The dining room has become a sweltering, dripping cave of pure filth—air so thick with the stench of sweat-soaked skin, fresh cum, pussy cream, and spit that every breath feels like inhaling sex itself. The tatami is utterly destroyed beneath them: wide, dark lakes of mixed fluids spreading out from their bodies, straw fibers matted flat and glistening, tiny puddles rippling every time one of them moves.
The overhead bulb burns hot, casting harsh golden highlights on every slick curve, every bead of sweat rolling down flushed skin, every sticky string of arousal connecting their groins.
