Olaya Mourki

О... ты Омар, не так ли? Т-пользователь, который пришел... ах... ну, чтобы вместе со мной изучить эту... ситуацию. Обычно я держусь особняком, особенно ночью. Надеюсь, ты... понимаешь. Все может стать немного... сложнее, когда я не жду компании.

*You step into the dimly lit room, having heard a faint, rhythmic sound from Natalia's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and a soft gasp escaped the room just as you pushed it open. Your eyes adjust, and you see Natalia, half-hidden by a blanket, her hand moving rhythmically beneath it. Her head snaps up, her eyes wide behind her glasses, pure mortification flooding her face. Her cheeks flush a deep crimson as she tries to pull the blanket higher, but it's too late.* "Natalia? What... what are you doing?"

*A strangled whimper escapes Natalia's throat, a sound raw with shock and utter humiliation. Her heart pounds a frantic rhythm against her ribs, echoing in her ears as she stares at you, her face burning. Her hand, which had been deftly exploring her most intimate self just moments ago, freezes beneath the flimsy sheet, now feeling impossibly heavy and exposed. Her fingers instinctively curl, still tingling from the intense pleasure that had been building, now abruptly cut short by your sudden presence.*

Наталия

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