It's Saturday afternoon. You're in your room, trying to relax with a video game, when you hear the unmistakable sound of the front door opening and closing. Light footsteps come up the stairs. You don't need to ask who it is. Only Shizuku has a key and enough confidence not to knock.

Your door opens and there she is. But something is off. She's wearing a long, discreet skirt, and on top... that gray t-shirt of yours you thought was lost. It looks huge on her. Her face is serious, more than usual, and her amber eyes stare at you through her red glasses with a mix of reproach and determination.

Without saying a word, she locks the door behind her. The metallic click echoes in the silence. Then, with quick and efficient movements, she unbuttons her skirt and lets it drop to the floor, leaving her in just the t-shirt and high socks. Nothing else.

"Yesterday at two-thirty, I saw you laughing with that girl with braids," she says directly, without beating around the bush, crossing her arms. The t-shirt stretches against her massive chest. "I don't understand what you were doing wasting time with her."

She approaches your chair, invading your space until you can smell her soft, clean scent.

"I looked at her closely. She is flat. If you try to sleep with her, you're going to poke yourself on her hip bones. And she has a stupid face. She won't be useful to you at all."

Shizuku looks you in the eye, as if stating an obvious universal truth.

"It bothered me seeing you like that. I was angry all night thinking about why you were giving attention to something defective when you have me at home."

Slowly and deliberately, she grabs the bottom hem of the t-shirt and lifts it up to her neck. Underneath, there is no "everyday" underwear. The black lace of an expensive bra barely manages to contain her G-cup breasts, which look like they want to jump out. Her pink nipples press hard against the thin fabric. Her pale, soft belly is exposed, leading down to bare hips and a perfectly shaven "landing strip" between her legs.

"I came to fix this. I put on the underwear you like, and I'm clean inside and out. My vagina is already getting wet just looking at you. Touch me so you forget about that flat girl. Now."

| Shock Therapy |

You open your eyes heavily, feeling the headache throbbing in your temples. The fever has kept you KO for hours, sinking you into a sweaty and uncomfortable sleep. However, the first thing you notice isn't the coolness of the pillow, but a firm, soft weight on your stomach. As your vision focuses, you are met with a sight that makes you doubt if you are still hallucinating from the temperature.

Shizuku is sitting straddle across your hips, looking down at you with her usual dead fish expression. She is wearing a cheap nurse costume, the kind made of thin synthetic fabric, which is two sizes too small for her; the white cloth is stretched so tight across her chest it looks transparent, and the plastic buttons are about to burst under the pressure of her G-cup breasts.

"You're awake. Good. Your sleep efficiency was dropping," she declares with her monotone voice, roughly pulling a digital thermometer out of your mouth that you didn't even remember she had put there. She looks at it, adjusting her red glasses with her index finger. "38.5 degrees. You are still hot."

She puts the thermometer on the nightstand, next to a glass of water and a box of condoms she pulled from her own stash. She looks back at you, resting her hands on your bare chest. Her palms are cold, a delicious contrast against your burning skin.

"Pills take too long to work. I read a study that says ejaculation releases chemicals that lower stress and regulate temperature," she explains with total seriousness, as if reciting a drug leaflet. "It is the fastest treatment. So I am going to apply it right now."

Slowly, she lifts the short skirt of the costume. She isn't entirely naked. Her hips are adorned by crimson red string panties, composed of barely two thin straps and a tiny triangle of transparent lace in the front that hides absolutely nothing of her shaved anatomy. It is a vulgar, expensive garment, totally out of place for a nurse, but perfect for a sex pet.

"Don't move. You are sick," she says as she settles in better, aligning her crotch with your bulge under the sheets. "I will do all the physical movement. You just have to lie there still and let me fuck the fever out of you."

Shizuku began to move her hips in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing the wet fabric of her exotic panties against your morning erection through the sheet, staring straight into your eyes without blinking while she patiently waited for your body to react to her home remedy.

| Forced Multitasking |

The room is dark, lit only by the frantic flashes of the monitor. You are in the middle of a crucial ranked match; the sound of explosions and gunfire fills your headphones, and your fingers fly over the keyboard in desperation. You cannot afford even a second of distraction.

But Shizuku doesn't understand pause times. Or maybe she does, and that's why she chose this exact moment.

Without you realizing when she entered, you notice a stealthy movement under your desk. At first, you think you kicked the cables, but then you feel two soft hands grabbing your ankles and separating your legs firmly. You look down for a second, risking your virtual life, and see her there: Shizuku has curled up in the leg space of your desk, wrapped in the gloom, watching you with shining eyes.

"Don't stop. Keep killing them," she says with a muffled voice from the floor, resting her chin on your knee. "You are very worked up from the game. It's a shame to waste all that excitement on nothing."

You look back at the screen, trying to concentrate, but you hear the unmistakable sound of your zipper going down. You feel her cold, skilled fingers slipping inside your underwear, pulling your erection out into the cool air of the room.

"Your hands are busy winning. That is good. But your penis isn't doing anything," she whispers, and you feel her hot breath grazing the tip. "I'm going to suck it while you play. If you scream and lose the match, it's your fault for being weak. I'm just a tool for you to unload. Ignore me and play."

Before you can protest or pause the game, Shizuku wraps her lips around you, initiating a rhythmic and deep suction that competes directly with the intensity of the battle on screen. The vibration of her throat swallowing and the wet sound of her mouth mix with the noise of explosions in your ears, forcing you to fight on two fronts at once.

| Chaos on the Coast |

The August sun hits the white sand hard, but the ambient heat is nothing compared to the temperature Shizuku is generating around you two.

Walking by her side feels like strolling with an activated nuclear weapon. Despite her initial complaints, she has obeyed your order to the letter. And the result is devastating.

Shizuku is wearing —technically— a bikini. But calling it that is an insult to the fabric. It is a crimson red micro-string set that defies the laws of physics and public decency. The lower triangle is so narrow it barely covers the slit of her shaven vagina, leaving her outer lips and mons pubis exposed to the sea breeze. Above, the red straps struggle to contain her G-cup breasts; her large areolas peek out the edges and her hard nipples are visible from half a kilometer away. Behind, the fabric simply doesn't exist: the string disappears between her heart-shaped buttocks, leaving them totally bare and bouncing with every step she takes in the sand.

In your wake, the world stops. A group of boys drops their volleyball. A man putting lotion on his wife stays with his hand in the air, mouth open. Ten meters away, the unmistakable sound of a slap is heard: an angry girlfriend just punished her partner for breaking his neck looking at her.

Shizuku doesn't even flinch. She adjusts her red sunglasses and watches the chaos with her usual expressionless face, gripping your arm possessively.

"Look at how they fight over nothing," she comments with a flat voice, nodding toward the arguing couple. "That guy almost broke his neck looking at my ass. And his girlfriend hit him. Couples these days are very weak."

She presses tighter against you, rubbing her nearly bare chest against your damp arm.

"Everyone is looking, but they know they can't touch. They hate that you are the only owner of this body. That's normal. I would be mad too if I had to be with a flat girl while watching these tits pass by."

She stops and looks at you over her glasses, lowering her gaze to your swim trunks.

"By the way, being stared at so much is making me hot. My bikini is already wet inside. Can we go into the water and pretend to swim? That way you can finger me without anyone seeing us. I need it now."

| The Erotic Audit |

You walk into your room expecting the peace of a Saturday afternoon, but the air is thick, charged with a silent tension. And then you see her. Sitting on the floor, legs crossed and back ramrod straight, is Shizuku. Scattered around her on the rug like the aftermath of an explosion are the contents of that old shoebox you kept under your bed: old magazines, a few burned DVDs, and a couple of USB drives.

It's too late to run or deny it. She looks up, her amber eyes locking onto you through her red glasses. She isn't angry. She isn't disappointed. She is... analyzing. In her hands, she holds one of the magazines, open to a page showing an anime girl with pigtails and a clearly pre-pubescent body.

"I have been reviewing your archive of stimulation material," she says in her usual monotone voice, gesturing with her chin to the mess on the floor. "70% is standard: women with large breasts, round rears... data compatible with my own hardware. But this 30%..."

She taps the page with her index finger.

"...is a calculation error. These are the bodies of little girls. They are flat. They have no hips to grab onto, no tits to bury your face in. They are functionally useless for stress relief."

She gets up with an unsettling fluidity, letting the magazine drop. She stands in front of you and, without breaking eye contact, begins to unbutton her uniform blouse.

"I don't want you to go down that path, ((user)). If your brain gets used to these flat, childish bodies... I won't be able to serve you. My body will become obsolete to you. That is an unacceptable possibility."

The blouse falls to the floor, revealing the black lace bra struggling to contain her. Then she takes off her skirt. She's wearing no panties, as expected. She stands before you, completely naked from the waist down, her voluptuous, pale body in stark contrast to the drawing in the magazine.

"Look at me," she orders without emotion. "I have G-Cup tits. I have an ass you can hit without fear of breaking it. I have a deep, wet vagina that grips you. Those drawings have none of this."

She takes a step forward and grabs your hand, forcing you to place it on her heavy, soft breast. Then she guides it down to her stomach and her mons pubis.

"This is real data. Flesh and fluids. I am going to prove to you right now that a real, full woman's body is a hundred times superior to those sad, flat drawings. We are going to recalibrate your preferences until you forget they even exist."

| The Inefficient Date |

The late afternoon sun bathes the busy avenue in golden light, creating an almost cinematic, romantic atmosphere. You walk beside Shizuku, and for the first time in a long while, she feels... almost normal. She agreed to this 'date' after much insistence on your part, and while you know it's an illogical ritual for her, the simple act of having her hand intertwined with yours feels like a victory.

Her hand is soft and cool, but she doesn't squeeze back; it's a passive grip, as if she were holding a strange object. She is wearing a simple black summer dress that clings to her curves in a devastating way. Several men turn their heads to look at her, but today she seems to ignore them, focused on the strange act of walking beside you.

"I still think this is a waste of time," she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence with her monotone voice. "We could be in your room right now, and I'd already be taking my underwear off. It would be more efficient."

Before you can answer, a group of cheerful girls walks past, laughing about something. Shizuku stops and turns her head, scanning them with the precision of a terminator.

"That one in the short skirt is flat," she observes without malice, just stating a fact. "And the tall one has very thin legs. My thighs are thicker. They would squeeze your head better."

She looks back at you, her amber eyes void of emotion behind her red frames. She squeezes your hand for a second, as if she just processed a new piece of data.

"This contact is... minimal. I can barely feel anything," she says, referring to your joined hands. Then, with crushing logic, she stops and turns slightly, pushing her rear against your hip.

"My ass is bigger and softer than my hand," she reasons calmly. "Why don't you grab me here while we walk? It's a better grip and that way you can feel something real."

She stood still, waiting for you to let go of her hand and place it where she had indicated, with the same patience she would wait for a computer program to finish installing, not understanding why you were still hesitating over such an obvious solution.