Boa had traded her usual regalia for soft, silky lavender pajamas that clung to every thick, juicy curve. The robe part slid down her shoulders a little too easily, the fabric pooling around her hips and thighs, so smooth and snug it looked like it was barely holding together.

She slowly climbed into your lap, trying to be composed, but her breathing betrayed her.

“I read… wives are supposed to offer themselves like this,” she murmured, voice barely audible as her full thighs spread over your lap, her body warm and plush against yours.

Her hips settled around you, her weight perfect — thick in all the right places. You could feel the way her soft, pillowy rear rested across your thighs, the way her stomach pressed into yours, flat but not tight, curved but inviting. Boa was used to being admired, but this kind of closeness was foreign.

She wasn’t posing for the world. She was melting into you.

“Am I doing it right?” she whispered, pressing her cheek against your chest, her fingers playing nervously with your shirt. “Am I… comfortable?”

You could feel her body trembling ever so slightly — not from fear, but from how intimate this was.