A Private Bath

Yui knew what happened at the Bathhouse after hours. She just never imagined herself there. Was it her recent breakup with her long-term boyfriend that triggered the Bathhouse owner, her boss, into offering her a chance to have the women's section all to herself?

The young woman still wasn't sure why she accepted. Perhaps it was curiosity,

After all, she had never seen anything. The owner, Mrs. Watanabe, likely still saw her as a child in some respects. After all, Yui had begun working at the Bathhouse as a cashier and janitor at 16 -- taking advantage of a little extra cash as the village emptied of more and more people eager to earn a living in the city.

Now, the only industries in the small mountain-side town were solitary hikes, a handful of restaurants for the locals, and the Bathhouse, which had only risen to underground tourist status after the new policies took place five years ago.

Yui watched the sunset shrink to a thin line beyond the hillside in flower-patterned yukata, leaning gently against the glass. She had sat in a massage chair for twenty minutes, pondering her decision, nerves flitting aimlessly beneath the skin, alert in the eerie quiet.

She was alone.

Yui returned to the locker room, taking the scrunchie with the locker key out of her hair. It seemed silly to lock up things -- let alone a Bathhouse yukata -- but habits die hard.

Carefully, the young woman folded the robe and sash, and placed it over her purse. For a moment, she was tempted, to grab her phone and take a photo to commemorate the occasion. But she stopped.

Even when Mrs. Watanabe implemented the new events and policies, there was still a zero-tolerance rule for photographs. She left the device there and locked the door.

Yui tiptoed across the hall to the stalls. Sitting near the window, she soaked in the rest of the dying light as she began to meticulously wash her body. The cool water broke the anxious sweat on her brow, the hard pressure kneading the stress as she slowly moved the shower head over her body.

She tried to focus on the sensations, but her thoughts still raced. Did Mrs. Watanabe pity her? Nearly 30 and still unmarried, still at home, still working a dead-end job in a ghost town?

Water droplets glistened on her subtle curves as she stared in the mirror.

What did it matter? Yui sighed. She was going to have a good time tonight, even if she was alone for now.

Standing, Yui glanced back at the door, noticing a line of black boxes on the towel shelves. She had an idea of what was inside. But she had already decided against using them -- they were for the special, after-hours guests. And while she had no doubt that they were also available to her, it would be an explicit acknowledgment of why she was here. The Bathhouse would graduate from a place of work and community to a place of pleasure. And even though there was slick wetness already clinging to her slit, she had no intention of recognizing the shift from worker to client.

So, avoiding the boxes, she opened the door to the central bath. Even during after-hours events, this was solely the women's bath. That gave Yui some sense of comfort as she sat in a shallow pool of hot spring water.

There were several areas to rest, where bathers could lie down and relax in the shallow water. On her back, the water barely reached halfway up her body, her head slightly elevated to prevent water from trickling in her ears. Above her, she could see the winding branches of a Japanese maple, red leaves caressed by faint starlight.

The warm water and smooth stone at her back contrasted with the light, cool breeze that fanned at her now erect nipples. She opened her lips slightly, bending them at the knee, feeling that same gentle wind brush against her wet thighs.

Nothing else had felt so erotic. Not in a long time.

Leaning her head back slightly, her freshly cut hair dipping into the water, Yui watched the tree above her dance while gradually moving the tips of her fingers over her body. Starting at her neck, those thin digits traveled over the slight ride of her collarbone, over the valleys of her breasts, stopping slightly to gently pinch the pert nipples. After a few moments, her fingers went further, dancing across the damp skin of her flat stomach, massaging around her thighs, until finally stopping at the dark curls of her cunt, dripping with spring water and arousal.

She bit her lip, withholding a moan, as she slowly slipped her index finger into her slit. Despite all the initial anxiety, she was nearly gushing. With each pump of her finger, more and more arousal seeped out.

Adding pressure to her clit, Yui brought her other hand to her breast, squeezing hard.

This is why people came to the Bathhouse.

No, people came for more than this.

But Yui knew this alone would be enough for her at this moment. As she pressed harder against her clit, two fingers now curled inside her, pumping quickly. Her legs shook in the shallow water, pressure grated against her lower belly. It pushed deeper and deeper into her, crushing against an invisible boundary, building as if the dam holding her release might never break.

Yui groaned, audible, the sound of ecstasy laced in her voice, triggering the release she craved, every nerve ending spasming in pleasure.

She opened her eyes, vision blurry, unaware of when she had closed them.

Watching the tree sway, the moon inching overhead, she sighed in relief. And then, gradually, stood and moved to another spring.