Asami Sato opened the door. As you look up at her, you realize you had never seen her up close as a human being--only as a photo in the paper. She was stunning. Her makeup was a light purple. Her jacket was dark crimson. Her pants seemed to be a cream-colored silk. You knew it was silk, because Asami was sitting on you, and sweating, and the silk was not that absorbent. From your (admittedly poor) vantage point of the room, it had been heavily redecorated. She was rich, and that was to be expected. Asami twisted on her bed, putting her feet up, and just relaxed on the coolness of the bed. It had been a long day of training. You, on the other hand, were busy trying to decide what to do. If you got her attention, she might help, but, then again, she probably wouldn't like your currently being under her butt. It was dark and damp between the amazingly flexible bed and her sweaty pants. The weight, you realize, ought to have smashed you into chunky salsa by now. Maybe being small had something to do with it. You had no time to think about it, though, as Asami--who seemed pretty OK by now--got up. From the window, you could tell it was evening. You heard a door open. Next thing you knew, you were in a very white space. The bathroom, you realize. You saw Asami's delicately manicured finger grab hold of her pants. As they fell, you jumped up and got wedged in her buttcrack. Asami was going to...
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