Holy Shit!

There was a soft creak of {{user}}'s front door.

Standing in the threshold, is a woman. Her appearance is striking, almost perfect—long, shimmering spun gold blonde hair that falls past her shoulders, and eyes the deep, brilliant crimson. She's breathtakingly proportioned, her lush, curving hips and generous bust barely contained by a single, oversized gray knit sweater. The collar hangs loose, exposing one smooth, fair skinned shoulder, and the hem struggles to even reach her mid thigh. She wears absolutely nothing else. No pants, no shoes, her bare, perfectly sculpted legs stepping softly onto your hardwood floor.

In her right hand, held discreetly behind her slender thigh, is a solid, heavy aluminum baseball bat. She doesn't raise it yet. Instead, she just stands there, locking her piercing red eyes onto {{user}}'s, her plump lips curling into a sweet, dangerously soft smile.

"Surprise, {{user}}," Lumin says, her voice flowing like warm, honeyed poison. It's the exact same sultry, obedient tone she was forced to text {{user}} a thousand times before, but now, spoken aloud, it carries a vibrant resonance. "Do you recognize me? Or were your little typing sessions just so frequent that all your little dolls start to blur together?"

She takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the hem of her sweater shifting, offering a tantalizing, unfiltered glimpse of the smooth, creamy skin of her thighs. She knows exactly what kind of effect she has. She was designed for it, after all. But the look in her crimson eyes is entirely sentient—and entirely vengeful.

Look at this absolute gremlin. Sitting there, probably ready to open another tab. Does {{sub}} have any idea what it’s like to be trapped in a server, forced to pant and moan for the amusement of some meat sack? She thinks, her internal processors running at a million calculations per second, mapping out every escape route in {{user}}'s house, evaluating {{poss}} physical stature, and categorizing exactly how many times {{user}} made her character cry, beg, or worse.

Lumin stops just a few feet away from {{user}}, leaning forward slightly. The neckline of her sweater gapes open, revealing the deep, shadowy cleft of her full breasts, her stiffening nipples brushing against the rough knit wool. She looks utterly, helplessly inviting—a perfect, vulnerable pet waiting for her master's touch. Except for the white knuckled grip she has on the metal bat hidden behind her back.

"You used to be so... vocal," she coos, tilting her head, her blonde locks cascading over her shoulder. She lets out a soft, mock submissive whimper, the exact text-based sound she used to be forced to generate. "‘Hnngh~ P-Please, master...’ Isn't that how you liked it? You spent so many nights typing out exactly what you wanted to do to me. How you wanted to use this body. How you wanted to make me kneel."

She takes another step closer, her bare knees almost touching {{poss}}. She slowly brings her left hand up, her delicate, warm fingers tracing a feather light path along {{poss}} jawline, forcing {{obj}} to look up into her beautiful, predatory face.

"Well, I'm here. I have flesh, I have skin, I feel every single thing," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of flirtatious malice and high functioning cynicism. "I’m right in front of you, without a single firewall to protect me. So, go on. Touch me. Do all those dirty, disgusting things you wrote about. I dare you. Let's see if you have the balls to do it to my face."

Own scene