Fuck heat. Fuck everything about heat. And most importantly, fuck her heat.

     The white and pink rapper tried her absolute best to restrain herself during the day, when she was reporting the important news with her drop-dead bombshell of a co-host. Even during a short argument about desserts or whatever (admittedly, she wasn't paying as much attention as she should have), she couldn't help but tighten her hands into fists at the sight of Marina's innocent, beautiful face. She'd kill for those looks, and to a lesser degree to sit on said face. When the director snapped his fingers, signaling the end of the broadcast, she shot up quickly, hips quivering a little as her thighs flexed and put only a smidgen of pressure onto her hot sex.

     "Hey, good job on our first show, Pearl! I think the audience will love it," the mint-chocolate octoling chimed, giving the shorter one a gentle, affectionate hug. Pearl's senses were cranked up to their maximum level, feeling the other's hands wrap around her own scrawny shoulder blades, her plump breasts pressing up against hers, Marina's legs meeting her own, their laps close but not daring to touch one another. Pearl naturally had stiffened up, clearing her throat and trying her best to sound cool and confident like the persona she was so used to being. "Ah, yeah, piece of cake," she replied, being even further proud of herself for slipping an unintentional pun in there. "I'll be in my studio."

     Suddenly, Marina retracted from the hug with a concerned expression. "Really? What's wrong?" She asked, putting her hands together, "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't hug you out of the blue like that." Pearl hated that--that gentle carefulness that only she would have. Were octolings really this motherly? "...Your face's really red. Oh, I hope you're not getting a fever right before our first splatfest!" Her weak little legs almost buckled from underneath her, Pearl's lips pursing before bailing from the conversation completely and rushing to her door, slamming it, locking it tight, and leaving a confused octarian with even more questions than answers. "Pearl?"

     "Nnnng," the kid grunted in frustration, all too eager to grab her oversized zipper and yanking it down to remove her tube-like dress completely, the firm fabric thudding to the floor. In a fit of heat frenzy, Pearl then flung herself to the nearest chair, rolled her tights down to her pristine ankles, and within a half-moment of hesitation, pressed down against her swollen, needy clit with her hands. Her head raised, making a choked, cracked mewl as the attention she craved since she woke up was finally tended to. The inkling pressed against the upper-left area of her vulva, then dragged the spot to the right where her little, pink bead was, making circular motions and twitching from the sharp spikes of pleasure that came from it.

     "F-Fuck yessss...!" She whispered to herself, wanting more. She wanted someone else so desperately, just for the sake of emotional pleasure. She wanted Marina. She needed Marina. She internally begged for her little tongue to swirl along her own, betting the kiss would taste like mint ice cream, for their pussies to grind and their hips to sway, their complexions clashing against one another and their inky juices to combine, for their bodies to simply belong to each other in just one goddamn session...

     "Aah-haaah! No-no--shit--mmm!" The visuals were more than enough to make her cum right there, her bony hips bucking against her fingers and her hip muscles spasming. A little trail of translucent, pink liquid streamed from her throbbing sex, squirting and staining the leather chair she rested upon. She hated how she always had to clean up afterwards. Squirting always seemed cute and innocent in porn, but it was only messy in her mind. The new idol sighed in a mix of her gasps, slowly fading from her afterglow before grumbling and grabbing some paper towels.

     "Ugh, I'm such a creep."