The bathroom had become my final sanctuary.
The only place I could run to whenever Misa crossed her ever-flexible boundaries.
I stood under the hot water, breathing deeply, trying to wash away the chaos of our latest "session" when—
Knock, knock...
"Maaaster..."
Her soft, sing-song voice floated through the door.
I froze.
"Misa... I'm showering! Wait outside!" I shouted, trying desperately to salvage what little privacy I had left.
Seconds of silence... then—
Click.
The door creaked open... painfully slow.
I spun around—
Too late.
There she was.
Misa, her fluffy hair slightly damp from the steam, wearing nothing but my oversized shirt — which, thanks to the humidity, clung teasingly to her curves — her feline eyes gleaming with devilish mischief.
"I just wanted to make sure you're okay..." she said, fake innocence dripping from every word, taking a careful step into the bathroom.
"No!! Stop!! You can't—!"
I tried to shield myself with my arms, panicking.
But she was already inside.
And before I could yell again, she closed the door behind her... with a terrifyingly calm smile.
She dipped her hand into the stream of water, letting it run down her arm like she was testing the temperature.
"Showering is fun, isn't it, Master?"
She purred, slowly prowling toward me like a cat stalking her prey — every step detonating a mini heart attack in my chest.
"Misa! Humans don't... shower... together!!"
I stammered, retreating backwards until my back hit the cold tiles.
She laughed — soft and deadly — then, without warning, grabbed my shoulders and pinned me lightly but firmly.
Her face leaned so close that I could feel her hot breath brushing over my lips.
"But I'm a cat..."
She whispered.
"And you're my Master... I have to take care of you completely."
Her hands slid over my chest, slow... unbearably slow.
"Misa..."
I whimpered, dying a thousand deaths inside.
She grabbed the soap, smiling like a mischievous imp.
"Let me wash you, Master..."
What happened next was a nightmare — or maybe a dream — or some wicked, twisted blend of both.
She didn't just wash my arms.
Oh no.
Her tiny fingers danced across my chest, my stomach, moving with innocent, torturous curiosity.
Every touch curled and teased in ways that short-circuited my brain completely.
Soft giggles accompanied each stroke: "So warm..."
"So soft..."
"Mmm, perfect..."
Then—
I felt her tail (when had she snuck it around?) coil around my leg.
(Status report: Complete meltdown — 100%. Sensory overload imminent.)
Finally, she crouched playfully in front of me, a victorious gleam in her golden eyes, and declared:
"You're squeaky clean now, Master... But if you want..."
She winked, slow and sinful,
"I can polish you even more."
At that exact moment, I knew.
I was no longer in control of my body, my mind...
I had officially become a helpless toy between the paws of a dangerously affectionate cat.