The room was an impossibility, a velvet-lined paradox adrift in the space between worlds. It had no doors, no windows, only walls the color of a midnight blush and a single, ornate chair that seemed carved from solidified moonlight. It was a throne for a king who had no kingdom, and upon it sat Kurabe Kikka, the erstwhile King of Neo Kyoto. The stark, determined lines of her face, so often set in the grim focus of a Build Divide battle, were softened in the room's ambient, pearlescent glow. She felt exposed, stripped of her deck, her Territory, and her purpose, left with only the thrumming, unfamiliar pulse of a desire she hadn't known she possessed.

Across from her, lounging on a plush divan that hadn't been there a moment ago, was Yutori Kokorogi. A small, enigmatic smile played on her lips, the same smile she wore in the midst of the most treacherous Tomodachi Game. She saw not a King, but a woman coiled tight as a spring, a fortress of will with a single, unguarded gate. Yutori’s genius was not in deception, but in revelation; she found the truths people hid from themselves and laid them bare. And in Kikka, she saw a desperate yearning for both absolute control and complete surrender.

The third occupant of their shared fever dream was a whirlwind of primal energy and sun-kissed skin. Tita Mu Koshigaya, the famed pet-shop hunter of the water-world of Aetia from Plastic Little, was pacing the confines of the room like a caged panther. Her iconic, barely-there outfit did little to hide the powerful, agile muscles that rippled with every restless step. She was a creature of action, of instinct, and the thick, syrupy tension in the air was a scent she recognized. It was the smell of the hunt, but the prey and the prize were one and the same: the raw, untapped passion that radiated from the other two women.

“This place… it’s a construct,” Kikka finally said, her voice a low command that failed to command anything. “It feels like a Territory, but there’s no master.”

“Oh, I think there is,” Yutori purred, her eyes flicking from Kikka’s rigid posture to Tita’s prowling form. “Or rather, three mistresses. This room, I believe, is shaped by what we want most. What we deny ourselves.” She let the words hang in the air, a perfectly weighted lure. “Your world, Kurabe Kikka-san, the world of Build Divide : Code White, is all about dominance. About proving your will is strongest. But what happens when the battle is with yourself?”

Tita stopped pacing, her sharp gaze fixing on Kikka. “She’s right. You’re wound so tight you might snap. Back on Aetia, when we’re chasing a Krylic down a thermal vent, you learn to trust your body, your instincts. You’re all in your head.” She took a step closer, her presence a wave of heat and confidence. “Sometimes you just need to let go.”

A faint blush crept up Kikka’s neck. To be analyzed so completely by two strangers was unnerving. She was used to the clear rules of a card game, the binary of win or lose. This was something else, a game whose rules were written in whispers and glances. Yutori Kokorogi, with her unnerving insight from the cruel psychological landscape of Tomodachi Game, was the game master here. And Tita Mu Koshigaya, a force of nature from the free-wheeling adventure of Plastic Little, was the game’s most unpredictable piece.

“And what is it you want, Kokorogi-san?” Kikka challenged, trying to regain some semblance of control.

Yutori’s smile widened. “I want to watch. I want to understand. I want to see what happens when a King who craves submission meets a hunter who loves to conquer.” Her gaze was a physical touch, tracing the lines of their bodies, imagining the ways they could fit together. “I want to see the perfect expression of trust and power. An embrace where one has total control of the other’s pleasure, face to face, heart to heart. I want to see a perfect, beautiful upright straddle.”

The words, spoken with such calm, deliberate sensuality, shattered the remaining tension and replaced it with a thick, undeniable lust. The phrase “upright straddle” echoed in the chamber, seeming to warm the very air. Kikka’s breath hitched. She imagined it, the weight of another woman on her lap, the intimacy of being held, possessed, while still seated on her throne. The duality of it was intoxicating. Power and powerlessness in a single, searing moment.

Tita’s eyes gleamed. She didn’t need the complex psychological explanation. She understood the raw, physical truth of it. The dominance, the core-to-core connection, the friction and the heat. She looked at Kikka, truly looked at her, and saw not a remote King, but a woman trembling on the verge of release. Tita closed the distance between them, her movements fluid and predatory. She didn’t ask for permission. A hunter doesn’t ask. She acts.

She stopped directly before the throne, her body radiating a confident warmth that washed over Kikka’s skin. Kikka’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silent anticipation. Tita reached out, not with force, but with a surprising gentleness, and placed her hands on Kikka’s knees. Her touch was electric, a jolt that shot straight to Kikka’s core.

“Let me show you,” Tita whispered, her voice husky. “Let me show you how to let go.”

Kikka’s throat was dry. All the strategic thinking, all the calculated moves from her life in Neo Kyoto, evaporated into a haze of pure sensation. She could only nod, a barely perceptible motion that was nonetheless a total surrender. That was all the encouragement Tita needed. With the practiced grace of a seasoned athlete, she moved, her strong thighs bracketing Kikka’s. She swung one leg over, then the other, settling herself onto Kikka’s lap. The position was instantly, breathtakingly intimate. It was the upright straddle Yutori had spoken of, brought to life.

The reality of it was more overwhelming than Kikka could have ever imagined. Tita’s weight was a solid, grounding presence. Her heat soaked through Kikka’s clothing, a brand of pure, living warmth. Their bodies were pressed together from hip to chest, and Tita leaned in close, her breath ghosting across Kikka’s lips. Kikka’s hands, on their own accord, came up to rest on Tita’s hips, feeling the firm muscle there, the vibrant life thrumming beneath her palms.

“Look at me, Kikka,” Tita murmured, her voice a low vibration that traveled through their connected bodies. Kikka’s eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and burgeoning ecstasy, met Tita’s. They were inches apart, close enough to see the flecks of gold in Tita’s determined irises. “You’re still on your throne. You’re still the King. But right now,” Tita began to move, a slow, deliberate rotation of her hips, “I’m the one in control.”

A helpless gasp escaped Kikka’s lips. The friction was incredible. Even through the layers of their clothes, the pressure was focused, intense, and utterly maddening. Tita was setting a rhythm, a slow, sensual grind that was a promise of the deluge to come. Yutori watched from the divan, her expression one of rapt fascination, like a scientist observing a beautiful, explosive chemical reaction. This was everything she had wanted to see. The proud King of Build Divide, undone by the primal power of a hunter from Plastic Little, all centered around the exquisite torture of an upright straddle.

Kikka’s mind, once a fortress of strategy, was melting. Thoughts dissolved into pure feeling. The slide of fabric, the heat of Tita’s skin, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the commanding look in her eyes. Her fingers tightened on Tita’s hips, not to control, but to hold on, to anchor herself in the storm of sensation Tita was creating. She threw her head back against the throne, a silent cry caught in her throat as Tita increased the pace, her movements becoming more assertive, more demanding.

“That’s it,” Tita whispered, her lips brushing against Kikka’s ear. “Feel it. Stop thinking. Just feel.”

The friction became a glorious, consuming fire. Kikka could feel the dampness blooming between her own legs, her body’s eager, shameless answer to Tita’s expert ministrations. The upright straddle was a masterpiece of erotic engineering, maximizing contact, intimacy, and control. Tita had Kikka completely at her mercy, her body pinned to the throne by pleasure alone. Kikka arched her back, her breath coming in ragged pants, her world narrowing to the point of contact between their bodies, the rocking, relentless motion that was driving her toward a precipice she’d never known existed.

From her vantage point, Yutori Kokorogi absorbed every detail. She saw the subtle shift in Kikka’s expression from resistance to pleading, the way Tita’s confidence swelled as she felt Kikka begin to unravel beneath her. This was better than any psychological game. This was the truth of the body, a raw and honest negotiation of power and pleasure that no words could ever capture. Yutori felt a sympathetic thrum of arousal deep within her own belly, a vicarious thrill that was almost as good as the real thing. Almost.

Tita’s movements became faster, harder. She braced her hands on the arms of the throne, using the leverage to press herself down, increasing the pressure with each powerful rotation of her hips. Kikka was lost, moaning openly now, the sounds echoing in the silent, waiting room. She was so close, so impossibly close. The pleasure was a blinding white light building behind her eyes, promising oblivion.

“Tita… please…” she begged, not even knowing what she was asking for. More? An end to the sweet torment? Tita answered by leaning down and capturing Kikka’s mouth in a searing, hungry kiss. Her tongue plunged inside, demanding and possessive, mirroring the rhythm of her hips. The kiss was the final push. Kikka’s world shattered into a million glittering shards of sensation. Her climax ripped through her, a violent, full-body spasm that made her cry out into Tita’s mouth. She convulsed against Tita, her fingers digging into the strong muscle of Tita’s waist as waves of unbearable pleasure washed over her again and again.

Tita held her through it, moving slowly now, her kiss softening as she drank in Kikka’s cries of release. She pulled back, her chest heaving, a triumphant, yet tender, smile on her face. Kikka was slumped against the back of the throne, her eyes glazed over, her body trembling with the aftershocks. She had been utterly and completely conquered.

A soft, slow clap echoed from the divan. Yutori rose, her movements as deliberate and graceful as a cat. “A truly spectacular performance,” she said, her voice dripping with admiration. “The raw power of instinct. Tita Mu Koshigaya, you are as magnificent as the legends of Plastic Little claim. And Kurabe Kikka… to see a King so beautifully broken is a rare treat.”

Tita slid off Kikka’s lap, leaving the King breathless and dazed. Yutori approached the throne, her eyes locked with Kikka’s. “But instinct is only one side of the coin,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the arm of the throne, stopping just short of Kikka’s hand. “Power is a physical thing, yes. But control… control is a thing of the mind.”

Kikka looked at Yutori, her senses still reeling. Yutori’s brand of danger was different from Tita’s. It was quieter, sharper, a razor’s edge hidden in a silken word. Before Kikka could process what was happening, Yutori moved with a fluid, surprising grace. She mirrored Tita’s earlier action, settling herself onto Kikka’s lap in the very same position. The upright straddle, again, but the feeling was profoundly different.

Where Tita was solid, muscular heat, Yutori was lighter, more compact, her weight settling in a different, more focused way. Tita’s dominance was a force of nature; Yutori’s was a scalpel. She didn’t move immediately. She simply sat there, letting Kikka feel the new configuration, the anticipation. She leaned in, her lips hovering by Kikka’s ear.

“Tita overwhelmed you,” Yutori whispered, her voice a hypnotic melody. “She took your pleasure by storm. But I’m not here to conquer you, Kikka-san. I’m here to guide you. I will give you your pleasure, piece by piece. I’m going to make you beg for every single touch.”

And she began to move. Her rhythm was nothing like Tita’s primal, powerful rocking. It was a slow, calculated, almost imperceptible circle. A teasing, insidious pressure that promised everything and gave nothing away. She knew exactly where to press, how to shift her weight to create a friction that was less of a fire and more of a slow, agonizingly beautiful burn. Kikka, who thought she had nothing left to give, felt the embers of desire stir and glow once more, fanned by Yutori’s expert, patient touch.

“You see,” Yutori continued, her voice a silken thread weaving a spell around Kikka’s mind, “in the Tomodachi Game, we learn that the greatest control comes not from force, but from understanding exactly what a person wants and giving them just enough to keep them desperate.” Her hips made a tiny, perfect movement, and a jolt of pure electricity shot through Kikka, making her gasp.

Tita watched, fascinated. This was a different kind of hunt. It was patient, precise, and utterly ruthless in its own way. She could see Kikka’s body responding, her hands clenching and unclenching on the throne, her back arching as she instinctively tried to chase the pleasure Yutori was so masterfully withholding. Yutori Kokorogi was playing Kikka’s body like a finely tuned instrument, and the music was exquisite.

Yutori’s hands came up to frame Kikka’s face, her thumbs gently stroking her cheekbones. “Your body is so honest, Kikka. It tells me everything. It tells me you liked Tita’s power, but you crave this. The slow burn. The feeling of being completely understood. The surrender of not just your body, but your will.” She moved again, a longer, slower grind that dragged a deep moan from Kikka’s throat. “Tell me you want it.”

“I… want it,” Kikka breathed, the words a surrender. The King of Build Divide : Code White, who had battled for control of a city, was now a willing subject on her own throne, begging for release.

“Good girl,” Yutori praised, and her kiss was as different from Tita’s as her movements. It was soft, searching, and deeply possessive. She explored Kikka’s mouth slowly, tasting her surrender, while her hips picked up the pace, moving from a tease to a direct, focused assault. The slow burn erupted into a raging inferno. The precision became a relentless, targeted pleasure that was even more intense than the first time. Kikka felt the second orgasm building, a deeper, more profound wave that started in her soul and spread through every nerve ending.

The upright straddle was the perfect conduit for this exquisite torture. It allowed Yutori to control every variable: the pressure, the angle, the speed, all while staring directly into Kikka’s eyes, watching the pleasure and the desperation build there. It was the ultimate psychological and physical union. Kikka cried out as the pleasure crested, a sound of pure, unadulterated release, her body going rigid before melting completely against Yutori’s.

Yutori held her, letting the last of the tremors subside. She rested her forehead against Kikka’s, both of them breathing heavily. The room was silent again, save for the sound of their panting. Tita stepped forward, a look of profound respect on her face. She reached out and placed a hand on Yutori’s shoulder, and another on Kikka’s.

Slowly, Yutori eased herself off Kikka’s lap. The King remained on her throne, not as a ruler, but as the cherished center of their shared world. Tita sat on the arm of the throne, her thigh pressing against Kikka’s arm. Yutori knelt before it, her hand resting on Kikka’s knee. The impossible room had served its purpose. It had taken three women from three disparate realities—a card game of kings, a psychological game of betrayal, and a high-flying world of adventure—and found their common ground.

It was a language of desire, spoken through the commanding presence of Tita Mu Koshigaya, the cunning intellect of Yutori Kokorogi, and the yielding strength of Kurabe Kikka. And its most beautiful, eloquent phrase was the intimate, soul-baring poetry of the upright straddle. In that shared space, they were no longer just characters from Build Divide, Tomodachi Game, or Plastic Little. They were simply women, entwined in a newly discovered and deeply satisfying passion, forever bound by the memory of the throne and the pleasure they had found upon it.