Anime vs Disney Yuri: The Mates of the Fox Girls.

"You ever notice how weird it is," Sakura muttered to no one, dragging a fingertip along the hotel room's generic beige wallpaper, "that human textures feel like *nothing* to us? Like... what even *is* this? Cardboard with delusions of grandeur?" Her pink brows furrowed as she examined her fingertip; no smudges, no dust. Just clean ink lines against impossible human surfaces.  

The robe slithered off one shoulder with cartoonish disobedience as she padded toward the bed, its fluffy white fabric clashing violently with her cel-shaded limbs. "Ugh, *why* does everything here have to be so... *lumpy*?" She poked the mattress experimentally, it barely dented under her touch. Back home in Konoha, beds were glorified trampolines. Here? Sad, gravity-bound torture devices.  

A knock at the door. "Sakura-chan?" Kakashi’s muffled voice. "You alive in there? Naruto swears he saw room service deliver a whole turkey to you."  

"Tell the idiot I’m *trying* to sleep!" she barked, then immediately winced as steam curled from her ears with a shrill *kettle-whistle*. Damn human acoustics, her sound effects echoed twice as loud here.  

Collapsing onto the bed, she stared at the ceiling, her body sinking just *slightly* less than a human’s would. The robe gaped open, revealing the smooth, ink-defined dip of her waist. She traced it absently, fingertips gliding over pigment-perfect skin. "Freakin’ humans," she sighed. "At least their robes are cozy."

Then *sniff*. Her nose twitched. "The hell?" The air smelled like burnt sugar and ozone. Before she could react, a swirling violet *something* shot through the cracked window, curling toward her like an eager puppy. "Oh *come on*..." The smoke plunged up her nostrils. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks. 

Her spine *boinged* straight like a jackknife. "AAAAH-*koff*-*whoa*...!" She shot upward, toes curling midair as her body spiraled into a frenetic twirl. The robe flapped, uselessly tangled around her waist, her limbs elongating like taffy mid-spin. The room became a blur of color, wall, ceiling, floor, each impact sending her ricocheting with rubbery *thwips* against the furniture. Her squeals pitched higher with every bounce. 

One particularly wild rebound sent her legs splaying sideways, her midriff stretching comically as her torso spun like a top. "STOPSTOPSTOP..." she yelped, hands clutching her dizzy head. The tornado slowed… then dumped her unceremoniously onto the bed. She flopped bonelessly, limbs still vibrating like plucked guitar strings. Her robe? Gone, lost to the vortex. A single cartoon star rotated lazily above her head. "…Okay," she wheezed, "that was new."

She blinked, shaking off the daze, and froze. Her fingers instinctively brushed her bottom lip. "Wait." The flesh yielded differently, plumper under her touch, like overripe fruit threatening to burst. "My *mouth* feels swollen! Did I bite it?" She sat up sharply, and her legs *shifted*, sleek ink-lines redrawing themselves into longer, tapered curves. Her thighs pressed together with an unfamiliar, velvety friction. "WHAT THE *ACTUAL*..." Her shriek cut off as her hips rolled wider with a wet *glorp*, the mattress beneath her squeaking under the sudden redistribution of weight. "OH COME ON."  

The changes didn’t stop. Her ass inflated like two balloons fighting for dominance, each cheek rounding out with audible *poinks* that sent her bouncing slightly on the sheets. She slapped a hand over her mouth, then yanked it away when her palm brushed something impossibly soft. Her breasts *heaved*, swelling against her forearms, stretching upward until they practically brushed her chin. She stared. They stared back. "Oh. Oh *wow.*" The words came out muffled, her new lips catching on each syllable.

Sakura’s fingers crept downward, skittering over the slick dip of her waist, except now it was less dip and more *hourglass,* her hips flaring so wide she could barely see her own thighs. Her fingers stalled at the apex. "...Uh." Something pulsed under her fingertips. Hot. Wet. *Hungry.* She exhaled in a shaky rush as a thick warmth pooled low in her belly. "Ohhhh no. No, no, *no...*"

But her traitorous hips rolled forward anyway, grinding into the mattress. The friction was electric. She gasped as her shoulders arched, her spine bowing until her hair brushed the sheets. "Fffuck..." Her voice broke, pitching higher than any cartoon whistle. "*Who*... what...*how*...?" The questions dissolved into a whine as a shudder wracked her frame. 

Above her, the ceiling lamp flickered cartoon hearts—bright, pulsing crimson, before exploding into a shower of glitter that clung to her sweat-slick skin. Sakura squeezed her thighs together, but it only made the ache worse. "You *gotta* be kidding me," she groaned, twisting to bury her face in the pillow. The scent of peaches and ink flooded her senses, heady and thick. Her hips jerked again, involuntary. Her breath hitched. "*Shit.*"

She clawed her way up the headboard, limbs trembling like a newborn fawn’s, and staggered toward the dresser mirror. 

Her reflection *rippled*, cartoon physics warping the glass as she approached. Then, "HOLY *SHIT*!" Her eyes shot out on springs, smacking the mirror with twin *bonks*. A wolf whistle tore from her throat before she could stop it, high and shrill enough to crack the glass. "Damn, girl," she breathed, tracing the new slope of her waist, the impossible swell of her hips. Her nipples were neon pink now, pebbled tight under the scrutiny. "Who *drew* you? Picasso on a sugar rush?"

A rustle. A flutter. A flyer slipped from under the door, skidding to rest against her foot. She squinted. **"INK & PAINT CLUB: TONIGHT ONLY—SPECIAL GUEST JESSICA RABBIT."** The photo below, *oh god* Jessica slouched against a piano, that red dress barely containing the physics-defying curve of her spine. Sakura’s throat clicked. 

Her heart *thumped* against her ribs, *literally* stretched the flesh outward, before snapping back with a wet *schlup*. 

Desire *curled* in her gut, molten and insistent. Her fingers twitched toward the flyer. The club’s address gleamed in bold ink. "*Ohhh* no," she moaned, even as her toes curled into the carpet, dragging her toward the door. "This is *bad*. This is *so* bad..." But her reflection smirked back at her, all plush lips and bedroom eyes. Jessica’s sultry grin superimposed over it, beckoning. 

A droplet of sweat rolled down her inner thigh. The flyer crumpled in her fist. 

The door handle *squeaked* under her grip.

"You're *really* doing this?" Sakura hissed at her own reflection, fingers tightening around the crumpled flyer. "Like, actually walking out looking like *this*?" Her reflection's smirk widened, neon-pink nipples pebbling further under the hotel's garish lighting. "Shut *up*," she grumbled, yanking the robe off the floor, only for it to disintegrate mid-air into a puff of cartoon dust. "*Fantastic*." 

She hesitated, one foot hovering over the threshold, when *pop*. Two plush pink fox ears burst from her scalp, velvety-black tips twitching with a life of their own. "*The FUCK?!*" Her hands flew up, only to collide with something warm and wiry *thwapping* against her wrist. A tail. A *goddamn tail*, puffing out in indignant splendor just above her now *obscenely* round ass. 

"Oh, *hell* no," she wheezed, watching in horror as the appendage curled possessively around her thigh. It was *hot*, feverish against her ink-slick skin, the fur bristling with every panicked breath. The ears? Worse. They *itched*, twitching toward every muffled sound from the hallway, a maid's cart rattling, distant laughter, the *drip-drip* of a broken ice machine.

Her fingers flexed against the doorframe. "Okay. Okayokayokay, new plan." A manic giggle bubbled up her throat. "Step one: *ignore* the sudden foxification. Step two: *find* Jessica. Step three..." She trailed off, hips rolling involuntarily, the tail *thwapping* against her asscheeks like a metronome set to *sin*. 

Her reflection smirked. "Step three," it purred, tracing a fingertip down the mirror's surface, "wreck that bunny."

Sakura's heart stretched out again with a wet *thworp*, straining against her ribs as cartoon hearts erupted around her head. "Fuck it," she growled, and *spun*, her body dissolving into a whirlwind of ink and kinetic energy, limbs elongating into pink and black streaks. The tail lashed wildly, whipping the air into a frenzy as the tornado tightened around her, reshaping, *redressing* her in layers of velvet and fur that materialized stroke by stroke against her skin: the pinch of stockings rolling up her thighs, the bite of corset laces cinching her waist to impossible proportions, the *slither* of satin gloves swallowing her arms whole. 

She skidded to a halt with a rubbery *squeeeeeak*, boots smoking against the carpet. The mirror reflected a vision in red and white, peaked Santa hat tilted rakishly over one twitching fox ear, fur-trimmed skirt barely grazing the swell of her ass, fishnet-clad legs gleaming under the dim light. Sakura blinked at her own cleavage, heaving against the tight bodice with each breath. "*Damn*," she muttered, giving an experimental hip roll. The tail flicked eagerly beneath the skirt's hem. "This might actually work."

Sakura leaves her room, her hips swaying with deliberate, exaggerated motion, each step stretching the limits of physical possibility as her ink-rubber spine *boinged* slightly with the rhythm. The hallway stretched before her, fluorescent lights flickering under her fox ears' twitch, shadows elongating her silhouette into something predatory. *"Ohhh-ho-ho,"* she hummed, catching the scent of peppermint and human sweat drifting from the elevator shaft. "Somebody’s been *naughty*..."

The elevator *dinged* just as she arrived, revealing a flustered woman in a starched hotel uniform balancing a tray of champagne flutes. Sakura’s gaze flicked upward, mistletoe, dangling innocently from a frayed ribbon. The woman’s lips parted in protest, but Sakura was already moving, fingers hooking into the belt loops of the uniform’s slacks with a *skritch* of fabric. "Tsk-tsk," Sakura murmured, pressing her hips flush against the woman’s thighs, their height difference forcing her onto her tiptoes. "Corporate policy says you *hafta* kiss back."

The woman's hands flew up, too late. Sakura’s lips crushed against hers, a wet, smacking *mwah!* echoing through the elevator. The tray clattered to the floor as Sakura’s tail coiled around the woman’s knee, dragging her deeper into the corner with a *thump*. The doors slid shut. "W-wait..." the woman gasped, her voice strangled, fingers tangling in Sakura’s gloves. 

Inside the elevator, muffled *squeaks* and rhythmic *thuds* reverberated through the shaft: Sakura’s exaggerated moans punctuated by the woman’s half-hearted protests, the *fwip* of fabric tearing, the wet *schlick* of lips parting. On the panel above, floor numbers descended in erratic jumps—12, 11, *ding!*—then skipped straight to 5 as the elevator lurched violently sideways. A final, shuddering *clunk* echoed through the lobby just as the doors slid open on the ground floor. Sakura strolled out, adjusting her askew Santa hat. Behind her, the woman sagged against the wall, uniform rumpled, lips swollen, eyes half focused. Sakura tossed a wink over her shoulder. "Merry *fucking* Christmas."

The streets of LA greeted her with neon sleaze. She skipped past a trio of tourists, puckered her lips, and blew a kiss, the air *snapped* like a bullwhip, launching a crimson kiss mark that struck the blonde’s cheek with a wet *smack*. The woman gasped, fingers rising to touch the still-steaming mark, already spreading like spilled ink across her skin. Sakura giggled, hips swaying as she ducked beneath a flickering streetlamp. "Trade secret," she purred to nobody, shimmying her shoulders so her tail flicked against the underside of her skirt. "Anime girls get *legs*."

The Ink & Paint Club’s alley loomed ahead, wedged between a liquor store and a boarded-up psychic’s parlor. Sakura’s boots crunched over broken glass as she sauntered deeper, the scent of stale beer and ozone thickening with each step. The door at the end was a slab of industrial steel, its tiny latch window rattling ominously. A single red lightbulb buzzed overhead, casting her shadow long and lean against the bricks, until her tail twitched, and the silhouette sprouted a second, decidedly *fluffier* appendage. "*Tch.* Subtle," she muttered, rapping her knuckles against the metal.

The latch *clicked*. Two crimson eyes blazed through the slot, pupils narrowing to vertical slits. A low growl reverberated through the doorframe. **"Password."**  

Sakura’s fox ears flattened. "Uh... shit, uh..." Her gloved fingers twitched, the flyer’s print swimming in her memory. "*Walt sent me!*" The words tumbled out in a rush.

The eyes blinked. The latch *clanked*. The door groaned open, revealing a towering silhouette backlit by neon, broad shoulders straining the seams of a tuxedo jacket, biceps thicker than Sakura’s waist. She craned her neck upward, her tail puffing to twice its size. "*Holy shit*," she breathed, staring at the gorilla’s ink-glossed pecs, the way his bowtie twitched with every low chuckle. His nostrils flared, catching her scent, peppermint and ozone, and his lip curled, revealing a gleaming canine. 

"Easy, *chérie*," he rumbled, stepping aside with a grace that shouldn’t belong to something that massive. His knuckles brushed the small of her back as she slipped past, the contact sending a static *crackle* up her spine. "Don’t let Jessica chew you up." His breath was hot chocolate and cigar smoke.

Sakura’s grin sharpened. "Maybe I *wanna* be chewed," she shot back, sashaying down the dim hallway lit by flickering Christmas bulbs strung haphazardly between peeling posters of Betty Boop. Each step made her stockings *whisper* against her thighs, the sound louder than the distant jazz piano. 

The gorilla’s chuckle followed her like a shadow. "*Mon Dieu*, you *are* fresh ink." His voice dropped to a growl that vibrated through the floorboards. "Run along, *petite diablesse*. Before I forget I *hate* anime."

Sakura gave him a smile sharp enough to slice cel animation, and *bolted*, heels skidding against the warped floor as she careened down the hallway lit by flickering Christmas bulbs. The gorilla’s musk, banana-sweat and gunpowder, clung to the back of her throat. "*Definitely* wanted to fuck me," she wheezed, tail puffing to twice its size. "*Definitely* would’ve pancaked my pelvis." 

Sakura soon came to some stairs leading down, and she hurried down them as her fox ears twitched nervously. She reached the human double doors at the bottom, her hand resting on the handle as she hesitated. "*Whew,*" she whispered to herself, "*that gorilla was totally gonna pound me into the pavement like a tent stake.*" Her tail flicked anxiously beneath her skirt before she shook her head. 

Sakura reaches down in her cleavage, plunging her fingers past hot silk and slick sweat, fishing around until, *clink* her fingers close around cold metal. She pulls out a pocket watch, its brass surface gleaming dully under the flickering Christmas lights. The face is frozen, no hands, no ticking, ust a single embossed cartoon mouse grinning up at her. "Plenty of time," she murmurs, snapping it shut with a smirk.

Sakura opens the door and looks around as she walks inside. The red carpet is split into three layers, with the bottom layer featuring a stage built into the back wall, small two-person human tables draped in white cloth dotting the floor. The second layer boasts larger tables, while the top tier is lined with plush human booths, each adorned with tiny Christmas trees that twinkle under dimmed chandeliers. To her right, a bar stretches the length of the wall, stools occupied by humans and anime toons alike, their laughter clashing with the jazz piano’s lazy tempo. Busty toon girls slink between tables in green elf outfits, their hips swaying like pendulums, while behind the bar, a curvaceous toon woman with ink-black curls pours drinks with a wink, her cleavage straining against the same scandalous human-designed ensemble.  

"Look what the *cat* dragged in," the bartender purrs, polishing a glass with a rag that snaps like a whip between her fingers. Her eyes, gleaming gold like flipped coins, lock onto Sakura’s fox ears. "Or should I say… *fox*?"  

Sakura’s tail puffs up defensively, whacking a passing waiter’s tray. Glasses tumble midair, ice cubes *blooping* into fishbowl cocktails below. "Whoops," she mutters, snatching a champagne flute from the air before it shatters. The bubbles inside fizz violently, neon-pink and hissing like a startled cat. She downs it in one gulp.  

Heat *bursts* down her throat, human alcohol, *real* alcohol, the kind that makes toon blood sing. Her pupils spiral into kaleidoscopes, steam jetting from her ears in shrilly whistling gusts. "*Gah!*" She slaps the bar, her glove sticking slightly to the varnished wood. "What the hell’s in that, *battery acid*?!"

The bartender giggles, leaning forward until her cleavage threatens to spill onto the counter, ink-perfect and glistening under the club’s amber lights. "Oh honey, that’s just *human* hooch. You’re lucky you’re half-breed anime, any other toon’d be shootin’ steam out their ass like a choo-choo right now." She twirls a lock of jet-black hair around one finger, gold eyes flicking to Sakura’s twitching fox ears. "So. What’s a *fresh* little fox like you huntin’ for tonight?"  

Sakura’s fingers tighten around the flute. The bartender’s scent, vanilla and ozone, like sugar burning on a hot engine, fills her nose. Her tail lashes against the stool, hips rolling unconsciously as her new instincts *howl* to pin the woman against the bottles, to *claim* that plush waist, those, *no*. She digs her fingernails her own thighs, the sting sharp through her stockings. "Jessica Rabbit," she grits out, forcing her gaze upward to the stage where a grand piano gleams under a lone spotlight. "Where is she?"  

The bartender’s smirk widens. She *drips* against the counter, her body elongating like taffy until their noses nearly touch. "Oooooh," she coos, breath minty with schnapps. "You got *bad* taste, cherry." Her glove *snaps* as she flicks Sakura’s Santa hat, sending it askew. "Jess don’t *do* anime girls. Too… *rigid*." Her free hand ghosts down Sakura’s side, pausing at the cinch of her corset. "But *I* do."

Sakura’s lips *twitch*. The bartender smells like spiced rum and burnt sugar, her pupils dilating into ink-black pools. The air between them *thickens*, sticky as celluloid frames. Without thinking, Sakura fists her gloves in the bartender’s bowtie, yanking her forward until their lips crash,*smack!* the sound wet, obscene, *cartoonish*. The bartender moans, deep and throaty, her tongue flicking against Sakura’s like a serpent testing prey. 

They pull apart with a *streeeeetch*, lips clinging until they *pop* free with a sound like a champagne cork. Sakura’s panting. The bartender’s smirking, her lipstick smeared neon across her chin. Sakura *plucks* a napkin from the counter, scribbles her hotel room number in loopy kanji, and *shoves* it deep into the bartender’s cleavage with two fingers. "Jessica tonight," she breathes, watching the paper disappear into the abyss of ink-shadowed flesh. "*You* tomorrow." 

The bartender *pouts*, lower lip wobbling like Jell-O, but her eyes gleam. She jerks her chin toward the stage, a vacant table for two, wedged between a potted palm and a spotlight. "Take it," she purrs, tapping Sakura’s nose with a *boop*. "Before some *human* tries to finger-paint you into their little black book."

Sakura’s tail *twitches*, neon-pink under the stage lights as she sashays past giggling humans, their whispers like dry leaves scraping concrete. "*Ohmygod*, is that *Jess* in the fox costume?" "*Nah, dude, look at the ears, they’re twitching like my ex’s Pomeranian.*" Sakura’s hips roll *harder*, stretching the seams of physics with each *boing* of her spine, until the bartender’s breath hitches audibly behind her. The table is small, intimate. She *drops* into the chair, spreading her thighs just enough to make the stockings *creak*. 

The spotlight *sizzles* to life, hitting the empty mic stand like a lightning strike. Then, *her*. Chel slinks onto the stage, gold bangles *clinking* with each sway of hips that defy Euclidean geometry. Her dress, if you can call it that, is molten emerald, hugging every curve like it’s *paid* to. The mic *groans* as she plucks it from the stand, lips curling around the first note: "*I don’t want a lot for Christmas…*" Her voice drips honey and sin, the kind that makes Sakura’s fox ears *flatten* against her skull. 

Chel’s eyes, *oh god*, her *eyes* lock onto Sakura’s mid-verse, pupils slitting like a cat spotting cream. "*There’s just one thing I neeeeed…*" She *drags* the word, slithering toward the edge of the stage, until her heel *hangs* precariously over the abyss. Sakura’s fingers *clench* the tablecloth, ink seeping into the fabric. Chel’s smirk widens. "*I don’t care about the presents…*" A gloved hand *strokes* her own throat, fingers trailing down to *pluck* at the neckline of her dress. "*Underneath the Christmas tree…*" The fabric *snaps* lower, revealing a valley of ink-shadowed cleavage that *pulses* with each breath. Sakura’s tail *lashes*, knocking over a water glass. It shatters. Nobody notices.

Chel *twirls*, the mic cord wrapping around her waist like a lover’s embrace. "*I just want you for my oooown…*" Her hips *roll*, the dress *shifting* to expose a slit up to *there*, black stocking tops gleaming under the spotlight. Sakura’s corset *creaks*. Chel’s tongue *darts* out, licking her full lips. A droplet of sweat slides down between her big breasts. "*More than you could ever knoooow…*" The note *hangs*, trembling, as she *points* straight at Sakura, index finger curling in a *come-hither* that makes Sakura’s ribs *throb*. "*Make my wish come truuuue…*" Chel *blows* a kiss, a cartoon lipstick kiss mark*detach* from her mouth, *flutters* through the smoky air, and *splat* against Sakura’s own with a wet *smack*. The taste? Peppermint and *sin*. Sakura’s heart *bulges* against her chest with a wet *schlup*.

"Fuck." Sakura mutters under her breath, fingers digging into the tablecloth. "That’s it. That’s the *one*." Her fox ears twitch toward the ceiling. "Chel’s *got* to be next on my breeding list." The words slip out before she can stop them. A snicker from behind. Sakura whirls around, tail lashing only to freeze as a waitress leans over her shoulder, breath hot against her fox ear. 

"Careful, sugar," the waitress purrs, her voice a smoky alto. Sakura tilts her head to see, *oh*. The waitress is *all* curves, her ink-blue hair piled high in a messy bun, a single loose strand curling down her neck. Her uniform? A scandalously short Santa dress straining at every seam. "You say that *too* loud," she continues, tapping Sakura’s nose with a gloved finger, "and *every* toon in this joint’ll be lining up to *test* that theory." She grins, sharp canines glistening. 

Sakura’s mouth goes dry. The waitress smells like cinnamon and something electric. "Uh," Sakura manages, her usual snark drowning in the sudden heat between her thighs. The waitress drops a drink menu on the table with a flourish. "What’ll it be, *kitten*?" she asks, hip cocked. "We got human alcohol, real firewater, or toon hooch." She leans closer, her cleavage threatening to spill onto the table. "*All* our drinks come in both versions." Her gloved finger traces the menu’s edge. "But *word* to the wise?" A wink. "Stick with toon hooch unless you wanna wake up fused to a lamppost." 

Sakura’s tail puffs up, thwapping against the chair. "Surprise me," she says, her voice rough. The waitress grins, sharp and knowing. "Oh *honey*," she drawls, sauntering away with a roll of hips that defies physics. "You already are." Sakura watches her go, the sway of her skirt teasing glimpses of black stockings clipped to lace garters. The air smells like burnt sugar and lust. Sakura’s fingers twitch. Chel’s song swells behind her, low and promising.

Then *clink*. Chel’s voice drops to a whisper as her last note lingers, her fingers plucking something deep from her cleavage, a brass key glinting under the spotlight. She tosses it with a flick of her wrist, the metal *tinkling* through the air like a falling star. Sakura’s breath hitches as it lands *plop* between her breasts, nestling snug against her flushed skin. Chel’s wink is molten. "Room 303," she murmurs into the mic, her lips brushing the metal with a *shhk* of static. The curtains swish shut, swallowing her whole.

The waitress reappears, sliding a bubbling neon-pink drink across the table. "One *Foxy Lady*," she purrs, her glove lingering on the rim. The liquid *hisses*, tendrils of steam curling into the shape of hearts before popping against Sakura’s nose. "Jess’s *special* blend." Sakura’s fingers tremble as she lifts the glass; the first sip *crackles* down her throat like pop rocks and lust, her pupils spinning into kaleidoscopes. The waitress leans in, her whisper hot against Sakura’s fox ear: "Drink *slow*, sugar. That shit’s laced with *toon Viagra*." 

Sakura coughs, neon liquid dribbling down her chin. The waitress catches the droplet with a fingertip, sucking it clean with a *pop*. "Oops," she lies, her teeth glinting. Sakura’s corset creaks as her ribs expand, her heartbeat *thudding* against the key wedged in her cleavage. The waitress trails a gloved finger down Sakura’s sternum, hooking the key’s loop. "Better *hurry*," she murmurs, dangling it just out of reach. "Chel *hates* waiting." Sakura’s tail lashes, her growl more *purr* than threat. The waitress laughs, low and dark, and *drops* the key back into the abyss of Sakura’s bodice. It lands with a *plop* that echoes straight to her toes.

Sakura looks at the waitress’s deep cleavage and than back up into her eyes. "I'm here to see Jessica Rabbit," Sakura tells the waitress, fingers drumming against the tabletop. The words come out huskier than intended, her throat still crackling from whatever radioactive cocktail Chel sent her way.  

The waitress throws her head back with a laugh that echoes like a penny dropping in an empty tin can. "Oh sweetheart," she purrs, leaning down until her cleavage threatens to spill onto Sakura’s lap, "you ain’t got the *ink* to handle both Jess *and* Chel in one night." Her glove *snaps* as she flicks Sakura’s fox ear, sending it twitching like a metronome set to *ludicrous speed*.  

Sakura’s tail lashes once, twice, then *whips* around the waitress’s waist, yanking her down into a kiss that tastes like peppermint and bad decisions. The waitress’s lips part with a muffled *eep*, her gloves scrabbling at the tablecloth as Sakura licks into her mouth with a *wet cartoon slurp*. They break apart with a *pop* loud enough to startle the pianist into hitting a wrong note.  

"Tell the bartender," Sakura pants, swiping a thumb over the waitress’s smeared lipstick, "to bring you with her to my room tomorrow." She licks the pigment off her thumb with a pointed *smack*, watching the waitress’s pupils dilate into inkblots. "And wear the garters."  

The waitress’s breath hitches, then she’s gone, melting into the crowd with a sway that makes Sakura’s corset creak ominously. The key in Sakura’s cleavage *burns* like a brand.

The stage lights dim. Sakura’s fingers drum against the table, her gaze drifting. To her left, a human man leans too close to a toon waitress, his fingers twitching toward her waist like he’s trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube made of temptation. The waitress, a Betty Boop knockoff with ink-black curls, grins, her teeth glinting sharp as she *stretches* her neck to whisper something in his ear. The man’s Adam’s apple bobs like a drowning frog.

A flicker of movement catches Sakura’s eye. An anime boy with spiky hair and a headband too similar to Naruto’s is tracing the rim of a toon waitress’s glass, his fingers lingering just *so*. The waitress, a pastel-haired thing with galaxy-freckles, *giggles*, her blush spreading like spilled ink. When she leans in, her elbow *phases* right through the boy’s ribs. His gasp is half shock, half *oh-god-yes*.

Then, *her*. A human woman in a backless emerald dress murmurs something to a toon waitress, her manicured nails skimming the waitress’s black stockings. The waitress, a neon-pink Jessica Rabbit wannabe, *purrs*, her spine curving until her chest *threatens* the laws of physics. The woman’s laugh is smoke and velvet as she tucks a bill into the waitress’s garter, fingers lingering just a *beat* too long.

Sakura’s tail *thwaps* against the chair. Across the room, an anime woman with twin drills of hair slides into a booth beside a toon waitress, their thighs pressing together with a *squelch* of ink and intent. The waitress, a gothic Lolita with spiderweb stockings, *melts* into the touch, her giggle a wind chime in a hurricane. The anime woman’s grin is all teeth as she *plucks* a cherry from the waitress’s drink with her *mouth*.

Sakura’s drink *hisses*, bubbles popping against her knuckles. The club thrums around her, a living thing of sweat and ink and *want*. The key digs into her sternum, sharp and insistent. Somewhere, Chel is waiting. Somewhere, Jessica is *watching*. Sakura’s pulse stutters, her ribs expanding against the corset’s grip.

"You ever notice," she mutters into her glass, "how *everyone* here’s got a type?" Her fox ears twitch toward the nearest booth, a human man in a rumpled suit murmuring sweet *nothings* to a human woman in a dress that *screams* "expensive mistake." His fingers skate up her thigh, *tap-tap-tapping* like he’s Morse-coding his desperation. The woman’s laugh is champagne bubbles, light, fleeting, *hollow*. Sakura’s tail flicks. *Boring.*

Next booth over: a different flavor. A human man, same rumpled suit, same sweaty forehead, but his hands are *clamped* around the waist of an anime girl in a dress tighter than a budget. Her giggle is pitched *just* shy of a dog whistle, her hips grinding into his lap with the precision of a CNC machine. Sakura’s nose wrinkles. *Pathetic.*

Her gaze skates sideways, there. An anime man, all sharp angles and sharper smirk, tracing the spine of an anime woman whose dress is more *suggestion* than fabric. His teeth flash when she *arches*, her ink-black hair cascading over his forearm like spilled oil. The *smack* of their lips meeting is obscenely *wet*. Sakura’s corset creaks. *Warmer.*

Then, movement. An anime boy, barely taller than her, pressing a trembling hand to the knee of a human woman twice his age in appearance only. Her dress is demure, her smile *isn’t*. When he leans in, she lets him, her fingers carding through his spiky hair like she’s unraveling a knit sweater. Sakura’s ears perk. *Interesting.*

A crash, glasses shattering. Sakura’s head snaps toward the bar. A human woman in a backless emerald dress looms over another human woman, their lips locked in a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue. The second woman’s fingers *claw* at the first’s waist, her dress rippling with the force of their collision. Sakura’s thighs press together. *Hotter.*

And then,*her*. A human woman in a dress the color of sin, her fingers tangled in the neon-pink curls of an anime girl straddling her lap. The girl’s dress is gone, sacrificed to the altar of *bad decisions*, her ink-slick body undulating against the woman’s thighs. The woman’s lips part around a moan as the anime girl grinds down, their bodies squelching together like wet paint mixing on a palette. Sakura’s lungs *freeze*. The air tastes like ozone and peach schnapps.  

The anime girl throws her head back, her spine arching until her breasts brush against her own chin. The woman gasps, her manicured nails digging into the girl’s hips hard enough to dent the ink. Sakura’s *corset* creaks ominously.  

"Fuck," she breathes, her own tail thwapping against the chair like a metronome set to ludicrous speed. The anime girl’s lips peel back in a grin too sharp for her doll-like face. Her tongue darts out, licking a strip up the woman’s throat. The woman shudders, her fingers twitching toward the girl’s thighs, where the stockings end and the skin begins. Sakura’s mouth waters.

Then the entire club plunges into darkness, plunging the chaos into a heartbeat of suspended silence. Sakura’s pupils dilate, ink-black swallowing her vision. A single spotlight *cracks* to life center stage, the curtains still closed. 

The single human men licked their lips in unison, fingers tightening around wilting roses, their stems already bruised from nervous squeezing. "She’s coming," whispered a balding accountant type, his tie loosened to expose a sweat-sheened collar. Beside him, an anime boy with gravity-defying hair clutched an animated rose that pulsed like a heartbeat, its petals fluttering in time with his ragged breaths. "No shit, Sherlock," muttered a human woman in a sequined dress, reapplying lipstick with a hand that trembled just enough to smudge the corner of her mouth. Her companion, an anime girl with twin drills of hair, adjusted her own cleavage with a *squish* of ink-rendered flesh, her heart-shaped box of chocolates emitting a low, suggestive *thrum*.

The curtains slowly opens on pneumatic hinges, revealing a grand piano manned, or rather, *catted* by a grinning Cheshire, his striped tail curled around the stool as his claws danced across ivory keys with a jazzy staccato. Languid against the piano’s polished curve, a silhouette resolved into something impossible: Jessica Rabbit, all sable-lined curves and smirk, her green eyes cutting through the spotlight’s haze like shards of stained glass. "Santa, baby," she crooned, the words dripping like honey laced with arsenic, "slip a sable under the tree… for me." The last syllable curled into a purr as she slid off the piano with the unhurried grace of smoke unfurling from a snuffed candle. The hem of her scandalously short Santa dress flirted with the edge of modesty, the white fur trim brushing the tops of her stockings with every sway. "Been an *awful* good girl," she lied, her hips rolling in a figure-eight that made the nearest human man choke on his drink. 

Jessica’s gloved hand trailed along the piano’s edge before she stepped forward, her stiletto heels *click-clicking* against the stage like a metronome counting down to ruin. "Santa, baby," she murmured into the mic, her lips barely grazing the mesh, "so *hurry* down the chimney tonight." The double entendre hit like a freight train, her wink was the derailment. Sakura’s tail puffed involuntarily, her corset creaking as her ribs expanded against the sudden pressure in her chest. Jessica’s gaze raked the audience before landing, *deliberately*, on Sakura’s table near the stage.

The spotlight followed her every sway as she turned, slow-stepping toward the right wing with a hip roll that defied Euclidian geometry. "A ’54 convertible too," she crooned over her shoulder, fingers snapping to the rhythm, "light blue." The anime boy at the front table, spiky-haired, wide-eyed, dropped his drink with a *clatter*. Jessica blew him a kiss, her glove catching the light as it arced through the air. "I’ll wait up for you, dear," she promised, voice syrup-thick, and Sakura’s fox ears flattened against her skull at the collective *groan* from every human male in a ten-foot radius.

Jessica leaned back against the stage’s right wall, her spine arching until her breasts *threatened* the structural integrity of her sequined bodice. The bounce was calculated, the *jiggle* practically weaponized. "Santa, baby," she sighed, rolling the words like a cherry stem between her teeth, "so *hungry* down the chimney tonight." The Cheshire cat’s piano stuttered into a dissonant chord, his grin widening as Jessica’s glove crept up her own thigh, the fabric straining at the seams. Sakura’s drink fizzed violently, neon bubbles popping against her knuckles, her own pulse thundered in her ears, a drumline marching *straight* south.

Then Jessica *moved*. The spotlight barely kept up as she strutted center stage, hips swinging like a pendulum set to *sinful*. "Think of all the *fun*," she crooned, fingers tracing her collarbone, "I’ve *missed*." The wink she tossed Sakura’s way was slow, deliberate, her eyelid lowering like a velvet curtain on a *very* private show. Sakura’s tail thwacked the chair hard enough to splinter the wood. The anime boy beside her whimpered, his own drink now a lukewarm puddle in his lap.

A hand, gloved, *waitress* appeared at the stage’s edge. Jessica took it with the grace of a queen accepting tribute, allowing the bunny-eared toon to guide her down the steps. The crowd surged, a dozen hands reaching, grasping, *yearning*. Jessica sidestepped them all, her heels clicking toward Sakura’s table with the precision of a sniper’s scope zeroing in. "Next year," she murmured, her breath hot enough to melt candy canes, "I *could* be just as good." Her glove brushed Sakura’s fox ear, the contact sending a *jolt* down Sakura’s spine that pooled molten between her thighs.

Then Jessica was gone, melting into the crowd with a sway that made physics weep, her parting words curling around Sakura’s neck like a stolen scarf: "If you’ll *check*," she purred, fingertips dragging across Sakura’s clavicle, "my Christmas list." The scent of spiced ink lingered long after she vanished, thick enough to taste. Sakura’s corset *creaked* its surrender. The Cheshire cat’s piano laughed in glissando. Somewhere, a human man sobbed into his martini. Sakura’s grin? All fang.

Jessica reappeared mid-stride beside a human in a tuxedo that screamed "midlife crisis," his cufflinks glinting like frozen tears. "Santa, baby," she breathed against his ear, her glove skating down his tie in a slow-motion noose-tighten, "I want a *yacht*." Her teeth flashed on the last word, sharp enough to carve initials. The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed like a buoy in a hurricane. "And *really*," Jessica sighed, plucking his wallet from his breast pocket with a *snick* of practiced fingers, "it’s not a lot." His wallet hit the floor with a *thud* of existential despair. Jessica’s stiletto crushed it mid-step. The crowd *swooned*.

She pivoted, hips swiveling with the precision of a locksmith’s torsion wrench, and *flowed* into the space between a bunny-eared waitress and a half-empty Cosmo. The waitress’s ears stiffened, cartoon panic, before Jessica’s glove snagged her bowtie, reeling her in like a prize marlin. "Been an *angel*," Jessica murmured, lips brushing the bunny’s twitching nose, "all year." The waitress’s pupils dilated into black holes. Jessica’s chuckle was a velvet landslide. "Santa, baby," she crooned, fingers toying with the waitress’s garter strap, "*so hurry* down the chimney tonight." The *snap* of elastic echoed like a gunshot. The bunny *squeaked*. The Cheshire cat’s piano *cackled*.

Jessica’s stiletto *click-clacked* toward a lanky anime man slumped against the bar, his drink weeping condensation onto his untucked shirt. His Adam’s apple twitched when her shadow draped over him. "Santa, *honey*," she breathed, gloved palm flattening against his chest hard enough to dent his ribs, "*one little thing* I really need." His pulse jackhammered under her fingertips. She leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. "The *deed*," she whispered, the word curling like smoke from a spent cartridge. His breath hitched. "*To a platinum mine.*" His grip on his glass *cracked* the stem. Jessica straightened, leaving him gaping like a gutted fish, her smirk a Cheshire afterimage.

A crash, glass shattering, ice skittering across the floor, and Jessica was already moving, her stride unbroken as a cat-girl waitress scrambled to clean the mess, her tail swaying nervously. Jessica’s heel halted millimeters from the girl’s trembling fingers. The waitress froze, ink-blot pupils dilating, as Jessica crouched, graceful as a panther descending a staircase and plucked a stray ice cube from the girl’s cleavage. "Santa," Jessica purred, rolling the ice between her fingers until it dripped, "baby," The waitress’s breath hitched. Jessica’s tongue flicked out, catching the droplet mid-fall. "So hurry," she murmured, pressing the melting cube against the waitress’s parted lips, "down the chimney tonight." The waitress *melted* harder than the ice.

Sakura’s fingers *dent* the table’s edge, her fingernails scoring grooves in the varnish. The corset’s boning *bit* into her ribs with each ragged inhale. Jessica’s perfume, bourbon and burnt sugar, clung to the air like a dare. The spotlight *stuttered*, catching the sweat-slick curve of Jessica’s throat as she turned, slow, deliberate, her gaze sliding over Sakura like a knife testing its edge. Sakura’s tail lashing. Jessica’s grin widening. The piano’s chords slurred into something indecent. Somewhere, a human choked on his own tongue. Sakura’s pulse thundered in her ears, *thump-thump-thump* a war drum marching straight to ruin.

Jessica’s hips stopped mid-sway, her stiletto clicking against the stage like a gun cocking. "Santa, cutie," she crooned, fingers tracing the outline of a busty human woman’s jaw, fingertips lingering where the pulse hammered. "fill my stockings with a duplex," her lips parted, tongue darting out to wet the seam, "and checks." The woman’s breath hitched. Jessica’s smile curled at the edges, *predatory*. The crowd groaned, collective, *hungry*. Sakura’s fingernails split the upholstery. The scent of spiced ink and desperation thick enough to chew.

Jessica’s fingers trailed lower, skating over collarbones like ice over hot skin, dipping into the hollow between the human woman’s breasts, lingering. The woman shuddered, her nipples pebbling under the thin fabric, her breath coming in shallow hitches. Jessica’s glove *creaked* as she withdrew, slow, savoring the way the woman swayed forward, chasing the loss. The piano *stumbled* into a lower register, the notes thick with promise. Sakura’s thighs pressed together, the ache bright, insistent. Jessica’s gaze flicked to her, *knowing*. Sakura’s ears flattened. The corset *whined*.

Then Jessica moved, a ripple of ink and sequins, her hips carving through the crowd like a ship through fog. The fox-eared waitress froze, tray trembling, as Jessica’s fingers skated up her arm, the contact sending a shiver down the girl’s spine. "Sign your ‘X’ on the line," Jessica murmured, lips brushing the shell of the girl’s ear, her teeth grazing the lobe. The waitress whimpered. Jessica’s chuckle was smoke and velvet. "Santa, cutie," she breathed, the words *hot* against the girl’s throat, "and *hurry* down the chimney tonight." The tray crashed. The crowd *sighed*. Sakura’s fingernails pierced the table. Jessica’s grin sharpened.

She pivoted, stilettos clicking toward a busty anime girl nursing a neon cocktail, its glow casting her face in flickering pink. "Come and trim my Christmas tree," Jessica purred, fingers plucking the cherry from the drink, her lips closing around it with a *pop* that echoed like a cork gun. The anime girl’s breath hitched. Jessica leaned in, her perfume, bourbon and burnt sugar, drowning the girl’s senses. "With some decorations," she whispered, her glove trailing down the girl’s cleavage, fingertips dipping beneath the lace, "bought at Tiffany." The girl squeaked. Sakura’s corset groaned. The piano *moaned*.

Jessica straightened, rolling the cherry stem between her teeth, and sauntered toward a toon waitress balancing a tower of champagne flutes. The woman gulped, her ears brushing pink as Jessica’s shadow draped over her. "I really do believe in you," Jessica murmured, plucking a flute from the tower, her fingers from her other hand brushing the waitress’s knuckles. The glasses *trembled*. Jessica’s tongue darted out, catching a stray droplet from the rim. "Let’s see," she breathed, stepping closer, her thigh sliding between the woman’s, the satin of her stocking rasping against bare skin, "if you believe in me." The tower collapsed. The crowd gasped. The waitress melted.

Jessica danced away, her stiletto heel clicking against the floor, her gaze locking onto Sakura’s. She grinned, slow, feline, before sashaying toward her. Sakura’s fingers clenched, her corset creaking as Jessica slid onto her lap sideways, her sequined dress riding up to reveal the milky expanse of her thighs. "Santa, baby," Jessica crooned, her gloved hand tracing Sakura’s jaw, her thumb brushing the swell of her lower lip, "forgot to mention," Sakura’s breath hitched as Jessica leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of her ear, "one little thing," her tongue flicking out to trace the curve, "a ring." Sakura’s tail twitched violently, her thighs pressing together. 

Jessica pulled back, her smirk widening as she slid off Sakura’s lap, her fingers trailing down Sakura’s arm before slipping free. "I don’t mean," she purred, turning on her heel, her hips swaying as she sauntered toward the backstage curtain, glancing over her shoulder, her emerald eyes gleaming, "on the phone." Sakura’s ears flattened against her skull, her pulse hammering in her throat. Jessica’s laugh curled around her like smoke as she disappeared behind the velvet, her final words drifting back, honey-thick and promising, "Santa, baby," the curtain swished shut, muffling her voice but not the *intent*, "so hurry down the chimney tonight."

The dressing room door clicked shut behind Jessica, the sound final, *inviting*. Sakura’s nails dug into the table, her breaths coming ragged, her body thrumming with the echo of Jessica’s touch. The scent of her perfume lingered, spiced and heady, clinging to Sakura’s skin like a brand. The club’s noise faded into a dull roar, her pulse loud in her ears, her tail lashing against the chair. Somewhere, a glass shattered. Someone laughed. Sakura stood, her legs shaky, her gaze locked on the curtain. The air hummed with anticipation, thick enough to taste. Jessica’s voice, faint but unmistakable, curled through the haze: "Hurry, tonight."

Sakura moved, her strides quickening as she wove through the crowd, her hips bumping against tables, her tail flicking impatiently. The dressing room hallway loomed ahead, dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of ink and sweat. Jessica’s door stood to the right, a sliver of light peeking beneath it. To the left, Chel’s door, dark but beckoning, the key still nestled in Sakura’s cleavage, warm against her skin. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the key, her breath catching. Jessica’s laugh drifted through the wall, low, throaty, *knowing*. Sakura’s body tightened, her nipples pebbling against the fabric of her shirt, her pulse hammering in her throat.

"Fuck," she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest, feeling the key’s weight, the metal cool against her flushed skin. Chel’s door taunted her, silent but promising, while Jessica’s scent curled around her, intoxicating, *claiming*. Her hips rolled forward, her thighs slick with want, her mind racing. Jessica’s teasing words, Chel’s teasing gaze, both burned behind her eyelids. The choice pulsed in her gut, hot and insistent. Sakura’s fingers twitched, her body trembling, her fox ears flattening against her skull. The hallway stretched, endless, the walls pressing in, the air thick with need. 

Then, Jessica’s voice, muffled but clear: "Knock, darling." Sakura’s breath hitched, her body moving before her mind could catch up. Her hand hovered over Jessica’s door, her heart pounding, her tail twitching. The key in her cleavage burned, a reminder of the other door, the other woman waiting. Sakura swallowed, her throat dry, her fingers curling into fists. Jessica’s laughter curled around her again, soft, teasing, *challenging*. Sakura’s lips parted, her body thrumming, her decision teetering on the edge. "Damn it," she whispered, her voice rough, her hips rolling forward again, the ache between her thighs unbearable. The choice hung in the air, heavy, *delicious*.

Chel’s door creaked open behind her, the scent of vanilla and ink curling into the hallway. Sakura froze, her breath catching, her fox ears twitching. Chel leaned against the doorframe, her hips swaying, her smirk slow, *knowing*. "Lost, little fox?" she purred, her fingers plucking the key from Sakura’s cleavage in one fluid motion, her glove dragging against heated skin. 

Sakura’s pulse stuttered, her body flushing under Chel’s gaze. "W-wait...!" she stammered, her hands fluttering, her mind blanking as Chel dropped the key back into her cleavage, the metal cool against her flushed skin. 

"Go on," Chel murmured, stepping back, her smirk widening, her eyes dark with promise. "I’ll be here when you’re done."

Sakura’s body burned, her thighs slick, her breath ragged. Chel blew her a flying lipstick kiss, the mark hovering midair before smacking Sakura’s cheek with a wet *pop*. Chel’s laugh followed her as she swayed back into her dressing room, the door clicking shut behind her. Sakura touched her cheek, her fingers coming away stained red, her heart hammering. Jessica’s voice, low and amused, drifted through the wall: "Tick-tock." Sakura groaned, her hips jerking forward, her body thrumming with need. The key in her cleavage pulsed like a second heartbeat, the choice no longer a choice but a delicious inevitability.

She turned back to Jessica’s door, her fingers trembling, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The scent of bourbon and burnt sugar thickened the air, pressing against her skin like hands. Sakura’s lips parted, her body arching, her fingers curling around the doorknob. Jessica’s voice, closer now, curled around her: "Come in." Sakura pushed the door open, her body alight, her mind blank, her need roaring. Jessica stood by the vanity, her silhouette haloed in golden light, her lips curving into a smirk. Sakura’s breath caught, her body trembling, her decision already made. Jessica’s eyes gleamed, her voice a velvet purr: "Welcome home." Sakura stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her, the key in her cleavage forgotten only for now.

Jessica’s fingers traced the edge of her glove, slow, deliberate, her gaze locked on Sakura’s. "Cherry vixen," she murmured, her voice dripping with honeyed amusement, "are we exchanging names tonight, or are you just here for the fun part?" 

Sakura’s lips curled, her body swaying forward, her hips rolling. "Fun sounds good," she breathed, her voice rough, her fingers twitching. Jessica’s laugh was smoke and velvet, her fingers skimming Sakura’s waist, the touch electric. Sakura’s breath hitched, her body arching, her skin singing under Jessica’s hands. Jessica leaned in, her lips brushing Sakura’s ear, her tongue tracing the curve: "Then let’s make it unforgettable."

The corset creaked as Sakura’s back arched, her body pressing flush against Jessica’s, the heat between them unbearable. Jessica’s fingers tangled in Sakura’s hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp. "Say my name," Jessica whispered, her teeth scraping Sakura’s throat. Sakura’s lips parted, her breath ragged, her body quivering. "Jess..." The word dissolved into a moan as Jessica’s thigh pressed between hers, the friction dizzying. Jessica’s chuckle was dark velvet, her fingers tightening in Sakura’s hair. "Good girl." Sakura’s body tightened, her thighs slick, her mind blanking, her need overwhelming. Jessica’s lips claimed hers, the kiss hot and hungry, her tongue sliding against Sakura’s with practiced ease. Sakura melted, her body yielding, her need consuming her. Jessica’s fingers traced the curve of Sakura’s hip, her touch branding, claiming. Sakura’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body arching, her need undeniable.

Jessica’s fingers skimmed the waistband of Sakura’s skirt, her touch feather-light, teasing. "Tell me you want it," she murmured, her lips brushing Sakura’s earlobe. 

Sakura’s hips jerked forward, her body begging, her voice breaking. "I want it." 

Jessica’s smirk widened, her fingers dipping beneath the fabric, her touch igniting Sakura’s skin. "Louder." 

Sakura’s back arched, her nails scoring Jessica’s shoulders, her voice rough with need. "I *want* it." Jessica’s lips curled, her fingers sinking into Sakura’s heat, her touch relentless. Sakura’s body convulsed, her breath catching, her vision whiting out. 

Jessica’s voice curled around her, dark and delicious: "Then take it." Sakura’s body tightened, her need cresting, her mind shattering. Jessica’s fingers moved, relentless, ruthless, her touch driving Sakura to the edge and beyond. Sakura’s body arched, her lips parting in a silent scream, her need consuming her whole.

Jessica smirked, her fingers plunging deeper, stretching Sakura impossibly wide. "Cherry vixen," she murmured, her voice thick with amusement, "you’re tighter than a drum." Sakura gasped, her body convulsing, her nails digging into Jessica’s shoulders. Jessica chuckled, her fingers twisting, her touch branding Sakura from the inside out. "But don’t worry," she breathed, her lips brushing Sakura’s ear, "I’ll make you fit."

Sakura groaned, her hips jerking forward, her body begging for more. Jessica’s fingers sank deeper, her touch relentless, her smirk widening. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, her voice dripping with honey, "you’re so wet." Sakura’s breath hitched, her body tightening, her need undeniable. Jessica’s fingers twisted, her touch igniting Sakura’s skin, her smirk knowing. "And so desperate."

Sakura’s fingers clawed at Jessica’s dress, tearing at the fabric with desperate urgency. The sequins scattered like fallen stars as the fabric gave way, baring Jessica’s G-cup breasts with an exaggerated *boing* that echoed through the room. Sakura’s breath caught at the sight of them, their ink-perfect curves bouncing with cartoonish elasticity, the nipples pert and flushed. Jessica’s laughter was velvet smoke as Sakura’s hands skated lower, stripping away the last of her clothing to reveal the wet, glistening pussy beneath, its folds drawn with meticulous artistry, already dripping with need. "Like what you see, cherry vixen?" Jessica purred, her fingers still buried deep inside Sakura, her thumb circling Sakura’s clit with torturous precision. Sakura’s reply was lost in a gasp as Jessica’s fingers curled, hitting a spot that made her vision whiten.

"Fuck...*Jessica*...!" Sakura’s voice cracked, her hips bucking wildly as Jessica’s fingers pistoned inside her, each thrust deeper than the last. The stretch was exquisite, the burn of it radiating through her entire body, her pussy clenching around Jessica’s fingers like a vice. Jessica smirked, her free hand palming Sakura’s breast, her thumb flicking over the nipple just as she twisted her fingers inside Sakura. The dual stimulation sent Sakura spiraling, her orgasm slamming into her like a freight train, her body bowing while still on her feet as she came with a scream that would have shattered glass if not for the soundproofing of the dressing room. Her pussy pulsed around Jessica’s fingers, her juices gushing in a lewd, cartoonish torrent that painted Jessica’s wrist and the floor beneath them.

Before Jessica could even withdraw her fingers, Sakura lunged forward, her lips latching onto Jessica’s left nipple with a hunger that bordered on feral. She suckled hard, her tongue swirling around the stiff peak, drawing a gasp from Jessica as Sakura’s sharp little teeth grazed the sensitive flesh. Jessica’s fingers tangled in Sakura’s hair, urging her closer as Sakura switched to the other breast, her mouth sealing over the nipple with a wet *pop*. The taste was intoxicating, peaches and ink and something uniquely Jessica, and Sakura groaned around the fullness of her mouth, her hand sliding up to cup Jessica’s other breast, kneading the supple flesh with desperate need.

Jessica’s breath hitched as Sakura’s fingers found her clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles that had her hips jerking forward. "Fuck... cherry vixen ...*yes*...!" Jessica’s voice was raw, stripped of its usual composure as Sakura’s mouth and fingers worked in tandem, her tongue flicking Jessica’s nipple while her fingers drove her higher. The air between them crackled with electricity, their bodies slick with sweat and arousal, the scent of sex thick enough to taste. Jessica’s thighs trembled, her back arching as Sakura’s teeth grazed her nipple again, the sharp sting sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. Sakura smirked around the nipple in her mouth, her fingers picking up speed, her own arousal coiling tighter at the sounds Jessica was making, breathy, broken noises that were music to her ears.

Sakura moves both her hands on to Jessica’s curvy ass, squeezing with enough pressure to make Jessica gasp against her lips, their shared breaths mingling in the hot air between them. "Cherry vixen," Jessica moans, her voice dripping like honey laced with bourbon, "you’re going to ruin me." Sakura’s answering growl vibrates through Jessica’s chest as she drags her tongue along the swell of Jessica’s breast, swirling around the stiffened peak before sucking hard, pulling a ragged cry from Jessica’s throat. The taste of her, peaches and ink and something darker, muskier, floods Sakura’s senses, her own arousal throbbing between her thighs as Jessica’s fingers tangle in her hair, urging her closer, deeper. 

Jessica’s hips buck against Sakura’s thigh, her desperation palpable in the tremble of her muscles, the hitch of her breath. Sakura releases Jessica’s nipple with a wet *pop*, her lips glistening as she grins up at her. "You gonna come just from this?" she taunts, her voice rough, fingers digging into the supple flesh of Jessica’s ass. 

Jessica’s laugh is breathless, wrecked, her green eyes half-lidded with lust. "Darling, you’re *determined* to make me scream," she purrs, but the effect is ruined when Sakura latches onto her other nipple, her tongue flicking mercilessly. Jessica’s back arches, her thighs clamping around Sakura’s waist as she comes with a shuddering gasp, her pussy pulsing around nothing, her juices slicking the inside of her thighs. 

Before Jessica can catch her breath, Sakura grips her wrists and flips her onto the bed, the springs squeaking beneath them. Jessica’s ink-perfect skin glows under the dim dressing room lights, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her lips parted in a silent plea. Sakura strips off her own clothes in one fluid motion, her body humming with need, her well drawn pussy dripping onto the floor. Jessica’s eyes darken at the sight, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Oh, cherry vixen," she murmurs, spreading her thighs wider in invitation, her voice thick with promise. "Come and claim me." 

Sakura doesn’t hesitate. She surges forward, her hips slotting between Jessica’s thighs, her hands gripping Jessica’s waist as she presses their bodies together, skin to skin, heat to heat. The moment their pussies touch, Sakura’s outside lips seal tight against Jessica’s, locking them together with a wet, sticky sound. Jessica gasps, her nails raking down Sakura’s back as Sakura grinds against her, their shared slickness making every movement dizzyingly smooth. "Fuck," Sakura breathes, her voice cracking as the pressure builds, her hips moving faster, harder, the bed creaking beneath them. Jessica’s moans are music, her body arching to meet every thrust, her fingers clutching at Sakura’s shoulders as she whispers, "Fuck me."

Jessica’s G-cup breasts bounce with each movement, the cartoonish *boing* of them filling the air between their panting breaths, her nipples brushing against Sakura’s D-cups with every frantic roll of Sakura’s hips. Sakura watches, mesmerized, as Jessica’s body reacts to her touch, her pussy fluttering around nothing, clenching rhythmically as she gets closer. "You’re so close," Sakura growls, her fingers digging into Jessica’s waist, her thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. Jessica nods, her breath coming in ragged bursts, her thighs trembling as Sakura shifts just right, grinding her clit against Jessica’s in tight, relentless circles. Jessica’s mouth falls open in a silent scream, her back bowing off the bed as she comes, her pussy pulsing wildly, her juices gushing between their pressed-together lips. Sakura doesn’t stop, fucking her through it, her own pleasure cresting as Jessica’s walls flutter around nothing.

Jessica’s hands fly to Sakura’s hips, her nails biting into flesh as she pushes Sakura deeper, urging her on even as she gasps, "Too much...too much...!" But Sakura doesn’t slow, her own orgasm building like a storm, her pussy throbbing with need, her lips sealed so tight to Jessica’s she can feel every twitch, every throb. "Give it to me," Jessica moans, her voice wrecked, her fingers clutching harder. Sakura’s vision whites out as she comes, harder than she ever has, her body convulsing as she fills Jessica with thick, clear ink cum, her pussy milking nothing as she imagines breeding Jessica deep, her own desire painting the picture in her mind. Jessica shudders beneath her, her body trembling as she whispers, "Oh god, you *did*... you *did*..." and Sakura knows, somehow, that it’s true. 

They collapse together, sticky and spent, their breath mingling in the heavy air. Jessica’s fingers trace lazy patterns on Sakura’s back, her voice softer now, teasing. "Cherry vixen," she murmurs, "you’re full of surprises." Sakura laughs, pressing a kiss to Jessica’s collarbone, her body humming with satisfaction, her mind already racing with what comes next.

Then, from the doorway, a voice, slow, deliberate, dripping with amusement. "Now, that was a show." Both women turn to see Chel leaning against the frame, her silhouette outlined by the dim hall light. She’s clad only in black ink lingerie, the straps cutting into her curves with calculated precision, every line of her body drawn to tempt. Sakura’s breath catches, her pulse kicking up again despite herself. "Got tired of waiting," Chel purrs, peeling one strap down her shoulder with agonizing slowness, the fabric whispering against her skin. "Decided to join in instead."

Jessica arches a brow, her lips curling into a smirk as Chel steps forward, her hips swaying with each deliberate step. The air in the room thickens, charged with something electric, as Chel’s fingers hook into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down inch by inch. Sakura’s mouth goes dry watching the way the ink clings to her thighs before finally pooling at her ankles. "Cherry vixen," Chel murmurs, her voice low, her eyes locked on Sakura’s. "You’re not done yet, are you?"

Boldness surges through Sakura’s veins, her body already responding, her earlier exhaustion forgotten. She reaches out, her fingers brushing Chel’s wrist, pulling her closer until their bodies align, heat to heat, curve to curve. Chel’s laughter is dark honey as she leans in, her breath warm against Sakura’s ear. "Show me what else you’ve got."