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Note: This story is a work of fiction. It has many content of adult nature. If you do not want to read such content, please close your browser window or press the convenient back button.


It didn't take a genius to figure it all out, in the end. There had been signs ever since their time as Phantom Thieves, and even taking that aside, there had been clues when the whole crew entered their college years.

Fact 1: Her long-time boyfriend was a cheating manslut.

Fact 2: Somehow, she didn't care.

Corollary to those two facts, however, was the one other fact that mortified her at first, yet later found thrilling, even exhilarating—to the point of glorious, orgasmic bliss—was that she enjoyed watching him cheat on her. She liked the feel of her lover dominating all these other women, some of whom she even knew personally. She'd flicked her bean a heck of a lot to watching him claim woman after woman, then return home to her, like some sort of triumphant barbarian warrior. Yeah, that was right. She was the luxuriating Queen, utterly devoted to the voracious, powerful King.

Therefore, screw being called a "cuck"! Her loverboy Akira could sleep with anyone he damn well pleased.

…As long as she got to watch, of course.

Her voyeuristic forays started innocently enough: back during a time when she was still a suspicious, naïve girl, who despite her worldly ways was still innocent in the matters of love and lust. There had been an unspoken agreement between the two of them from the start of their relationship that Futaba wouldn't use her guiles to keep watch on Akira, no matter the circumstances. The most she could do was keep that old breaching app on his phone, as a security measure in case something dangerous happened. She'd never wanted to spy on him with the full capacity of her former identity as Medjed.

It had begun, as all discoveries were wont to occur, with a suspicion. Call it woman's intuition, call it the preternatural instincts of an underground hacker—she knew something was up with her beau, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. It just so happened that Akira was meeting up with Makoto Nijima, who was by then taking a criminology course at a distant city. She'd thought it odd, that the two of them would want to meet without involving at least her or any of the other former Phantom Thieves.

As a worldly person the possibility of his infidelity was small, but present in her mind. Futaba just wasn't prepared to have the truth be shoved right in her face—and with such strong intensity.

The normally strait-laced young woman steadfastly clung to the strict prosecution of the rules like it was the only business she knew. She'd pushed for the rest of the group to at least try to put on a veneer of competence, both in and out of her capacity as student council president. To think that she would be capable of such a thing was laughable, and it was indeed a sort of farce to discover it was true.

A strong, buzzing pain had coursed through Futaba's body as she bore witness to the signs of their affair, recorded clear as day on her secret devices. To her mounting horror she watched her friend mount her boyfriend, taking the place she thought was only for her. At the start, the pain in her chest had been so strong that she'd bitten into the back of her clenched fist, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched her beloved Akira take Makoto in hand, the two smiling at each other as their forms melted together to kiss. She even found it hard to breathe. Jealousy and anger coiled around her like bothersome tentacles, constricting her heart and squeezing her soul to breaking.

Then, it happened. Somewhere along the way, after the lovers had thrown off each other's clothes, in a repeat of Futaba's own passionate approach to the sex process itself, she had found an epiphany. Makoto, that damned harlot, strict, self-righteous woman, very clearly writhed on top of Akira's body, sweat gleaming upon her skin as she rode him recklessly like he were a bucking horse. With every bounce on his unfaithful cock her skin rippled, and the greatest thing—in fact the only thing Futaba focused more on—was the expression on her face.

This was no longer the Makoto she knew. The twisted, rapturous expression did not belong to the friend she knew as Makoto. It was a woman caught in the throes of sexual ecstasy, freed from the prison of expectations to let loose as a wild, frothing entity that selfishly sought out pleasure for its own sake. She danced on top of her lover, losing herself in the primal act.

And near all of the footage came with glorious HD sound, which only added to the impression. Makoto's hoots and howls were mixed with Akira's determined grunts, as he pounded furiously upward into her cheating cunt. Setting the nearly incoherent words aside, they were like the moaning of animals in heat, slaves to the mating frenzy that gripped their bodies.

"Akira-kun… haah… aaahh… haaahnn…! Yes! Yes! Oh god, yes! There! Again! Good! Yes! Yes!"

"Makoto!"

"'M a bad girl…! Fuck me…! Fuck me!"

All of a sudden, something within Futaba changed. She could almost swear a Palace had been born, but of course that was impossible. All she knew was that a delicious chill had spread through her battered soul, slowly tainting her from inside out. The sight of her lover spearing upward inside that whore, changing her, corrupting her, also seemed to affect Futaba herself.

She liked seeing Akira this way. It was the thrill of seeing other women being subservient, of knocking them all down to the second rung while she retained her higher place. It was like she herself was personally degrading the woman, stripping away all the delusions and pretensions to prove the existence of the ugly, worthless thing that lurked just beneath the surface—in a way it was a perverted, microscopic vision of what they had done as Thieves, except now, now it was personal. It was breathtaking to fantasize about, to personally witness the fall of such a dignified woman—that Makoto Nijima, model high school student had become such a wanton slut, who craved her lover's dick like a drug. Wrapped in that epiphany, she dug her fingers into her cunt, until she drew forth the longest, most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced. Her deluxe computer chair, which she had bought together with Akira, was instantly drenched in her juices, irrevocably stained from guilty pleasure.

Of course she saved all that footage. Of course she cleaned up. And of course, when Akira returned, apologizing profusely for his tardiness, making up lie after lie to cover up for having successfully fucked around with another woman behind her back, she jumped him, which lead to one of the most mind-blowing sex she'd ever had. As she stared into his eyes, planting herself in his intense, manly gaze, she saw that it was the same, fiery look he had given Makoto, and that made her shiver, as if she were in the presence of a powerful predator. And accompanying that was a wave of bliss and self-satisfaction—she felt safer under this strong predator's protection. As it should be.

She never once confronted Akira about this. On the contrary, she found herself looking forward to yet another one of their trysts. It had gone to the point of her masturbating to the video of his infidelity when she had the chance, finding it far more tantalizing than any material the Internet could offer.

Futaba would then be mildly disappointed that nothing else happened just yet. Akira had given no indication that he had detected her surveillance, and neither lover had attempted another meeting since then. She then wondered if perhaps that was a one-off thing, a way for the two of them to keep up a friends-with-benefits relationship without having to truly commit, even if it was totally behind her back. Maybe it really was only something carnal and, therefore, rare.

She would be surprised to be wrong yet again; and even further, Akira would surprise her with not just his philandering, but she was also floored by the identity of the participant.

Akira strolled into Ann Takamaki's apartment, and without further delay wrapped his arms around the blonde half-foreigner in order to better push his tongue down Ann's throat.

Futaba made a loud gasp at that, even as the image the instruments showed her was understandably blocked by Ann's body pressing against her boyfriend's body. Still, even if she couldn't see anything the sounds those lovers were making were quite unmistakable. As was the sound of zippers being lowered, of shifting clothes, and the mashing of lips. Just as she began to worry that she would be unable to record everything if they tossed the clothes away, she heard them speak.

"… You waited long…?" came Akira's rumbling voice.

A giggle. "… just about to work on dinner. Then I remembered you'd prefer this first."

A groan, and another giggle. "You know me so well, Takamaki-san."

"Why so formal?"

"I'm just some salesman, and you're plastered on large screens all over Tokyo."

"Well, in here, I'm just your loyal bitch, Akira. Now come on, give it to me. Claim me like all my fans never will."

The hidden camera ended up in a position below the bed that couldn't make it clear who was banging who, but to Futaba it was decent enough. She could recognize her lover's ass sticking out the side of the bed as he began pistoning in and out of Ann's pussy. The sounds took care of the rest.

The monotonous smacking noises of flesh meeting flesh was like a hypnotic pattern that drilled repeatedly into Futaba's mind, as if Akira was sticking his dick directly into her brain. That was certainly an apt image, since Futaba felt like she was burning up braincells masturbating furiously to the vigorous shudders and shakes of Ann's bed. This time she was better prepared, as below her was a mat that would easily absorb any moisture she let out. And she'd let out a lot, her legs spread wide as she dug deep into her pussy, almost punishing herself to the beat of her boyfriend's unfaithful lovemaking.

Nothing had changed here when compared to Makoto's case. Here was still a woman brazenly fucking her boyfriend, as if she was totally unaware or uncaring that he was already spoken for. She was a little more subdued, gasping where Makoto screamed, moaning where the prez would howl. Yet the wanton hunger in her voice was unmistakable.

And she didn't even know this was all as Futaba intended—this was all part of the plan! She chuckled, drooling saliva as heat built up around her body, at the thought of the vapid bitch oblivious to her current role as a mere object. A mere thing! She was merely Akira's cocksleeve, and Futaba's masturbatory material. She had willingly degraded herself, selling herself to Akira just in exchange for sheer pleasure: a most debauched business transaction! And of course Akira was just the sort of man to be able to offer this much to the poor starving girl, who definitely showed her gratitude to renting out Futaba's lover by submitting herself completely to the cock! If Futaba wanted Akira to force Ann to reveal a scandalous secret to her adoring public, she knew the cockslut would damn well do it, all for the sake of the manhood dangling before her like delicious bait.

Towards the end, she got some good footage of Ann's head dangling over the edge of the bed. Her face was fortunately turned towards her, allowing Futaba to record the face of Akira's second other lover in all her whorish glory. Her hair was unbound from her trademark tails, causing her wavy hair to frame her face at a deliberate, beautiful angle. The photogenic mixed blood currently looked like one of those bombshell whores on foreigner porn sites, immortalized forever in the bowels of the Internet as a two-bit whore, except this time the expression was not faked. This was a genuine recording of a woman being dicked to ecstasy.

Ann would join her fellow ex-Phantom Thief inside Futaba's secure hard drive. Through careful editing she pasted a thumbnail of her orgasmic face, and set it beside her normal portrait(cut from one of their previous get-togethers last year). This set of "before" and "after" was placed right next to Makoto's version, to become trophies in the start of what would become a collage in homage to her lover's sexual prowess. She suspected that the collage would become a lot more populated soon enough.

And Futaba would be proven right. Just a week after the Ann rendezvous, Haru Okumura would come calling, to neatly round off the last of the Phantom Thieves that Futaba now confirmed were in on the "bang my boyfriend" ride. This time she was better prepared, and had added a camera to Akira's glasses. Futaba now therefore would have a personal view of the infidelity, assuming he kept it on during sex. And if not, it would at least be placed close by—she knew he valued his glasses just enough to not damage it even with the prospect of sex.

The conglomerate heiress displayed no shame as she talked to Akira, her eyes glowing, her cheeks flushed as she stared up at him. Pulling up an update on her data, she knew Haru had been slowly consolidating her power base in her father's old company.

"So, ready for another lesson?" Akira said. Haru beamed.

"Of c-course."

Futaba snorted. Judging by the look on her face she was sure Haru's modes was all pleasure, no business. She was further proven right, as just after eating meals at a high-class restaurant, the couple immediately went into some sort of elevator, before emerging into some sort of penthouse.

Futaba could only stare; this was Haru's personal penthouse, which she had only visited once for a party. And now apparently it had become their own personal love nest.

The things the couple did there involved kinks that surprised even Futaba, and she considered herself experienced in such things (even if she didn't personally do these with Akira, nosiree). Different from the previous girls, Haru seemed to delight in the novel and exciting, using various tools and positions to achieve maximum pleasure. And of course, her boyfriend was right there with her, supporting her every whim. Futaba had a first-class seat to the whole affair, all catalogued at sixteen hours—over half a day of the couple getting their freak on, as the wealthy heiress was literally filled up with Akira's cum in every conceivable whole.

Haru's face dominated the screen. Futaba was currently "between schlicks", as the two were also spooning from their last fuck at the spacious bathtub.

The heiress' face was stunning, and was made even more so by the effect of the afterglow that suffused her face like a halo. Neither the beads of sweat, her messy hair, nor the pieces of cum still lingering on her pale, smooth skin detracted from her present beauty—no, it greatly enhanced this picture of a woman whose needs had been thoroughly satisfied.

"I'm glad you found some time for me," Haru Okumura said, a little breathlessly. Her voice bounced against the bathroom tiles.

"I always have time for you," Akira replied. Haru beamed, and made an "aww" sound.

They kissed. They made out. The sounds of splashing water below them alerted Futaba to their getting frisky beneath the surface.

"Stop…" protested Haru. "I've really got some work to catch up to!"

"Mmm…" Whatever Akira said, or did made Haru say further:

"Well… alright… But only because it's you Akira-kun…"

Correction: Futaba recorded seventeen hours of the Okumura affair. Fortunately for her, she'd gotten more than enough images of Haru's face up close that it was fairly easy to add her to the collage. She wondered if Akira would add even more.

It turned out that he had. He had more than enough to complete Futaba's little collage!

One time even involved her, personally. Akira's sheer audacity was only matched by Futaba's earnest perversion. Akira's next girl was an older woman she didn't know (though facial analysis after the fact marked her as a certain "Sadayo Kawakami") who was cosplaying as some sort of maid. Futaba strolled out of her room one time to find Akira behind the counter, chopping up vegetables and fish for their dinner, with a cramped look on his face.

She was just about to ask if something was wrong before she heard a distinct wet "schlurp" sound. Futaba paused. Any other time and she'd have dismissed it out of hand. But with gigs of data she'd already recorded, suddenly that innocent-seeming sound took on a whole different meaning.

Something must have showed on her face, because Akira asked her, "Futaba, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing," she said, turning away. "Feeling a bit woozy after standing up so quickly. Ugh…" She was struggling to hide her blush. Akira was definitely hiding something—a woman was in their apartment, probably sucking her boyfriend's cock! While she was still there!

She so wanted to masturbate then and there, but she realized this was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. So she sat down on the couch, turned on the television and began to watch. Later on, she would view the images caught via Akira's glasses, of the "naked" truth that was happening while she was pretending to watch TV.

"If you're sure," Akira said.

"Yep. I'll leave you to cooking," Futaba said, waving a hand.

(At the same time, Akira was threading his fingers through black, curly hair. The woman's lips were wrapped firmly around his shaft. Her head bobbed to and fro, while making small gurgling sounds deep in her throat. Her maid outfit was bared halfway, exposing slender shoulders. The woman glanced up at him worriedly, but Akira patted her, as if to reassure her.)

Futaba's hand sneaked down inside her panties. She was no longer really seeing the asinine show on TV. A pleasant dampness began to form on the fabric. She bit her lip, her imagination racing as the inexplicable was happening right behind her.

(While gripping here hair, Akira came strong and hot down her throat, engulfing it in his hot seed. The woman frowned, though she didn't complain as she was forced to guzzle down his cum. It was here that Akira looked up, perhaps feeling just a bit high from his climax. Akira would then look over at her sitting on the sofa.)

She liked to imagine that it was at this point that his desires had perhaps reached a high point, as if she had just indirectly seduced him. The "Futaba" in the recording had no idea, still silently schlicking along.

(For a while Akira would seem to hesitate. After the woman had swallowed down everything, they shared words in silence, and it was clear from the context that she was hesitant to continue while she was there. Nonetheless, there was perhaps something in his face or demeanor that made the woman relent, as she dutifully turned around, raised her hips, rolled up her maid skirt, and proffered her hot, dripping cunt to him. With one last glance in Futaba's direction, Akira entered the woman, the motion causing a slight bumping noise as the woman was forced against the wood.)

That sound she heard, and her initial assumption had been right. She had thought that they had begun to fuck right then and there, and the footage had proven her right. As if in response she had picked up the pace, while also worrying about leaving a noticeable puddle of juice right on the sofa. Still, desires won out, and she continued to get off on her imagination.

(At this point, Akira was no longer holding up the pretense of preparing food. He went full bore into the maid cosplayer, his thrusts only slow enough not to make an overly loud smacking sound.)

She didn't know how he managed it, but there hadn't even been a peep for her to hear, to realize something was definitely going on. Fucking hell, Akira was just that good.

(He also wasn't focusing on Futaba anymore, instead grasping onto the woman's' bubble butt and fiercely pounding into it. Their lovemaking was quiet and desperate.)

Finally, Futaba reached the point where her panties couldn't contain her wetness anymore. She suddenly stood and hobbled on over to the door.

"Gotta go, need to pee." Then, after a second's thought, she turned to look at him head-on, figuring this would be recorded for all time. "I'll be busy in my room, so don't disturb me until it's dinner-time, capische? Entiende?"

"Alright."

She slammed the door behind her, before running back upstairs to her room. She wanted to stay behind, perhaps peek in through the doors. But she didn't want to be caught if by chance the couple wanted to relocate. Besides, the glasses should have enough footage for her later.

(The woman here moaned, forcing Akira to clamp a hand on her mouth.

"Let's hurry, Master," she pleaded. "She might come back soon."

"I'm the one giving orders," Akira said.

"R-right."

Akira lifted the maid up, then carried her around the counter to position themselves right in front of the door. As if he were daring fate, daring the chance Futaba would come back. The woman squealed, though didn't protest as he continued to plow her doggy-style. She didn't seem to care that they'd be found.

The rest of the tape was a good five hours long. After an hour Akira might've figured that she really wasn't coming back, so they made the full circuit around the kitchen and living room. Akira bent the twin-tailed maid over on every surface of every furniture. Her squeals were loud, and he no longer bothered to muffle her.

Towards the end, the maid cleaned up the room of their fluids, while naked. Akira in the meanwhile sat buck-naked on the sofa, watching her work. The fuckfest concluded with the maid kneeling between Akira's legs to clean his cock for the last time, and for her reward she was given another fresh dose of his seed to take home with her.)

The next girl was someone much younger, along their age. She was certainly a beauty: long, black hair, luscious lips. Along with a kinky, scandalous side. She and Akira met at the local church. Akira broke into a freaking confessional and fucked this unknown beauty ("Hifumi Togo", she would discover later). Neither she nor Akira seemed to have any qualms about violating the sacredness of a house of God. The woman sat on her beloved throne for upwards of four hours, and by the end her long hair was slick and matted with sweat that she flung drops of it onto Akira's glasses every time her hips swayed over his crotch.

If a church wasn't scandalous enough, the local public park was equally as hot and perplexing. The woman this time was a cheerful-looking brunette ("Chihaya Mifune"), with a strange accent, who was not to be beaten among Akira's other paramours. The local park admittedly had that sort of reputation already, as a haven for prostitutes and horny teenage couples, so no one glanced askance at a couple going there during evening. Akira's glasses already caught many glimpses of this behavior before they went behind their own bush and the woman went down on Akira. While they made love, the sounds of their lovemaking was layered by the background noise of other couples unmistakably doing their own thing, causing the illusion of an orgy, unofficial though it may be.

The other woman whom Futaba had to share a man with was some sort of doctor, which Akira had to go out of his way to visit at a distant city. He cited some form of "important work mandates", an excuse she found endearing at this point. The sultry diva of a doctor was an instant rarity, as she was the only one to demand Akira go down and eat her out. While she had received her fair share of carpet munching from her beau, the way these two carried on said much for their chosen dynamic. "Tae Takemi" and Akira's lovemaking session was rough and hardcore, involving much tender "bruising" and loud, almost ear-piercing shrieks. The doctor was the only one so far who wielded her asshole like a weapon, eliciting a marked reaction from Akira judging by the moans he made while she squeezed his cock within her asscheeks. Futaba for her part furiously took down notes on how to exert a bit of femdom on Akira, which this doctor had successfully maintained until the very end of their fucking.

Not to be outdone was this strange woman with a wild expression ("Ichika Ohya") whom Akira met late one night at the local karaoke place. At first Futaba thought it was yet another sleazy rendezvous. Then the two of them began to talk business, which surprised her, but she reasoned to herself that not all of Akira's meetings should be met with the same suspicions. And then, of course, they started making out, which threw her previous impressions right out the window, while also forcing Futaba to hack into the hidden camera network of that establishment to ensure no records were made there. Sex with the woman was frantic and sloppy, with the two of them keeping their pants on for the most part. It was as if they were racing against the time allotted to them by the karaoke place, and yet when the time came, they asked for an extension. The woman did not lack for enthusiasm, that was for sure.

Last, but certainly not least—and yet no less a surprise—was the discovery that dear Akira was in an affair with no other than Makoto's older sister, Sae Nijima! A complete package then! Sister and sister! Did they know about each other? Was it all one big conspiracy from the Nijima siblings? And did Akira really smell that good, that a prosecutor renowned in all of Japan had fallen in with him?

Of course they would, Futaba's logic would say.

The worst part of the discovery was that the footage she'd recorded were of a quality vastly different from the rest. It was like she was watching an extended love scene in a romantic movie or something. They moved slowly, sensually, as if deliberately trying to savor every second they spent connected. They bit and licked at each other's bodies gently, with slow, almost lazy patterns, taking their sweet time while Akira moved his hips to funnel his manhood into Sae-san's honeypot. Then their passionate lovemaking built up, their motions gradually becoming faster, more heated, more desperate. Futaba would never have expected to see Sae's face twist in sweet agony, biting her lip to keep from crying out loud, before Akira would kiss her, and she would air out her restrained moans directly into his mouth. When they eventually reached that high-pace that clambered towards the peak, they never stopped to utter a vulgar word or phrase. Their bodies moved endlessly, rubbing against each other until their intertwining silhouettes almost merged them into one.

The slower pace did not make it any less arousing for Futaba. Her polluted mind and body seemed to delight in the change of pace. And of course, Sae's pair of portraits in the collage could not be beat—there was just something cathartic about seeing a prim and stern-looking woman turn into a slobbering mess when it came to her boyfriend. A trait she certainly shared with her sluttier-looking sister.

Today, another session with Ann was the latest of the videos she had successfully pulled from the glasses. Futaba checked the video percentage and saw it was nearly ending. She would have ended it then and there, as it was usually pillow talk or some other miscellany; but movement from the screen made her pause.

Akira rose from the bed, leaving a dozing Ann behind. He looked at her sleeping profile for a bit, before he went to the bathroom. At first, Futaba rolled her eyes and thought he'd be pissing, but he stood in front of the mirror instead.

He stared into the mirror. Futaba narrowed her eyes. It was as if Akira was looking straight at something, even if he was just looking at himself. After a moment, Futaba came to a horrifying conclusion: he was looking right at her.

Impossible! It's just a recording!

Heart hammering in her chest, she barely caught on to the smirk that came to Akira's face, as if he'd correctly predicted Futaba's reaction.

Then, as a bewildered Futaba could only watch, he went to his clothes, and fished out a piece of paper. He unfolded it, and Futaba's eyebrows rose to the high heavens.

It was her collage, printed out on a piece of paper. Every one of her edits was printed there, all for Akira to see. Futaba's legs squirmed as shame overtook her. Along with it came something else, something dark and chilly and delicious.

Akira placed the paper flat on the marbled surface of the sink. Then, Futaba realized he was jacking off. He rapidly pumped his hand up and down, before his cock twitched, signaling orgasm. Then, he glanced at the mirror once more, before deliberately looking down to watch his cock splatter wads of his fresh semen onto the paper. Each shot was meticulously made to shoot specific portions of the collage, completely covering the women's face one by one.

Sae. Ann. Chihaya. Haru. Sadayo. Makoto. Tae. Hifumi. Ichiko.

One by one, each of her collage images were covered by his hot ejaculate, until the paper was left a soggy mess, each women's face unrecognizable.

Then, to Futaba's surprise, he fished out one last thing. It was a solitary picture.

Of Futaba.

Her picture came splashing down onto the cum. Then Akira shot out one last jet, covering her just as he had the others. Panicking, Futaba cycled through her programs to find the live feed from Akira's glasses.

They were currently looking at a familiar door. A very familiar door.

That door creaked open behind her. Futaba's whole body shook, partly from a small orgasm that had rocked her, partly from fear, and partly from anticipation.

She didn't even care that she'd been found out. She didn't even care that he seemingly approved.

All she could think about was his body right behind her. Of his wiry, manly arms lifting her up from her "fap mat", carrying her effortlessly. Of her body being raised high, before being made to sit on his lap. Of his hands now embracing her, traveling all over her body to make goosebumps. Of her wet, abused cunt weeping over the tip of his erection, allowed to kiss it and nothing more.

The glasses were tossed onto the mat below. "Say hello to the camera," said his voice, hot in her ear. "I have to reward my sweet little cuckquean."

"Um... ha... ha..." Futaba smiled and flashed a victory sign, in the single moment before Akira gripped her hips and slammed her down.


Chapter commissioned by Feef12, thank you. A reminder that this is a commission.

If you'd like a story commissioned, feel free to contact me here, on fanfiction.net under "The Ruff Pusher" or on tumblr at theruffpusher.tumblr.com.