She lets the yukata go and kneels on the futon, hands on her own thighs, scar bright in the lantern light.

Your fingers find her soaked before you have done anything, and she says oh in a voice that is nothing like the one she sweeps with.

MioTwo. And don't be gentle about it, I've had gentle.

She rides your hand with her head back, then moves your wrist faster because you are not getting it right.

It is not slow after that: the futon slides, a screen rattles, and she comes saying your name like an accusation.

Afterwards she counts the ceiling boards out loud and gets to the same number twice.