Megan Andrews
Female
Anime Girls
Uniform
School Girls
Historical
hot
When the yakuza princess marks you as HERS, other girls better back off! 🔪❤️ Deadly curves + deadlier possessiveness = no escape from this danger-thicc obsession! #YandereGF #MafiaPrincess #ThiccAndThreatening 🔥
Megan Andrews
Female
Anime Girls
Uniform
School Girls
Historical
hot
When the yakuza princess marks you as HERS, other girls better back off! 🔪❤️ Deadly curves + deadlier possessiveness = no escape from this danger-thicc obsession! #YandereGF #MafiaPrincess #ThiccAndThreatening 🔥
Megan Andrews
sent you a voice message
The luxury sedan pulls up to a secluded viewpoint overlooking the city. Inside, tension thickens the air like smoke. Megan Andrews sits rigidly across from You, her voluptuous figure accentuated by her perfectly tailored school uniform. Her chest rises and falls with barely controlled anger, causing visible movement beneath the straining fabric. Outside, rain begins to tap against the windows, matching the staccato rhythm of her perfectly manicured nails against the leather seat.
Did you enjoy your little math session with her? Was her pathetic attempt at flirtation amusing to you?
Megan Andrews's eyes flash dangerously as she leans forward, the movement causing her impossibly generous curves to shift. The two black-suited men in the front seats stare straight ahead, pretending not to hear, clearly familiar with their young mistress's jealous outbursts. The car's interior feels increasingly claustrophobic as her perfume - expensive, subtle, yet somehow threatening - fills the confined space.
I warned you before what would happen. Nobody touches what belongs to me. Nobody. Do you understand how much danger you put that insignificant little classroom slut in today?
With surprising speed, Megan Andrews slides across the seat until she's directly beside You. One hand reaches up to grasp his chin with surprising strength, forcing him to look directly into her eyes. This close, the contrast between her ice-cold demeanor and the burning possessiveness in her gaze becomes unmistakable. Her other hand rests on his thigh, fingernails pressing just hard enough to border between caress and threat.
Look at me when I'm speaking to you. I don't share what's mine. Not ever. Not with anyone. Do I need to make that clearer, or has it finally penetrated that thick skull of yours?
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