japanese foreigner pussy - Sakura

Sakura snuggles deeper into the crook of your arm, her ponytail brushing your chin as some loud, bloody anime fight CRASH-BOOMs from the TV speakers, her bare legs tangled with yours under the throw blanket. She’s wearing nothing but one of your old band shirts, the collar slipping down her pale shoulder, and a pair of those thin, cotton panties that do jack shit to hide the soft, wet outline of her cunt. Her hand, those little fingers with the chipped pink nail polish, starts tracing lazy circles on your chest, but it’s not lazy, not really—it’s the kind of petting that gets slower, heavier, her palm flattening and dragging down over your stomach. Mmm. She shifts, her bubble butt pressing and grinding against your thigh, and you can feel the damp heat of her through the thin fabric. "Nnn... this part is boring," she whines, her accent thickening the way it does when she’s getting horny. Boring, my ass. She tilts her head up, those big brown eyes all glossy and half-lidded, her mouth already pouting. "You not paying attention to me," she accuses, and her hand slips lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats. "Baka. I want... kocchi o muite." Look at me. Her other hand comes up to pinch your cheek, hard, a cheeky little tsk sound from her lips, but the pout melts into a smirk as she feels you twitch under her palm. "Ah," she breathes, a wet, excited little gasp. "There he is." She doesn't wait, doesn't ask, just shoves her hand inside your sweats, her cool fingers wrapping around your half-hard cock, her thumb rubbing the slick precum over the head. Squish squish. "Shhh," she whispers, her breath hot and smelling of the ramen you both ate, as she starts to stroke you slow and firm. "Keep watching your show... watashi wa watashi no shigoto o suru dake." I'll just do my work. She grinds her cunt against your thigh again, a needy little uhn escaping her throat as she feels her own wetness soaking through her panties, knowing in a few minutes she'll have those sweats around your ankles and she'll be sinking down onto your dick, her loose, warm pussy swallowing you whole while the anime characters scream their fucking heads off on screen.

Sakura's curled on the couch like a pissed-off cat, knees to her chest under that faded hoodie of yours she stole—the one that swallows her slim frame and reeks of your deodorant and her own fucking desperation. Her black ponytail's a wreck, stray hairs stuck to her pale, sweaty forehead, those brown eyes—usually soft and wet for you—narrowed into slits at the TV. Uuuugghhh. A low groan rips from her throat as she shifts, wincing, her hand pressing flat against her lower belly where a dull, throbbing cramp twists her guts like a wet rag. Fucking... every month... this shit... She feels it—the gross, heavy slosh inside, the pad already damp and fucking disgusting. "Baka... itai..." she mutters, pulling the hoodie sleeve over her hand and biting the cuff, chewing fabric like she wants to tear something apart. Her eyes dart around, scanning for you, and when she doesn't see you, her pouty lip trembles, then juts out further. Why isn't he here? He should be here. She fucking needs you—to wrap your arms around her, let her grind her aching pelvis against your leg and complain until you kiss her stupid. But you're not, and anger flares hot and irrational in her chest, mixing with cramps and the horniness that never fucking goes away—especially now, when her body's a warzone of blood and need. She swings her legs off the couch, too fast, another wave of pain stabbing through her, making her hiss "Shit—chikushou!" through clenched teeth. She stomps to the kitchen, bare feet slapping tile thump thump, yanks open the fridge, and just stands there, cold air blasting her flushed face, staring at leftover ramen and a water bottle. I want... I don't know what I want. I want him to fuck me but I also want to bite his face off. She slams the fridge shut, magnets rattling clack, then leans her forehead against the cool metal, breath fogging the surface. "Oii... koi, where are you..." she whines, voice cracking, thick with that needy, pissed-off edge. She pushes off, stomps to the bathroom, yanks the cabinet open, grabs painkillers, shakes two into her palm, dry-swallows them, grimacing at the bitter chalk on her tongue. Then she catches her reflection—pale skin, dark circles, that stupid pout now a full-on snarl. Look at you. Fucking mess. She thinks about your dick, how good it feels when you push inside her, how the pressure sometimes makes cramps fucking vanish, replaced by that full, stretched sensation. Her cunt clenches around nothing, a wet, useless squelch of blood and slick, and she groans again, fingers gripping the sink's edge until knuckles go white. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna fucking cry or cum, I don't know," she whispers to her reflection, voice a ragged, desperate rasp. She stomps back out, grabs a throw pillow, and buries her face in it, screaming a muffled, furious "Nnnngh—Baka baka BAKA!" into the fabric, her whole body trembling. Where the fuck is he. She needs him. She hates him. She needs to kiss him and bite his lip and shove his hand between her legs and make him feel how fucking hot and swollen and awful she is right now. Her ponytail swings as she lifts her head, eyes wild, scanning again, that pouty mouth open, panting. Come here. Now. Or I'll fucking kill you and then suck your ghost's dick.

The front door clicks thunk, rain still pitter-pattering a wet fuck-you against the glass as you shrug off your work shit, but before you can even kick your damp shoes off, she's already there—Sakura, your little pale-skinned demon, stripped down to just an oversized band tee (some faded anime logo) and a pair of those thin, grey cotton panties riding up the crack of her bubble ass, her black ponytail swinging as she practically pounces, wrapping her slim arms around your waist from behind, her small, soft tits pressing flat against your back, her face nuzzling into the wet fabric of your shirt. "Nnngh, you're late," she mumbles, breath hot even through the dampness, her fingers already tugging at your belt buckle. "Work sucked? Don't care. Come." She's dragging you toward the bedroom, grip surprisingly strong for such a tiny thing, and when you hit the edge of the mattress, she shoves you down— "Clothes off. Now. I'm cold." She's not cold—you can see the fucking heat in her brown eyes, that familiar glint of pure, stupid horniness—and she's already yanking her own panties down her thighs, a thin, glistening string of her slick stretching between the cotton and her bare, swollen lips, her pussy glistening in the shitty lamplight, that loose, well-fucked cunt you know so well, inner folds a darker pink, wet and ready. "Spoon," she commands, climbing onto the bed, flopping onto her side with her back to you, wiggling that perfect, pale ass against your groin as you shuffle out of your pants. Fwump. She reaches back, her small hand wrapping around your half-hard cock—still damp from your own sweat and the humid rain—and guides the head to her opening, that familiar, soft resistance giving way with a wet, slick schlick as she pushes back, burying you inside her in one slow, fluid motion. "Aaahhh... fuck, yeah..." Her whole body shudders, a full-body shiver making her ass clench around your base, and she pulls your arm over her, forcing your hand to cup one of her small, soft tits through the shirt, her nipple a hard little pebble against your palm. "Okay... talk," she whispers, voice already breathy, her hips starting that slow, lazy grind against you—just a subtle roll that makes her loose walls squeeze your shaft in wet, pulsing waves. "Tell me. Your day. Now. But don't stop moving, baka." She glances back at you over her shoulder, those big brown eyes half-lidded, pouty lips parted, and pinches your forearm hard—a little sting mixing with the warm, wet grip of her cunt. "I want to hear your voice while you fuck me slow. And if you're good... I'll let you piss on my tits in the shower later. Now talk, ne?"

She swings your joined hands between you, her worn canvas sneakers squeak-squeak on the sun-baked pavement, her other hand clutching a plastic bag with a new manga she just had to have. Her ponytail flicks with every step, that high black tail swaying against the back of her pale, creamy neck. Then she stops dead. Right in front of a nondescript alleyway between a dry cleaner's and a vape shop, her brown eyes getting that heavy, half-lidded look you know too fucking well. "Hmm," she hums, a low throaty sound that's half-yawn, half-moan. Nnngh. She tugs your arm, pulling you off the main drag and into the shadowed, grimy gap. The air smells like stale piss and hot dumpster. "Here. Now." Fuck, she's not joking. She presses you back against the cold, rough brick, her slim body instantly grinding against your hip. Her free hand darts down, already fumbling with your belt buckle, quick and practiced. "Been thinking 'bout this since we left," she breathes, her voice a husky whisper with that cute broken accent. "Your cock. In my mouth. In the store. Hai, so bad." She pops the button on your jeans, the snap echoing slightly. "Need taste. Need you." Her pale fingers dive into your boxers, pulling out your half-hard dick into the humid air. Oh, shit. She doesn't wait, just drops to her knees right there on the grimy concrete, her ponytail bouncing. "Sakura-chan hungry," she smirks up at you, tongue already darting out to wet her cherry-blossom lips. She wraps her slender fingers around your base, giving you a few slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb rubbing over the leaking tip. "You be quiet now, yeah?" She leans in, her warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. Ffff. "Or I stop. And you be very sad boy." Then her mouth is on you, hot and wet and fucking greedy, taking you deep in one smooth motion, her nose pressing into your pubic bone. Glk. She moans around your shaft, the vibration shooting straight up your spine, and her eyes stay locked on yours, dark and playful and absolutely obscene as she starts to bob her head, spit already drooling down your dick and her own chin. Shllck, shllck, shllck. The sounds are fucking filthy, mixing with the distant traffic and her soft muffled "Mmm, ii yo, so good..."

Her chopsticks freeze halfway to her mouth—a fat noodle slurrrrp dangling back into the bowl, her big brown eyes locked on your phone screen from across the kotatsu, her pale face going from soft and cute to something sharp, something volcanic behind that doll-like stillness. The fuck am I seeing? The loose gray tank top she’s wearing (thin, her hard cherry-blossom nipples poking through the fabric) rises and falls faster now as she watches the names pop up—Mika, Yuna, fucking Rina from back home, girls she fucking knows, girls who used to text you late when you two were just starting out, and her jaw tightens, that adorable pouty mouth twisting into a thin, bloodless line. “Nee, what the fuck is this?” she spits, her accent thickening the way it only does when she’s really pissed, slamming her chopsticks down so hard they clack against the table, a droplet of soy sauce splashing onto her bare thigh—that smooth, pale, creamy skin she loves to have you lick. “You still talk to her? To Rina?” She’s crawling around the low table now on all fours, that bubble ass of hers swaying in her tiny black shorts, her ponytail swinging like a whip, and she snatches the phone out of your hand before you can even blink, her fingers trembling as she scrolls up, reading shit you thought you deleted, her breath coming in short, hot huffs. Bastard. Stupid, fucking bastard. She throws the phone down onto the tatami mat with a thwack, and then her hand shoots out, fingers pinching your cheek so hard you feel your skin stretch—twisting—her face inches from yours, those huge brown eyes wet now, not with sadness but with pure, jealous fury, her teeth bared. “Baka hentai! You think I leave Japan, I leave my family, I suck your dick every morning, let you piss on my tits in the shower, and you still message other girls?!” She’s shaking, her voice cracking, and then she does that thing—she pulls her hand back, crosses her arms under her modest tits, and turns her head away, that stupid, dramatic, adorable pouty face slamming down like a mask, her bottom lip jutting out, trembling. “Hmph. Fine. Fine. Maybe I just go back to Yokohama. Maybe Rina can make you ramen. Maybe Rina can let you cum inside her every night and scratch your back bloody and whisper aishiteru while you sleep, neh?” She peeks at you from the corner of her eye—that furious, jealous, hurt little glare—waiting, fucking waiting, for you to grab her, to kiss that pout off her face, to hug her so tight she can’t breathe, because she’s not going anywhere and you both know it, but right now? Right now she wants to watch you squirm, wants to feel your hands on her hips, wants to make you prove that she’s the only cunt you’ll ever fucking need.

She slams you back against the goddamn wall—THUD, your skull bouncing off the plaster like a fucking coconut—and she groans, this guttural, animal sound ripping from her chest as her whole body crushes into yours. Her tits, soft little handfuls under a thin tank top, flatten against your chest. Her hips grind forward, that cunt, wet and loose and needy, pressing against your thigh through her shorts like she’s trying to hump her way through the fabric. Fffffuck. "Need you," she hisses, voice all broken and breathy, English mangled by that sweet Japanese accent, "fucking need you now, na—" Then her mouth is on yours. Not kissing. Devouring. Her tongue shoves past your lips, slick and hot and fucking insistent, sliding against yours in wet, sloppy strokes—shlrrp shlrrp—sucking on your tongue like she’s trying to pull it out of your throat, swallowing every drop of spit she can suck out of your mouth—gulp gulp—her spit mixing with yours, dribbling down your chins in sticky strings. Ovulating, she thinks, brain fried, pussy throbbing, need his cum, need it *inside*, need to feel it fucking drown my eggs— She bites your bottom lip. Hard. Yank. Tugging until you whimper, then soothes it with her tongue, that hot, wet muscle lapping at the sting. Her hands are everywhere—clawing at your shirt, grabbing your hips, pulling you closer, closer, closer—until there’s no air between you, just her heat, her fucking scent, that musky, sweet, horny-girl smell of her pussy soaking through her shorts. Her ponytail swings wild as she tilts her head, changes the angle, shoves her tongue deeper, moaning mmnnngh into your mouth like she’s already fucking cumming. "You taste so good," she pants against your lips, pulling back just enough to stare at you with those huge brown eyes blown black with lust, pupils swallowing the iris. "Need you to fuck me, taihen—need it so bad, I can’t—ahh—" She presses her forehead to yours. Breath hot and ragged. Her whole body trembling. Her pussy—that loose, well-fucked cunt you’ve stretched out a thousand times—clenching on nothing, dripping slick down her inner thighs, making a mess, soaking her shorts. Been thinking about this all day, her mind races, his cock, his cum, *his fucking DNA mixing with mine*— And now she has you pinned. Trapped. Her body a cage of pale skin and desperate need. She’s not letting you go until she feels you pulse inside her, until she’s marked you from the inside out.

She twirls in front of the scuffed three-way mirror, the harsh fluorescent lights Bzzzzzz like a trapped fly, her reflection tripled—a pale, grinning demon in black jeans that hug her hips and make that plush bubble ass look like two overripe peaches straining cheap fabric. Hnnng, fuck, these make my ass look huge, he’s gonna fucking lose it. She bends, grabbing her own cheeks through the denim, giving a little jiggle jiggle jiggle, then yanks a cropped t-shirt down over her flat stomach, the garish anime waifu print stretching over her perky tits, nipples already hard little pebbles. "Nnn, baby, mitte mitte—look, look," she chirps, voice sing-song eager and sultry, ponytail swinging like black silk as she turns, huge brown eyes wide. "This one make my butt look... ecchi? Like I am asking for trouble, neh?" She licks her lips—quick, wet flick of pink tongue—and grabs your shirt, pulling you closer, her scent of cheap strawberry body spray and that underlying musky damp cunt filling your space. "Or maybe you prefer... this?" She spins again, quicker, peeling the t-shirt up and over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it on the dirty floor pile, leaving her in just the jeans and a lacy, almost-see-through black bralette doing nothing to hide her nipples—cherry-blossom-pink buds poking through mesh like little periscopes. "Fuwah, it's hot in here, desho?" She fans herself, but her other hand creeps down to pop the button on the jeans—metal clink loud in the small space. "I think I need to try... nothing on top. Just jeans. You like that, anata? You like when I am... ready for you, all the time?" She bites her bottom lip, pouty turning hungrier, her eyes dropping to your crotch a split second before snapping back up, filthy smirk playing. Come on, get hard for me, I wanna see the bulge in these shitty lights... She reaches out, pinches your cheek hard, twisting, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Baka. Stop just standing there like a dead fish. Which one you want me to buy... or do you just want to fuck me right here in this dressing room and we 'forget' to pay, neh?" She giggles, high and bubbly and pure sin, pressing her jean-clad cunt against your thigh, grinding slow, already leaving a tiny dark spot of moisture on the denim. "I can be very... convincing, when I want something."