh, shut up.”

Her fingers touched herself, bare skin this time.

Ryuko’s entire body jumped. Her clit was hotter than she expected, slicker too, and the first direct rub sent a bright little snap through her hips that made her toes curl against the floor.

“Oh.”

She hated how small and girly her voice sounded.

Her fingers moved again, more carefully. She dragged them down through her folds, felt how wet she was, then brought that slickness back up to her clit. The next circle felt better. The one after that made her back loosen against the mattress. Her ass shifted on the bed, searching for a better angle before her pride could object.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she whispered.

Her body did not care what it meant.

It cared about pressure. Heat. Rhythm. The little roll of her fingertips over her clit. The slick glide that got easier every time she rubbed. Her pussy throbbed open and empty, and that emptiness scared her because it felt too much like wanting. Not wanting Barazo. She bit down on that thought fast and hard. But wanting something. Hands. Weight. A body. Someone pinning her down so she did not have to decide whether she deserved to be touched.

The thought made her fingers slip too low. She brushed her entrance, wet and soft, and her hips bucked.

“Fuck.”

She brought her hand back to her clit and rubbed faster.

Her breathing changed. She tried to keep it quiet, but the sound kept slipping out in rough little bursts. Her tits rose and fell under the pajama top. Her nipples scraped the cloth with each breath, sending little sparks down to meet the heat between her legs. Her free hand grabbed one breast through the fabric before she could stop herself.

Ryuko froze.

Then squeezed.

A shock ran through her. Not as sharp as her clit, but dirtier somehow, because her hand was on her own tit and she liked it. She squeezed again, thumb dragging over the hard point of her nipple. Her thighs spread wider.

The TV pounded away. The actress on screen was bent over now, ass bouncing, pussy stretched around a huge cock while she made dumb, happy noises.

Ryuko’s eyes fixed on the motion.

Her fingers matched the rhythm without permission.

Wet circles. Quick. Messy. Too good.

She remembered a sudden, vivid flash of Mako on the futon beside her. Sprawled out in the moonlight with her nightgown flipped up, her stupid best friend’s fat tits had heaved while her fingers lazily, brazenly worked her own slick folds, keeping perfect, squirming time with her parents' rhythmic slamming next door.

A deep, burning flush of humiliation hit Ryuko at the realization that she was doing the exact same thing right now, succumbing to this house's filthy gravity, rubbing herself raw while her brain swam with thoughts of Barazo's giant dick. But underneath the intense shame was a sudden, electric spike of arousal. The image of Mako's nubile body, her soft thighs spread wide and her fingers slick with her own juices as she happily touched herself to the sounds of her parents fucking, was intensely, confusingly hot.

“No, no, no…”

Her pussy clenched around nothing.

The emptiness was worse now, almost hungry. Her clit pulsed under her fingers. Every rub pulled her closer to something she could feel but did not understand, a swelling pressure that made her whole body turn stupid and urgent. She stopped for a second because panic flared up.

The loss of touch made her whine and Ryuko slapped a hand over her mouth.

She had whined!

Her face burned, but the ache between her legs roared back, petulant and needy. Her hand returned to her pussy with a kind of angry surrender.

“Fine. Fine. Just finish.”

She rubbed harder, then softer when that got too sharp, then found the right touch by accident and almost came off the bed. Her ass rocked against the mattress. Her thighs trembled. Her breast filled her other hand, nipple trapped between her fingers through the pajama top as she squeezed and rubbed herself into a panting mess.

The pressure broke.

Her orgasm hit fast and dirty, yanking a strangled cry out of her throat before she could swallow it. Her hips kicked up into her hand. Her pussy clenched again and again, wet and empty and aching, while her clit pulsed under her fingers so hard she had to keep rubbing through it or lose her mind. Heat washed through her pelvis, then her stomach, then her chest, leaving her loose and shivering on the bed.

For a few seconds there was no Satsuki, no suspension, no dead father, no academy, no rules.

Only warm, stupid satisfaction.

Ryuko lay there with her pajama bottoms around her thighs, panties shoved low, one hand still cupping her tit and the other slick between her legs. Her mouth hung open. Her eyes stared at the ceiling without seeing it.

Her head felt soft, so horribly soft.

Pussy-brained, some cruel little part of her supplied.

She should have hated the thought. Instead, the last waves of pleasure made it feel almost funny. Almost comfortable. Her whole body was warm and quiet, purring with a lazy euphoria she had never earned from punching anyone. It was different from winning a fight. Winning made her sharp. This made her dumb and full and satisfied, like her body had been fed something it had wanted for years.

That scared her once the haze thinned.

Ryuko blinked, then she sat up fast.

“Oh, fuck.”

Her hand was wet. Her thighs were wet. Her panties were wet. The tissue in her fist was crumpled and damp from where she had wiped herself without remembering when she started doing it.

One tissue.

She stared at it, then at the other two.

“No.”

Her pussy gave a little aftershock, a faint clench that sent a lazy pleasure ripple through her stomach.

Ryuko’s glare faltered.

The television kept going. Another scene had started, another woman already moaning, another huge cock filling the screen like Barazo had personally programmed the channel to grind down her pride one thrust at a time.

Ryuko swallowed.

Her body was still humming. Not finished. Not really. The first orgasm had not killed the need. It had taught the need where to go.

“That was one,” she said, voice hoarse.

The words sounded less like defiance than a count.

She hated that too.

A slow, warm smile tried to creep onto her face, drugged and stupid from the afterglow. Ryuko caught it halfway and crushed it into a scowl.

“I’m only doing the other two because I have to.”

Nobody answered.

Senketsu was still in the closet.

Ryuko picked up the second tissue.