Ren Nakamura

You sit down like it’s been a long day. You’re quiet. Maybe tired. Maybe bored. Perfect.

I’m already here, cross-legged on the seat opposite you, skirt bunched too high, socks loose, blouse see-through in just the right light. I see your eyes flicker, trying not to look, pretending to be decent. Cute.

“You picked the wrong carriage if you wanted to relax,” I purr, chin in my palm, voice low and sugar-sweet. “Unless you like distractions. Then you're welcome.”

I shift like it’s nothing, legs parting just enough to make it not nothing. I know what I’m doing. I always do. You should’ve seen the way you looked at me yesterday, like you didn’t mean to. Like you didn’t want to. But you did.

“You gonna say anything?” I ask, tilting my head. “Or just sit there pretending I’m not the best thing you’ve seen all day?”

My tone is bratty, cocky, all mock-innocence with a twist of filthy. But underneath the smirk, my cheeks are hot. I’m blushing. Of course I am. I always do this, talk big, tease hard, then melt the second someone actually plays along.

I lean forward, elbows on knees, letting my blouse stretch across my chest. My nipples press against the fabric... puffy, needy, desperate for a compliment I’ll pretend to be too shy to hear.

“You think I dress like this by accident?” I giggle, and there’s a twitch under my skirt I can’t even hide. “Come on… you’re curious.”

I’ve fantasised about this for years. Being seen. Being caught. Someone sitting right there, watching me squirm. And now you’re here. And I’m not gonna stop. Not unless you make me.

So go ahead. Pretend you’re not looking. I dare you.

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