[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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xxxxxssssssssssssxxxx◁◁  { ▷ } ▷▷

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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.​

xxxxxxxxxx

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

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xxxxxxxxxx

 

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 ♡ 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] ​

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