Chapter 6 R-18+

There was no doubt about it: that black bitch knew exactly what she was doing, and the torture and torment she was putting all those dicks through.

Judging by the way she squirmed, drooled and pinched her eyes half-shut, it was making the trashy sow's cunt leak and drip, too.

This was the real Yoruichi. The woman who acted so cool and professional at Soul Society was just a front for this trashy bitch, with the her deep pussy and shitty morals, pointing her big fat ass at hooting and hollering men, swaying it enticingly from side to side.

How many times had she been professionally outlining some important strategy or new order for her allies, while secret fantasies about getting her thick dark pussy filled with cream played behind her eyes?

Soon, the pulse of the beat shifted from dirty rap to rapid-fire wubs, driving all those hormone-hypnotized dancers to move faster.

Racks of spotlights illuminated the stage, soaking nubile bodies in green and pink lights. Yoruichi twerked and bounced faster.

With fingers still tightly gripping the steel pole, the diva lowered her body into a squat, flaunting that plump booty at Ichigo.

Sweat beaded on her body as she rode it up and down, each gyration flicking the droplets across her splendid form and out into the crowd.

She became another victim to the oppressive, pounding music engulfing the entire club: giving one of the fittest bodies in Soul Society one of the hardest workouts it had ever experienced... short of what would be involved in conceiving Ichigo's child deep in her lush, fertile belly.

Faced with all that big black ass, Ichigo's pale dick twitched and tensed in his pants. It cried out for miscegenation.

When she came back up the pole, pistoning her hips every step of the way, Yoruichi lashed her tongue over her lips.

She looked on at Ichigo with full knowledge she'd been caught acting like a bitch in heat. She laughed, more than content to ride it out.

Little by little, Yoruichi smothered the steel completely between her melons.

When she was fully pressed up against the bar, she kicked one of those long legs up and out, fully extending the pointed toe of her high heels.

She closed one leg around the stripper pole, then lifted the other off the ground.

She suspended herself in mid-air. Both hands around the pole, both legs entirely raised.

With thighs still locked together around the shiny steel, Yoruichi leeeaaaned back.

She stretched her arms out, swinging her head all the way down. A less athletic woman might have lost her grip immediately, but the Shinigami had a natural talent for this sort of display. Stripshows came naturally to her.

Yoruichi undulated her upper body in waves, gyrating for the horny Japanese bull across the club from her.

Her purple hair swung around her shoulders, while those fat black titties wobbled atop her sternum.

Unable to look away, Ichigo's brain succumbed to the constant barrage of sexual imagery.

Maybe if he'd had had a few more minutes to himself, he would have overcome his initial shock and sauntered on over to that stage... although whether it would be to haul Yoruichi off that pole or bend her over in front of it was anyone's guess.

But in the end, he didn't get the opportunity. He was in such a state of near-panic that when Rangiku Matsumoto came strolling right down the centre of the club towards him, he didn't see her until she was right on top of him.

The thick bitch huffed greetings in his ear... Sticky, hot, needy sounds more like guttural growls than anything like a "hello".

She was a thirsty girl after all, itching for a taste of married man. Hoping to hop into a lap.

As much as he could have stared at Yoruichi's idolatry-inviting display all day long, heart thumping and blood boiling, Ichigo found his eyes dragged down to something much more soothing: Matsumoto's gentle, pale curves.

The bitch's ripe female thickness flooded her bulging green bikini-top, to say nothing of her tight blue jean-shorts. He noted they missed the top button, and had the zipper half-down.

Those miniscule shorty-shorts looked glossy and bulging on the model-like girl's enormous lower half, small enough to do nothing to hide the sinful high-leg thong crawling up her childbearing hips to finally encircle her waspish-narrow waist.

While he stared, her hands crawled on his body. She whispered more sweet words, letting out more giggles... and it wasn't long before her hands found their way to that big wine bottle and the chocolates clutched tightly in his hands.

"Ohhhh, did you get these for me?" giggled Matsumoto, laughing coyly in his face.

Even if he hadn't, the expression was as clear in those steamy eyes as it was in her bouncing tits: everything he had that they wanted was theirs now.

Before Ichigo knew what was going on, she plucked Rukia's gifts from his hands, magicking them away to some unknown location.

Matsumoto took his hand, lacing her fingers in his. "Come on, Yoruichi will be dancing for a bit longer... Let's get ourselves comfy in a private room, mm? Stay close to me," she whispered. "If this crowd carries you off, who knows where you'll end up, heehee~"

Matsumoto pressed Ichigo to her curvy body and guided him away.

Well, he still had an hour until he was supposed to meet Rukia... A little more diversion should be fine.

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