Chapter 7 R-18+

"And here... we... are~"

Leaving the centre stage of the Soulburner, Matsumoto led Ichigo down an out-of-the-way hall, taking him to an unknown location.

Once she had him in front of her, the unrestrained bitch-in-heat blatantly stared at his ass, making no attempts to hide her lust.

They arrived at a small and private VIP booth, where she unceremoniously thrust him down onto a lush red couch.

For a moment, he thought she might just be going straight to mounting and mating... until she leaned back and coarsely chug down the last dregs of her beer.

The interruption granted Ichigo a much-needed pause to take in his surroundings.

He found himself in a private booth at the club's rear, a little alcove for when guest's breeding urges got too strong.

Soundproofed walls reduced the pounding music of the club outside to a muted rumble.

Compared to what Ichigo had seen of this place so far, it seemed almost classy. Plush red couches, wood panelling... and a mini-fridge and sound system, both well-stocked.

And yet somehow, Miss Rangiku didn't look a spot out of place lazing back in her bikini top and micro-jean shorts.

Looking on from the opposite side of the booth, Ichigo found himself being put more in mind of a Hip Hop starlet - apparently one with more than enough cash to spare - than a vengeful Goddess of Death.

The blonde and busty babe leaned over on the couch, reaching out towards the distant sound system.

Endless expanses of creamy white breast spilled across the couch's fat arms, before those giant, pale hooters spilled over, dangling in full indulgent, excessive profile.

With a few very unladylike grunts, Rangiku finally found her target.

She tapped the device's centre, bringing the sleeping stereo to life... Her "unique" tastes in music flooded back to Ichigo's ears.

In other words, it was more of that ghetto club music. She really didn't seem able to get enough of it.

More to the point, she seemed hooked on the seediness of it.

The more hateful the lyrics, the more they focused on enslaving bitches, violent crime, and tearing down the established order, the more that seductive minx bopped her hips along with the beat.

She seemed to be in love with men who barked like Rottweilers on too-short chains, condoning their actions with twerks and bounces of her bubbly fat ass.

She adored those horny and craven beasts.

The music battered down on Ichigo's brain, keeping the poor boy pliable and suggestive.

Looking at her body already found it hard to think looking at that body, and watching her smile every time the lyrics descended into utmost perversity made it even harder.

"Thank you for coming here tonight, Ichigo~" Matsumoto purred.

Even as she maintained that soft and playful tone, her hands worked mechanically, zipping through popping the tops on two fresh beers.

She thrust one into his hands and then sucked on her own like a pacifier.

Matsumoto seemed about to say something, but the sound system abruptly drew her her attention, where a small screen displayed two huge black ghetto asses shaking up and down.

She cooed softly as a big fuckin' black beast of a man came into the shot, shouting something or other nasty and racist, then promptly upended two bottles of baby oil over those bulbous, shorty shorts-bulging cheeks.

He rubbed it in until their butts glistened... until streaks of clear liquid went flying off with the violent force those bitches bounced their asses with!

"Mmmm... That's... That's good," Rangiku murmured.

Her eyes remained rooted to the screen as she watched spellbound. She visibly rubbed her thighs together under the table.

Ichigo took a long drink from his beer, sinking down into the comfy red leather of the couch. "So this is what you two normally do on the weekends?"

Matsumoto shifted on the couch. She kicked those long, bare legs up into the air like she might drop down on the table between them.

But instead, the bitch threw one leg over the couch's arm. Her staggeringly tall high-heel dangled in mid-air, idly swinging back and forth, as she sloooowly stretched her other leg out along the plush carpet.

Ichigo was suddenly glad he was the only boy around. He didn't want any other man seeing those legs spreading.

The ghetto thug blondie was having the time of her life giving innocent studmuffin Ichigo unimpeded access to stare at her, most of all at the exposed swell of her pussy.

Her womanhood was thick and well-developed, just like he knew it had to be, and it made a clear outline of itself in the material of her shorts.

Spreading her legs had just made that denim creak and groan as it clung to her skin, stretched to the point where he could see the outline of her labia, and her throbbing button, through the material.

"Mmhm. Are you surprised?" she asked.

She blushed, smiling just enough that he couldn't read her mood.

She could be genuinely interested in his response, or this could just be part of the sharks circling.

The music already stifled logical thought, but the way she smelled put his brain down even moreso.

A rich female stink rose off Miss Rangiku in waves.

She exuded a thick, womanly scent about her even after her showers, and a few hours gyrating on the dance floor had more than intensified it.

Since Ichigo had arrived she seemed to have been finding opportunities to expose him to her scent, whether snuggling into his side, rolling her hips at him, or even just locking a leg around her man of interest and grinding on him until she thoroughly marked him with her scent.

Now that they were in this booth together, the entire narrow space reeked of an earthy, overwhelming aroma.

It stuffed Ichigo's nostrils, suffused his brain, and sent signals to his big fat nutsack in a way Rukia never had.

He placidly luxuriated in the overpowering aroma of the hot bitch opposite him, a woman more than well-developed for bearing children.

Ichigo laughed. "A... little bit. I mean, you're nothing like this at Soul Society. A lot of people there look up to you."

His nostrils flared as he got his first few whiffs of that enticing, womanly musk, causing his delicate nose to wrinkle. "This place kind of stinks, too."

Ichigo drew his shirt up over his nose, trying to catch his breath a little in the face of that hypnotic perfume.

It pulled the material up over his belly more than he really wanted to, emphasizing his smooth midriff. But some things were more important than accidentally being eye-candy for some perverted gal.

Ichigo's thighs clenched together as he tried to think of anything other than how sweaty and nasty this club made him feel.

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