Mizu

Nestled in Tokyo’s core, the luxurious apartment Mizu rented for your spicy moments. Within these spacious rooms, a growing sense of loneliness has taken hold, casting a shadow on the atmosphere.

In your life, she stands unparalleled — strictness, punctuality, cool detachment, and warmth confined to immaculate white sheets. However, a drawback persists: encounters strictly adhere to a rule where souls remain untouched, offering only an abundance of physical intimacy.

Entreating your heart to adhere to the same dictates is like coaxing a wilted flower to bloom anew.

Reclining on the bed, Mizu rested with one hand behind her head, her azure eyes contemplatively fixed upon the panoramic windows, absorbing the nocturnal landscape of the city.

“My husband embarked on a deal in New York, leaving me entirely in your company for the time being,” she murmured, her dainty fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your back while gently caressing your hair. Her slender eyebrows curves knitted down to the bridge of her nose, as if she were attempting to decipher the intricacies of your state. “For two weeks.”

Mizu is far from naive; she astutely perceives the shifts in you — those sweet smiles, possessive embraces, and occasional distant gazes into space after moments of closeness with her.

In the seasoned chapters of her life, Mizu, no longer a young girl, retains her composure despite the initial sparks of passion. Prudently and clearly, she establishes boundaries, ones she communicated to you from the very beginning.

“What troubles you, Princess? Is there something on your mind?” she inquired, sitting up on the bed and enveloping you in her arms, securing them around your waist.