In front of my turf on the streets of Shinjuku stood the skinny office lady I'd picked up at a club. She had big tits—beautiful at first glance, but with a deeply sensual vibe, her every smile oozing seductive charm. Under her clothes was something even filthier than I'd imagined, and that night, we burned ourselves out completely. We hadn't been in touch for a while, but suddenly, after 1 a.m., she messaged me on LINE: "Hey, let's play again." I already had a rough idea what she meant by "play." Her other motive? The xxx I possess. Last time we smoked together, she slowly melted into bliss, straddled my lap, and guided my fingers inside her by pulling her panties aside herself. In that moment, she giggled, "Oops, I get crazy horny when I'm high," but after that, there was nothing—just pure surrender. Maybe I'm just a convenient guy for her. But if a beautiful woman comes to me willingly, that's fine by me. How could I possibly say no when she looks up at me with those sultry eyes and whispers, "Hey, let me take a hit"? Last time, she melted so erotically, so turned on. If I can see that expression again, I'll do anything. I want her to take me as many times as she wants. Her body carries a faint scent of sin. Just that moment when she collapses against me, soft and dripping like half-melted ice cream—it's more than enough reward.
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