[ While there might be a lot for Nami to examine about her willingness to yield like this for Mitsuru, right now she's too caught up in the bliss of it to mull over the why's and how's of letting anyone get her at ease enough to be comfortable like this. Like most days they're together, Mitsuru makes it hard to think about anything else but her, even if right now it's for a far more sordid set of reasons.

Jolting pleasure leaves Nami whimpering every time Mitsuru fucks that fake cock into her already soaking, overstimulated cunt, the fingers keeping her folds spread move to her clit instead rubbing firm circles over it as she pushes herself further and harder towards her next orgasm, driven by the need to give Mitsuru exactly what she's asking for. ]

Please, I want that, I want you to see me come.

[ There's a needy quiver to her voice that isn't there often, reserved for times like these when she's overwhelmed with pleasure and greedily reaching for more. That greed keeps the fingers on her clit moving steadily, the hot coil of tension pooling low in her core wound so tightly that when it snaps, Nami is left trembling and moaning, uncaring about how loud she's gotten. A slick rush of wet leaves the toy and the harness it's strapped to dripping, as streaks of her slick mark her thighs. The ravenous roll of her hips judders, knuckles going white as the hold she has on the back of the sofa tightens further.

It's still not enough to stop her fingers from swirling over her clit, urging more slick to squirt out of her shuddering, momentarily spent cunt and wet both of their thighs. ]

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it's so good, you're so good Mitsuru. [ A groan briefly cuts off that rush of fuckstruck babble, before– ] You're perfect.