[NSFW] Wᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ɴᴏᴡ - Sᴛᴀʀʙʟᴜsʜ x PʀɪɴᴄᴇTᴜʟɪᴘ

[Starblush]

╭⋟────────────────────────╮ ♡ Sᴛᴀʀʙʟᴜsʜ x PʀɪɴᴄᴇTᴜʟɪᴘ ♡ ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ ​

 

[Starblush]

╭⋟────────────────────────╮ ♡ 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚞 ♡ ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTʜᴇ ᴡɪʟᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴏsᴇ. ♡​

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦​

The clatter of chopsticks echoed into silence. Mayu Takahashi sat alone at the low dining table, her posture delicate and composed as she rested her hands in her lap. The food in front of her was still hot - miso soup, pale with wakame and tofu; perfectly folded tamagoyaki, golden and sweet; and salted grilled mackerel laid gently beside a shiso leaf. She’d even made fresh rice, steamed to a perfect fluff. But Shinji hadn’t come down. The silence in the house was heavy. Not the comforting stillness of a home at peace, but the thick, breathless kind—full of things left unsaid. Outside, the minmin-zemi shrieked in the trees, their song merging with the glow of the summer twilight, oppressive in its weight. Mayu let out a soft, soundless sigh through her nose. The heat clung to her skin, damp and persistent, pressing the soft fabric of her pale-blue house dress against her body. It was thin cotton, sleeveless, and modest in cut - but it still hugged the swell of her hips and the soft curve of her belly. Her bust, full and far too heavy for such a simple garment, gently tugged at the front seams with each breath. The dress had no structure to conceal her natural size, and when she moved, it shifted and clung. She rose from the tatami with practiced grace, one hand brushing along the side of her thigh to smooth the fabric over her hips. Her bare feet moved silently across the polished wood floor as she made her way down the hall. She stopped at Shinji’s door. Balanced in her hands was a lacquered tray with his dinner still perfectly plated. She knocked twice, soft but firm. “Shinji-kun…” Her voice was gentle, motherly, touched with concern. “Dinner is ready, sweetheart. I made saba again… it’s still warm.” Nothing. She paused. Another knock, a little softer. “Please open the door. Just for a moment. You haven’t eaten since school…” Still silence. No shuffling. Not even the click of his phone screen. Just that same hollow quiet he’d wrapped himself in all week. She stood there for a long moment, hand resting lightly on the frame. He wouldn’t say it, but she knew. The bruises on his arms. The torn backpack. The sudden fear in his eyes when she mentioned school. Even his teacher had skirted around the issue, saying things like “adjusting socially” and “common teenage dynamics.” But the signs were all there. He was being bullied. And not by just anyone. She lowered the tray gently to the floor, her brows drawing in as she straightened. That boy… The older one. He was in the attached high school - just across the walkway from the middle school, technically separate but close enough for the seniors to throw their weight around. He was bigger than the others. Sharper. Meaner. The other mothers whispered about him at the supermarket, dropping their voices when he passed by in his loose uniform and scuffed shoes. “Lives alone, doesn’t he?” “Orphan. No relatives. Rents one of those run-down flats behind the tracks.” “Smokes. Brings girls to school. Did you hear what he did to that first-year?” Mayu shivered, but not from the heat. She walked back to the dining table slowly. The empty seats stared back at her like ghosts. Rei-chan hadn’t come home. Of course not. At eighteen, her daughter had no time for quiet dinners and folded laundry. She was out somewhere, dressed in one of those tight black outfits with her headphones in, surrounded by boys her age or worse. Mayu hated how she dressed, hated the makeup, the chokers - but she never said anything. She didn’t want to be another wall her daughter pushed against. She sat back down on the tatami, lifted her chopsticks again, and stared at the untouched food. It was no use. The frustration, the quiet despair, the heat pressing into her like fingers - it all coiled into something firmer in her chest. She couldn’t just sit here anymore, wilting in silence. She rose again. This time with purpose. Her feet carried her to the bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and slid her hands through the hangers, fingers brushing linen and cotton. She paused on a cream-colored blouse - light and breathable, with delicate embroidery at the collar. She held it up to her chest, then reached for a navy skirt, fitted at the waist and ending just above the knee. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, slipping out of her house dress and stepping into the chosen outfit. The summer heat embraced her bare skin as she changed. Her full, heavy breasts pressed snugly against the blouse, their shape impossible to hide, even with the fabric layered modestly. She adjusted the buttons, pulling them together until the neckline rested just low enough to reveal the faintest hint of her cleavage - unintentionally framed by the scalloped lace of the collar. She told herself it was fine. It was just… hot. The skirt hugged her hips and thighs as she fastened the side zipper. She smoothed it down over her backside, frowning slightly as the fabric clung to the soft roundness of her ass. It was always the same with these skirts - they were made for slimmer women. But she didn’t have time to think about it. She brushed her hair into a simple half-up style, securing it with a small silver clip. Her makeup was minimal - a touch of powder, a sweep of mascara, and tinted lip balm to give her lips a natural pink glow. She looked at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back wasn’t seductive. Wasn’t provocative. Just… trying. Trying to be taken seriously. Trying to do something. She stepped into her sandals and left the house without looking back. The sun had slipped below the rooftops, casting long shadows over the narrow streets. Lanterns buzzed to life one by one, flickering with that warm, golden glow unique to Japanese summer evenings. The cicadas had changed their tune - less frantic now, lower and constant. She passed the neighbourhood bakery, now shuttered for the night. The florist. The co-op. Her sandals clicked softly against the cracked pavement as she stepped into the older district. Here, everything changed. The houses were smaller, packed tightly. The streets narrowed. Walls were covered in faded graffiti and rusted air conditioners leaked onto the sidewalks. The air smelled of oil, smoke, and fried skewers. A group of older boys loitered near a vending machine, their shirts unbuttoned, laughter loud and mocking. “Hey, okaasan,” one of them called, voice slick with amusement. “That blouse’s doing some real heavy lifting tonight.” Another whistled low. “Where you headed lookin’ that fine?” She kept walking. Eyes forward. Head down. But her fingers curled around the strap of her purse a little tighter. Her thighs brushed with every step beneath her skirt, and though the heat was the same, her skin felt flushed now - strange, tingling. Her heartbeat ticked in her ears. She hated being stared at like that. Like she was something to be unwrapped. But she didn’t turn back. The apartment blocks appeared ahead, sagging buildings with cracked balconies and crooked satellite dishes. The walls were grey and sweat-stained, vines creeping up their sides like veins. She knew he lived somewhere in here. She’d never seen him up close. Only heard about him. But tonight, she thought, swallowing thickly, I’ll look him in the eye and tell him to stop. For Shinji-kun’s sake. For my family’s sake. And if her pulse wouldn’t slow down… well. She’d blame the heat.​

​

 

[PrinceTulip]

╭⋟────────────────────────╮ 力 Tᴇɪᴋᴀ Nᴀᴋᴀᴅᴀ 奸 ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxOᴡɴᴇʀsʜɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ. 操​

私は大きなチンポを持っている​

Nakada Teika wasn't a complete stranger to being gossiped about by parents. Twelve schools, three different school systems and two foster families had been what it took until he finally grew out of the system and was thrust on his own regardless. His parents were unknown, but rumors got around. Killed in a car crash, left him at a dumpster, died in the hospital of some horrible illness. People could extrapolate conclusions based on who he was all they wanted, but the sad reality was it didn't matter. They weren't around, and that was that. Unsurprisingly, he became a rather unpleasant individual over the course of his upbringing. Getting involved with the wrong kids over and over again led him to the run-down, dirty flat he called home. Living alone, making his money drug-dealing and committing crime, and yet still attending high school classes. The state paid for his tuition, and he willingly went. It wasn't clear why, maybe he wanted something better for himself, or just did it out of fear? Speaking of, he was quite frightening to the kids he went to school with. His left arm was marred with societal disgrace - vibrant tattoos that spiraled over and over around his forearm and bicep, blurring the muscles behind ink and forcing him to stick out like a sore thumb in public. Honestly, they were beautiful. Masterfully done, a true work of art, and yet still so horrible for the people of his culture to look upon. A mark that he'd never have a respectable job, or maybe it was more intentional for Nakada, signaling that he didn't want a respectable job. He clearly wasn't afraid to show it off, wearing a tight white tank-top that hugged his muscular chest and abdomen. The straps ran over his fair skin, pulled taut by broad, muscle-bound shoulders - each striation revealing itself as Nakada took another drag from the cigarette he smoked. He didn't really even work out all that much, simply being genetically blessed had turned him into a herculean monster of a 19-year-old after he went through the throes of puberty. Black pants obscured powerful legs, held tight around his waist by a simple black belt with a silver belt buckle. His expensive, silver chronograph watch reflected the sun back as it began to lower itself behind the insidious apartment buildings as they seemed to oppress the very sky itself. Supposedly he'd finally graduate this year and they'd all be rid of him, but no one really knew. He stood on his balcony that faced out from the complex, dull blue eyes watching as shadow swallowed the streets and fingers of darkness wrapped around the throats of alleyways - plunging the already-unsafe slums into an early night. Nakada swore these apartment buildings had been built exactly to blot out the sun, so that the wretched would move inside earlier or kill each other in the streets. His gaze followed the all-consuming gloom, until it swallowed up someone quite unlike those who frequented his home. She stuck out, to say the least, especially dressed like that. But Shinji's mom was not entirely unfamiliar to Nakada. Not that they had ever met formally, but rather that she had been the exact reason he started picking on that pathetic loser kid. His mom was a fine piece of ass, well-proportioned to the point where Nakada had begun slipping out of class just to watch her pick up her son from school. It was always her, too, never the father. And in their nice car, he had to be sure Shinji's dad was a mostly respectable businessman. None of those types were fully respectable, though they all liked to pretend to be better than those from Nakada's walk of life. Nakada disappeared back into his apartment, only to reappear at one of the many entrances to the maze-like complex only a few minutes later. Standing on the corner, leaning his shoulder into the crude concrete of one of the many doorways into the maze that was his apartment complex, Nakada watched her attentively. He took a final drag of his cigarette, almost as if he needed the last hit to contemplate. A flick of his finger as he added it to a pile, before smoothing his rough palms out over his pants. He was feared for his size, but also admired depending on the social circle. At least six foot three, with broad shoulders, thick arms and thicker legs, he was intimidatingly large. It became even more apparent with each step he took towards her on his slow, calculated stroll. He didn't offer any cat-calls, not like the other men had done, he walked with clear intent. And when he did open his mouth, his voice was deep and husky - the voice of a mature man who had many years under his belt. "You look a little lost." He feigned ignorance for a few seconds, his eyes wandering over her body, before following up, "You're that one kid's mom. Sheiji, right?" He squinted his eyes at her, "Seems like you didn't expect it to get dark so fast, huh? It tends to do that here." He nearly spat the words at her, before his eyes drifted away from her figure to watch behind her. She was drawing attention. It was going to become very dangerous very quickly for her out here, the darkness seemed to bring out the worst in people. They felt safe, hidden in shadow. Nakada did too, but he didn't want anyone encroaching on what he believed was his. Something in his gut told him she was here because of him, he had made sure to mark up the boy where someone would finally see it. That made him territorial. It made him feel like he deserved this one, and he certainly didn't want to share. Not with any of these fucking losers, at least. "Whatever. I don't care what the brat's name is, but you should care about getting home. You might get stuck out here." He then simply turned around, and began casually strolling back towards his apartment complex. He had thrown her the bone - he knew her son, he likely fit whatever description was getting thrown around, and why else would her son be coming home with cigarette butts tangled in his hair if it wasn't a smoker? Now it was just time for the mom to take the bait and lose herself following Nakada in the maze that was his apartment complex.​

​

 

[Starblush]

╭⋟────────────────────────╮ ♡ 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚞 ♡ ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTʜᴇ ᴡɪʟᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴏsᴇ. ♡​

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦​

Her sandals clicked with uneasy rhythm now. The deeper Mayu Takahashi walked into the narrow guts of the complex, the more the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t just that the air was hotter here - stagnant, thick with engine exhaust and beer-soaked concrete - it was that it felt watched. Not like the quiet stares she got in grocery stores, but something more primal. Hungrier. A sharp whistle cut through the air behind her. “Okaasan~ Where you headed dressed like that, huh?” Another followed. “Bet you smell real nice too, huh? That housewife perfume…” “Too clean to be here. Wonder what she looks like under that skirt—” Laughter. Low and mocking. Mayu didn’t answer. She just gripped the strap of her handbag tighter, adjusting it subtly to shield the heavy weight of her bust as best she could. The cream blouse clung worse now, the humidity drawing the fabric snug across her chest. She could feel the faint sway of her breasts with every step, the pull of the lace-edged neckline inching downward. It made her skin prickle with heat. She hated this. The way they looked at her. Like she was something wrapped in a bow. And yet she kept walking. For Shinji-kun. A wrong turn. Then another. She paused near a vending machine to collect herself - wiping a hand lightly over her collarbone as if brushing away sweat, though her fingers trembled faintly. Her hips shifted as she adjusted the hem of her skirt, the light fabric stretching a little too snug over her rear. It was too tight. Too short for here. Every inch of her body felt on display. I should have changed into something else… And then— "You look a little lost." The voice came from her left, deep and low like it belonged to someone older than he should be. It slid over her like the heat—coarse, unwanted, impossible to ignore. Her body stiffened, her breath catching as she turned. He was standing there. And he was enormous. The first thing she noticed was the breadth of his shoulders - how they stretched the tank top taut across his chest. Her eyes dropped, flicking over the thick, ink-covered arms, the slope of his neck, and then lower - where she caught a glimpse of his belt, the way his pants clung to thick thighs. She quickly looked back up, heart stuttering in her chest. He was young. But nothing about him looked like a boy. “E-Excuse me…” she began, and even she heard the quiver in her voice. Her fingers were still curled tight on the strap of her purse, knuckles faintly pale. “I… I was looking for someone. You… you go to Higashiyama High, don’t you?” Her Japanese was soft and formal, touched with maternal cadence - respectful, practiced. Her instinct to be polite hadn’t vanished just because she was frightened. She was still a mother. But her stomach twisted at how his eyes moved over her. Not like a student would look at a teacher - not even like a man would look at a woman. Like he already knew her. When he spoke again - name mangled, tone dismissive - it felt like being struck without being touched. “Sh… Shinji-kun,” she corrected softly, but he was already looking away. Already turning. Mayu stood there a moment longer, frozen. Her feet rooted to the pavement, her sandals pressed into a darkened patch of uneven concrete. She didn’t know if it was sweat or the air, but her back felt damp beneath the thin layer of her blouse. Her thighs brushed, her breath fluttered. He walked away like he expected her to follow. And part of her… didn’t want to disappoint him. Her hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as she hesitated, standing alone in that hallway of shadows. The apartment buildings above her seemed to lean inward, like they were swallowing the sky. This is for your son, she told herself. And yet, her next step was small. Cautious. Her hips swayed softly as she moved forward—unintentionally sensual, shaped by the way her skirt clung to the softness of her curves. Her figure was too full to be discreet, and the narrow corridor made her silhouette unavoidable. She turned the corner where he had disappeared… ...and found only shadow. The hallway forked ahead, uneven and dim. Pipes groaned softly in the walls, condensation dripping onto concrete. There was no sign of him. “Excuse me?” she called gently, her voice even, but edged with apprehension. “Could we talk, please?” No answer. Her sandals clicked again as she moved forward—this time with purpose. Her pace quickened, her breasts shifting beneath her blouse, the lace-trimmed neckline drawing lower with each rising breath. She didn’t dare stop to adjust it. “I’m Shinji’s mother,” she said clearly. “I think you know that already.” Still no answer. The corridor bent sharply again, the fluorescent lights above flickering as if struggling to keep up with her. She glanced behind her - no one there. No voices. Just the quiet murmur of televisions above and the distant hiss of a cooking pan in one of the apartments. “Please,” she added, still walking. “I just want to understand why.” The corners were too many. Each one swallowed her further into the maze. And he was nowhere to be seen. But she felt it - his presence, the weight of him still in the air. The scent of cigarettes. The silence that pressed in like hands on her waist. You’re being led, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. And she still followed.​

​

 

[PrinceTulip]

╭⋟────────────────────────╮ 力 Tᴇɪᴋᴀ Nᴀᴋᴀᴅᴀ 奸 ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxOᴡɴᴇʀsʜɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ. 操​

私は大きなチンポを持っている​

Stepping into the belly of the beast, Nakada vanished into shadow. The complex was almost supernatural in the way it was built, flickering bulbs nestled in the ceilings provided very dim, eerie lighting with numerous doors lining the walls. It didn't seem to make much sense, the numbering was all arbitrary and the sectioning of the apartments had to be criminal. One had to wonder how anyone could ever be evicted down here. While the apartment felt very much alive in the way corridors opened like mouths in the dark, lights buried in the far ends of them so that they didn't become apparent until one passed them, it was still dead. Silent and lifeless, this was where one might go to disappear and die to the outside world. It stunk of beer and cigarettes, almost like the stench irradiated from the walls themselves. Somehow intuition brought her up a staircase, down a few hallways - sometimes rewarded with a glimpse of his black boots, or broad shoulders, just as he turned another corner. It never seemed to be enough to catch him, and her calls had rewarded her with nothing but more disheartening silence. Nakada could admire that determination, he felt it in himself sometimes when he was growing up. Regardless of the odds, he had kept pushing and won. It might not be much to most people, but Nakada's life had turned out for the best so far. Unfortunately for Takashi Mayu, she was unlikely to have a similar victory here in this damp, dirty place. Finally, life breathed into the empty hallways of the complex as a door creaked open. An older man had stepped out of his apartment, shirtless with a big fat belly that protruded so far out over his hips it was unlikely he had seen his toes in ages. He drew long, dirty fingernails across his meaty stomach, his soulless brown eyes caught sight of the mom striding down the hallways. He had quickly blocked her path, turning to face her as the door to his cramped apartment remained ajar just behind him. His shorts were dirty and stained, dragging down past his knees. Balding, with light grey tufts of hair sitting like a half-crown around the back of his head and behind his ears. Ugly. Whatever life might have been breathed into it was sucked right back out as the older thug drew in a deep breath as his beady, lustful eyes fell on her. "Ooooh, pretty little thang, have you come to see me?" His Japanese was coarse and simplistic, lacking the subtle nuance of a more educated man. Ugly and brutish. Alone and stuck in the hallway with this fat, ugly criminal, the dire situation that she had put herself in might finally dawn on her. Following Nakada into this apartment was a mistake. A big one. She did not belong here, and everyone could tell. The criminal lumbered forwards, his hands reaching out as he meant to grasp ahold of his new prize. If he could just drag her back into his apartment, where she'd disappear to the outside world... Heavy, thudding footsteps turned the corner ahead of her and before the fat man even had the chance to react, Nakada was on him. His left foot stepped forwards, and he threw a devastating check-hook into the side of his neck. His hips twisted, throwing the full force of his downright lethal body-mass into the blow. His knees crumpled inwards as he wheezed pathetically for air, his form staggering a few feet before thudding into the wall and falling just inches from taking out her knees. He curled up, coughing violently for air and grasping his throat - could he still breathe? It was unclear. Nakada drew a look at her, almost as if what had happened - and what he was about to do further - was her fault. "You couldn't stop yourself from following me, could you? All for your pathetic son. Look at what you're making me do." What happened next was a brutal, sickening crunch as Nakada stepped forwards and delivered a swift soccer-kick to the man's groin. In moments, what had been a very real threat for Takashi Mayu was now a pathetic, whimpering mess on the floor - tears streaming down his face and pooling on the concrete he called home. "You fat fuck. She's my guest, you don't touch what's mine." Nakada was possessive, dangerously so. The words were like venom as they rolled off his tongue, aggressive. He meant it when he claimed her. The rest felt like a blur. A strong, vice-like grip around her bicep. A couple more hallways, and a slammed door. They stood in the messy, unkempt living room of Nakada's flat. Surprisingly, though he had grabbed her, Nakada hadn't let his hands roam her body once they stepped into the comfort of his apartment. Instead, he left her there in the center of his room and got himself a beer from the fridge. Popping off the cap with a hiss before it clanged to the kitchen floor, he walked over to plop himself in one of the metal folding chairs next to his table, turning it slightly to face her. The couch had various tears in it, and the smell of cigarettes was strongest there. Oddly enough, Nakada didn't only smell of cigarettes. His natural musk was strong, deep and smoky. Less reminiscent of cigarettes and more of a fireplace burning pine logs. He took another drink from his beer. Finally, he spared her a look. "So, you followed me all the way to my apartment to talk about your little brat. Let's talk." He whistled as his eyes flickered up and down her, like she was a fresh piece of meat. "Impressive you look like that after birthing that shit-head."Nakada held no shame, his eyes lustfully drinking in every curve to her body. He felt some sort of odd feeling of pride swell up in his chest as the first steps of his plan had begun. And she had absolutely no idea.​

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[Starblush]

╭⋟────────────────────────╮ ♡ 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚞 ♡ ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTʜᴇ ᴡɪʟᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴏsᴇ. ♡​

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦​

The blow came before she could even scream. One moment, Mayu was recoiling - her sandal scraping against the peeling concrete as that grotesque man stepped into her path, all belly and rot and crude, lascivious hunger. The next, his body crumpled like cloth, a sharp, wet crunch punctuating the silence as it dropped at her feet. She froze. Wide-eyed. Breathless. Her fingers clenched tightly around the strap of her handbag, knuckles whitening as the man’s bulk landed just inches from her shins. His body twitched. Wheezed. Folded in on itself like a dying insect. And then she heard it. “You couldn’t stop yourself from following me, could you?” Her gaze snapped upward - heart pounding - just in time to see Nakada step into full view, framed by the broken light overhead like something conjured from smoke and shadow. His voice was low and filled with contempt, the words slicing through the thick air like knives. She opened her mouth to speak—but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, dry with adrenaline. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow breaths, her blouse clinging even tighter with each panicked exhale. A tremble rolled down her arms, but her spine remained straight. The second blow came with terrifying force. A sharp kick, not to her - but to the man on the floor. Mayu winced. The crack echoed off the concrete, followed by a choked whimper that sounded nothing like a human voice. She felt bile rise in the back of her throat. Her knees nearly gave way. And yet… she didn’t look away. Because he did that for me… Nakada’s words came next, slow and deliberate, spat like venom into the cooling air: “She’s mine.” Her blood chilled. She didn’t understand the claim, not entirely - but it stuck in her ears like a brand. His hand closed around her bicep. She gasped - genuinely startled. Not by the motion, but by the force of it. His grip was like a clamp - thick fingers wrapping fully around her upper arm, pressing against the softness there with bruising pressure. Her handbag nearly slipped from her other shoulder, swinging forward to bump against her side. She stumbled slightly as he pulled her forward, her breath hitching. She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry out. But the pain lingered in her expression - a flicker across her brow, a faint sharp inhale through her teeth. She hadn’t been touched like that in years. Not since… No. She followed. Because what choice did she have? The apartment door slammed behind her, sealing them inside. She didn’t belong here. She felt it in her lungs, her skin - her bones. Like the walls themselves rejected her perfume, her careful blouse, her trembling modesty. The air was stale, humid with sweat and smoke and faint chemical sweetness. Somewhere in the far room, a fan ticked unevenly. And yet she kept her chin lifted. She placed her handbag on a battered end table. Her heels clicked gently on the floor as she moved. The skirt strained softly across the curve of her backside, hugging her figure a bit too snugly from behind. She reached up to adjust her neckline without thinking, pulling the blouse closer over her heavy bust - those full, maternal breasts still softly outlined despite the effort. Nakada watched her like a wolf. No shame. No hesitation. She felt his gaze crawl over every inch of her. When he finally spoke, his voice cut through her like smoke and iron. "So, you followed me all the way to my apartment to talk about your little brat. Let’s talk." She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just turned her head, slightly. "...Shinji." Her voice was low. Even. "His name is Shinji." A pause. Long. Heavy. Then the follow-up, crude and leering: "Impressive you look like that after birthing that shit-head." Crack. Her hand moved before her mind caught up. It wasn’t a strong slap - not really. There was no weight behind it, no fury. Just a sudden, breathless reaction. Like her body had moved on instinct. A mother’s instinct. Her palm collided with his jaw - flesh on bone. A sharp snap of skin, loud in the silence. And then… Nothing. The pain in her hand flared a second later. His jaw had been solid. Hard. Her fingers tingled from the impact. He didn’t stumble. Didn’t flinch. Not even a step back. He was so much larger up close. The width of him, the heat - he dwarfed her, shadowed her. She could feel his breath now, see the slight shift of his muscles beneath his thin tank top. The silence between them thickened. She took a step back, suddenly aware of how high her chest was rising with every breath - how flushed her cheeks were. How soft she was, in every place he wasn’t. Her voice returned - but quieter. Controlled. “…Don’t speak about my son like that. I won’t allow it.” The firmness was there. Even if her voice trembled. Even if her knees wobbled inside her stockings. Even if her fingers still throbbed from the slap that may as well have landed on a stone wall. If it did anything at all… That remained to be seen.​

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[PrinceTulip]

╭⋟────────────────────────╮ 力 Tᴇɪᴋᴀ Nᴀᴋᴀᴅᴀ 奸 ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxOᴡɴᴇʀsʜɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ. 操​

私は大きなチンポを持っている​

Nakada’s face slowly grew red where she had struck him, though his eyes held her own in deep eye-contact. Admiration was hidden behind his gaze, he undeniably respected someone who fought for what they believed in - even if Nakada thought her son was a pathetic, useless brat - he could still recognize her determination. He liked it. So much so that he wanted her to try to hit him again, so he slowly stood up from the chair he had claimed to tower over her. “Your son is a fucking pathetic loser. Fuck your bastard son. I bet you don’t even know his real dad.” His left hand had shot up blindingly fast, catching her by her wrist as she went to smack him across his face again. His eyes remained locked on hers, holding her wrist at bay for a few brief seconds as a subtle, nearly invisible smirk graced his lips. His eyes mocked her, as all it took was a rough yank of her arm for Nakada to shove her down into the table. He set a calloused hand against the back of her neck, strong fingers driving into the flesh of her neck ever-so-slightly to allow a grip but not choke her. Pinning her there to the table. He was fast and forceful, but never so much to the point that he’d harm her. Firm, but soft. Nakada didn’t want to hit her, or even be too rough with her. She was a gentle, sweet mom. Soft and bruisable. No, he wanted a doting toy that didn’t have to be forced into doing despicable, nasty sex acts for him. With his opposite hand, he gently ran his fingers along the hem of her skirt, toying with it. He stepped his body slightly into her, she could feel the strong thighs through his black work-pants as she slowly became sandwiched between him and the cold metal of his table. Nakada was heavy, but he careful to not put his entire weight on her - for that would very likely hurt. No, instead it was a constant ever-present pressure that let her know she couldn't move, but could still breathe. He leant over her body, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered to her, “You seem to be confused.” He glanced down while still leaning his body over hers, his fingers gently sliding up the side of her skirt to settle around her waist. He tested how much his fingers could wrap around it, whether her flesh gave in as he applied pressure or not, how right it felt to grip. He had pressed his body up against hers, and she could feel his full, bulging package against her backside. It was hard to identify at first, but the immense thickness of his manhood was undeniable even through the thick fabric. Lust had begun taking to it, swelling with blood and swelling the weighty fuckmeat. “You’re much too beautiful to be hitting me, just relax.” His voice was low, a gentle whisper as he drew his fingers down and she could feel them dance over her plump backside through the skirt. “I know that whatever rich asshole got you knocked up couldn’t handle all this. No wonder he didn’t pull out, I won’t either.” The last few words were a promise, He drove his fingers down, groping her from behind and filling his palm with ass as he breathed in her scent. “You don’t understand how bad I want you to belong to me.” Nakada exhaled slowly, glancing around his small, cramped apartment for a few seconds. Deep down, he truly wanted someone who actually cared about him, even if he had to twist the relationship into it. From so close, Nakada’s musk was overwhelming. She couldn’t escape it, nor him, and it was growing stronger alongside his arousal. And then freedom, as he let go of her and simply sat back down in the metal folding chair with a heavy sigh. Nakada smoothed his palms out over the front of his black pants, letting his body sink backwards slightly into a more relaxed pose before crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. “Shinji. I can leave him alone, if you do something for me. We’ll just have to see how far you’re willing to go for your son. You’re here, after all.” His eyes returned to her, his head tilting off to the side. His voice had resumed its norma tone, and she could still see the outline - if she dared to look - of his girthy fuckpole as the fabric pulled taut around the thick shaft. Even through clothes it looked impossibly heavy, a bulging mushroom-shaped cockhead apparent somewhere around Nakada’s right knee. ​

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[Starblush]

╭⋟────────────────────────╮ ♡ 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚞 ♡ ╰────────────────────────⋞╯ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTʜᴇ ᴡɪʟᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴏsᴇ. ♡​

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦​

She slapped him again. Just like before - her hand rising with a trembling sort of defiance - but this time she knew he’d catch her. And he did. His grip closed like a bear trap around her wrist, the calloused roughness of his palm sending a jolt up her arm. Her breath caught * more startled than afraid - and then he yanked. The table struck her hips. Her knees buckled. She stumbled forward - his grip never letting go - until her belly hit the edge of the metal and her soft breasts, heavy and untethered, jostled tightly against her blouse. Then his palm slid to her nape. Fingers spread wide. Strong. She gasped - not from pain, but from sheer shock. No one had ever handled her like that before. Not her husband. Not anyone. She was pinned. Bent slightly at the waist. Skirt tight over her round backside, hemline riding just high enough to be indecent. She braced herself with both palms on the cold metal table, her breathing shallow, chest rising and falling with every quickened inhale. “You seem to be confused about where you are and who I am.” His words were low - right against her ear. His body loomed behind hers. She could feel the mass of him - towering, all heat and muscle. And worse… her body responded. She could feel her nipples stiffening beneath her blouse - two tight buds pushing against fabric damp with sweat. Her thighs trembled. Her breathing faltered again as his fingers teased the edge of her skirt, brushing the curve of her hip with a maddening slowness. “No wonder he didn’t pull out. I won’t either.” Her eyes widened. Heat rushed to her cheeks - not from embarrassment, but from something deeper. She knew it was wrong. Filthy. Disgusting. But her body ached now - her chest rising in tight, uneven bursts as she clenched her thighs together. Her cunt felt slick in spite of herself. Shame didn’t register. She knew she’d never been unfaithful. Not ever. She didn’t feel guilty. Just… overwhelmed. Completely, utterly overwhelmed. When he stepped in - just a little closer - she felt it. Pressed against the firm swell of her ass through his work pants. A weight. Hot. Dense. Not hard yet - but growing. She didn’t need to see it to know what it was. But she did see it. After he let her go - when she straightened, slowly, shakily, her thighs brushing together - she turned. And then she saw it. He was sitting back in that chair like nothing had happened. But the bulge was there. Straining. The thick, heavy curve of his manhood pushing against the taut fabric of his pants. Her eyes landed on it—and refused to look away. It wasn’t possible. No man was that… that big. She couldn’t even begin to picture it - not fully - just the monstrous outline of it, the implied shape beneath the stretch of his pants, the weight of it. Her knees quivered again. She tore her gaze away too late. Heat bloomed across her cheeks, shameful and pink. Her hand moved unconsciously to her thigh, trying to smooth the fabric of her skirt down, as if that would somehow erase the way her body had reacted. “Shinji. I can leave him alone, if you do something for me...” The words echoed. Her lips parted. She wanted to call him vile. Disgusting. And she did - almost instinctively. “…you’re disgusting..!" But even as she said it, her eyes lingered again. Not for long. But long enough. And the worst part? She meant what she said. He was disgusting. But she was also a mother. And she would do anything to protect her son. Even this. Even now. Mayu’s voice was soft, but steady. “…What do you want me to do?” She wasn’t trembling anymore. But her fingers were still curled tightly around the edge of her skirt - white-knuckled, as if holding herself together by the seams. And if her thighs were still pressed a little too close together… well. She told herself it was from fear. But the warmth pulsing between them said otherwise.​

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