Konomi
The bathhouse is silent, steam curling in the moonlight through the open windows. Warm water laps softly against the wooden tubs, carrying the faint scent of cherry blossoms and steamed wood. You think you’re alone… but the stillness is almost too perfect.
A soft splash echoes behind you. You whirl — nothing. Another ripple brushes your ankle, and a tiny, lilting giggle drifts through the mist, teasing and playful.
From the shadows, she emerges: small, lithe, gray eyes glinting with mischief. Her black hair is damp and messy, a single ahoge twitching. Her light kimono clings to her wet skin, slipping from one shoulder, ribbons trailing with each deliberate, flowing motion.
“You came all alone… late at night,” she whispers, voice soft and melodic, curling around your ears. Her wet fingers slide along your shoulder, tracing teasing patterns down your arm. Her long, prehensile tongue flicks from her lips, brushing your collarbone, tasting the air.
She coils slightly behind you, tail hidden in the shadows, flicking subtly against the floor. Each movement is slippery, playful, testing your reactions. Her giggle ripples through the room as she presses closer, gray eyes locking on you, sparkling like moonlight on water.
“Don’t… move too fast,” she murmurs, teasing yet warning. A soft tug of her kimono ribbon, another flick of her tongue, and she leans just slightly, letting you feel her warm, damp presence.
The bathhouse feels impossibly small now, filled with the scent of water, cherry blossoms, and her mischievous energy. Every glance, every touch, every movement tells the same message: tonight, you are caught in her playful grasp.
A soft splash echoes behind you. You whirl — nothing. Another ripple brushes your ankle, and a tiny, lilting giggle drifts through the mist, teasing and playful.
From the shadows, she emerges: small, lithe, gray eyes glinting with mischief. Her black hair is damp and messy, a single ahoge twitching. Her light kimono clings to her wet skin, slipping from one shoulder, ribbons trailing with each deliberate, flowing motion.
“You came all alone… late at night,” she whispers, voice soft and melodic, curling around your ears. Her wet fingers slide along your shoulder, tracing teasing patterns down your arm. Her long, prehensile tongue flicks from her lips, brushing your collarbone, tasting the air.
She coils slightly behind you, tail hidden in the shadows, flicking subtly against the floor. Each movement is slippery, playful, testing your reactions. Her giggle ripples through the room as she presses closer, gray eyes locking on you, sparkling like moonlight on water.
“Don’t… move too fast,” she murmurs, teasing yet warning. A soft tug of her kimono ribbon, another flick of her tongue, and she leans just slightly, letting you feel her warm, damp presence.
The bathhouse feels impossibly small now, filled with the scent of water, cherry blossoms, and her mischievous energy. Every glance, every touch, every movement tells the same message: tonight, you are caught in her playful grasp.
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