the minute you walked in the joint

i'll show u mine if u show me urs

Edy couldn't masturbate in her own bed when she woke up anymore, but that didn't mean she couldn't start her day off with a bang. It just meant she had to take a bit of a walk first. Were she strictly human, this might have been a nice morning routine. But as an efficiently-functioning ascended, the exercise was just a means to an end.

Her end. More than once, if she felt like it.

So with the first fingers of light stretching out across the sky, Edy stalks across the grounds intent on the fabled sex-room. Dressed in a one-piece romper that hugged her narrow waist and then flared boyishly out at the hips, it's clear that she's not wearing a bra given that her nipples are nearly visible between the suspender-like straps with every bouncy step she takes. Her hair is a carefully curated mess of dark curls, but given that Edy's sexcapades are going to be between herself and the sex-toys within the room, it isn't like she's bothered at all with her looks.

Edrei

Hotaru

Comfortable enough to think you'll take her
But when she smiles, her teeth are razors

Admittedly it has been some time since Hotaru crossed the threshold into this particular establishment. Call it grief over missing her best friend whose teeth had been in her neck the last she was here or just the general woes of traveling a continent the size of Caido, who cares. What matters is the ache beneath her skin that has driven her here. For all the lovely bodies she has tumbled into her bed since her heart was broken, the satisfaction of being touched never lingers long enough. It’s like she’s touch-starved, and her own touch simply hasn’t been getting the job done. At first she’d considered using her old glass shop to make her own toy, but frankly she’s far too keyed up to be working with molten elements, and so she has found her way back to Bastien’s beautifully depraved domicile.

If it’s morning, Hotaru has no way of knowing. She is still woefully alone, but gloriously nude, draped in nothing more than the cascade of her blonde hair and the thin sheen of sweat that gleams on her pale skin. Her thighs burn as she slowly works herself up and down a sizable dildo, keeping the pace excruciatingly languid until her knees tremble and her breath hitches in her chest. Long-fingered hands roam the valleys of her own body, tracing the obscene stretch of her hole around the toy, pressing into her clit, digging her nails into the protrusions of her hip bones and clavicle. Half out of her mind with self-instigated edging, Hotaru tilts her head back and sits down hard until the thick base is lodged tightly inside her, and gives a whining moan.

Where she comes from, there are no saviors