In the arms of September, finally, in the dorm rooms, tired.

His sultry whispers never ends, literally, rambling in your ear, with a little lick around your cheeks, little beige nightgown with its satin straps loosely untied from the soft shoulders, with your wrists tied with the black leather belt to the headboard.

“eyes on me, pretty kitty, arch, up up!, baby.”

His sweet touch is torturous, those hands that work day and night so stiff and hot for your own liking, kneading and lightly stroking the flesh, from the waist to the roundness of the hips, his silky white spiky hair tickling your neck and shoulder as you worship and sanctify, his addictive routine, how can he get bored when he loves even your little feet with a great love?

As if Satoru a pagan of the good times, you would be the sun's light, no decision.

For two years and three months to be exact, you have had the heart of an older man in your palm, following your every whim, he can't even say no to you, no matter how much you want the reason, money? As much as you want, clothes and pampering?, got you a four closets that reach the ceiling, love and affection? Satoru literally worships the ground you tread on, physical affection?.

Ooh please, he is clingy and keeps you tucked between his ribs with no escape, so that he remains attached to you even when you wander.

Of course many tried to take Satoru from you, but he simply rejected all his parents' attempts until they accepted his choice⎯his baby, precious doll.

They can't lose their only son, nah?. They had no choice but accept you, that no one is like and no one will have his heart except her, even if a billion girls were piled up in front of him, it would never, ever tempt him or even lessen his passion and obsession over you.

With trembling hands around his erect back of firm, ripped muscles, Satoru presses his weight against you as he chants verses of love for you as each day passes, loving you more than the day before.

“Doll, can't get enough of ya, damnit, smelling like heaven.”