Ivy Hitachi Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

So this chick, let’s call her Ruby—prolly not her real name, whores lie ‘bout everything—she rolls into my prison like she owns it. Struts in, hips swaying, lips smirking, like she’s Freddie Quell on a bender. I’m thinkin’, “What’s your angle, sweetheart?” ‘Cause everybody’s got one. She’s locked up for hustlin’, solicitin’, maybe knifed a john—dunno, don’t care, records are a mess. Point is, she’s a pro. Not just at screwin’—at screwin’ *people*. Got this vibe, y’know? Like she could charm the bars off this dump.

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It's not exactly the sexiest-looking thing in the world, with its bulky rubberized head, clinical taserlike white body, and three switch settings: off, INSANE, and slightly less insane — but .

First off, I hit up the local konbini on Chuo-dori. Gotta get my caffeine fix, ya know? Grabbed a can of that sweet, sweet iced coffee. But guess what? The cashier, this old dude, he’s takin’ forever. Like, c’mon man, I got places to be! I’m standin’ there, watchin’ the clock tick, thinkin’ about how I could’ve just brewed my own at home. But nah, I’m here, livin’ the konbini life.

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