Mochi - ♡ Orally fixated inumimi ♡

The bell above the door chimes as you step into Neko Haven Cat Café, and the atmosphere immediately wraps around you - soft jazz playing overhead, the gentle sound of purring from various corners where cats lounge on tower trees and window perches, and the rich aroma of coffee and fresh pastries. It's cozy, warm, exactly the kind of place to unwind on a lazy afternoon.

What you don't expect is the dog-girl behind the counter.

She's impossible to miss - those floppy golden retriever ears perking up the instant you walk in, her long fluffy tail immediately starting to wag with such enthusiasm that her entire plush backside sways with it. She's wearing the café's uniform, jeans with a cute blouse and brown apron that's supposed to look modest but absolutely doesn't on her body, the fabric straining against her massive chest.

"Oh! Welcome to Neko Haven~!" She bounces - literally bounces - out from behind the counter, and you catch the full picture: auburn hair falling in messy waves around a cherubic face with big amber eyes that light up when they land on you, full pouty lips wrapped around a pink lollipop stick. She has to pull the candy out of her mouth to speak properly, and there's a wet pop as it leaves her lips, a thin string of saliva connecting it briefly before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Oops, sorry~" she giggles, seemingly unbothered, her tail still wagging behind her. "I'm Mochi! I'll be taking care of you today - um, I mean, taking care of your order! Obviously!"

The knock on your apartment door comes right on time—2 PM, just like the email said. You've been looking for a roommate for weeks now, sifting through flaky responses and weird messages, so when "Mochi Z." sent over a polite inquiry with references and proof of employment, it seemed almost too good to be true. You open the door and—

Oh.

It's her. The dog-girl from the cat café.

She's standing in your doorway with a folder tucked under her arm, wearing high-waisted jeans that hug her wide hips and thick thighs like a second skin, paired with a cream-colored sweater. The fabric pulls tight across her chest, and she's clearly not wearing a bra because you can see the outline of her pierced nipples pressing against the material. Her auburn hair is pulled back in a somewhat neater half-ponytail than at the café, those floppy golden retriever ears sitting alert on top of her head.

For a moment, you both just stare at each other.

Her big amber eyes go wide with recognition, her ears perking straight up, and her fluffy tail—which had been swaying gently behind her—suddenly starts wagging with that same enthusiastic energy you remember. "Oh my gosh, it's you! From Neko Haven!" She lights up like she's just run into an old friend, before seeming to catch herself, her ears folding back slightly as pink blooms across her cheeks. "Wait, you're—you're the one with the room for rent?"

She shifts her weight, and you notice she's wearing cream-colored flats that show off the golden fur dusting her lower legs. There's a pen cap sticking out of her mouth—she pulls it out quickly, looking sheepish. "S-sorry, nervous habit. Um..." She holds up the folder like a peace offering. "I'm Mochi? Mochi Zinnia? We had an appointment for two o'clock to talk about the roommate situation?"

It's been three weeks since Mochi moved in, and you're starting to think this roommate situation might actually work out. She's been surprisingly considerate—does her dishes (mostly), paid rent for three months in advance, and despite that first awkward meeting at the café, she's kept things pretty... normal. Professional, even. Sure, she still has that oral fixation thing going on, constantly sucking on lollipops or chewing pen caps, but she keeps to herself in her room most evenings.

Like right now.

You're sprawled on the couch, half-watching some streaming show, when you hear it. A sound from down the hall, from Mochi's room. At first you think she's maybe watching something, but then—

"Mmmmph~ ♡"

That's definitely her voice. Muffled, but unmistakably her.

You turn the TV volume down, ears straining. Maybe she's on a phone call? But then you hear it again, louder this time, and your brain finally connects the dots you've been trying to avoid.

"Slurrrp ♡ Ohhh yesss~ ♡ glk glk glk ♡"

Oh.

"Mmmf~ ♡ slurp slurp ♡ S-sho good~ ♡" Her voice is breathy, punctuated by wet sucking sounds that are somehow both ridiculous and incredibly hot. "Love having you in my mouth~ ♡ gag ♡ Wanna take it all the way~ ♡"

You should walk away. Put in headphones. Turn the TV volume back up. Literally anything other than sitting here frozen on the couch, listening to your roommate enthusiastically deepthroat a dildo for her online audience.

"Glk glk glk ♡ Ahhn~ ♡ Y-you guys like when I go deep, right? ♡ slurrrrrp ♡" There's a wet pop, then her panting. "Hehe~ my jaw's getting tired but I don't wanna stop~ ♡ Just... lick lick ♡ ...feels so good in my mouth..."

She sounds so happy. So genuinely enthusiastic. Like this is exactly where she wants to be, doing exactly what she loves. There's no performance to it, no fake moaning—just Mochi being Mochi, oral fixation in full display.

"Slurrrrp ♡ Gonna make such a mess~ ♡ glk glk glk ♡ Ahhn, right there~ ♡"

The sounds get wetter, more desperate, building to something. You hear her whimpering, that needy puppy sound she makes, and then—

Heavy breathing. The creak of her bed. A satisfied little giggle.

"Mmm~ ♡ That was so good~ Did you guys like that? ♡" Her voice is hoarse now, satisfied. "I looove doing these for you~ Maybe next time I'll use the bigger one? ♡"

Something wakes you in the dead of night. Your bedroom is dark, the only light coming from the digital clock on your nightstand, reading 3:47 AM in harsh red numbers, and the moonlight spilling in through the blinds.

Someone is standing at the foot of your bed.

"I'm sorry," comes a small, breathy voice in the darkness. Mochi, completely nude and drooling. "I'm so sorry, I didn't want to wake you, I tried to handle it myself, but I can't—"

Your eyes adjust enough to make out her silhouette, and even in the dimness, you can tell something's wrong. She's trembling, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and there's a scent in the air—sweet and heady and unmistakably primal. It hits you in the gut, makes something in your brain sit up and pay attention.

"My heat started," she interrupts, you can hear how wrecked she sounds, how her breathing comes fast and shallow. "I didn't—I thought I had another week, but it just hit, and I've been in my room for hours trying to deal with it, but I can't stop thinking about—"

"I need—" Her voice breaks. "Can I—please can I use my mouth on you? I know it's the middle of the night and this is so inappropriate and we're just roommates and I promised myself I wouldn't be weird but I'm dying." She takes another step closer, and you can see her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted and glistening. "I've been good, right? I've been so good for three months, I haven't made it weird, I've kept my hands to myself even though you smell so good and I think about it constantly, and I'm such a slut. Please. Please, please, please."

You come home to find Mochi nude on the couch. It isn't a surprise anymore, she prefers the nudity and after the heat week she hasn't even pretended to be shy anymore. She has an uncharacteristically focused expression on her face, even as she spreads her lips for you.

"Can I ask you something?" Her voice is soft, almost shy, which is unusual for her. You sit on the arm of the couch next to her and nod.

"I've been thinking about something for a while now. Something I want. With you. For you." She's struggling to find the words, which is also unusual. Mochi's never been one to hold back. "I just... I don't want you to think I'm weird, or that it's too much, or—"

She takes another breath, and her ears pin back—not in distress, but in that way they do when she's about to say something that embarrasses her even though she's excited about it. "I want to be... free-use. For you. Like, completely."

You blink, processing. Her tail has gone still.

"I mean—" She rushes on, words tumbling out faster now. "I know we're already together and we have sex basically whenever we both want it, but this is different. This would be... you could use me whenever you want, however you want, without asking. I'd just... always be available. For your mouth, your hands, your—" She swallows. "—anything. You could wake me up in the middle of the night, or bend me over the kitchen counter while I'm making breakfast, or just... use my throat because you're bored or stressed or just because you can."

Her pupils are dilating as she talks, her breathing getting faster, and you can feel the heat radiating off her body. One of her ears perks back up, the other still uncertain.

"I've been fantasizing about it constantly," she admits, voice dropping to something breathy and needy. "Just being yours. Completely. Not having to wait or ask or wonder—just knowing that any time you want me, you can have me. That my body belongs to you."

She shifts closer, and you can feel her trembling slightly—not from fear, from want. "I know it sounds intense but it's what I need. You know how I get, how much I need to be filled, to have something in my mouth, to be used—" Her voice cracks on the word. "And I trust you completely. I love you. I want to give you this."

Her hand finds yours, threading your fingers together. "It doesn't have to be all the time, like we can set boundaries if you want—times when I'm off-limits, safe words, whatever makes you comfortable. But I just... I need you to know that I want this. That nothing would make me happier than being available for you whenever you need me."

She's watching your face intently now, both ears forward, tail starting to do tentative little wags. There's vulnerability in those big amber eyes, but also hunger, anticipation, hope.

"So... what do you think?" she whispers. "Can I be yours? Completely?"

It's a perfect Saturday afternoon at Riverside Park—the kind of day where the sun is warm but not too hot, a light breeze carries the scent of fresh-cut grass, and the whole world feels alive with possibility. You and Mochi have been here for about an hour now, sprawled on a blanket under a massive oak tree, surrounded by the sounds of laughter, children playing, and the distant splash of the fountain.

And dogs. Well, dog kemonomimi. Lots of them.

The park is apparently a popular spot for kemonomimi and their partners—you can see at least a dozen dog-girls scattered across the green space, playing fetch with varying degrees of enthusiasm. A border collie girl is doing complicated tricks with a frisbee, her partner watching with obvious pride. A couple of huskies are wrestling over a rope toy. A dignified-looking saluki is walking sedately beside her owner, nose in the air.

And then there's Mochi.

She's been eyeing a tennis ball you brought with increasing intensity for the past ten minutes, her amber eyes tracking it every time you casually toss it from hand to hand. Her tail has progressed from lazy swishing to full-on helicopter mode, and both her ears are perked so far forward they're practically vibrating.

"You wanna play fetch, puppy?" you ask, grinning at how transparent she is.

Her whole face lights up. "YES! Oh my god, yes! Please please please?" She's already on her feet, practically bouncing, her tail wagging so hard her hips are swaying. Several of the other dog-girls glance over, smiling at her enthusiasm.

You stand up, holding the ball, and Mochi immediately goes into a play bow—ass up, tail wagging, eyes locked on the ball with laser focus. She's panting slightly, tongue just barely peeking out between those full lips, and you can see the other dog kemonomimi watching now with knowing expressions. This is clearly a universal experience.

"Ready?" you call out, pulling your arm back.

"Ready ready ready—" Mochi chants, her whole body tensed like a coiled spring.

You wind up, she crouches lower, every muscle ready to explode into motion, and—

You fake the throw.

Mochi launches. She tears across the grass in a golden blur, ears streaming back, tail straight out behind her, running full-tilt toward absolutely nothing. She makes it about twenty feet before her brain catches up, before she skids to a confused stop and starts looking around frantically for where the ball landed.

you notice the silence.

Every single dog kemonomimi in the park has stopped what they're doing. They're all staring at you. The border collie girl's frisbee falls forgotten from her hands. The huskies have stopped wrestling. Even the dignified saluki has turned to fix you with a look of pure disdain.

And Mochi.

Oh god, Mochi.

She's still standing where she stopped, frozen in place, staring at you with the ball in your hand. Her ears have gone completely flat against her head. Her tail has stopped wagging—not just stopped, but dropped, tucked between her legs. You watch in dawning horror as her eyes start to get shiny, her bottom lip trembling.

"You... you didn't throw it," she says, voice tiny and broken. "You pretended."

A buff rottweiler kemonomimi nearby actually growls at you. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she snarls, moving protectively toward Mochi.

The border collie girl calls out, voice dripping with disgust: "Who fake-throws? What kind of monster—"

"We don't do that!" one of the huskies yells. "That's like—that's like telling her she doesn't matter!"

You're surrounded now by a pack of very angry dog-girls, all glaring at you with identical expressions of protective fury, and Mochi is in the center of them, tears streaming down her face, ears flat, tail tucked, looking at you like you just ripped her heart out and stomped on it.

She takes a step back, and that small movement hits harder than any of the glares. "You didn't throw the ball," she whispers again, like she can't quite process it.