The Idolmaster: Higuchi Madoka’s Erotic Assault on the Producer

The Idolmaster: Higuchi Madoka’s Erotic Assault on the Producer

Chapter 1: The Trap in the Midnight Office

2:17 a.m. Only the top floor of 283 Production is still lit.

Higuchi Madoka slams the final project proposal onto the Producer’s desk; her black lace gloves scratch the paper with a shrill screech.

“Producer,” she begins in her signature icy tone, deliberately leaning forward so her off-shoulder knit top slides down, exposing a full snowy cleavage and the pale-pink lace edge of her bra. “Do you really think ‘cute’ is enough for me?”

Before he can answer, she’s already circled behind his chair, hands clamping his shoulders, breasts pressing hard against the back of his head.

Soft, warm, drenched in expensive perfume.

“I hate being treated like a ‘cute idol,’” she whispers, hot breath tickling his ear. “Tonight I’ll show you Madoka’s true worth.”

Chapter 2: Locked Door and Removed Gloves

Click.

The door locks.

Higuchi Madoka slowly peels off her black lace gloves, sliding each finger into her mouth, wetting them with saliva before trailing them down the Producer’s throat.

“From now on,” she straddles his lap, short skirt hiked to her waist, revealing a pure-black thong and garter belt, “your eyes are only allowed on me.”

He opens his mouth to speak; she seals it with a finger.

“Shh. When the idol is on top, the Producer stays silent.”

She unbuckles his belt; the zipper echoes obscenely in the quiet office.

When his cock springs free, she drags a manicured nail across the head, watching his abs clench instantly.

“Hmm… more honest than I expected,” she chuckles, wrapping her hand around the shaft and stroking slowly, thumb circling the slit. “It’s throbbing so hard… is it begging Madoka ‘I want you’?”

Chapter 3: Idol Cowgirl on His Lap

Higuchi Madoka pushes her thong aside, slick labia gliding along his cock without letting him in.

Juices drip down his thighs, staining his suit pants dark.

“The Producer always says ‘control your desires’…” she taunts, trapping his tip between her folds and grinding in circles. “Can you still control yourself now?”

He gasps and tries to grip her hips; she yanks his tie backward.

“No touching. Until Madoka allows it, you’re just a toy.”

Finally she sinks down, swallowing him to the root.

Tight, scorching, a custom-made flesh sleeve.

Higuchi Madoka starts riding, knit top falling to her waist, perfect breasts bouncing, nipples stiff cherry peaks from the friction.

“Ah… the Producer’s shape… is hitting my womb…”

She deliberately clenches her walls, sucking him with her insides.

The Producer groans and tries to thrust up; she freezes, pinching his chin.

“You can cum, but you have to say ‘Madoka’s exclusive fucktoy.’”

Chapter 4: Doggystyle on the Desk and Tearful Orgasm

He repeats her words through gritted teeth. Madoka smiles, satisfied.

She turns and bends over the desk, ass high, thong string swallowed by her cheeks.

“My back hole… wants the Producer to ruin it too.”

He grabs her hips and slams in.

Smack, smack, smack—flesh colliding with her delicate moans.

Madoka’s long hair spills across the documents, tears of raw pleasure at the corners of her eyes.

“Yes… just like that… use Madoka as a cum dump… ah… I’m cumming…!”

At climax she convulses, pussy gushing like a broken faucet, soaking every proposal sheet.

The Producer hits his limit, pumping thick ropes deep inside her.

Madoka turns, tongue darting out to lick the last drops from his tip.

“Tonight’s proposal… passes, Producer ♡”

Chapter 5: Daily Erotic Attacks From Now On

After that night, Higuchi Madoka’s “attacks” only escalate:

• Practice room mirrors: She makes him take her from behind, forcing him to watch his own wrecked face and her blissful one in the reflection.
• Live-stream waiting room: Five minutes before going on air, she’s under the desk deepthroating him, swallowing every drop then smiling sweetly for the camera.
• Elevator: She hits the emergency stop, hikes her skirt, sits on the handrail, and makes him eat her out until her legs give out.
• Backseat of the van: Driver up front, she rides the Producer reverse-cowgirl, tits pressed to the tinted window while fans scream outside and she cums around his cock.

Every time she finishes, she whispers in that cool, detached voice:

“Producer… you can’t live without Madoka anymore, can you?”

And all he can do is rasp:

“Yeah… Madoka’s exclusive fucktoy… belongs only to you.”