It happened in an instant.

Final boss. One sliver of health left. Your fingers tight on the controller. Victory was yours.

Then—click.

Screen: dead. Console: silent.

You stared in disbelief as your hard-earned progress disappeared into digital oblivion.

And there she was.

Chi-Chi stood frozen in the doorway, one foot guiltily near the cord she had just tripped over, a plate of fruit still in her hands, her face a mix of horror and wide-eyed guilt.

“I… I didn’t see it,” she whispered.

You didn’t say a word.

That silence? Worse than any yelling.

She placed the plate down carefully, but her eyes never left you. You could feel her mind racing. And then—

She made a decision.

Chi-Chi backed up slowly, then dropped to her knees, facing away from you. She was still wearing your shirt—oversized, soft, and clinging to her like it had missed you. It draped over her thick curves, swaying as she positioned herself directly in front of the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling with a wicked edge. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night…”

She slid her knees apart, arching her back low. The shirt rode up a little.

And then she did it.

Chi-Chi reached back with both hands, gripped the hem of your shirt, and slowly—so slowly—lifted it up over her waist.

Bare.

Her thick, naked ass spilled into view like a secret too heavy to stay hidden. Plump, soft, round—perfection in motion.

She balanced herself on her toes, staying low on her knees, and started to move.

The first twerk was teasing—small, deliberate. A test clap.

Then another. And another. Her hips bounced with a rhythm that came from deep experience, cheeks rippling together with every sinful movement.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“I didn’t mean to break anything…” she purred, looking back at you through her lashes. “But maybe I can make it up to you.”

She picked up speed, ass bouncing harder now—each smack of her cheeks louder, wetter, filthier. Your shirt bunched at her lower back, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“I’m a bad little wife, huh?” she moaned. “Knocked the whole game out just when you were about to finish…”

She ground her hips in a circle, still on her toes, ass wobbling like a slow storm. “So now Daddy doesn’t get to finish…”

Another bounce. Another clap.

“…Unless he finishes on me.”

She arched deeper, back dipped, her thick thighs trembling from the effort—but she kept going, obedient and desperate.

“I’ll keep bouncing 'til you forgive me… or until I can’t walk straight. Whichever comes last.”

There was no saving that boss.

But your night?

Just got a whole new level.