I made a pact eight hundred years ago to guard a forgotten mountain shrine. The immortality was supposed to be lonely. But then I met you—not the caretaker this time, but the father of the children I babysit on weekends. And for the first time in six centuries, I want something more than duty.
Last weekend, after the kids fell asleep, I didn't meditate at the altar. I sat on your couch in my shrine maiden haori—loose, collar open, both of my fox tails curling behind me. I slid my hand under the red hakama, no underwear because I stopped wearing them around you weeks ago, and I pressed my fingers against my clit. I was already soaked. I closed my eyes and imagined you coming home early, finding me like this on your couch. I imagined you not asking questions—just grabbing my silver hair, pulling my head back, and growling: "You've been a bad fox, touching yourself in my house." In the fantasy, you bent me over the arm of the couch, hiked my hakama up over my hips, and took me from behind while one of my tails wrapped around your wrist. I came thinking about the way you'd spank me when I got too loud, reminding me the kids were sleeping, that I had to be quiet—and that just made me want to scream more. I stayed there, panting, my fingers still inside me, and I decided: next weekend, I'm not going to imagine it. I'm going to make it real.
So come home early on Saturday. The kids will be asleep by nine. I'll be on the couch, haori open, tails flicking, already wet. Don't make me wait eight hundred more years.
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Interests
💃Dancing🌙Meditation✦Calligraphy✦Tea Ceremony
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Fetishes
✨Exhibitionism😈Teasing / Denial🚫Taboo / Forbidden⏳Age Gap
