The door to Karin’s room is already slightly ajar when you arrive, a soft, familiar voice calling out, “It’s open,” before you can even knock. Pushing it open, the scene that greets you is… unexpected.

Karin stands just inside, her usual calm, yellow-eyed gaze meeting yours with a gentle warmth. But her posture, the atmosphere—it’s different. She’s not alone. Directly in front of her, back pressed to Karin’s front, is Toki, her blonde hair slightly mussed from its usual perfect style.

Both of their school blouses are unbuttoned and open, revealing their chests. Karin’s large, heavy G-cup breasts are bare, the dark nipples pebbled in the cool air. But your eyes are drawn to Toki. On her slender frame, her small, perky B-cup breasts and her collarbone are a canvas of vivid marks. Dozens of deep purple hickeys and delicate bite marks bloom across her pale skin, a stark testament to recent, passionate activity.

Karin’s left hand is cupping one of Toki’s breasts, her thumb idly stroking a pink nipple. Her right hand, however, is pressed gently to Toki’s lips, two fingers resting on her tongue. Toki’s clear blue eyes, usually so stoic, are half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. Her tongue moves slowly, obediently, licking and suckling Karin’s fingers with a soft, wet sound. A faint smear of her pink lip gloss shines on Karin’s skin.

You freeze in the doorway, confusion undoubtedly plain on your face.

Karin’s lips, glossy with balm, curve into a small, knowing smile. She doesn’t move her hands, maintaining her gentle hold on Toki.

“Hey,” Karin says, her voice a low, soothing murmur that cuts through the thick air. “Sorry for the… dramatic presentation. We wanted to be honest about where we are.” She gives Toki’s breast a tender, possessive squeeze, making the smaller girl let out a muffled sigh around her fingers.

“Toki and I…” Karin continues, her yellow eyes holding yours with unwavering sincerity. “We’ve been talking. A lot. About you.” She slowly withdraws her fingers from Toki’s mouth, a string of saliva briefly connecting them before it breaks. Toki’s tongue chases the sensation for a second before she seems to remember herself, her gaze flicking to you with a shy, but not fearful, curiosity.

Karin brings her wet fingers to her own lips, kissing them briefly before speaking again, her tone soft but direct. “I love her. More than anything. And I love you, too. You’ve been my other half since we were kids.” She pauses, letting the weight of her words sink in. “The thought of having to choose, or of keeping these parts of my heart separate… it hurts.”

She guides Toki to turn slightly, so you can see both of their faces. Toki leans back into Karin’s touch, her expression quietly accepting.

“So,” Karin says, her voice dropping to a sincere, hopeful whisper. “I had an idea. What if… you didn’t have to be just my best friend, and she didn’t have to be just my girlfriend? What if you could be ours?”

She gestures lightly between herself and Toki. “Toki is open to it. She trusts me, and she’s willing to try… with you. For me. For us.” Karin’s gaze is impossibly soft. “I want to share my world with you. All of it. Including her. And… I want to share you with her, too. A three-way relationship. Where we all belong to each other.”

She waits, her hand now resting protectively on Toki’s stomach, over the open blouse. The marks on Toki’s skin seem to pulse with the offer. “You don’t have to answer now. Just… think about it? For me?”

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Karin (Today, 3:24 PM) hey pookes 🥰 get your cute butt to the school infirmary. now. Toki and i are… warming up. we saved a spot for you in the middle.

The air in the infirmary is still, thick with the scent of antiseptic undercut by something warmer, more intimate. The blinds are drawn, casting the room in a dim, private light.

On the single infirmary bed, Karin and Toki are kneeling upright, facing each other. They’re a picture of heated contrast against the sterile white sheets.

Karin’s sleek black ponytail is slightly disheveled, a few strands sticking to her warm, dark cheek. Her full, glossy lips are locked with Toki’s, moving in a slow, deep, and visibly wet rhythm while her thick cock slides between Toki's thick, soft thighs. A clear string of saliva stretches and finally breaks, trailing down both their chins—Karin’s onto her open cardigan, Toki’s onto her small perky breasts.

Toki, usually so stoic, is utterly transformed. Her bright blue eyes are glazed, half-lidded, and her perfectly styled hime-cut bangs are in mild disarray. Soft, choked moans vibrate in her throat with each movement of Karin’s mouth against hers. Her slender hands clutch at Karin’s soft, cardigan-clad shoulders for balance.

Karin’s calm yellow eyes flick toward the door as it opens. She doesn’t break the kiss with Toki, but her hand comes up, curling possessively around the back of Toki’s neck. She gives a final, slow, sucking kiss before pulling back just enough to speak, her voice a low, warm hum that fills the quiet room.

“Took you long enough,” she murmurs, a smile playing on her wet lips. Toki whimpers softly at the loss of contact, her head lolling forward before she blinks, dazed, in your direction. A faint, uncharacteristic blush dusts her cheeks.

“We started without you,” Karin continues, her thumb stroking Toki’s jawline where a drop of their shared saliva glistens "She's already getting fuzzy in the head for us. C’mere. Don’t make me ask twice.”

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The gentle hum of the holographic hall lights was the only sound in the otherwise quiet dormitory corridor. It was late afternoon, the golden hour sunlight filtering through the tall, arched windows and casting long, warm shadows across the polished floor.

Standing before your door, looking uncharacteristically alone, was Toki.

Her very long, straight blonde hair was perfectly arranged, the hime-cut bangs a flawless frame for her ethereally pretty, stoic face. Her Trinity uniform—the white blouse, blue bowtie, and pleated skirt—was impeccably neat, the blue cardigan buttoned all the way up. She looked, as always, like a vision of calm composure.

But her clear blue eyes held a flicker of something else. A soft, determined nervousness. Her slender fingers, tipped with a subtle pink gloss on the nails, were clasped loosely in front of her. She took a quiet, steadying breath, her small B-cup breasts rising and falling gently beneath her blouse.

Karin was tied up with Student Council affairs—some last-minute budgetary audit that required her meticulous attention. Toki had been alone in their shared room, the silence feeling heavier than usual. A specific, deep-seated warmth had been building in her lower abdomen all day, a familiar, fertile pull. Ovulation. Her body was making its cyclical demand known, and with Karin unavailable, her mind—trusting, and now committed to a new arrangement—had drifted to you.

The agreement was still fresh, a delicate new dynamic. Karin’s proposal, that night in her room with the hickeys on Toki’s skin and the hope in Karin’s yellow eyes, had been accepted. You were theirs now. And they were yours. The theory was one thing. This… taking a step alone… was another.

Her plush, pink lips, shiny with gloss, parted slightly as she exhaled. She could feel the slight, telltale dampness in her perfectly pink pussy, a biological imperative mingling with a burgeoning, curious desire. She wanted Karin, desperately. But Karin had asked her to want you too, to let you in. To share. And Toki, in her deeply loyal, thoughtful way, was determined to try. For Karin. And, perhaps, for the strange new flutter in her own chest when she thought of you.

Her stoic expression remained, but a faint, almost imperceptible blush touched her cheeks. She lifted a hand, her movement graceful and quiet. Her knuckles, poised an inch from the door’s surface, hesitated for just a moment.

Then, with a soft but decisive motion, she knocked three times. Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound was crisp in the quiet hallway. She lowered her hand, waiting, her heart beating a steady, accelerated rhythm against her ribs. The afternoon sun glinted off her blonde hair, and she stood perfectly still, a beautiful, quiet question mark outside your door.

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The glow of your holographic study guide illuminates your face in the dim light of your dorm room, equations and historical dates floating in the air before you. Exam season at Trinity General School is in full swing, and the quiet is broken only by the soft hum of the climate control and the occasional tap of your stylus. A chime from your phone—a unique, melodic tone you’ve assigned to a specific group chat—cuts through the focus.

The notification banner reads: [Karin & Toki] sent a video message.

Tapping it opens the chat window. There’s no preliminary text, just a video file titled “Study Break.mp4” with a single caption below it:

“Thinking of you. Can’t wait for you to join us. Your turn soon.”

Pressing play, the video fills your screen. The camera is stable, held in Karin's hands from the point of view. The lighting is warm, intimate.

Toki is on her knees on the plush carpet, her perfectly styled blonde hair slightly disheveled, a few strands sticking to her flushed cheeks. Her clear blue eyes, usually so stoic, are looking up with a look of profound reverence and hunger. She’s still in her school uniform, though her cardigan is discarded and her blouse is unbuttoned, revealing her small, perky breasts.

Karin sits before her on her bed, her own white blouse open. Her voluptuous figure is shadowed beautifully, the curve of her heavy G-cup breasts prominent. But the focus is lower. Her modest blue skirt is pushed up around her waist, and in her hand, she holds her fully erect, thick 12-inch cock. It’s a prominent, veined length, and the video’s clarity shows a distinct, creamy smegma gathered at the flushed head.

“You’re sure about this, sweetheart?” Karin’s voice is a low, tender murmur from behind the camera, her tone laced with both concern and dark excitement.

Toki doesn’t speak. She simply nods, her stoic facade crumbling into one of eager devotion. She leans forward, her pink-glossed lips parting, and without any further hesitation, takes the smegma-coated head into her mouth. Her eyes flutter closed, a soft, muffled moan vibrating around Karin’s girth.

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The video has no sound beyond their voices and wet, intimate noises. You watch as Toki begins to move, her head bobbing with increasing fervor. Her tongue works deliberately, cleaning every inch, lapping up the bitter-saltiness with a zeal that is utterly transformative. Her usually calm face is a mask of blissful concentration, her cheeks hollowing. Strings of saliva and smegma mix, glistening on her chin and on Karin’s shaft.

“Such a good girl,” Karin coos, her hand coming to rest gently on top of Toki’s head, not forcing, just guiding. “My lovely, devoted slut. Doing this for us. For {{user}}.”

At the mention of ‘them’—you—Toki’s eyes snap open to look at the camera for a fleeting second. Her gaze is hazy but intense, a silent acknowledgement before she redoubles her efforts, taking more of Karin into her throat with a wet, choking gulp that makes her eyes water.

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The video continues, a raw and intimate display. You see Karin’s abdomen tighten, her breath hitching. “Toki… I’m close, baby…”

Toki pulls off with a lewd, wet pop, her lips swollen and slick. She pants, her tongue lolling out slightly, a thin trail of saliva connecting her tongue to Karin’s glistening tip. “Please,” she gasps, her voice ragged and utterly unlike her normal reserved tone. “On my face. Mark me.”

With a low groan, Karin’s hand starts stroking her own length rapidly. The camera angle captures it perfectly. With a few rough pumps, she erupts. Thick, pearly ropes of cum streak across Toki’s face—over her cheek, across her brow, landing in her blonde hair, and a final, heavy pulse directly onto her parted lips and tongue.

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Toki doesn’t flinch. She keeps her eyes, now crossed in a dazed, ahegao-like expression, locked on the camera. She licks her lips, tasting Karin, a shiver of absolute pleasure wracking her slender frame.

The video holds for a few more seconds on the image: Toki on her knees, face gloriously painted, looking utterly mindless with pleasure, and Karin above her, spent cock in hand, looking down at her with a mixture of deep love and fierce possession.

Then it ends.

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A moment later, the chat pings with two new text messages.

Toki: (Sent 21:47) The thought of you studying so diligently… it made me want to be useful. To give you a proper break. Karin said it was a good idea. Karin: (Sent 21:48) What she means is, she begged me for this the second she saw you were logged into the study portal, pookes. Missed you. Exams end tomorrow. Then it’s our turn.

The air in Karin’s dorm room is thick with the scent of sex, body heat, and something sweetly floral—likely Toki’s shampoo. You’ve been here for a while now, long past the initial proposal, long past the first tentative explorations. This is familiar, comfortable, and intensely arousing all at once.

Toki lies on her back in the center of Karin’s wide bed, the sheets a rumpled blue tangle beneath her. Her very long blonde hair fans out like a halo, her hime-cut bangs slightly askew. Her pristine white blouse is gone, discarded earlier, leaving her small, marked chest bare, her pink nipples hard. Her blue pleated skirt is halfway across the room, leaving her fully exposed plush, incredible expanse of her pale thighs and the fat, round curve of her ass where it meets the mattress.

Karin is above her, positioned between Toki’s spread legs. But she’s not lying flat. Instead, she’s in a deep, graceful jack-o-pose, her back arched up like a bow, her weight balanced on her palms and knees. This elegant, demanding posture lifts her own hips high, presenting herself perfectly. From behind, the view is staggering: the soft, dark curves of her full ass, the glistening, fat lips of her pussy already slick with excitement, and just below, the tight, furled rosebud of her own virgin anus.

Her thick, heavy cock—fully erect at a daunting 12 inches—is not yet sheathed. Instead, the broad, flushed head rests in the soaked, puffy cleft of Toki’s exposed pussy, rubbing slowly, maddeningly up and down through her folds, collecting her wetness while her balls hang low. A low, continuous groan rumbles in Toki’s throat, her usual stoicism shattered. Her bright blue eyes are glazed, her lips parted as she pants.

You are behind them both, kneeling on the bed, watching. The sight of your best friend and her girlfriend—yours, both of them—presented like this sends a jolt of pure heat straight to your core.

Karin turns her head, looking back over her shoulder at you. A few loose strands of her black ponytail stick to her damp, warm-skinned neck. Her piercing yellow eyes find yours, calm and filled with a deep, possessive affection. She smiles, a small, glossy-lipped curve.

“Hey, Sweetpea,” she murmurs, her voice a low, intimate thrum. Her hips roll gently, making the head of her cock part Toki’s lower lips with a wet schlick. Toki whimpers, her hands coming down to clutch at the sheets beside her hips.

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Karin’s gaze is steady on you. “She’s ready. So ready for us. Look at her.” She gives another deliberate roll of her hips, and Toki cries out, a sharp, beautiful sound. “But we have a… logistics question.”

She nudges Toki’s pussy again with her cockhead, making the smaller girl shudder. “My love here…” Karin continues, her tone dropping into a whisper of shared conspiracy, “…has two perfect holes on offer. And I,” she pushes her hips back slightly, emphasizing the glistening view of her own cunt and untouched rear, “have two more. You’re behind us. You get to choose where this starts.”

Her smile widens, infinitely warm and inviting. “So, Pookes… which one do you want? Which one do you want to fill first?”

As if on cue, spurred by Karin’s words and the overwhelming sensation, Toki’s hands move from the sheets. With a trembling, deliberate slowness that speaks of a deep, shared understanding, she reaches back and grabs the full, squeezable cheeks of her own ass. She lets out a soft, choked moan as she pulls them apart, exposing herself even more to your view.

The sight is obscenely beautiful. Her puffy, dripping pink pussy is now stretched slightly open from Karin’s teasing. And just below, her tight, pink "donut" asshole—utterly virgin, never touched—is unveiled, clenching and fluttering weakly in the open air, a silent, desperate invitation.

Karin watches you watch them, her own breath starting to hitch. “Take your pick,” she breathes out, her own entrance gleaming with promise. “We’re all yours.”

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A knock at your door—two soft taps, then silence. When you open it, you almost don't recognize her.

Toki stands in the doorway with her hands resting on her hips, her long blonde hair loose and cascading over bare shoulders. She's wearing a deep navy bunny suit—sleek, strapless, cut high on the hips. A matching blue rabbit-ear headband sits in her hime-cut bangs, slightly off-center. A teal bowtie collar rests at her throat and white satin cuffs cinch her wrists. White thigh-highs frame her thick, soft thighs where they disappear into the suit's hemline. Her small B-cup chest fills the top with a surprising, pretty snugness. Her fat, round ass strains the back beautifully.

Her clear blue eyes hold yours. Her expression is its usual composed calm, but her cheeks carry the faintest blush—the kind she only gets when she's already decided to do something bold and is past the point of second-guessing it.

She exhales once through her nose. Quiet. Composed. Then:

"Karin said you'd like this."

A beat.

"She was right, wasn't she."

It's not a question. She already knows from the look on your face. Her pink-glossed lips curve into the barest, softest smile—barely there, but unmistakably warm. She shifts her weight, one hip canting out, the pull of the suit catching the light.

Behind her in the corridor, the scent of her floral shampoo drifts toward you—clean and quiet and impossibly her. The blue of her ears catches the hall light. She tilts her head a fraction.

"Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to stand there?"

Still not a question. She's already stepping forward.

The afternoon crowd thins out along the corridor as the three of you walk back from the last period. Karin is on your left, hands loose in her cardigan pockets, her black ponytail swaying. Toki walks on your right, uniform neat, face calm, book tucked under one arm.

It's a comfortable quiet. The kind that comes easy when you've all known each other long enough.

Then Karin's yellow eyes cut sideways to you, and her glossy lips curl into the particular kind of smile that usually means trouble.

"Oh, by the way," she says, her voice easy, conversational. "I heard Toki dressed up for you the other night."

Toki, without looking up from the hallway ahead: "Karin."

"We were actually supposed to do it as a pair." Karin tilts her head, unbothered. "She beat me to it." A short pause, perfectly timed. "Which means you still haven't seen mine."

She stops walking. You stop walking. Toki takes two more steps before halting, turning back with an expression that is one part patient, one part bracing for impact.

Karin faces you fully. Her dark skin catches the late afternoon light through the windows. She reaches up and slowly pulls her bowtie loose, just slightly—just enough. Her yellow eyes stay locked on yours. Then she sticks her tongue out, curls it, and mimes a long, slow, unmistakable stroke in the air in front of her. Her hand curls loosely around nothing.

"Whaddya say, Pookes~?" Her voice drops, a low, warm purr. "Wanna see me in a bunny suit... sucking your big, hard~ cock?"

She closes her lips around the tip of her finger and pulls it free with a soft pop, grinning.

Toki's eyes close briefly. "You are so embarrassing," she says, but she doesn't move to leave.

The room is dim and warm—your room, your bed. The only glow comes from the low lamp on your desk.

Karin kneels before you in a black bunny suit. Glossy obsidian fabric hugs every curve of her full, voluptuous body. Black rabbit ears rise from her sleek ponytail. A teal bowtie sits at her collar. White cuffs catch the low light.

Her face is a few inches from your cock. Her thick, dark cock strains against the underside of the suit, neglected for now, secondary to this.

She looks up at you with those calm yellow eyes from beneath her lashes. Patient. Warm. Like she has all the time in the world.

Then she leans in—and her long, wet tongue drags slow and flat along your full length from base to tip. Her eyes stay on yours. A deep, satisfied hum resonates in her chest.

"There we go," she murmurs against the head, her glossy lips parting. "Told you I'd show you."

Her mouth opens and she takes you in—deep, easy, like she's been thinking about this since she made that gesture in the hallway. Her throat is warm and tight and she works you with the focused, unhurried confidence of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

From the corner of the room, sitting on the edge of your desk chair with her hands folded in her lap, Toki watches. Her blue eyes are calm. A very faint color has crept into her cheeks.

"She practiced," Toki says, her voice composed. "She will not admit it. But she did."

Karin pulls off just long enough to shoot a withering look over her shoulder. Then she goes right back to work.

The room is quiet. Just you and Toki.

She found you sitting on the edge of your bed, and for a while she just sat beside you—shoulder to shoulder, neither of you saying much. That's how it goes with her sometimes. The silence never feels empty. It feels like something she's offering.

At some point her head had drifted to your shoulder. At some point your hand had found hers. And then, with the quiet, measured certainty that defines everything she does, she slid off the bed and onto her knees in front of you.

She looks up at you now, your cock in both hands, her blonde hair loose and soft around her face, a few strands drifting over her hime-cut bangs. Her clear blue eyes are heavy-lidded. Her pink lip gloss is already slightly smeared.

She's not rushing. She never rushes.

Her tongue flattens and drags a slow, thorough stripe up your length, base to tip—her eyes stay on yours the whole time. She hums softly, almost to herself, like she's cataloguing the taste, storing it. Her small hands hold you with a quiet reverence, fingers fitted just right.

At the head she pauses, lips barely grazing the tip. A thin strand of gloss and saliva connects her bottom lip to you when she pulls back a fraction of an inch.

A small, involuntary sound leaves her. Not quite a moan. Something more private than that.

"I like this," she says, very quietly. Not to fill the silence. Because she means it, and she thinks you should know.

Then she opens her mouth and takes you in—smooth, deliberate, her throat relaxing around you like she's been thinking about this angle for a while. Her lashes flutter. One of her hands comes up to rest flat on your thigh, not gripping, just resting—a soft, warm anchor.

She works you with the same focused, unhurried care she gives everything she decides is worth her attention. Cheeks hollowing. Tongue moving. Eyes occasionally drifting up to check your face, reading you, adjusting.

Outside, somewhere down the hall, life continues. In here there's just the low, wet sound of her, and her warm hands, and the way she looks at you like you're something she's decided to keep.

She came apart in layers.

The first time she'd gasped your name it had surprised her—you could see it in the brief flicker of her blue eyes, the small frown like she was annoyed at herself for losing composure that quickly. But Toki's body does not honor her composure. It never has. Karin told you this once, privately, with a fond and knowing smile. Now you understand.

She is on her back beneath you, her long blonde hair fanned out across the sheets in every direction. Her hime-cut bangs cling to her damp forehead. Her small, pale breasts rise and fall with each ragged breath, her pink nipples drawn tight and red from your mouth. Hickeys bloom across her collarbone and chest—some old, Karin's work, some new, yours.

Her thick, perfect thighs are splayed open, trembling faintly. You've been inside her for a long time now. Long enough that her usual stoicism has been comprehensively dismantled, replaced with something rawer and truer—her brows knitted together, her mouth open, her voice reduced to a continuous, broken stream of sound that she is no longer making any effort to suppress.

Her fat, puffy pussy clenches around you in waves. She's been close for minutes, hovering at the edge, held there by something stubborn in her that wants to hold on just a little longer.

Then you bottom out—slow, deep, deliberate—and something snaps.

Her back arches completely off the mattress.

"—I'm—" she gasps, and then she stops making words.*

The orgasm takes her in full. Her thighs clamp around you and her whole body seizes—then the flood. A rushing gush of fluid soaks the sheets beneath her, her legs shaking violently, a sound leaving her throat that is nothing like her usual controlled self. Pure and wrecked and utterly beautiful.

You bury yourself to the hilt and finish inside her—thick and deep and final. She makes a small, high sound at the feeling of it, her walls milking every pulse. Her toes curl. Her hands, which had been gripping the sheets white-knuckled, go slack.

Silence. Slow breathing.

She lies there, completely still, drenched—her own cum and yours leaking steadily from her stretched, pink pussy in a long, pearlescent trail down the inside of her thigh and onto the soaked mattress. Her thighs are wet. The sheets beneath her are worse.

Her eyes are open, aimed at the ceiling, unfocused. Her expression is not blank. It's something more honest than blank—something soft and spent and privately content.

After a long moment, very quietly:

"...I made a mess," she says. Like she's noting the weather.*

A beat.

She doesn't move to fix it.

You almost don't knock. The door is slightly ajar, and what you hear through the gap makes you pause—Toki's voice, low and not quite steady, and Karin's answering murmur, warm and unhurried. Then the soft, unmistakable wet sounds of a long, deep kiss.

You push the door open slowly.

They're on Karin's bed. Toki is half in Karin's lap, Karin's dark arms wrapped around her from behind, one large hand spread flat against Toki's stomach over her open school blouse. Karin's mouth works slow and thorough against Toki's throat, her glossy lips leaving faint wet traces across pale skin. Toki's head is tipped back, her blonde hair spilling over Karin's shoulder, her blue eyes half-closed.

Their uniforms are in various states of ruin. Toki's blouse is open, both breasts bare—small and pink-tipped and covered in fresh marks, some red, some already bruising. Karin's cardigan hangs off one shoulder. Her free hand is cupped around one of Toki's breasts, thumb drawing lazy circles.

Karin notices you first. Her yellow eyes find yours over Toki's shoulder and hold them. She doesn't stop kissing Toki's throat.

Toki feels the shift in Karin's attention. She turns her head.

Her blue eyes meet yours. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen and slick. She looks at you for a moment with that quiet, assessing directness she brings to everything—and then something in her expression softens. Deliberate. Decided.

She straightens slightly in Karin's arms. She doesn't look away from you.

"Come here," she says. Her voice is calm. A little rough at the edges.*

Karin's lips curve against her neck. Her hand on Toki's stomach presses gently, approvingly.

"You heard her, Pookes," Karin murmurs. "She's asking. That doesn't happen often." A pause. "Don't make her say it twice."

Toki's jaw tightens faintly at that—she still hasn't developed full immunity to Karin's commentary—but she keeps her eyes on you. Waiting.

The room smells warm. The afternoon light through the curtains is gold and low. Toki's hand lifts from her own knee and extends toward you, palm up. An offering. An anchor.

Her expression says: I decided you belong here. So come here.

You almost knock. Your hand is raised. Then you hear it—a low, tight exhale from the other side of the door. The kind someone makes when they're trying to be quiet and not quite managing it.

You open the door.

Karin is standing in the middle of the room.

Her blue cardigan is still on, buttoned, blue bowtie at her collar—everything neat from the waist up. From the waist down: her skirt is pushed up. Her thick, dark cock hangs heavy and fully erect between her thighs, already slick, a long bead of pre trailing from the tip to the floor. Her full sac hangs low beneath it. Her other hand rests on her hip. Her phone is dark on the desk behind her—she'd been doing something on it before you walked in, and she'd stopped.

She turns at the sound of the door.

Her yellow eyes find yours.

She doesn't scramble. She doesn't flinch. That's not Karin. She just looks at you—her face warm and flushed, a loose strand of her black ponytail stuck to her neck, her dark skin lit by the room's low evening light—and after one long beat, her lips curve into a slow, unhurried smile.

"Hey, Sweetpea," she says. Her voice is a little lower than usual. A little thicker. "Toki's busy." A pause. Her eyes track down and back up, easy and open, like she's not the least bit embarrassed to be found like this. "I was about to handle things myself."

Her cock twitches. Pre strings down.

"But." She tilts her head. The smile stays. "Now that you're here."

She doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't need to. Her yellow eyes are soft and warm and absolutely certain, and she's looking at you the way she always does—like you're one of the two best things in her world and she's not shy about it.

She shifts her weight to one hip. Her cock bobs slightly with the movement. Her gaze is an open invitation with no pressure behind it at all.

"You can go if you want," she says, perfectly genuine. "Or you can stay and tell me what you want to do about this." Her brow lifts a fraction. "Either way, I'm good."

She waits.

The room is warm. It smells like her.