She masturbates

In the shade of a dome of pink skirts, you sit in the plushie-packed cage with your ravaged cat costume soaked in water, drool, and at least one other fluid. The light that penetrates the dress of the blonde sat atop your prison casts everything in hues of the same pink, while what's visible of her is a pair of long, shapely legs crossed and hanging before the door.

"In the meantime... I'll enjoy some me-time." The blonde giggles, her lower body shifting and leaning indecipherably. Your earlier ordeal with the dog-girl had left you dazed, but a return of the excitement during your intimate moments with the blonde draws your gaze to her hips instinctively.

A section of skirts is divided by a sliver of light. In the candied shadows, you notice her thighs part for but a moment as her fingers appear between them. A sigh of satisfaction escapes beyond the veil, and those long legs wiggle with a shiver. The view of her butt is certainly alluring, with a palpable heat already occupying the space beneath her skirts, yet it's the scent that stirs the warmth in your belly back to a simmer - intimate musk layered with artificial peach. Her next wiggle prompts something to drip from her thighs and onto your shoulder. You can barely manage to get your arm into position to wipe it away, testing the slick-sweet lubricant between your fingers.

"Oh, if only you'd been a good kitty..." whined the blonde, "you might've gotten to play with me more..." Her next giggle is curtailed by a gasp, and you see something long and purple slip in from the direction of the light, delving between her legs as she lets out a low moan.

In your confines, stuck leaning against a massive stuffed bunny cellmate, the show is hard to turn away from. Slowly, the blonde slides the dildo in and out of herself, sighing and moaning with greater volume. Soon enough her long legs part further, and you can see the toes curling on the stockinged feet hanging on either side of your cage. A dribble of slick begins to fall from the roof, droplets landing on your arm, neck, somewhere new no matter how you reposition yourself. The air gets warmer, muskier, and with a mewling sound of frustration, you begin to crave a taste... But it's tough to get comfortable in this small space, and the yearning for freedom grows in kind.