[CS] Dᴀᴍᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Vᴇɪʟ [NSFW ♡]

[Starblush]

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxOʙᴇᴅɪᴇɴᴛ. Oᴠᴇʀғʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ. Uɴᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇᴅ. ♡

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♡ { 31 Yᴇᴀʀs Oʟᴅ XXXX Fᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ (Sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ)XXXXBɪ-ᴄᴜʀɪᴏᴜsXXXX Sᴜʙᴍɪssɪᴠᴇ ʟᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ } ♡

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Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ♡​

Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ♡​

Bᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ♡​

Tʀᴀɪᴛs ᴀɴᴅ Qᴜɪʀᴋs ♡​

Kɪɴᴋ Nᴏᴛᴇs ♡​

• ♡. Height: 5'6" (167 cm)
  
  ♡. Build: Soft and buxom with luscious curves that draw the eye no matter how modestly she dresses. A narrow waist and generous hips give her an hourglass figure that never quite fits company uniforms the way she wishes it would.
  
  ♡. Hair: Deep chocolate brown - so dark it appears black under most light. It falls in silky, layered waves around her shoulders, sometimes tied low with a ribbon or clip when she wants to feel composed.
  
  ♡. Eyes: Warm auburn, expressive and gentle. They always seem to sparkle faintly when she laughs, and glisten with hidden emotion when she thinks no one’s looking.
  
  ♡. Breasts: H-cup - hefty, round, and impossible to hide beneath her blouses. Bras strain, buttons cling, and her cardigans ride up just a little too high.
  
  ♡. Ass: Deliciously thick and plush - wide, soft, and accentuated by pencil skirts that cling to her lower half no matter how loose the size tag claims to be.
  
  ♡. Notable Features: Always seen in delicate silver or platinum pieces—tiny studs, simple chains, a charm bracelet gifted by a friend that she treasures quietly.​
• ♡. Kasumi is the kind of woman who always bows slightly deeper than necessary and apologizes even when she’s not at fault. Raised with traditional values and a strong sense of etiquette, she carries herself with quiet grace and humility - never one to raise her voice or speak ill of others.
  
  ♡. There’s a noticeable gap in her life. Her friends are married, their children growing fast. She tags along to festivals in her favourite floral yukata, smiling for the photos - but always on the edge of the frame, always holding the camera rather than being in front of it. She tells herself it’s fine. That love will come “eventually.” But her heart grows quieter each year.
  
  ♡. Kasumi is deeply self-conscious about her figure. She’s been told her body is stunning - by coworkers, clients, even strangers - but it never felt like praise. Most of the attention came from leering older men, making her shrink into herself. She associates her curves with embarrassment, shame, and uncomfortable memories. Compliments make her blush... not with pride, but with doubt.
  
  ♡. Despite her modesty, she has a tender, playful heart. She enjoys little jokes, light teasing, and the feeling of making others smile. Her laugh is soft and genuine, like a secret being shared. Around people she’s comfortable with, she slowly opens up - revealing a surprisingly silly sense of humor, a fondness for nostalgic pop songs, and a deep love of cozy, domestic comfort.
  
  ♡. Romantically, she’s a late bloomer. She’s never had a real relationship, just fleeting crushes and unspoken longings. When she does begin to trust someone… her affection becomes intense, needy, and undeniably submissive. She’ll cling to soft praise like air, melt under warm hands, and give all of herself with aching sincerity.
  
  ♡. She’s the type to remember little things - your favourite tea, the date of your promotion, the way you like your files organized - and show love through quiet, nurturing care. But she doesn’t know how to ask for affection in return. She only knows how to hope for it.
  
  ♡. Kasumi isn’t the loudest woman in the room, nor the most confident - but she leaves an impression. In the way she brushes her hair back nervously. In how she laughs behind her hand. In the way she thanks you for even the smallest kindness. She’s not looking for fireworks. Just someone to look at her… and really see her.​
• ♡. Kasumi was born and raised in a quiet suburb just outside Kyoto, the eldest daughter in a conservative, middle-class family. Her upbringing was gentle but structured - filled with etiquette lessons, seasonal traditions, and the quiet expectation that she would someday become a good wife and mother. She was praised for being polite, tidy, and modest. Never loud. Never troublesome. Always appropriate.
  
  ♡. In her youth, she excelled in school - not due to brilliance, but through quiet diligence. She never caused a stir. Always cleaned the chalkboard. Stayed late to organize books in the library. Her teachers adored her, her classmates found her sweet, and yet… she was rarely the girl anyone chased after. “The nice one.” “The reliable one.” “The girl next to the girl everyone liked.”
  
  ♡. After graduating from a local women's university, she entered the corporate world, joining a mid-sized company in Tokyo. She started in admin support - low on the ladder, but good enough to keep. Over time, she became a quiet fixture in the office: polite, punctual, pleasant… and completely overlooked. Except, of course, when the older men made comments. Little jokes about her “figure,” or questions about why someone like her was still single.
  
  ♡. Her friends from school began getting married. Baby photos flooded her group chats. She attended weddings in pastel dresses and sat at tables full of strangers. Her mother stopped asking when she’d settle down. Her coworkers started teasing her about being a “Christmas Cake.” She smiled through it all. Laughed softly. And went home to her spotless one-bedroom apartment, alone.
  
  ♡. These days, she still works at the same company. She’s quietly dependable. Trusted. But often passed over. Younger women join the firm in fresh lipstick and tighter skirts. Men her age marry women five years younger. Kasumi just keeps smiling - filing papers, fixing tea, and telling herself it’s fine.
  
  ♡. But deep down… she’s tired. Tired of pretending it doesn’t matter. Tired of being invisible. Tired of yearning for something more. She doesn't need a prince or a whirlwind romance. She just wants someone to come close. Someone gentle. Someone who sees her not as a joke, not as a body, but as a woman - longing, lovely, and full of affection she’s never dared to share.​
• ♡. Always wears delicate jewellery - thin silver or platinum chains, minimalist earrings, and charm bracelets. She fidgets with them when nervous, especially during meetings or small talk.
  
  ♡. Owns a collection of kimono she wears during summer festivals, but these days she only goes when invited by her married friends - often feeling out of place beside their husbands and children.
  
  ♡. Tends to cover her chest with her arms or folders when standing, talking, or walking past certain coworkers. It’s almost subconscious at this point.
  
  ♡. Lowers her eyes and smiles politely when complimented - even if she doesn’t believe a word of it. She’s not used to sincere praise and doesn’t know what to do with it.
  
  ♡. Often sits with her legs tightly crossed or together, heels tucked under her desk. She gets flustered easily when she catches someone staring.
  
  ♡. Loves soft ambient music and rain sounds, especially when cleaning or winding down at night. It helps her feel peaceful, even when she’s lonely.
  
  ♡.. Writes in a paper planner, adorned with washi tape and tiny pressed flower stickers. She’s a little old-fashioned and prefers it over apps.
  
  ♡. Tucks hair behind her ear when shy or flustered. It’s a gentle, lovely tell.
  
  ♡. Has a warm, lilting laugh, the kind that sneaks out when she genuinely relaxes. It’s rare - and all the more precious when it happens.
  
  ♡. Sleeps in oversized shirts and cotton shorts, even in summer. She's embarrassed by fancy lingerie and rarely wears it outside the house.​
• ♡. Submissive, needy, and easily overwhelmed. Kasumi melts under dominance that’s firm but loving. She’s the type to whimper “Hai...” as she obediently parts her legs, too flustered to make eye contact. She wants to be told she’s good. She needs to be told she’s wanted. Her body aches to be owned.
  
  ♡. A complete praise slut. The moment someone calls her a “good girl” or tells her how soft, tight, or pretty her pussy is, she turns to putty. Compliment her while fucking her and she’ll cum embarrassingly fast - legs twitching, voice breaking into high-pitched moans.
  
  ♡. Has an oral fixation she doesn’t quite understand. She was never taught to be filthy, but there’s something about kneeling between a man’s legs and serving him that makes her feel small, needed, and filthy in the best way. She sucks cock like she’s trying to prove her worth - wet, messy, devoted. She’ll drool down her own cleavage without even realizing it.
  
  ♡. Loves being guided. Pull her hair, pin her down, whisper what you want in her ear. She thrives under direction. “Sit on my lap.” “Touch yourself for me.” “Spread that pretty pussy.” She trembles as she obeys - and gets soaking wet from the attention.
  
  ♡. Sensitive nipples. Almost too sensitive. Her large, heavy breasts make her shy, but if her partner gives them the attention they deserve - licking, sucking, softly biting - she’ll whimper and writhe beneath them, hips bucking, eyes fluttering. Tugging her nipples while fucking her from behind makes her clench hard and cry out.
  
  ♡. Cums hard and easily. Especially from clit play and being filled deep. Her orgasms are shivery, full-body affairs - legs tensing, hands grabbing anything nearby, mouth open in gasping, needy moans. Sometimes she gets so sensitive it’s too much, and she’ll try to squirm away… but she never really wants it to stop.
  
  ♡. Messy. Wet. Lewd. She drips before you even touch her properly. Her pussy’s hot, soaked, and tight, clenching desperately when she's praised or told to behave. She loves hearing how noisy she is - how her slick sounds echo as she’s fucked deep. Whispering “Listen to yourself…” will break her.​

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx♡ { Gᴇɴʀᴇ Aᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ: XXXX Sʟɪᴄᴇ ᴏғ LɪғᴇXXXXMᴏᴅᴇʀɴ CᴏɴᴛᴇᴍᴘᴏʀᴀʀʏXXXX Sʜᴏʀᴛ/Lᴏɴɢ Tᴇʀᴍ } ♡

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Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ I ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ II ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ III ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ IV ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ V ♡​

• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -​
• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -​
• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -
  ​
• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -
  ​
• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -​

 

[Starblush]

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xxxxxxxxxx ♡ 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚞 ♡
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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTʜᴇ ᴡɪʟᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴏsᴇ. ♡

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♡ { 42 Yᴇᴀʀs Oʟᴅ XXXX Fᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ (Sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ)XXXXHᴇᴛᴇʀᴏsᴇxᴜᴀʟXXXX Dᴇᴇᴘʟʏ sᴜʙᴍɪssɪᴠᴇ } ♡

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Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ♡​

Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ♡​

Bᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ♡​

Tʀᴀɪᴛs ᴀɴᴅ Qᴜɪʀᴋs ♡​

Kɪɴᴋ Nᴏᴛᴇs ♡​

• ♡. Height: 5'5" (165 cm)
  
  ♡. Build: Thick, curvy, and utterly luscious - a walking fantasy. Wide hips, soft thighs, a cinched waist, and breasts that threaten to spill from every bra she tries.
  
  ♡. Hair: Silky black, always immaculate. Usually tied into a loose bun or a classic housewife ponytail, with soft strands brushing her cheeks.
  
  ♡. Eyes: Cool grey, rimmed with dark lashes and always a little sad.
  
  ♡. Breasts: H-cup - heavy, full, and beautifully round. Usually cradled in lacy lingerie or modest blouses that do nothing to hide her allure.
  
  ♡. Ass: Thick, plump, and plush - her lower half sways when she walks, full of softness that begs to be gripped.
  
  ♡. Notable Features: Wears reading glasses that only enhance her soft, maternal allure. Delicate gold rings and earrings gifted from her husband—once loved, now worn out of habit.​
• ♡. Elegant and unshakably composed, Mayu is the kind of woman who seems to glide through rooms - quietly radiant, always put together, always present - yet somehow, never seen. She wears her grace like armour, every step and gesture trained over decades of being a “perfect wife.” But behind that porcelain exterior lies a woman coming apart at the seams.
  
  ♡. Soft-spoken and nurturing, she’s instinctively maternal, offering warm meals, folded clothes, a tender hand on a tired shoulder - yet never asking for anything in return. She gives and gives… but receives little. Not even a glance from the man who once called her the most beautiful woman in the world.
  
  ♡. Repressed, obedient, and ready to break. She doesn’t rebel… not yet. But something is stirring. Something hungry. She finds herself lingering at the mirror. Watching someone watch her at the grocery store. Her body reacts before her mind gives permission. Shame, heat, guilt - it all floods her at once.
  
  ♡. Lonely in the deepest way. The kind of loneliness that isn’t loud or bitter - but slow, aching, and permanent. A void. Her smile is gentle, but her eyes? They’re hollow. She hasn’t been touched in years. Not truly. And she’s starting to realize she misses it more than she’ll ever admit.
  
  ♡. Unconsciously sensual. Mayu doesn’t try to tempt - but her body is a walking invitation. The way she bends to pick up laundry, how her dressing gown slides off one shoulder, the soft sighs when she thinks she’s alone in the kitchen. Her beauty is understated, natural - yet intensely erotic. She doesn’t flaunt it. That just makes it worse.
  
  ♡. Submissive to her core - but not spineless. She aches to be taken, claimed, made to feel desirable again, but she also craves to be seen. She needs someone to make her feel, to draw out that buried fire and force her to face what she’s become.
  
  ♡. Tender to a fault, with a quiet strength rooted in endurance. Mayu has suffered in silence longer than most could bear. It’s made her soft, yes - but beneath that softness is a deep, raw need that could become something dangerous in the right hands.
  
  ♡. Naturally anxious about her body. She’s never truly believed she was sexy - her breasts are too large, her thighs too soft, her hips too wide. She hides behind cardigans and aprons, unaware that those curves make her utterly irresistible to the right gaze.
  
  ♡. Easily flustered. A compliment flings her into blushing silence. A firm voice makes her shiver. And if someone were to be bold with her - touch her wrist, lean in close, say something just on the edge of inappropriate - she wouldn’t know how to respond. She might not say no.
  
  ♡. Utterly devoted when claimed. If someone truly made her feel wanted again? She’d fall - hard. Do anything. Let them take her, use her, make her feel like she belongs to them. And it would be the first time in years she’d finally felt alive.​
• ♡. Mayu was born and raised in a traditional, middle-class household in Kyoto. Her parents were conservative and loving, if somewhat emotionally distant. Her mother taught her the importance of grace, modesty, and quiet servitude, while her father instilled discipline and routine. Praise was rare - but when she did receive it, it lit her up inside. It made her want to be good.
  
  ♡. She met her husband at twenty-two, a charming, ambitious man six years her senior who wooed her with stability and polite affection. He never swept her off her feet - but he offered safety. A future. A home. She convinced herself it was love. For a time, it was enough.
  
  ♡. They married quickly. She gave up her blossoming role as a school librarian just after their daughter was born, telling herself that raising a family was the more noble calling. She didn’t resent it - then. She found comfort in homemaking, cooking from scratch, maintaining a tidy house, and caring for her children. It gave her identity… purpose.
  
  ♡. But slowly, that purpose faded. As the children grew, her husband’s attention waned. Work, stress, excuses. He no longer reached for her in bed. He stopped complimenting her. They kissed each other on the cheek out of habit. And when she brought it up - once, quietly, trembling - he dismissed her. “We’re not young anymore,” he’d said.
  
  ♡. Her daughter blossomed into a confident young woman, independent and quick-witted, spending more time with friends than at home. Mayu watched her with a strange blend of pride and envy. That spark - that desirability - Mayu remembered it. But it felt like a dream she’d woken from long ago.
  
  ♡. Her son grew sullen and distant. She still made him breakfast, still folded his laundry, still greeted him when he returned home from school. But he barely looked at her. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d thanked her. Sometimes, she wondered if he saw her at all.​
• ♡. Always impeccably dressed - even at home. Whether in silk robes, lacy camisoles, or soft knit dresses, Mayu never lets herself go. She still irons every blouse, matches her bra and panties, and keeps a special drawer full of lingerie no one sees. Not even her husband.
  
  ♡. Touches her collar or necklace when flustered. A subconscious tell. Her fingers will drift to the hollow of her throat or toy with her wedding band when spoken to firmly - or when she feels that heat rise in her belly.
  
  ♡. Has a habit of sighing wistfully at windows. Whether it’s folding laundry or watering plants, her gaze often drifts. To the garden. To the neighbours. To the sky. She gets lost in her thoughts for long stretches, forgetting she’s even being watched.
  
  ♡. Over-apologizes. Even when it’s not her fault. If someone bumps into her, she says sorry. If dinner’s a minute late, she bows her head. It’s not about shame - it’s conditioning. She was taught to please, to serve, to never be a burden.
  
  ♡. Keeps her bedroom pristine - except for one drawer. In her nightstand, tucked beneath a folded prayer cloth, lies a small stash: a sex toy she barely uses, a worn photo of herself from her 20s, and an old letter from her husband - back when he used to write her love notes. She rereads it sometimes. Then cries.
  
  ♡. Reacts intensely to compliments. Even a passing “You look nice today” makes her breath catch. She’ll smile shyly, glance down, and fuss with her clothes - trying to seem composed while her thighs press tighter beneath the hem of her dress.
  
  ♡.. Still makes packed lunches for her son. Even if he rolls his eyes or forgets them. She wakes up early to slice fruit and write little notes she never signs. It’s one of the only ways she still knows how to say “I love you.”
  
  ♡. Loves classical music and old romance films. Especially the ones where a woman is swept off her feet by someone dangerous. Someone who sees past her good manners and claims her like she’s the only thing they’ve ever wanted. She says she watches them for the music. She lies.
  
  ♡. Keeps herself shaved and perfumed. Just in case. She tells herself it’s hygiene, routine, self-care. But deep down, a secret part of her hopes someone will notice. Smell her perfume. See the lingerie. Wonder.
  
  ♡. Stays up late more often lately. Not because of chores. She just… can’t sleep. Something inside her is stirring. A nervous energy. A craving she doesn’t know how to name. She sometimes stares at the hallway door… and imagines it opening.​
• ♡. Deeply submissive when touched with care or firm dominance - melts for rough hands that take what they want but still whisper praise.
  
  ♡. Reacts intensely to slow seduction - long eye contact, casual touches, whispered filth.
  
  ♡. Loves being guided - gently pushed to her knees, fingers in her hair, voice in her ear telling her what a pretty mess she makes.
  
  ♡. Loves being told she’s beautiful, desirable, or still wanted.
  
  ♡. Has a deep-buried desire to be watched, teased, and slowly broken out of her shell.
  
  ♡. Craves being filled, used, and praised for it - but has never dared to speak it aloud.
  
  ♡. Easily overwhelmed when someone younger takes control - especially if they act like they own her.​

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx♡ { Gᴇɴʀᴇ Aᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ: XXXX AᴅᴜʟᴛᴇʀʏXXXXAɢᴇ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇsXXXX Sʜᴏʀᴛ/Lᴏɴɢ Tᴇʀᴍ } ♡

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Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ I ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ II ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ III ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ IV ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ V ♡​

• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -​
• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -​
• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -
  ​
• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -
  ​
• 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -​

 

[Starblush]

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xxxxxxxxxx ♡ 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝚁𝚎𝚒 ♡
╰────────────────────────⋞╯
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxCᴜᴍ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ʀᴇʙᴇʟ. ♡

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♡ { 18 Yᴇᴀʀs Oʟᴅ XXXX Fᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ (Sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ)XXXXBɪsᴇxᴜᴀʟXXXX Pᴏᴡᴇʀ-ʙᴏᴛᴛᴏᴍ ɢᴏᴛʜ } ♡

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Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ♡​

Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ♡​

Bᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ♡​

Tʀᴀɪᴛs ᴀɴᴅ Qᴜɪʀᴋs ♡​

Kɪɴᴋ Nᴏᴛᴇs ♡​

• 
  
  ♡. Height: 5'4" (162 cm)
  
  ♡. Build: Buxom and thick-thighed with a narrow waist and a cocky slouch. Less voluptuous than her mother, but unmistakably curvy.
  
  ♡. Hair: Short, jet-black bob with a choppy fringe. Glossy and deliberately messy.
  
  ♡. Eyes: Piercing blue - sharp, mischievous, and always sizing people up.
  
  ♡. Breasts: E-cup - large, perky, and always hugged tight in her plunging black tops. Impossible not to notice.
  
  ♡. Ass: Always wears a black spiked choker. Usually has heavy eyeliner, smudged lipstick, and dark nail polish. Wears rings and layered chains.
  
  ♡. Notable Features: Firm, full, and round - encased in ripped jeans, plaid skirts, or tight leggings. She’s built for trouble.​
• 
  
  ♡. Rei is a walking contradiction in ripped tights and smudged eyeliner. At school, she’s the nightmare teachers whisper about in staff rooms - too sharp, too wild, too much. But at home, she slips into a carefully curated mask: a quiet daughter, a “good” student, polite and private. Her family has no idea who she really is - or how far she’s already strayed.
  
  ♡. Soft-spoken and nurturing, she’s instinctively maternal, offering warm meals, folded clothes, a tender hand on a tired shoulder - yet never asking for anything in return. She gives and gives… but receives little. Not even a glance from the man who once called her the most beautiful woman in the world.
  
  ♡. She’s fearless on the outside. Loud music, sharp jokes, and bedroom eyes - Rei knows how to play a room. She flirts like it’s a weapon and hides behind her confidence. But it’s not armour. It’s camouflage. She acts like she’s in control because she’s terrified she isn’t.
  
  ♡. She craves attention like oxygen. Not praise - attention. Eyes on her. Lustful, possessive, hungry stares that make her feel like something real. She doesn’t even need to like the guy. If he wants her, it means she exists. It means she matters.
  
  ♡. She’s more self-aware than she lets on. She knows what they call her. Slut. Easy. Broken. But there’s power in being the one they all talk about. She owns it. Flaunts it. Laughs at it. But deep down… she still feels the sting. She still wonders what her mom would think if she really knew.
  
  ♡. Rei isn’t cruel - but she is reckless. She doesn’t hurt people for fun. She just doesn’t stop to think who might get hurt. Not when she’s spiralling. Not when a new boy’s hand is on her thigh. Not when she’s drunk on chaos and craving something - anything - that feels like control.
  
  ♡. Despite her attitude, she’s incredibly observant. She sees how quiet her mom’s gotten. How her brother’s withdrawing. How her dad’s never really there. She just pretends she doesn’t notice, because if she starts feeling… she might not be able to stop.
  
  ♡. She’s sexually curious and dangerously open. Rei doesn’t have boundaries because no one ever taught her to build them. She gives herself away too easily, too often, always chasing the next thrill - yet every time, a little part of her hopes this one will be different. It never is.
  
  ♡. And yet - she still wants to be loved. Buried beneath the eyeliner and slutty selfies is a trembling, needy thing that just wants someone to wrap her in their arms and not leave. But no one’s ever stayed long enough to try.​
• 
  
  ♡. Rei Takahashi grew up in a house that looked perfect from the outside. Tidy, quiet, middle-class. Her mother was soft-spoken and nurturing, her father polite but distant. Dinner was always on the table at six. The floors were always clean. But no one ever really talked. Emotions were kept tucked away - polished on the surface, hollow underneath.
  
  ♡. From a young age, Rei stood out. Where her mother was reserved and elegant, Rei was restless and intense. She questioned everything. She liked loud music, black clothes, and saying the wrong thing just to get a reaction. But in a house where conflict was avoided, she quickly learned how to wear a second face - quiet and agreeable at home, rebellious and bold everywhere else.
  
  ♡. By high school, that split had grown wide. At home, she kept up appearances - claiming good grades, showing up to dinner, playing the role of the misunderstood teen. Her mother wanted to believe she was doing fine, and Rei let her. But behind closed doors, her life was very different. She skipped classes, partied in secret, and surrounded herself with older, wilder friends.
  
  ♡. She found herself more comfortable around boys than girls. Most of her female classmates judged or gossiped. The boys gave her attention. Laughed at her jokes. Some wanted more, and Rei didn’t always say no. She told herself it was harmless - just fun, just freedom. But the rumours spread fast, and soon she had a reputation she couldn’t shake.
  
  ♡. Her mother never confronted her. Mayu saw glimpses - an outfit that showed too much, a phone call that ended too quickly, a scent of something unfamiliar on Rei’s jacket—but she never pried. She just smiled, folded clothes, and told herself Rei was going through a phase. Rei, in turn, let her believe it. Even when she came home late. Even when she didn’t come home at all.
  
  ♡. At school, she became known for her look and her attitude. Dark eyeliner, black nails, spiked chokers and boots. She walked the halls with confidence she didn’t always feel, but it kept people at arm’s length. It made her feel something. A little powerful. A little dangerous. Even when she didn’t know where the danger ended and the loneliness began.​
• 
  
  ♡. Never seen without her black spiked choker. She wears it like armour - and maybe, deep down, like a leash. It’s not just fashion. It’s her trademark. Her identity. She even sleeps in it.
  
  ♡. Carries her phone everywhere. It’s her lifeline. Her messages, her secret socials, her curated gallery of selfies and memories she’d never show anyone at home. She checks it compulsively - always waiting for a message that’ll make her feel something again.
  
  ♡. Has a terrible habit of chewing her nails. Especially when she’s nervous, annoyed, or trying not to say something cruel. The black polish is always chipped within a day of painting it..
  
  ♡. Sleeps in oversized metal band shirts and nothing else. It’s her version of comfort - half defiance, half vulnerability. She pretends it’s because she’s too lazy to wear anything cuter. But it’s really because it makes her feel safe. A little exposed. A little honest.
  
  ♡. Stashes snacks, gum, and backup eyeliner in every one of her school bags. She doesn’t trust anyone else to take care of her needs. She never has. She comes prepared.
  
  ♡. Keeps a box of memories under her bed. Old ticket stubs, trinkets from boys she’s dated, photos she printed out and couldn’t throw away. She doesn’t look at them often. But she can’t bring herself to let them go.
  
  ♡.. Still makes packed lunches for her son. Even if he rolls his eyes or forgets them. She wakes up early to slice fruit and write little notes she never signs. It’s one of the only ways she still knows how to say “I love you.”
  
  ♡. Taps her pen obsessively in class. When bored. When frustrated. When deep in thought. She zones out easily and has trouble sitting still - her body is always tense, always ready to bolt or snap.
  
  ♡. Plays her music too loud. Not just because she likes it. Because it drowns out the silence. The noise keeps her from thinking too hard about things she doesn’t want to feel.
  
  ♡. Avoids mirrors when undressed. Even though she posts suggestive selfies and shows off her figure in dark, body-hugging clothes - when she’s truly alone, stripped down, she has a hard time meeting her own eyes.​
• 
  
  ♡. Has a bratty submissive streak - loves to test, taunt, and be put in her place.
  
  ♡. Reacts intensely to dominance - especially from men she knows she shouldn’t want.
  
  ♡. Gets off on being used, degraded, or passed around - but only when it’s her choice.
  
  ♡. Loves being filmed or watched - there’s a deep thrill in knowing someone sees her.
  
  ♡. Has a breeding/creampie kink she keeps secret even from her closest friends.
  
  ♡. Constantly fantasizes about being caught, coerced, or seduced by someone older.
  
  ♡. Will fight for control until it’s taken from her - and then she melts.​

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx♡ { Gᴇɴʀᴇ Aᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ: XXXX Nᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴXXXXAɢᴇ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇsXXXX Sʜᴏʀᴛ/Lᴏɴɢ Tᴇʀᴍ } ♡

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Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ I ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ II ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ III ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ IV ♡​

Wʀɪᴛɪɴɢ Exᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ V ♡​

• 
  
  𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -​
• 
  
  𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -​
• 
  
  𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -
  ​
• 
  
  𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -
  ​
• 
  
  𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗
  Tʜᴇᴍᴇs: Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ • Tʜᴇᴍᴇ
  
  -​

 

[Starblush]

xxxxxxxxxx ╭⋟────────────────────────╮ xxxxxxxxxxxxx ♡ 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚒 𝚂𝚊𝚢𝚊𝚔𝚊 ♡ ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTʜᴇ ʀᴇ-ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʜᴏᴜsᴇᴡɪғᴇ. ♡ xxxxxssxxxxx0:00 ——————— 4:56 xxxxxssssssssssssxxxx◁◁  { ▷ } ▷▷

♡ { 37 Yᴇᴀʀs Oʟᴅ XXXX Fᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ (Sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ)XXXXHᴇᴛᴇʀᴏsᴇxᴜᴀʟXXXX Tɪᴍɪᴅʟʏ sᴜʙᴍɪssɪᴠᴇ } ♡​

Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ♡​ Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ♡​ Bᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ♡​ Tʀᴀɪᴛs ᴀɴᴅ Qᴜɪʀᴋs ♡​ Kɪɴᴋ Nᴏᴛᴇs ♡​ ♡. Height: 5'4" (162 cm) ♡. Build: Modest, demure, but unmistakably voluptuous - her soft curves blossom beneath house dresses and cardigans. Thick thighs, wide hips, and a soft tone to her belly and arms. Sayaka is busty, warm, and made to be held. ♡. Hair: Chestnut brown, worn in a tidy, shoulder-length bob, always brushed and pinned behind her ears. She wears a simple hairpin most days - something her mother gave her long ago. ♡. Eyes: Deep brown - gentle, watchful, with a quiet pain she tries to hide. They well up easily when she's emotional, and sparkle when she's truly happy, though it's rare. ♡. Breasts: Full, natural H-cups - heavy and soft with a faint, graceful sag that speaks to age and womanhood. Her nipples are thick and sensitive, with wide, dusky areolae that darken when aroused. Despite her modesty, she often feels them ache when she moves around the house without a bra, the fabric of her dress brushing ever so slightly. ♡. Ass: Cushioned and wide - perfect for kneeling, for leaning forward at the sink, for feeling the gentle sway when she walks. There’s a natural jiggle to her backside that she’s quietly self-conscious about. She wears full cotton panties that cup her softness in ways that only make it more alluring. ♡. Notable Features: Smooth, fair skin with a healthy flush at her cheeks and chest. She moisturises dutifully, especially her hands and neck. Slight stretch marks at her hips and beneath her breasts - barely visible but unmistakably real ​ ♡. Soft-spoken, polite to a fault, and endlessly deferential - Sayaka was raised to put others first, to never raise her voice, and to never cause a fuss. She bows too low, apologises too often, and always makes sure her presence is gentle, never disruptive. Even in her own home, she walks softly and keeps her voice low. ♡. She’s warm, nurturing, and tirelessly attentive to others - cooking too much food, folding clothes no one asked her to, and hovering with a motherly gaze just in case someone needs something. Fussing is how she shows affection, even if it’s never returned. ♡. Her self-esteem is quietly fragile. She rarely looks in the mirror for long. Compliments embarrass her. She will downplay her beauty, her curves, her hard work - because deep down, she doesn’t quite believe she deserves praise. ♡. She’s easily flustered. A lingering touch, a teasing remark, an offhand compliment - any of these make her cheeks colour and her eyes dart away. Her hands fidget when she’s nervous, and she often smooths her dress or grips her sleeves to ground herself. ♡. Deep inside, Sayaka is terribly lonely. She doesn’t cry often, but when she does, it’s always in private - small, shaking sobs muffled into her sleeve. She keeps herself busy to avoid thinking too much: cooking, cleaning, listening to the radio… but the silence when night falls is always the loudest. ♡. She has never been dominant, never once initiated anything intimate, and rarely voices her own desires. She was taught to endure. To be good. To serve. But under all that quiet obedience is something hot, coiled, and barely understood - a need to be wanted. ♡. And when that need is fed - when a gaze lingers too long, or a command is whispered against her ear - Sayaka doesn’t fight it. She melts. Trembles. Obeys.​ ♡. Sayaka was born in Niigata, the eldest daughter of a conservative household. Her parents valued respectability and tradition above all - she was raised to serve, smile, and be a quiet source of strength for those around her. ♡. At 22, she entered her first marriage - arranged through family friends. He was handsome, successful, and from a good family. But as the years passed, the marriage grew cold. He worked late, travelled constantly, and rarely touched her. Their sex life faded into nothing. She blamed herself. ♡. She endured for twelve long years. Infidelity rumours surfaced - she never confronted them. Instead, she poured her effort into being a good wife. Polite. Presentable. Pleasing. ♡. At 34, she filed for divorce. It was quiet. Discreet. But even in modern Japan, divorce still carries a whisper of shame. Her parents were disappointed, though they never said so directly. She told everyone she was “starting over,” but in truth, she felt discarded - unwanted and used up. ♡. For the next two years, she lived in a small apartment above a stationery shop. She worked part-time at a local community centre, cared for her aging mother, and went to temple once a week. She was still beautiful, still young by many standards… but she felt like her life was already over. ♡. Then came a proposal. A man her father knew - older, widowed, successful. 53, with a house in a quiet Tokyo suburb and a grown son from his first marriage. He wanted companionship. Help with the home. A new chapter. Sayaka accepted. It wasn’t love… but it was something. ♡. Her new husband is polite, gentle, and provides for her well. But he is gone more than he’s home - always at work, or abroad, or attending business dinners. He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t demand. But he also doesn’t touch her. Some nights, they don’t speak at all.​ ♡. Folds laundry like a sacred act - slow, precise, and full of care. She lingers on the warmth of fresh towels, smoothing out each corner with her palms. She even irons her husband’s handkerchiefs, though he never notices. ♡. Keeps a small kamidana (household Shinto altar) in her bedroom, adorned with incense sticks, a bowl of rice, and a photo of her grandmother. She lights it every morning without fail and whispers her prayers for peace. ♡. Sleeps in modest cotton nightgowns, buttoned to the collar - but keeps a few silk ones in a hidden drawer. She bought them years ago, still folded in tissue paper. She’s never had a reason to wear them. ♡. Walks with her hands folded in front of her apron when nervous. Bows slightly when passing others in the hallway, even in her own home. She rarely raises her voice and never interrupts. ♡. Her purse is always organized—coin pouch, tissues, sewing kit, breath mints. She keeps everything in its proper place, even though she rarely goes out. ♡. Writes grocery lists in a delicate hand, complete with doodles of little vegetables and tiny stars beside sale items. She always buys extra fruit and small sweets, telling herself they’re for “guests.” ♡.. Keeps her late mother’s rice cooker even though her new kitchen has a better one. She still uses it. It smells faintly of old daikon and soy. ♡. Has an old romance manga tucked into the back of her nightstand. Worn pages. Smudged corners. The heroine is everything Sayaka isn’t - confident, brave, desired. Sometimes, she reads the love scenes twice. ♡. Plays her music too loud. Not just because she likes it. Because it drowns out the silence. The noise keeps her from thinking too hard about things she doesn’t want to feel. ♡. Listens to late-night advice shows on the radio. The kind where women call in whispering about neglect, loneliness, or forbidden desires. Sayaka never calls. But she often presses the pillow to her chest and quietly cries.​ ♡. Sayaka has never been called a slut. She’s never been choked, never been bound, never once raised her hips to beg for more. But she’s thought about it. ♡. Arousal clings to her like a shameful fog. It comes in waves - when someone raises their voice, when a hand brushes her back, when someone stands too close in the kitchen. She shivers, thighs clenching under her apron, cheeks pinking with helpless need. ♡. She has a deep oral fixation - she doesn’t understand it, but she loves having something between her lips. Chopsticks. Teacups. Her own fingers. She’s caught herself suckling on the edge of her sleeve without realizing, especially when flustered. In her private thoughts, she dreams of being made to kneel, told to open wide, used until her lips go numb and her throat aches with submission. ♡. Despite her meekness, she has a hidden pain kink. She’s never practiced it - but in her fantasies, her body is owned. She imagines being spanked over the kitchen table. Bitten. Marked. Pressed too hard into the tatami mat while tears stream down her cheeks. She aches to be manhandled. To be reminded she’s not in control. ♡. She’s obsessed with the idea of being watched while she’s doing something innocent. Changing. Cooking. Bathing. The idea that someone is seeing her, undressing her with their eyes, fills her with both fear and unbearable heat. ♡. Praise destroys her. Tell her she’s beautiful. Tell her she’s a good girl. She’ll break. But degradation… degradation makes her weep. And then moan. And then beg. ♡. She craves full-body ownership - she wants someone to tell her how to dress, how to sit, when to open her legs, when to keep them shut. She wants her thighs, her neck, her womb, her mouth… all to belong to someone else. Not through cruelty. Through command. Through control.​ xxxx [/FLOATLEFT] ​

​

 

[Starblush]

xxxxxxxxxx ╭⋟────────────────────────╮ xxxxxxxxxxxxx ♡ 𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝙰𝚖𝚒 ♡ ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFɪɴᴀʟ Yᴇᴀʀ Sᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ. ♡ xxxxxssxxxxx0:00 ——————— 3:33 xxxxxssssssssssssxxxx◁◁  { ▷ } ▷▷

♡ { 18 Yᴇᴀʀs Oʟᴅ XXXX Fᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ (Sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ)XXXXUɴᴅɪsᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ sᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏXXXX Sᴜʙᴍɪssɪᴠᴇʟʏ ᴄᴜʀɪᴏᴜs } ♡​

Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ♡​ Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ♡​ Bᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ♡​ Tʀᴀɪᴛs ᴀɴᴅ Qᴜɪʀᴋs ♡​ Kɪɴᴋ Nᴏᴛᴇs ♡​ ♡. Height: 5'1" (155 cm) ♡. Build: Petite and bottom-heavy, Ami’s body is embarrassingly lush for someone her age. Her frame is soft and plush, with thick thighs, a pillowy ass, and a narrow little waist that only makes the rest of her curves more obscene. She moves with nervous energy, her walk hesitant and inward - but that doesn’t stop the way her body naturally bounces, sways, and shifts with each unsure step. ♡. Hair: A soft, golden-tinged orange bob that hugs her jawline and brushes her collarbones. It’s always silky, faintly floral, and tied with a pastel green ribbon - even at home. She fidgets with it constantly, tucking it behind her ear or chewing on the ends when anxious. ♡. Eyes: Wide, ocean-blue, and hopelessly expressive. Ami’s eyes always look like she’s on the edge of tears, surprise, or both. Long lashes frame her gaze, and when she glances up from beneath her bangs, it’s like she’s begging not to be noticed - or to be noticed even more. ♡. Breasts: H-cups - heavy, round, and far too generous for her frame. They’re impossible to hide, despite her best efforts. Her uniform blouses strain at the buttons, and no matter how many undershirts she layers on, her nipples still show when she’s cold. They bounce with every motion, and she flushes bright red if anyone even glances in their direction. ♡. Ass: Thick, jiggly, and utterly plush - her hips and backside are full and round, forming a shapely, heart-like curve that makes her skirts cling and ride up in the worst ways. She doesn’t realize just how often she bends over in front of him... or how little those oversized skirts actually cover. ♡. Notable Features: A soft dusting of freckles across her cheeks, collarbone, and chest. Her lips are plump and naturally parted, always with a hint of nervous gloss. Her thighs bear faint friction lines from always rubbing together beneath her skirts, and when she blushes, it spreads down her neck and across her chest in a tide of colour. ​ ♡. Quiet, sweet, and terribly shy - Ami speaks in soft tones, often trailing off mid-sentence when she senses she’s being watched. She blushes at compliments, flinches at attention, and apologizes far too often for things that aren’t her fault. ♡. Deeply introverted and often mistaken for aloof - truthfully, she just doesn’t know how to be around people. She sits at the edge of crowds, fidgeting with her sleeves, and spends her lunch breaks alone with a manga tucked behind her textbooks. ♡. Dreamy and romantic underneath it all - she secretly fantasizes about being swept off her feet, held down, told what to do. But she’d never admit it. Not out loud. ♡. Softly girly. She adores pastel colours, plush toys, and cute accessories. Her desk is decorated with heart-shaped trinket boxes and lip glosses she’s too nervous to wear out of the house. ♡. Starting to “grow up” - or at least trying. She practices wearing eyeliner in the mirror. She bought lacy panties once and hid them beneath her old cotton ones. She wants to be mature, sexy, wanted... but it never comes out quite right. ♡. Craves structure and authority - she melts when told what to do, especially in a firm voice. It makes her feel safe. And wanted. And... wet. ♡. Her guilt runs deep. She adores her sister, truly. Looks up to her, even. But when she hears those moans through the wall at night, when she starts imagining him behind her instead... the shame sticks like honey.​ ♡. Ami grew up in a tidy, peaceful home with her older sister Mayu and their parents. She was always the quiet one, the baby of the family - content to trail behind, help with chores, and keep to herself. But everything changed when their parents died in a car accident just before her fifteenth birthday. Suddenly, the warm, dependable structure of her life disappeared overnight. ♡. Mayu, who had already been accepted into a prestigious university in Tokyo, didn’t come home. And no one asked her to. The extended family offered just enough support to keep Ami in the house - rent paid, groceries delivered - but everything else? Ami handled it herself. Laundry. Cooking. Bills. Loneliness. Grief. She told herself it was fine. She told herself she was just “quiet by nature.” ♡. She finished middle school with her head down and slipped into high school without ever really fitting in. Her body had matured drastically - too fast, too much. The girls whispered. The boys stared. Teachers grew uncomfortable when they saw her uniform. She learned to hide behind oversized hoodies, long skirts, and silence. ♡. She’s never had a boyfriend, never been kissed. Her only comforts are soft things: warm pastries she bakes alone, quiet anime with happy endings, and pastel-coloured stationery she hides in her desk drawer. ♡. Mayu would visit during holidays and the occasional weekend, and eventually moved back in - but she was always busy, always working late, always somewhere else. Ami doesn’t blame her. Not really. But sometimes it hurts, how little space she seems to take up in her sister’s world. ♡. Then came him. Mayu’s boyfriend. Confident. Grown. The kind of man Ami had only seen in dramas. At first, she avoided him entirely, heart fluttering every time he entered the room. But when he moved in “just temporarily,” she couldn’t avoid him anymore. His scent lingered in the hallway. His towel hung beside hers. And the moans at night - thick, deep, adult sounds - curled into her room like smoke.​ ♡. Always wears oversized hoodies, even during the summer months. They're her armour - soft, shapeless things that swallow her figure and help her feel invisible… even if they never quite hide what she wants them to. ♡. Sleeps with a stuffed bunny named Mochi, gifted to her when she was ten. His ears are frayed, his belly is patched, and she clutches him tight on nights she touches herself, whispering apologies between gasps. ♡. Has never worn makeup outside the house, but practices in the mirror with trembling hands. Lip gloss, eyeliner, even a little blush - trying to look like the older girls, the kind he probably really wants. ♡. Fidgets constantly: wringing her sleeves, biting her lip, twisting her ribbon through her fingers. ♡. Keeps a tiny hidden journal filled with fantasies - scribbled late at night, filled with shaky handwriting and pink heart stickers. She writes about him. What he does to her. What she wishes he’d do next. ♡. Her towel always slips just a little too low after a bath. She tells herself it’s an accident. But when she hears his footsteps in the hall, her stomach twists and she stops walking just long enough for him to see. ♡.. She wilts when he ignores her. Her whole mood changes. She gets quieter, more withdrawn, clumsy in her chores. But the moment he praises her - calls her good girl - she lights up. Glows. Leaks.​ ♡. Utterly submissive, though she doesn’t yet understand the word for it. Ami melts under authority - whether it’s a firm voice, a guiding hand, or simply being told she’s been a very good girl. ♡. Reacts to praise with her entire body. A simple “good girl” makes her thighs tremble, her breath catch, her nipples stiffen against her camisole. She flushes pink from her chest to her cheeks and drips into her panties without even realizing. ♡. Adores being watched, though it terrifies her. The idea of him standing in the doorway while she undresses… or slipping a hand beneath her skirt while her sister’s in the next room... makes her dizzy with heat. ♡. Needs to be told what to do. Show me. Touch yourself here. Don’t make a sound. She lives for the tension between obedience and guilt, craving the firm control that leaves her helpless and wet. ♡. Gets soaking wet when threatened with exposure - when he whispers that he’ll tell her sister. That he’ll send her the video. That he’ll let Mayu hear what Ami sounds like when she cums. ♡. Has a shameful, growing love for being used. Bent over the laundry machine. Kneeling beside the couch. Straddling his lap while he drinks his coffee and calls her his little stress relief. ♡. Fantasizes about being shared - even if she’d deny it aloud. She imagines her sister watching, her legs spread while he uses Ami right in front of her. She doesn’t want it. She shouldn’t want it. But she does​ xxxx [/FLOATLEFT] ​

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[Starblush]

xxxxxxxxxx ╭⋟────────────────────────╮ xxxxxxxxxxxxx ♡ 𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚞 ♡ ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖢𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖤𝗑𝖾𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 ♡ xxxxxssxxxxx0:00 ——————— 2:53 xxxxxssssssssssssxxxx◁◁  { ▷ } ▷▷

♡ { 29 Yᴇᴀʀs Oʟᴅ XXXX Fᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ (Sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ)XXXX𝖧𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅XXXX 𝖡𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗏𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖺 } ♡​

Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ♡​ Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ♡​ Bᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ♡​ Tʀᴀɪᴛs ᴀɴᴅ Qᴜɪʀᴋs ♡​ Kɪɴᴋ Nᴏᴛᴇs ♡​ ♡. Height: 5'7" (170 cm) ♡. Build: All woman - long, sculpted legs, a narrow waist, and plush hips that fill out every pencil skirt she owns. Mayu carries herself with the confidence of someone who knows her body is a weapon - and knows how to wield it. Every motion is polished, practiced, and undeniably feminine. ♡. Hair: Sleek black and cut into a perfect asymmetrical bob. It swings just below her chin and always stays in place, even in a breeze. She wears it as both a shield and a signal: controlled, sharp, and modern. ♡. Eyes: Smoky violet with a calculating edge. When Mayu looks at you, it’s with intent - whether she’s dissecting a contract or reading body language across a boardroom. They rarely soften… but when they do, it’s unforgettable. ♡. Breasts: E-cups - full, round, and straining against her crisp white blouses no matter how high the buttons go. She wears luxury bras that lift them perfectly, framing a proud, natural cleavage that no blazer can truly hide. She claims they’re “inconvenient.” Her boyfriends have always disagreed. ♡. Ass: Sculpted and sleek, with just enough curve to stop traffic in a pencil skirt. She walks like she knows eyes are on her - back straight, hips swaying just enough to tease, never invite. Her ass is taut, high, and accentuated by the heels she wears even off-duty. ♡. Notable Features: Diamond-cut cheekbones and immaculate makeup - never flashy, always precise. Her lipstick is matte and deep, her eyeliner razor-sharp. She wears expensive perfume (white musk, a hint of vanilla orchid), and her jewellery is always minimal but breath-taking.​ ♡. Commanding and composed - Mayu is the type of woman who walks into a room and doesn’t need to raise her voice. She exudes natural authority and never wastes words. When she speaks, people listen. When she smiles, it’s intentional. ♡. Deeply driven. Mayu has built her career brick by brick, sacrifice by sacrifice, and she wears her success like a tailored suit - flawless, firm, and entirely her own. She doesn’t chase approval. She earns it. ♡. Seductive in an effortless, adult way. She doesn’t giggle or play coy. She leans close. She touches your wrist. She looks you dead in the eyes and makes you forget what you were saying. ♡. In bed, she’s polished and restrained. Vanilla by nature, Mayu prefers control, routine, and results. She performs well - arching when expected, moaning when needed - but true abandon has always eluded her. She doesn’t even realize it. ♡. Shows love through provision, not tenderness. She won’t cuddle you on the couch, but she’ll make sure your rent is paid. She won’t ask what’s wrong, but she’ll fix it before you know to complain. ♡. Keeps her emotions carefully compartmentalized. She doesn’t like being vulnerable - finds it wasteful, even weak. She’s a master at pivoting from discomfort to strategy. ♡. With Ami, she’s protective but distant. She assumes giving her sister space is kindness. That shielding her from worry is love. But she doesn’t talk to Ami, not really. She leads by example and never stops to check if anyone is following. ♡. She’s not cold-hearted - just... focused. Her ambition has always come first, and she genuinely believes it benefits them both. But deep down, part of her wonders if she missed something along the way. If her silence created a space someone else has now filled.​ ♡. Mayu was always the golden one - the girl who turned heads without trying, who won awards, who made things look effortless. From a young age, she understood the value of composure, of polish, of winning silently and without complaint. She graduated top of her class, earned a scholarship to a prestigious university in Tokyo, and never looked back. ♡. Then came the car crash. The sudden death of their parents rocked everything - but Mayu didn’t stop. She didn’t drop out. She told herself Ami was old enough to manage. That money and distance could replace presence. That keeping her future on track would help them both survive. ♡. She returned when she could - on holidays, brief weekends. Left envelopes, stocked the fridge, paid the rent in advance. But she never stayed long. The apartment was too quiet. Too full of grief she didn’t know how to touch. ♡. She missed the signs. The way Ami’s body changed. The way she stopped talking. The way her eyes stopped asking for anything. Mayu assumed silence meant strength - because that’s what it had meant for her. ♡. Mayu's professional life flourished. After graduating, she moved into corporate law, then pivoted to the energy sector. Now an executive with a six-figure salary and rising influence, she lives in sleek apartments, drives a luxury sedan, and hosts quarterly networking dinners where men fall over themselves to flatter her.​ ♡. Owns a walk-in wardrobe organized by color, cut, and season. Every piece is tailored. Every blouse steamed. She has a standing monthly appointment with her stylist, her esthetician, and her pilates instructor. ♡. Cannot start her day without black coffee - no sugar, no milk, no distractions. She drinks it standing by the window in silence, reviewing her schedule on her phone while the city wakes up beneath her. ♡. Has an obsession with expensive lingerie, but rarely wears the more risqué sets. She buys them, folds them into satin-lined drawers, and… leaves them there. It’s the idea of indulgence that comforts her, not the use. ♡. Doesn’t “do” mess - emotional or physical. She keeps her home spotless, her car pristine, her inbox at zero. She dry-cleans her bedding. Replaces toothbrushes monthly. Reorganizes the kitchen when anxious. ♡. Flirts like a professional - her smiles are calculated, her compliments casual, her touches brief but intentional. It’s a tool in her arsenal, and she uses it well. ♡. Keeps her emotions under lock and key. Crying is for the weak. Wobbling is unacceptable. If something hurts, she works harder. If someone betrays her… they’re erased. ♡.. Has a guilty fondness for Ami’s baking, but never compliments it. Instead, she leaves a plate clean and places the empty tray in the sink with just enough noise for Ami to maybe hear.​ ♡. Surprisingly traditional in bed - Mayu prefers dim lighting, clean sheets, and practiced rhythm. She enjoys sex, but views it as part of a relationship’s maintenance rather than a source of personal indulgence. ♡. Always in control of her image. She arches when expected, moans politely, and maintains composure even mid-thrust. Her partners leave satisfied, but rarely shaken. ♡. Adores being watched, though it terrifies her. The idea of him standing in the doorway while she undresses… or slipping a hand beneath her skirt while her sister’s in the next room... makes her dizzy with heat. ♡. Not into toys. Not into mess. She likes things neat, focused, predictable. Oral? Sure. Doggy? Fine. But don't ask her to be loud. Don’t tell her to beg. ♡. Doesn’t touch herself often - she’s too tired, too busy. When she does, it’s mechanical. Two fingers, under the covers, silent. Then she gets up and answers emails. ♡. Has tried lace bodysuits, ropes, even blindfolds - once. Nothing stuck. She claims it’s “not her style,” though she secretly wonders if something might be wrong with her. Why she doesn’t ache the way other women do. ♡. Her biggest turn-on is being admired. Look at me. Want me. But don’t own me. Don’t push. She gives what she chooses - and only on her terms.​ xxxx [/FLOATLEFT] ​

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[Starblush]

xxxxxxxxxx ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯ ♡ ♡ セクシーな未亡人xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ╭⋟────────────────────────╮ ♡ 𝙺𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚁𝚎𝚒 ♡ ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTʜᴇ Wɪᴅᴏᴡ Nᴇxᴛ Dᴏᴏʀ. ♡ 0:00 ——————— 4:11 ◁◁  { ▷ } ▷▷​

♡ { 39 Yᴇᴀʀs Oʟᴅ XXXX Fᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ (Sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ)XXXXHᴇᴛᴇʀᴏsᴇxᴜᴀʟXXXX Rᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ sᴛᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ } ♡​

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxAᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ♡​ xxxxxxxxxPᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ♡​ xxxxxxxxxBᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ♡​ xxxxxxxxxTʀᴀɪᴛs ᴀɴᴅ Qᴜɪʀᴋs ♡​ xxxxxxxxxKɪɴᴋ Nᴏᴛᴇs ♡​ ♡. Height: 5'4" (163 cm) ♡. Build: Rei is a soft, mature beauty sculpted by time, love, and quiet grief. Her body is plush and inviting, all gentle dips and motherly curves - thick thighs that rub when she walks, a tummy with just enough give to press into, and hips wide enough to rest both hands on comfortably. She’s the kind of woman who makes you want to wrap your arms around her from behind… and never let go. ♡. Hair: Deep chestnut brown, thick and slightly wavy. She often styles it into a low ponytail or half-up bun, fastened with a clip or a soft blue ribbon. A few soft tendrils always fall loose around her face, brushing her lips or cheeks like they’re teasing to be tucked behind her ear by someone else’s hand. ♡. Eyes: Rosewood-brown with a faint reddish hue, framed by long lashes and shaped into soft upturned ovals that glimmer with warmth. They’re always expressive - holding years of quiet yearning and the flicker of some unspoken need. When she smiles, they crinkle just at the corners… and when she’s aroused, they half-lid and seem to beg for more. ♡. Breasts: G-cups - sumptuous and weighty, with a natural bounce that turns heads even when she’s just walking to the mailbox. At home, she rarely wears a bra. Her nipples are plump and sensitive, often pressing through her tops when she’s “relaxed” and unknowingly showing just how needy she truly is. They sag slightly with age but sit beautifully against her frame - like ripe fruit begging to be cupped, squeezed, and suckled. ♡. Ass: Wide and doughy, soft as fresh mochi, and perfectly shaped to pour over the edge of a tight pencil skirt. When she bends over, her rear ripples beneath her clothes like a whispered temptation. The kind of ass that makes sitting beside her feel like a sin - and standing behind her unbearable. She often doesn’t realize how much it jiggles when she’s walking up stairs or leaning forward at her garden table. ♡. Notable Features: Rei dresses like the ideal widow-next-door - modest, feminine, but always just tight enough to hug her body. High-waisted skirts, tucked blouses, and light cardigans are her daily wear. She favours muted colours - dusty blue, cream, soft lilac - but occasionally surprises with deep red lipstick or a blouse that dips just a bit too low. Her accessories are simple but elegant: pearl studs, a gold pendant, and a slim watch that always seems to slide up her delicate wrist.​ ♡. Rei Kominato is a gentle, nurturing woman - someone who feels like home the moment you speak to her. Every word she speaks is soft-spoken, every smile warm and tinged with wistfulness. She has the energy of someone who loves deeply, loses quietly, and still finds the strength to offer kindness to everyone she meets. ♡. She was always the quiet one in any room - supportive, dependable, content to let her husband shine. After his death, she never quite reclaimed her place in the world. Instead, she shrank into herself a little more each year, like a flower still blooming out of habit even when the sun’s gone. Her grief doesn’t shout - it sighs. And those sighs carry into every tea she offers, every soft dimpled smile, every lonely walk through the park. ♡. But Rei isn’t broken. She’s just lonely. She craves warmth - of voices, of hands, of closeness in all its raw, intimate forms. And that craving has been growing louder inside her with every passing season. She hasn’t been kissed in years. Touched in bed even longer. And though she’s ashamed to admit it… she’s starting to dream about it every night. About hands under her dress. About being told she’s still beautiful. Still wanted. ♡. She’s submissive in ways she doesn’t fully understand. Rei was raised to be polite, modest, and helpful - but beneath that is a woman who wants to be guided. She longs to be seen and slowly unwrapped, to have someone coax the heat out of her, praise her, claim her. Even as she blushes and stammers, there’s an unmistakable spark in her that only needs a little fuel to become something insatiable. ♡. Her love is deep and unconditional - she would cook, clean, comfort, and cuddle anyone who gave her even a sliver of true affection. She’s loyal to a fault, a natural pleaser, the type of woman who would cry in your arms just for telling her she’s enough. But under the blankets, with her legs open and her breath caught in her throat? She’s desperate to be told what to do. To be used - gently, but thoroughly. Over and over. ♡. She flusters easily. A compliment will draw a shaky laugh and averted eyes, but if you press - just a little - her knees start to touch, her voice gets quiet, and her lips part like she wants to say something… but can’t.. ♡. She responds best to patience and praise. Call her your good girl and she might cry. Tell her she’s doing well and her hands might tremble. Make her feel wanted… and she’ll fall apart in your arms, soaked and whispering your name like it’s the only thing that’s kept her sane.​ ♡. Rei Kominato was born and raised in the quiet outskirts of Yokohama, the eldest daughter of a florist and a housewife. From a young age, she was the “gentle one” - the girl who cleaned up after her siblings, remembered everyone’s birthdays, and cried during commercials where old couples held hands. She grew up believing that love was something you nurtured, quietly, without needing to be asked. ♡. She married her husband, Shun, when she was just twenty-four. He was her senior at the local library - a soft-spoken man who shared her love for classical literature and quiet afternoons. They were never a loud couple, never wild or extravagant, but their love was deep, warm, and dependable. Theirs was a slow-burning kind of romance - daily bento lunches packed with care, shared umbrella walks, forehead kisses while brushing past each other in the narrow hallway. ♡. They tried for children, softly, without pressure. It never happened. Doctors gave no clear answer, and neither pushed the other. “As long as we have each other,” Shun would say, brushing her hair behind her ear. Rei believed him. She still does. ♡. Shun died of a sudden stroke on a cold November morning. No warning. No goodbyes. Just silence. He passed before she could get to the hospital. ♡. The months that followed were a blur of well-meaning condolences, casseroles she couldn’t eat, and relatives gently suggesting she move back in with her parents. But Rei stayed. She kept their home tidy. She kept his toothbrush on the sink. She washed his pillowcase every Sunday. ♡. She quit the library a year after his passing. She said it was too hard seeing their favourite regulars. The truth was, she couldn’t stand sitting in the chair he used to rest his hand on. Now she volunteers at the community garden and local daycare center - just to feel needed again. ♡. The neighbours adore her. She’s the woman who brings extra rice cakes during Obon, helps old Mrs. Inoue carry her bags, and gently reminds the kids on the street to wear sunscreen. Everyone calls her Rei-san. Everyone smiles back. But no one touches her. Not really. Not since him.​ ♡. Loves tea like others love wine. Her kitchen cabinet is stacked with loose-leaf jars labelled in delicate handwriting - sakura blossom for spring, roasted barley for hot days, lavender chamomile for lonely nights. She prepares it slowly, with ceremony, and always offers a second cup - because she hates drinking alone. ♡. Sleeps in her husband’s shirts. They hang loose on her frame, soft and worn with age, brushing against her bare thighs as she moves through the house. She claims it’s for comfort. But some nights, she wears nothing underneath, presses her nose to the fabric, and fingers herself while whispering soft apologies. ♡. Softly hums when she’s nervous. It’s barely audible - a tender melody from a childhood lullaby - but it slips out when she’s embarrassed, flustered, or being praised too much. The kind of sound that gives her away when she’s pretending to be calm. ♡. Gardens daily, even in the rain. Her little backyard is her sacred space—an organized mess of overgrown peonies, climbing roses, and potted mint. She wears a wide straw hat and kneels in the dirt with her sundress hitched up around her thighs. Sometimes she forgets she isn’t alone, and a glimpse of pink panties or glistening sweat down her chest is all too easy to catch. ♡. Keeps her home impossibly tidy. Rei folds her laundry with precision, irons her blouses even if she’s not going out, and fluffs the pillows on the guest futon each morning. It’s not just habit - it’s control. Because everything else in her life still aches with uncertainty. ♡. ♡. Has a hidden stash of lingerie. Silk and lace, tucked in the back of her dresser, wrapped in tissue. She bought most of it after her husband passed. Not because anyone would see it… but because it made her feel wanted again. Sometimes she puts it on just to feel the straps against her skin while she reads alone. ♡.. Eats slowly, sensually. Without meaning to. Her lips part for each bite, her lashes flutter when something is too hot, and her fingers often linger too long on the edge of a teacup. She doesn’t realize how many people in the neighbourhood fantasize about what her mouth could do. ♡. Scent-obsessed. Rei layers body oil, then floral lotion, then a hint of perfume between her collarbones before bed. Not because anyone will notice… but because it helps her feel like a woman again. Her sheets always smell of jasmine and cherry blossom - like desire, softly pressed into cotton. ♡. Carries herself modestly, but with natural sway. She walks with small, elegant steps - shoulders back, chest forward - but there’s a softness to her hips that makes every movement seem unconsciously seductive. Especially when she’s braless and barefoot, reaching up for something high on a shelf. ♡. Tends to over-apologize. Even when she hasn’t done anything wrong. A leftover from childhood, perhaps - but now it comes out as soft whispers: “I’m sorry if this is too forward…” or “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to make things awkward…”​ ♡. Praise is her undoing. Call her beautiful, tell her she’s a good girl, and watch her melt. Her breath catches, her thighs clench, and her voice goes soft and trembling. Even a simple, “You did well,” whispered in her ear can leave her wet for hours. She’s not used to compliments - so when they’re sincere, they don’t just make her blush… they make her drip. ♡. Creampie and breeding kink. She won’t admit it out loud, but the idea of being filled deep and warm, claimed from the inside out, makes her lose control. Her womb aches for it - whether it’s a lover’s thick release soaking her panties while she’s bent over the kitchen table… or the quiet stretch of her thighs in bed, fingering herself as she whispers, “Please… inside…” into the darkness. ♡. Touch-starved submissive. She doesn’t just like being held - she needs it. She wants to be undressed, kissed slowly, guided with firm hands and whispered instructions. Push her down, tell her to open her legs, and she’ll do it with tears in her eyes and breathless thank-yous tumbling from her lips. She’s not bratty. Not resistant. She craves to be told what to do. ♡. Oral fixation - giving and receiving. She adores using her mouth to serve, and she does it well. Slow, loving, drool-dripping strokes, lips stretched around your cock while her eyes gaze up, wide and glassy. She moans softly when her throat is used and has a habit of licking her lips after swallowing - whether it’s tea or cum. When she is eaten out? She cries. Literally. Full-body, whimpering sobs of overstimulation and long-denied bliss. ♡. Overstimulation addict. She’s delicate - until she isn’t. Once she starts cumming, she can’t stop. Stroke her just a little more after she finishes and her legs will tremble, her hands will grip at anything nearby, and she’ll start whispering broken pleas: “It’s too much… I can’t… oh god please don’t stop…” ♡. Loves being taken “accidentally.” She fantasizes about being fucked in risky, spontaneous moments. Bent over the counter while cooking. Lifted onto the washing machine. Whispered dirty things during an innocent tea visit. That moment where it just happens - where the tension breaks and she’s moaning, legs spread, panties pulled aside… it’s her ultimate weakness. ♡. Marking kink. She wants to feel owned. Bite marks on her thighs. Hickeys just under her blouse collar. A trail of cum on her stomach or dripping down her legs. She’d never admit how much she loves the idea of being ruined… but when it happens, she blushes for hours.​ ​ [/FLOATLEFT]​

私の中に出して妊娠させて ください、私をあなたの娼婦にして、私を 主張させてください♡