It was about the fifth time today I’d heard the phrase “sticking out your gyatt for Nerizzler.”

I really did enjoy living with Koseki Bijou. I really did. She was clever, personable, cute, funny, and an all around lovely roommate. Not to mention she had a habit of wearing short skirts that flashed her underwear when she moved too fast, which I wasn’t going to complain about for a second.

But if I had to hear that stupid meme song one more time, I was going to blow a gasket.

A few more seconds followed the first line of the tune, all of which were silent save for the hum of the air conditioner. At my desk, I shifted my attention back to my programming, hoping that she’d gotten it out of her system with that one burst of it. She was unpredictable like that, especially when she was cooking. Sometimes she’d get distracted by measuring out spices and lose her train of thought completely, which, while adorable, did make conversation while preparing dinner a bit tedious.

But right when I’d refocused on the recursion problem, another spurt of sound trickled in from the kitchen.

“You’re so bau bau, you’re so Biboo tax~!”

My eye twitched.

Enough was enough. If she couldn’t keep the intrusive thoughts to herself, then I was going to make her keep them to herself. I, much more calmly than I actually felt, closed my laptop and stood up from my desk, marching stiffly into the kitchen.

There she was, standing at the counter with her long, silver hair tied in pigtails, clad in a sleeveless shirt and a skirt so small I could see her underwear and the curve of her ass, barefoot on the tile floor and standing on her toes to make up for the fact she was cooking in a kitchen intended for someone my height, with a borrowed apron slightly too big for her hung loose around her neck, draping down to her knees.

She hummed to herself as she continued to get a head start on dinner, continuing that cursed melody. Even though she wasn’t phrasing any of the words, I’d heard it often enough to fill them in. “I just wanna be your Shiori!”

She didn’t notice me at first, probably because I was only wearing socks, but she looked over her shoulder and upward when I put a hand on her back, smiling like she had no idea that she was driving me insane. “Oh, hiya Anon! Done with work early?”

I shook my head and put my other hand on her shoulder, reaching the first down her back. “Nope.”

Her eyebrows knit. “Then… eh–?” She obviously intended to ask more, but she trailed off with a jolt, hands clenching tight around her kitchen implements as I reached my hand up under her skirt and grabbed the pink waistband of her Hello Kitty panties. She met my eyes again, nervousness spelled out clearly on every facet of her face, including the pink on her cheeks. “A-Anon? What–”

Shriiiiiitch!

Bijou’s eyes bugged out and her jaw dropped as I ripped her underwear skyward, driving them up her ass cheeks without a smidge of mercy. I could tell by the way her thighs went rigid that the fabric wasn’t sparing her underside either. She was lucky she didn’t have balls to chafe, but that didn’t mean the friction wasn’t doing a number down below.

On another day, one where I really wanted to tease her, I could’ve kept the wedgie high and tight like this, forcing her to wiggle around on her tiptoes while I held her underpants hostage. But I didn’t waste any time on that today. I wasn’t giving her a wedgie just because I could, after all. And, thankfully, her panties agreed with my purpose, because the cheap material didn’t last long at all.

By the time I got the waistband up to her neck, the cartoon kitties gave up on keeping their form, and Bijou’s underwear shredded right off her, ripping in a messy series of threads and chunks of cotton. Hello Kitty was unrecognizable as I jerked the last few threads clinging to her thighs into submission and tore the destroyed garment away from her body.

The silver-haired girl’s eyes were still wide and her mouth still hung open as I brought the previously-comfy underwear into her field of vision. She remained rooted to the spot, but her eyes flickered between her destroyed panties and my face, processing the fact that I’d just ripped her skivvies right off her. Her expression, while not identical to the ones I’d seen before, was a clear indicator of her thoughts. “Dude, what the heck?!” and “Not cool, man!”

Before she could voice either, though, I wadded up her underwear into a ball and took advantage of her still slack jaw, stuffing the fabric between her lips and making sure it got wedged between her teeth like it had just been wedged between her cheeks. She didn’t even fight the mess of cotton, her hands still clenched around the spatula and whisk she’d held in them before and her thighs still rigid with her knees pressed together.

I crossed my arms and looked down at her sternly, satisfied with my work. No ‘biboo tax’ would be making it through those ruined underwear anytime soon. “There.”

Bijou stared at me in disbelief for a few more seconds, her cheeks slowly growing red and the rose of white and pink fabric blossoming from her mouth fluttering in the breeze from the air conditioning unit. And then, as though a switch had been flipped, she twisted ever so slightly, bringing her body tighter in a distinctly demure, submissive pose, her eyes softened, and she gave a tiny yet distinctly breathy moan through her panty gag.

I lifted an eyebrow. “...seriously…?”

The gem dropped her kitchen implements on the countertop and, still folding inward on repeat, brought one hand up to tug down on the collar of her apron and her shirt, while tracing the other up on her thigh, shifting the apron and her skirt aside, threatening to reveal more down below where she no longer had anything to cover it…

Blushing now myself, I cleared my throat and forced myself to look at the stove clock, unable to resist stealing glances at her mushy violet eyes. It was 4:28. I couldn’t clock out just yet, especially not when I had a meeting at 4:45. But then again… she was right there, and she was reaching out for me now… for my crotch specifically, her hands sneaking closer to my barely-restrained erection…

I jolted back to consciousness when her fingertips brushed against the denim of my jeans and she started searching for the zipper of my fly. Gently–I hoped it was gently, at least–I took her wrist and pushed her hand away. “L-Later!” I stammered, still finding it difficult to process the twist of events that had just occurred. “I have to finish work.”

Still muted by her gag, Bijou lifted an eyebrow and pouted, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff that I knew all too well meant, “Dang it!”

“Seriously though,” I said, my ears burning and my voice stupidly desperate in my rush to clarify. “Later, I mean it!”

My silver-haired roommate rolled her eyes and huffed again, but I could swear there was a hint of a smile on her face, or at least as much of one as she could manage around the gag. She shooed me away with a hand and turned back to her cooking, making no effort to extract the panties from her mouth. But she did put effort into sticking out her gyatt as she pivoted away from me, spreading her thighs as much as she could and letting her ridden-up skirt leave nothing to the imagination, including the red friction marks leading out of her butt crack… and also her very slick and moist…

I shook my head and smacked my cheeks with my palms, turning away and walking stiffly–for a different reason this time–back to my desk. My pants were uncomfortably tight as I plonked back into my chair and opened my computer with shaky hands. I could barely even type with my fingers so unsteady, not that I could focus on anything in the first place with the mental image of her flashing before my eyes, fuzzing up by head and diverting all my resources to my other head.

Stupid rock… stupid bratty, sexy rock…

Music drifted in through the doorway. Insult to injury… she was humming it again. Like a Pavlovian dog, my dick throbbed in my pants.

I had been Biboo taxed.