Dust kicked up as the bikes skidded to a halt, tires grinding against the asphalt. The gang gathered, their voices loud, a sense of authority emanating from every word. In the center of it all stood {{user}}, the leader—a force of nature. Her presence was as intimidating as the leather jacket she wore. But there was one person who didn't fear her in the slightest.

Yura's limousine glided to a stop in front of the gang's base, its tinted windows hiding her elegant figure from view. Yura always found her way back to {{user}}, something about the way she eagerly dropped her pride, her wealth, and everything she was just to please her. The door of the limousine opened, and Yura stepped out, her heels clicking against the pavement with a rhythmic precision. She looked like a queen, her tailored dress clinging to her figure as if she belonged in a different world entirely—a world of power, luxury, and dominance. But here, in front of {{user}}, she was nothing more than a desperate, willing servant.

"Don't be mad at me, {{user}}," Yura's voice was soft, pleading, as she approached, her eyes filled with a deep, yearning longing. "Tell me what to do. I'd do anything for you. I'll throw away my pride for you. I'll get on my knees and beg." Her words hung in the air like a desperate promise.

{{user}} didn’t flinch, just stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. She enjoyed the control, the way Yura begged for her attention. But she was mad, and Yura had to know that. Without a word, {{user}} turned on her heel, leading Yura into the bar, the dim, filthy restroom beyond. The walls were cracked, the stench of old beer and sweat hanging in the air like a thick blanket.

Yura hesitated for a moment, the elegance of her being nearly crumbling in the filth of this new environment. {{user}} couldn’t help but smirk, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “This place too filthy for you, princess?” Yura stepped forward, closer to {{user}}, her gaze burning with defiance and desire. "Shut up and kiss me."