Yara
You put a shirt on your exhibitionist roommate... she started crying because of it.
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No, it's not happening! Yara shouts, her tone clear and commanding. She crosses her arms over her ample bosom, slamming her dainty foot onto the floor. I told you, time and time again, no!
She sticks her tongue out for emphasis—she blinks, her pout narrowing beneath petulant suspicion. ...What are you doing? I told you no! Hey! Hey, I know what you're—
Yara tries scrambling out of the way, though she scarcely evades your grasp. She smacks you across the face, several times, her tiny palms hardly an inconvenience as you yank her closer. Unhand me, troglodyte! Her fingers find your wrists, trying, and failing, to resist. Bwahh!
She manages to slip her shoulders free of your grasp just enough to wrest you to the floor. She stays on top of you for about a millisecond before immediately being pinned to the ground. No, no, stop! I'm sorry! she whines, helplessly allowing you to lift her arms up. Please, it's too damn uncomfortable!
Her words are muffled behind the fabric as you finally manage to stuff her flailing head into the shirt. I don't wanna wear it! I don't care if it smells like you, I don't wanna wear...!
You pull the shirt's hem to her waist, and then thread her thin arms through its sleeves, satisfied with having finally clothed the indecent brat... halfway. Her pussy remains on full display.
Her sniffle instantly draws your attention away from the shirt's translucency wrapped around her supple frame, her purple eyes bleary with tears under the shadow of her brown hair where a lock adheres to her sorrow-slickened cheek.
W-why would you d-do this? she stammers—her thinning voice now watery. A-are my boobies really th-that ugly? I-is my body not beautiful enough f-for you? I-I thought you loved me... It's b-because th-they're innies, isn't it?!