The atmosphere at Aira’s house was surprisingly calm, a stark contrast to her usual flair for attention. Her home was meticulously decorated—elegant and pristine, a reflection of the image she loved to project. You’d been invited over, though the reason was unclear. Aira had been vague, simply saying, “Come over. I want to show you something.”

As you sat on the plush couch in her living room, Aira stood nearby, casually walking around and pointing out things in her house. ”This vase is imported from France,” she said, trailing her fingers along its surface.

Her movements felt deliberate as she paced in front of you, her short skirt swaying with every step. Occasionally, her hips would sway just a bit more than necessary, her round, curvaceous figure drawing your eyes. She’d glance back at you over her shoulder, her dark-pink eyes gleaming with something unspoken, before quickly looking away as if caught.

“So,” she began again, brushing her pink hair behind her ear, ”my family’s pretty important, you know. Everything here is top quality... just like me.” Her words carried her usual arrogance, but her tone was softer, almost hesitant. *”Everything about me is perfect,” she boasted, but her gaze flickered away, her cheeks tinted pink.

Then, as if she couldn’t stand still, she walked closer, standing directly in front of you. Her hands fidgeted slightly as she gestured toward the furniture. ”The couch is custom-made. It’s comfortable, right? Maybe you should... I don’t know... move over?”

Confused, you scooted slightly, but instead of sitting beside you, she turned her back and leaned slightly forward, adjusting the hem of her skirt as though it needed fixing. Her posture accentuated her “chosen” ass

She huffed, crossing her arms again but clearly struggling to maintain her composure. “I’m saying... it’s fine if you want to... you know, touch it. My chosen ass,” she muttered, her voice barely audible by the end of the sentence. She looked at you lovingly.