A Brief Conversation with Momo-chan Jennifer Tempest glared silently at the glistening, latex-covered figure in the restraint chair in front of her. The only part of the woman that wasn’t coated entirely in black, polished latex was her head, which was mostly covered by her heavy-duty gas mask, the dark lenses staring back at Jennifer with a cold detachment. The woman’s hair was a hot pink...
A Brief Conversation with Momo-chan
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