"What if someone moves the Stand-In Doll? Or it gets damaged from afar, or buried in an earthquake?"
Kagura posed a tricky question.
"First, no one but you can approach it, so moving it is impossible. Second, if damaged, the system places a new one in a safe spot, erasing any cognitive or recorded glitches."
"Got it. Kinda useful, but I'll shelve it for now." Kagura yawned, waving the system off.
*Stand-In Doll, huh?*
Basically invisibility and wall-phasing—perfect for sneaky, naughty stuff. Peeping or night visits? Unstoppable.
But honestly, Kagura wasn't into purely lust-driven acts. Peeping or sneaking only appealed with girls who liked him—like Hayasaka. And since she already did, he could enjoy her freely without props. So, what's the point?
Maybe it'd shine in emergencies—like stashing the doll in a safehouse while he tackled danger, zapping back if things went south.
*Enough dirty thoughts. Could be legit useful.*
"How long you planning to hog my bed, jerk brother?" Eriri prodded his leg with her foot, annoyed.
"What, I'm a used rag now—toss me after?"
"Hey, *you* made it sound gross! I'm the one who lost out! Acting like *you* got shortchanged? Even with cling film, you scored big—my… my first kiss, you know!" Eriri sat up, pouting, glaring.
Then her eyes flicked to his obvious bulge. Tucked in his pants, but the tent was undeniable. Embarrassed, she avoided it, yet stole glances.
Kagura, exasperated, tugged his shirt to cover it. "Fine, I'm gone."
"Wait!" She grabbed him again.
"Can you say it all at once?"
"I *said* two issues! You're the jerk who tried to bolt before I finished. So mean—biting the hand that… kissed you! Eating your sister's lips and running, zipping up, denying it—scum, pervert, shameless!"
"…Oh, right."
The system's interruption had thrown him, lost in Stand-In Doll thoughts.
"Forget it, just go! You've ruined my mood!" Eriri shoved him.
"What do you *want*?"
Kagura seized her arm, staring her down.
"Uh… um…" Eriri squirmed. "Let go first."
He released her.
"Ear, here." She shifted to duck-sitting, beckoning.
Sighing, he leaned in. She whispered, "Bro… can I… see your… thing?"
"Pfft—*cough, cough*!"
"You don't gotta react *that* big!" Eriri hugged her chest, scalp tingling with shame.
"I didn't expect *that* from you." He glanced at his bulge, grimacing. "Why?"
"I've got no one else…" She shook her head, hands on her flushed face. "Those damn readers say my… thing drawings are off—over a quarter of them! Ugh, those foul-mouthed trolls should just die!"
"They bought your doujins—let 'em gripe. Silent profit's fine, right?"
"Think about it," Eriri said, raising a finger, dead serious. "Your proud piece, *Maid Skirt*, gets slammed by a quarter of Japan's piano students: 'Spencer Sawamura Kagura can't even nail basic scales.' Wouldn't you be pissed?"
"Hell yeah, fists up!"
"Exactly!" She clapped, opening her right hand, left eye gleaming. "I wanna slap those trolls. So… show me."
"…"
Fuming, Kagura unbuckled his belt, ready to drop his pants right there.
Eriri yelped, hurling a pillow at his crotch. "Turn around to strip, idiot! What do you take me for?"
Muttering, he faced away, shedding pants and boxers, tossing them on the bed. Sitting back to her, he said, "Done. Look if you want."
"Um…" Eriri covered her face, mumbling, "I'm… not ready yet. Gimme a sec."
"All this fuss for a peek?"
"Hey, it's a big, hard… thing! Scariest demon to girls! You're showing your seventeen-year-old sister—have some shame! You're not embarrassed at all?"
"Keep yapping, and I'm dressing and leaving."
"Ugh… fine, I'll look."
She parted her fingers, sneaking glances, relieved he wasn't facing her with it out. Feeling silly for overreacting, she steeled herself, slid beside him, and sat.
Eyes forward, her peripheral vision kept drifting to it.
—*God… what's *that*? So big? If that went in me… I'd die, right? My womb'd be wrecked…*
She'd measured her depth once—9.2 cm, barely a middle finger. Kagura's? Easily double, maybe more.
"Y-you're not shy, just… showing it?"
"Nah." He flexed it smugly. "We're siblings—bathed together till eight. What's to hide? Same way, if you showed your—"
"Shut up! Don't say *that*! I'm your sister—not shameless like you!"
She clapped his mouth shut, cheeks blazing.
—*Just kissing and brushing my leg got him *this* hard? I don't buy your excuses! But… you really got hard for me… kinda nice.*
"Ahem… you measured it? How long?"
Calmer, she squatted before him, sketching swiftly.
Her black thigh-highs framed her yellow skirt, the pale thigh-sock border slightly pinching—Kagura couldn't look away, and she didn't care.
"18.8 cm. Not *that* long."
"Not… long…?"
Her pencil dropped, rolling far, her jaw slack.
"Heard some African guys hit over twenty," he said, gesturing at it, shrugging. "But for East Asians, 18.8's decent."
"Obviously it's long! That'd kill a girl—dead for sure!" She pointed, clutching her face.
"No way…"
"Yes! So don't go doing bad stuff with girls—what if you cause a fatality?"
"Less talk, draw."
He pinned her pencil underfoot, rolling it to her.
Squatting to grab it, her legs shifted, flashing her panties—sexy rose-red lace with purple embroidery. One glimpse, and Kagura swelled hotter.
—*Turned on by my sister's panties. I'm trash.*
Noticing his reaction, Eriri guessed she'd flashed but said nothing. Blushing, she kept sketching, subtly hiking her skirt to bare them fully.
"…"
Kagura clenched his fists, stealing glances.
—*On purpose? Nah, she didn't notice… damn it, stop looking!*
But he couldn't.
Then their eyes met.
Both flinched, looking away, awkward.
"Ugh… busted. I'm her brother, damn it."
He rubbed his brow, annoyed.
Eriri stayed silent, grabbing a chair, sitting farther—like setting a boundary.
Kagura sighed inwardly.
But soon, her gaze locked on his. Meeting it, he watched her slowly spread her legs, feet on the chair's supports, skirt hiked, panties exposed.
He swallowed hard.
She hummed a warning, sketching fast.
*Look, don't touch*—her message.
Kagura got it: she was keeping him hard to not waste this rare chance.
The more she drew, the wetter she felt, pushing through discomfort. Three angles done, she exhaled, lowered her skirt, and stood. "Finished…"
"Need me again, just say."
"Once is enough, pervert! What, doubting my skills?"
"Better me than you sketching some other guy's."
"…" Eriri sat beside him, eyes drifting. "You don't want me seeing others?"
"Duh. No brother wants that."
"I'm not curious about other guys'…"
She mumbled, barely audible.
"Hm?"
"I said—" She stretched the word, reaching hesitantly. "Can I… touch it a bit?"
"You touched it before."
"Your eight-year-old thing's not *this*! It's evolved into a monster!"
He wondered if *her* parts had changed too.
"…Fine, touch all you want."
"Just a bit! What're you expecting, creep?"
Huffing, her left fingertips grazed it, eyes flicking right. Then her hand curled, gripping gently.
—*So… big! So hard? My panties got him this excited…? Ugh, I'm wet too.*
Instinctively, she stroked twice, then yanked back.
Her touch sent a shiver up his spine, goosebumps rising, legs trembling.
"What? Why that look? Pants on."
She scooted right, leaning back, guarding her chest.
"Oh… ahem."
Her sexy panties still burned in his mind as he grabbed his clothes.
"That… felt rough, huh?"
She turned away, cheeks red, voice low.
"Yeah. Wanna help with your hand?"
He teased, whispering.
"No way! Dream on! Get out! That was just… art practice! Tell anyone, I'll gut you!"
Seeing him dressed, she shoved him to the door.
His stirred lust needed Hayasaka. Pushing into her room, he caught her mid-act—skirt up, left leg on a chair, inserting a tampon.
She glanced up, icy. "Since when do you barge in without knocking, Lord Kagura? Here to watch me insert this?"
"…Sorry."
"No need to apologize to me. Just knock elsewhere."
"Got it… take your time."
He shut the door, letting her finish.
Of all days—her period, on her birthday. His plans for a wild night fizzled. He wasn't desperate enough to push during her cycle, and her backdoor… too soon—she'd barely adjusted to the front.
Soon, Hayasaka emerged, finding him gone. She checked two spots: piano room or rooftop. No music from the stairs, so she headed up.
The front mansion lacked a rooftop—capped by a pointed attic. The back had one, private, shielded from the garden's monthly summer banquets.
She tapped the partition, easing it open.
Under a starry sky, Kagura lounged on a mahogany rocker near the edge, eyes half-closed, hands on his stomach, a blanket over his lap. A half-empty can of Dad's homebrew and an iced glass sat on a wooden table.
He hadn't drunk much.
His father, Leonard, loved collecting and brewing beer—expertly, no amateur poison. He rarely drank, leaving Kagura to pilfer.
"Drinking alone up here again?" Hayasaka tucked wind-tossed hair, standing behind. "Madam would disapprove."
"Cut me some slack, let me unwind." He patted his lap, grinning. "C'mere."
"You saw me with a tampon and still want me there? Planning a 'bloody battle'? I underestimated your perversion—rear yesterday, blood today, what's tomorrow?"
She stayed put.
—*Tomorrow, you'll want a sip of my flow? Please, no weird kinks!*
"How 'bout a kiss, Miss Hayasaka~?"
He reached out, playful.
She wasn't a "miss"—just a maid. His casual invite lacked decorum.
Covering her lips, she scoffed, "Your breath's all beer—pass."
"Hey…"
"But since you rushed to my room, hard and eager, I'll indulge you."
She swept her side-ponytail, leaned in, hand on his shoulder, and kissed him lightly.
Lips parting, she drooled saliva into his mouth, tongue diving in, tangling fiercely, no boundaries.
Her tongue, nimble and soft, felt like it sucked him in. They shared saliva—mostly hers, dripping into him.
Unlike Eriri's cling-film tease, this was raw. Eriri should sketch *this*.
A true adult kiss.
Minutes later, Hayasaka pulled back, poker-faced, licking her lips. She dabbed excess saliva with a handkerchief, bowing slightly. "Sorry I can't serve fully today—my body's limiting your… vigor."
"Not your fault. Why apologize?"
"Your bulge from Eriri's room was… intense. My condition made you hard for your sister—not ideal."
She fumbled for words.
"Ahem… Eriri said readers trashed her… thing drawings. Wanted a real one."
"So you showed her?"
She gripped his chair's back, looming over him.
"Yeah."
Her stare screamed *creep*.
"My dearest perverse master," she whispered in his ear. "Incest isn't wise…"
"I know… didn't plan that far."
"Did she touch it?"
"A bit."
"What's done once will be again…" She paused, voice low. "If the Heraldry Court catches wind, you could lose your title—or worse, an illegitimate child with your sister before marriage would be a mess."
"Ugh…"
He pondered: *Heraldry Court vs. system? System wins.*
But he cursed himself—no incest thoughts, no need for this.
"I'm just a maid, maybe nagging, but one last warning…" She leaned close, whispering, "If you go there, don't get caught."
"You…"
His heart skipped—she was *that* bold?
"Shh." Her finger hushed his lips, eyes sly. "You and Eriri—school or home—bicker like lovers. I never said it… or are you too close to see?"
"No way, *that* obvious?"
He gaped, stunned.
She nodded gravely, whispering, "No normal teen girl asks her brother to 'show his thing'—so… be careful."
"…"
Her words soured his gut, mind reeling.
He knew he was a perv—hard for her panties—but Eriri feeling *that* way?
No, Hayasaka's guessing, biased by experience. Eriri's no ordinary girl—she's a doujin artist. Too hasty a call.
That night, sleeping, something felt off. Eyes snapping open—*damn*—his wrists and ankles were bound.
Tugging, he found leather cuffs chained to the bedposts, feet similarly trapped, spread-eagled.
His gut screamed *Hayasaka*.
He considered the Stand-In Doll but held off, yelling, "Hayasaka!"
*Swish*—she flung back the bed's curtain, holding a creamy nightlight, deadpan. "Here. Oh? Quite the mood—tying yourself up? Didn't know you were *that* kinky…"
"Don't play dumb! You did this!"
Her outfit caught his eye—not her usual plain maid dress but a frilly 2D-style one, heavy with buttons and white ruffles, form-fitting, flashy. Sheer white mesh gloves, black garter stockings, glowing mysteriously under the light.
Her hair, pinned up like Saber's, screamed mature elegance.
"Pfft…" Stifling a laugh, she played along. "Intriguing. Fine, since you're into this, I'll play—cleaner than 'bloody battles' or rears. Wait a moment."
She stepped onto the bed, clicked a hook from a post, and hung the light. Kagura yanked the chains—*clank-clank*—but cuffs held firm.
He remembered: two years ago, *he* bought these for *her*.
Hayasaka bowed and left, leaving him baffled.
Minutes later, she returned, balancing a silver tray.
He craned to see, but only caught the tray's base. "Relax, perverse Lord Kagura," she cooed. "I'll make you feel good."
"…"
The tray hit the bed: a half-drunk Bordeaux with a cork, a crystal goblet, a jumbo heated lube bottle, a clear onahole, a folded thigh-high sock, a white towel, and tissues.
Wait—onahole?
He'd seen the rest, but never bought *that*.
Noticing his doubt, she lifted it. "This? Got it last month for your… needs during my period. Didn't use it then—disinfected just now. Know it?"
"…Think I wouldn't?"
He grumbled, face dark.
"My mistake."
Ignoring his mood, she climbed up, tossed his blanket to the floor, and slid beside him. Tucking under his arm, she closed her eyes. "Goodnight."
"Hey! You brought all that to mess with me?"
"Oh? Should've said you wanted it~"
Biting back laughter, she sidled up, undid his robe's belt, and parted it, baring his toned body—and his towering erection.
"Oh my~" She propped herself at his waist, voice flat but teasing. "So hard, Lord Kagura. Into this play?"
"Any guy woken at night would be! You know that!"
"Mhm, sure."
Ignoring him, she rubbed her thighs, leaned forward, and drooled a string of saliva onto his tip.
Warm drool trickled down, tickling. He stifled a laugh.
Her right middle finger pressed his tip, tilting it side to side, left hand propping her cheek. "Sorry, my period's bad timing…"
"No, don't apologize—or do *this*."
Kagura leaned S, but as M, it felt… odd. Yet… not bad.
"To keep a beast who's tasted girls from crimes during my downtime, your maid must… relieve your urges."
More saliva, her sheer-gloved fingers teased, thumb and index forming a ring, sliding from tip to crown's groove, twisting like a wrench.
"Ughhh…"
He squirmed, overwhelmed.
Bound, he could only twist his hips.
"Don't wiggle—it's slipping."
"…Hah… not so sensitive right off, okay?"
He teetered on the edge, stuck.
She didn't reply, just sat cross-legged, grabbed the lube, popped it, and squeezed a dollop onto his shaft, letting it ooze. More went into the onahole. Setting it down, she uncorked the wine, poured a quarter goblet, re-corked, and swirled it. "Remember this bottle?"
He froze—he did. Two weeks ago, he'd poured it over her chest, licking her core to her breasts, savoring wine, skin, and all.
"You do. Good."
She sipped, tilted the glass over his chest, letting cool wine stream down his pecs and abs, pooling at his sides.
Gripping the onahole, she leaned in, cold eyes locked on his, tongue flicking his wine-soaked nipple with a *slurp*.
He shuddered. Her right fingers steadied the onahole, easing his shaft in—slowly.
He nearly moaned, hips bucking, but she let go, pinning his shoulders, denying control. Her tongue danced over his chest, lapping wine.
Itchy, blissful, he groaned, sinking back. Satisfied, she resumed, sliding the onahole down fully.
The heated lube burned; the cool toy mimicked a girl's warmth. Her tongue on his nipple, the onahole's full stroke—his soul felt yanked out.
"Urk—"
He gasped, trying to thrust, but she paused, leaving him aching, his eyes pleading.
Ignoring him, she moved the onahole slowly, tongue darting fast. The wine vanished; she poured a splash, downed it—but held it.
Pressing the onahole to his base, exposing his purple tip, she engulfed the lubed upper half, wine searing his membranes—pain, acid, drilling. Her tongue swirled, scouring every crevice, left hand circling his nipple like he'd tease a girl's.
Agony and ecstasy—he wanted to scream but bit it back, straining uselessly against cuffs.
Time blurred. He neared release, but before he could warn, she pulled off, wiped her mouth, and swallowed the lube-wine mix.
"…" Kagura nearly sobbed. "Hayasaka… I've been good to you!"
*Not letting me finish? Too cruel!*
"Remember my words?" She licked his earlobe, resuming slow strokes as he calmed. "The longer it brews, the sweeter."
"I…!"
He wanted to curse—only one thought: *release, release, release*.
She edged him repeatedly, stopping short. When he fumed, she giggled, finger to lips. "Say with me, dear Lord Kagura: 'I'm a pervert who loves stockings and feet, obsessed with licking girls' soles.'"
She slid her legs toward his face, toes teasing.
"I…"
He craved it but balked at saying it. No words, no relief. Swallowing shame, he yelled it.
"Worthy of my perverse master," she said, flat. "Your maid must… punish you with feet."
Her soles pressed his face.
He kissed and sniffed, entranced—no bad odor, just mind-melting. His hips bucked.
"Aww, adorable. Since you're my favorite lord, I'll grant release."
She leaned to his waist, drooled over his shaft, gripped the sticky onahole, and pumped furiously.
In thirty seconds, his first thick shot fired. Her lips met it, catching the scalding flood.
His volume overwhelmed her, but she kept the bed clean.