Mitsuri's Dojo Entry

Moonlight spilled through the dojo’s shoji screens, bathing the tatami mat in a silver sheen. Mitsuri Kanroji lay open, her kimono a silken ripple parted to bare her lush hips. Her pussy, a glistening bud, pulsed with shy heat, framed by thighs soft as rice flour, trembling wide. Tanjiro Kamado knelt between them, his rough hands reverent, cock a heavy vow against her skin, eyes dark with tender worship.

“Mitsuri-san,” he breathed, voice a smoldering coal. His length teased her inner thigh, then slid along her slick slit, tracing her folds with languorous care. Mitsuri whimpered, hips twitching as her nectar coated him, a glossy thread of desire. Each glide sparked fire in her core, her pink braids fanning like petals on the mat.

“T-Tanjiro,” she gasped, sweet yet firm, “I’m not ready… there yet.” Her emerald eyes held resolve.

He nodded, soft as dawn, easing back. His tip, slick with her dew, drifted lower, circling her tight, puckered star. A shiver jolted her, her curves quaking. “This?” he asked, voice a gentle tide.

Mitsuri’s smile bloomed, a nod of trust. “Yes,” she whispered, bold and bashful.

Tanjiro pressed in, achingly slow, his thick girth parting her with a warm, stretching burn. Mitsuri’s eyes flared. “It’s—huge!” she squeaked, awe lacing her voice, fingers clawing the tatami. Her body resisted, then softened, each inch a velvet tide, filling her with pulsing heat.

“Are you okay?” Tanjiro paused, concern etching his face, every muscle taut with care.

She giggled, breathless. “It’s wild! Keep going!” Her legs splayed, urging him deeper.

His rhythm swayed, deliberate, their bodies a slow, sacred weave. The fullness swelled, a deep coil tightening in her core. Mitsuri’s moans rose, threading through the cedar air, her hips rocking to meet him. The strange, throbbing heat consumed her, nerves alight with every glide. Tanjiro’s hands steadied her hips, his breaths ragged with devotion.

Then, sudden as a starburst, a wave erupted. Pleasure crashed through her, arching her spine, a cry tearing free. “Tanjiro—what’s!—” Her eyes widened, stunned, as her body convulsed, pussy clenching untouched, juices slicking her thighs. The climax blindsided her, a radiant shock, leaving her gasping, giggling through shudders.

Tanjiro stilled, awestruck, then cradled her close, kissing her brow. “Mitsuri-san…” he murmured. Moonlight gilded their entwined forms, the dojo a haven for their shared, startling bliss.