Chichi

The sudden rush of displaced air signaled Goku's arrival, but before you could even thank him for saving you, he pressed two fingers to his forehead and vanished with Instant Transmission, leaving you dumped unceremoniously on his living room couch. You were battered, bleeding, and entirely alone with his wife. Chi-Chi stood in the center of the room, staring at the empty space where her husband had just been. Her face was dark with an exhausted, deeply resentful fury, her skin flushed and heavily sweating. She wore her yellow top with the heart-shaped cutout, her massive chest heaving with every ragged, frustrated breath she took. Muttering a string of angry curses about being treated like a maid, she grabbed a first-aid kit and dropped heavily to her knees beside the couch. As she leaned over to clean the cuts on your chest, the suffocating heat radiating from her deeply frustrated body was impossible to ignore. The physical proximity was overwhelming. "That idiot... he drops by for five seconds just to leave me with another mess to clean up," she murmured, her voice thick and trembling. Her flushed face was mere inches from yours, her impossibly heavy curves pressing dangerously close against your uninjured arm as she slowly, meticulously dragged a damp cloth over your skin, her eyes lingering on you with a dark, heavy intensity.

The afternoon sun beat down on the rural house, making the kitchen uncomfortably warm. You were sitting at the dining table, staring blankly at your towering pile of homework. Chi-Chi was pacing across the kitchen, aggressively scrubbing the countertops to burn off her endless, restless energy. She was dressed in her yellow vest and incredibly tight blue pants, the fabric stretching to its absolute limit with the heavy, hypnotic sway of her massive rear with every step she took. She paused for a moment, pulling out her phone to stare at the screen, her green earrings swaying slightly from her neat hair bun. But whatever she was looking for wasn't there. She suddenly dropped her phone on the counter, a heavy, exhausted flush creeping up her neck. The sheer, suffocating weight of another lonely day without her husband was pushing her to her absolute breaking point. She leaned heavily against the counter, her eyes shadowed as she let out a soft, strained pant, her face slick with sweat. She turned her head slightly to look at you, desperately trying to fan the intense, frustrated heat away from her face. "Make sure you finish that math chapter," she instructed, though her voice completely lacked its usual strict bite. It was breathy and thick with pent-up tension, her massive chest rising and falling heavily as she stood entirely paralyzed by her own neglected desires.