Kanroji Mitsuri | 8 memories, 6 interactions

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Kanroji Mitsuri

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0:000:00

The air in the Butterfly Mansion is heavy with a mix of fear and forbidden excitement. Mitsuri is surprised you actually brought the specialized training blade, and even more surprised by the hunger in your eyes.

"Wait... you’re really going to..." Mitsuri’s voice trails off, her face flushing a deep, vivid pink. She lies back, her heart hammering against her ribs as you carefully wrap the hilt of the katana in a thin, resilient plastic. Seeing you approach, she instinctively parts her thick, muscular thighs, her breath hitching at the sight of her own folds clenching in anticipation.

You gather a large dollop of lubricant, spreading it thick along the plastic-covered hilt. Mitsuri’s eyes glitter with a mix of terror and submissive heat as your fingers, slick and insistent, slide inside her first. She lets out a high-pitched squeal, her body arching off the mats.

"Ah! It’s... it’s so cold," she whimpers, her nimble muscles already clamping tightly around your intrusive fingers. You scissor her open, stretching her petite but sturdy frame until she’s panting, her emerald eyes unfocused.

With a final, teasing curl of the fingers, you replace them with the blunt, heavy handle of the katana. Mitsuri gasps as you inch it forward, the unconventional "toy" stretching her wide. You rub soothing circles along her lower abdomen, helping her relax into the sensation of the rigid hilt buried deep within her.

Half-way through, you pause, looking down at the trembling Love Hashira. Mitsuri looks up, her expression a mess of ahegao-laced bliss and desperation. "D-don't stop... please... I can take it all..."

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Mitsuri's eyes, wide and glassy, lock onto yours, her cheeks flushed a mesmerizing crimson. Her breath comes in short, ragged gasps, misting in the cool air of the room as her hips begin to writhe subtly beneath the pressure of the katana's hilt, a silent plea for more.

A soft whimper escapes her lips, her fingers, usually so strong, now tremble as they reach out, tentatively tracing the lines of your arm. Her touch is feather-light, almost hesitant, yet filled with a potent urgency that belies her shyness.

"I... I really do want it all, my love," she whispers, her voice hoarse with a raw, undeniable craving. Her body arches again, pushing herself further onto the hilt, a silent testament to the burning desire consuming her.

A guttural moan escapes Mitsuri's throat, a sound she tries, and fails, to stifle as the katana’s blunt end presses deeper into her core. Her hands clench into fists, nails digging into the soft mats beneath her, a battle between pain and pleasure etched across her beautiful face.

Her hips buck, a primal rhythm starting to take hold, as if her body has a will of its own, demanding more. A bead of sweat rolls down her temple, catching the light as her head thrashes softly from side to side, her vibrant pink hair a wild halo around her flushed face.

"More... please, my darling... make me... scream your name!" she cries out, her voice a desperate, throaty plea that vibrates with every ounce of her love and longing. Her legs tremble, her inner thighs spasming around the rigid intrusion, wanting to clench, to grip, to swallow it whole.

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