Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
Ch.5 The Village

The morning sun blazed over the village near Ena, its June warmth seeping into Hayao’s skin as he stepped out of the guest house after a tense breakfast. The miso soup’s salty tang and grilled mackerel’s smoky flavor lingered on his tongue, but his mind was a storm of arousal and shame from the previous night with Shina. Needing to escape the weight of his thoughts, he decided to wander the village, hoping its rustic charm would anchor him.

He would soon be proven wrong.

The village was a tapestry of old and new, its narrow cobblestone streets winding between wooden houses with dark tiled roofs, their sliding doors flung open to catch the humid breeze. Overhead, a chaotic web of electrical cables crisscrossed the sky, a hallmark of rural Japan. The air was thick with the scent of blooming hydrangeas, their purple and blue petals vibrant against weathered fences, mingled with the savory aroma of cooking. Insects buzzed in a relentless chorus, their drone blending with the soft clatter of bamboo wind chimes and the distant laughter of children playing tag.

Hayao’s sneakers scuffed the cobblestones, his eyes scanning the village’s pulse. An elderly woman, her back bent, swept her porch with a bamboo broom, her movements slow and rhythmic, her kimono sleeve fluttering. A group of children in crisp school uniforms darted past, their backpacks bouncing, their shouts echoing off wooden facades. Farmers in straw hats trudged toward rice paddies, their voices a low hum carried by the wind. A small stream, visible at the village’s edge, sparkled under the sun, its gentle ripples a soothing counterpoint to Hayao’s racing heart. He passed a small shrine, its red torii gate standing proud, a stone statue of an unknown goddess gazing serenely. The sight stirred thoughts of the stopwatch in his bag, its power to freeze time during sex a dark temptation that made his cock twitch.

Turning down a quieter lane, Hayao’s gaze snagged on a small white truck parked haphazardly by the roadside, its engine idling with a low, throaty hum. The truck was compact, barely larger than a golf cart, its flatbed piled high with wooden crates brimming with glossy cucumbers, ripe tomatoes, and deep purple eggplants, their fresh, earthy scent mingling with the village air. But what rooted him to the spot was the couple locked in a raw, frenzied act against the truck’s rear. 

A man in his thirties, his skin bronzed from endless days under the sun, had a woman bent over the flatbed, her hands gripping the edge, knuckles white, nails digging into the weathered wood. His work pants were pooled around his ankles, revealing muscular legs dusted with dark hair, his tight ass clenching with each forceful thrust. His sweat-soaked t-shirt clung to his broad back, outlining every muscle as he slammed his thick cock into her pussy, the wet slap of their bodies echoing over the engine’s drone.

The young woman moaned loudly, her voice raw and desperate. Her summer dress—a light blue floral pattern with thin straps—was hiked up to her waist, exposing her bare ass, red and stinging from the man’s relentless slaps. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, swaying violently with each thrust, strands sticking to her sweat-slicked skin. 

“Fuck, harder!” she gasped, her voice carrying through the humid air, her body rocking against the crates, which rattled precariously, tomatoes threatening to spill. 

The man’s hands dug into her hips, fingers bruising her pale flesh, pulling her back onto his cock with savage force, his balls slapping against her thighs, her pussy glistening with juices that dripped down her legs, pooling on the cobblestones.

Hayao’s cock hardened instantly, straining against his pants, a hot pulse of precum soaking his underwear. His face flushed, his breath shallow as he tried to look away, but the sight was magnetic—the man’s guttural grunts, the woman’s desperate moans, the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh. 

“Fuck me like you mean it!” she cried, her head thrown back, lips parted, eyes half-closed in ecstasy. 

The man growled, “Your pussy’s so fucking tight,” his thrusts growing erratic, his cock glistening with her arousal. 

Hayao’s mind flashed to Shina’s tight pussy, then to Mai’s forbidden warmth, the stopwatch’s power whispering promises of control. He imagined himself in the man’s place, fucking her against the truck, her juices coating his cock, her moans in his ear. His hand twitched, itching to stroke himself, but he forced his feet to move, stumbling down the path, his erection throbbing painfully, his face burning with shame and lust.

Trying to calm his racing heart, Hayao focused on the village’s details. He passed a narrow alley where laundry fluttered on bamboo poles, white sheets and colorful yukata swaying in the breeze. An old man tended a small garden, his hands pulling weeds, the scent of damp soil rising. A stray dog trotted by, its tail wagging, barking softly at a passing bicycle.

He thought of Tokyo’s crowded streets, where such public displays were unthinkable, and wondered how this village’s open sexuality could feel so natural yet so alien. 

Further along, near a quaint grocery store with faded signs advertising local sake and fresh daikon, another scene stopped him cold. A middle-aged man, rugged and tanned, wore a baseball cap backward. He pinned a very young girl in a school uniform against the rough wooden wall of the store, their bodies entwined in a fervent, sloppy embrace. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her arms locked around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss, their tongues visible as they devoured each other, saliva glistening on their lips. Her sailor uniform—white top with a blue collar, pleated blue skirt—was disheveled, the skirt bunched up to her hips, white cotton panties pushed aside to expose her glistening pussy. Her knee-high socks had slipped to her ankles, her loafers scuffed from their fervor, a backpack discarded nearby, its school emblem glinting in the sun.

The man’s jeans were open, his t-shirt rucked up to reveal a hairy chest slick with sweat, his thick cock thrusting into her with powerful, rhythmic strokes. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned into her mouth, his hands under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. The girl moaned, her voice muffled by their kiss, her pussy visibly wet, juices coating his cock, dripping onto the cobblestones below. 

“Don’t stop,” she gasped between kisses, her nails raking his back, leaving red trails. Their passion was electric, oblivious to the world, their bodies moving in perfect sync, the wall creaking under their weight.

Hayao’s cock pulsed painfully, his face flushed with a mix of arousal and confusion. The girl’s youthful beauty, her uniform a stark contrast to the man’s ruggedness, stirred a twisted desire within him. He imagined himself in the man’s place, fucking her against the wall, her tight pussy gripping his cock, her moans vibrating against his lips. He adjusted himself, his hand brushing his cock through his pants, a drop of precum soaking through. Dragging his feet forward, he left the couple behind, their wet kisses and grunts fading, his mind reeling with lust and unease.

At the village’s edge, where houses gave way to lush fields dotted with wildflowers—vibrant poppies and delicate cosmos swaying in the breeze—Hayao spotted a trio in a raw, primal act. An attractive older woman was on all fours in the tall grass, her voluptuous body rocking between two men. Her skin was flushed, her dark hair streaked with gray, pulled back in a messy bun. Her large breasts swung freely beneath her, dark nipples hard and glistening with sweat, bouncing with each brutal thrust.

The man behind her, a lean young man in his twenties, fucked her doggy style with savage force, his hands gripping her ample hips, fingers sinking into her soft flesh, leaving red marks. His cock slammed into her pussy, the wet squelch audible across the field, her juices dripping down her thighs, glistening in the sunlight. He slapped her ass hard, the crack echoing like a gunshot, her flesh jiggling, red handprints blooming. 

“Take it, you, Mrs. Nakahara,” he growled, his voice thick with lust, making her moan louder.

The man in front, stocky and matching her age, stood with his thick cock buried in her mouth, his hands fisting her hair, thrusting deep into her throat. Her gagging sounds mixed with muffled moans, saliva dripping down her chin, her eyes watering from the intensity. 

“God! You’re so good,” he grunted, his hips bucking, fucking her face with abandon, his balls slapping against her chin. 

The woman’s body trembled, her pussy clenching visibly around the young man’s cock, her moans vibrating through the field, a symphony of raw desire.

Hayao’s cock throbbed, his hand adjusting himself, precum soaking his pants. The woman’s submission, her body claimed by two men, was a vision of uninhibited lust that set his blood ablaze. 

Things are indeed a little different around here, he thought.

Inside the guest house’s common room, Hayao sank onto a zabuton cushion at the low wooden table, the tatami mats cool beneath him. The room was cozy, with a small TV humming in the corner, playing a local news channel about the upcoming harvest festival. Traditional decorations adorned the walls—a scroll painting of Mount Fuji, a ceramic vase with fresh hydrangeas, their sweet scent mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood and incense. 

Trying to anchor himself, Hayao pulled out his smartphone, its screen lighting up with notifications from social media. He scrolled through various posts, but his mind kept drifting to the village’s explicit scenes—the truck couple’s moans, the schoolgirl’s sloppy kiss, the field trio’s grunts. His cock remained half-hard, his body buzzing with unspent lust, the stopwatch’s weight in his bag a silent temptation to freeze time and indulge.

Shina’s sudden entrance jolted him from his thoughts. She wore a light sundress, its floral pattern clinging to her slender frame, thin straps accentuating her narrow shoulders, the short hem revealing her smooth, pale legs. Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail, swinging as she moved, a few strands sticking to her neck from the morning heat. Without hesitation, she plopped onto his lap, her ass pressing firmly against his crotch, sending a jolt of arousal through him. Hayao’s face flushed, his cock hardening instantly as she shifted, wincing slightly—a subtle reminder of last night. 

She snatched his phone from his hand, her fingers brushing his, her touch electric, sending a shiver down his spine. “What’s this thing do?” she asked, her voice playful, her eyes wide with curiosity as she held the phone like a rare artifact, its screen reflecting in her dark pupils. 

Hayao’s blush deepened, his cock pulsing under her weight, the memory of her tight body flooding back.

“It’s a smartphone,” he stammered, his voice shaky, her ass rubbing against him with each subtle shift, the thin fabric of her dress doing little to hide her heat. “You can call people, send messages, browse the internet, and play games.” 

He took the phone back, his hands trembling, opening apps to demonstrate, trying to focus despite her warmth, her scent—a mix of clean soap, faint sweat, and a lingering musk of arousal—filling his senses.

Shina leaned in closer, her breath hot on his neck, her ponytail brushing his shoulder, tickling his skin. 

“Show me more,” she urged, her voice soft but insistent, her eyes glued to the screen. Hayao navigated to his social media ap, showing her posts with vibrant photos of Tokyo’s skyline, Shibuya’s neon chaos, and trendy cafes with pastel desserts. Shina gasped in wonder, her fingers tracing the screen, her nails painted a soft pink. 

“It’s so fucking cool,” she murmured, her ass shifting on his lap, pressing harder against his erection, making him stifle a groan. “What’s this one?” she asked, pointing to a photo-sharing app, her curiosity childlike yet laced with a seductive edge.

“You can post pictures, like these,” Hayao explained, opening the app, showing her selfies and cityscapes, his voice strained as she squirmed slightly atop him. His hands itched to slide under her dress, to feel her pussy, to fuck her right there on the cushion, but he gripped the phone tighter, focusing on the screen. “You can follow people, see what they’re doing,” he added, his cock throbbing, his face burning with arousal and embarrassment.

Shina’s eyes sparkled, her body leaning closer, her breasts brushing his arm, her nipples faintly visible through the thin dress. 

“Show me how to take a picture,” she said, her voice teasing, her hand resting on his thigh, dangerously close to his erection. 

Hayao opened the camera app, his fingers fumbling, and showed her how to snap a photo, their faces close, her breath warm and sweet. 

She giggled, snapping a selfie of them, her cheek pressed against his, her ponytail tickling his ear. “Look at us,” she said, showing him the photo, her smile bright, his face flushed and awkward.

Hayao’s cock pulsed painfully, his mind flashing to the village’s scenes—the truck couple’s wet slaps, the schoolgirl’s passionate kiss, the field woman’s gagging moans. He imagined Shina in their place, her pussy fucked against a wall, her mouth stuffed with cock, and his desire surged. The stopwatch in his bag whispered promises of control, but he pushed the thought away, focusing on Shina’s warmth, her playful curiosity.

From the kitchen, Kanae entered, her presence commanding the room. She wore a tight apron that hugged her curvy figure, her large breasts straining against the fabric, her red kerchief bright against her medium-length brown hair. Her tanned skin glowed, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow from the morning’s work. Her gaze landed on Hayao and Shina, a knowing smile curving her full lips, amusement dancing in her dark eyes, as if she sensed the tension between them. Hayao’s face burned hotter, his cock throbbing under Shina’s weight, but she seemed unfazed, her focus still on the phone, her body relaxed against his, her ass pressing harder with each shift.

Kanae moved to the table, setting down a tray of tea, her apron accentuating her hips, her breasts bouncing slightly with each step. 

“You two look cozy,” she teased, her voice warm, her smile suggestive, as if she knew about their night. 

Hayao swallowed hard, his hands gripping the phone, his erection painfully obvious. Shina giggled, scrolling through more posts, oblivious to her mother’s knowing look.

After a while, Kanae’s voice cut through the room, firm yet affectionate. “Shina, we’ve got a big reservation tonight. Go take a bath and get ready to help with the guests.” 

Her eyes flicked to Hayao, a glint of amusement lingering, as if she could read his thoughts—his desire, his guilt, the stopwatch’s dark pull.

Shina pouted, her lower lip jutting out in a childish sulk, her eyes narrowing. “Do I have to?” she whined, her voice carrying a hint of defiance, her hand still resting on Hayao’s thigh, her fingers brushing his erection, sending a shiver through him. 

Kanae’s stern look silenced further protest, her arms crossed, accentuating her breasts. 

“Fine,” Shina grumbled, sliding off Hayao’s lap, her dress riding up to reveal more of her thighs, her panties briefly visible, white and clinging to her pussy. Her hand lingered on his arm, her touch teasing.

She headed upstairs, her footsteps light on the wooden stairs, her sundress swaying with each step, her ponytail bouncing. Hayao watched her go, his cock throbbing painfully, his mind a tangle of desire, guilt, and the ever-present temptation of the stopwatch. 

The village’s raw sexuality—couples fucking in public, everything really, was turning his world upside down.

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