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This image is a sequel to this one:
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Today's image was generated according to a request from
. He contacted me directly, asking for an image of his original character, Kendra McGowan, in a very different situation, dressing and acting like a geisha, in a setting reminiscent of Japan. Since it's something I don't particularly know much about, I found the challenge interesting, and you can see the result here.
The charm of the evening came first in the air itself. Lantern light softened the shadows of the paper walls, and outside, a chorus of cicadas sang the same tune that had filled countless summers before. This was a place of elegance and quiet ritual, where one could leave behind the worries of the world for the simple intoxication of beauty. Into this setting stepped a guest of unusual presence, Dao Xiong, and waiting at the doorway stood Kendra—the fox in her crimson kimono, every fold and gesture radiating grace. Her blue eyes caught his, her lips curved in a practiced smile, and the way she leaned on the frame made it clear: he was welcome, and more than that, he was wanted.
Soon after, the two sat together on the floor, knees tucked neatly beneath them, with the low table set for sake. The first pours were polite and measured—but the warmth of the drink quickly loosened both words and clothing. Kendra laughed more easily, her cheeks glowing pink, the edge of her kimono slipping low with each careless motion. At one moment, she pressed her palm against her chest to adjust the silk and instead revealed more—the curve of her breast, the soft promise of her body beneath. Dao’s heavy gaze lingered, and she met it with a playful pinch and a smile that carried both mischief and invitation.
What began as teasing quickly deepened. Breathless from kisses that smudged her lipstick and tousled her hair, Kendra let herself sink against the tatami mats. Her red kimono hung by its belt alone, parting to bare the full lines of her body. Wide hips, firm breasts, and the slight tremble in her hand as she spread herself for his view—it was an act of both confidence and vulnerability. In her eyes, there was hunger, but also the thrill of being seen, truly seen, by the one now leaning close enough to taste her sighs.
Dao responded in kind. She watched him untie his own garment, the deep blue of his robe falling open to reveal the strong bulk of his chest and belly. He was not carved like a statue but carried himself with the weight of a man who had lived, who had strength in reserve. When the fabric slid lower still, her gaze was drawn inevitably to the proud girth he revealed—thick, veined, heavy with desire, already glistening. From her vantage point on the floor, she looked up at him, her lips parting in awe and eagerness alike.
And then came the moment that sealed the night’s intent. Dao stood above her, one steady hand resting on her head, the other brushing damp hair from her face as she knelt to meet him. Kendra’s lips parted around him, her cheeks hollowing with effort as her hand stroked what her mouth could not contain. The taste of him, the heat, and the sheer presence left her eyes fluttering half-closed with pleasure even as she glanced upward at his towering frame. Their bodies shone with sweat, their breaths tangled in the warm, heavy air, and her expression carried both delight and surrender. In that instant, with her devotion and his quiet dominance mingled together, the future hung wide open. What might happen next was for them alone to decide—but the question lingers: what do you believe their night will become after this?
