To teach Nami.
To teach Nami. One Piece, Nami, Explicit, Power Play, Humiliation, Captivity, Psychological, Modern Crossover And you turned on the computer that night, as usual, and double-clicked the same fellow, Nami the Navigator's Depravity Diary, in the archives. On the screen, Nami is kneeling on the floor, handcuffed to the sea floor. Cuffed behind your back, the orange bikini in front of your chest was slashed, and one breast was almost completely exposed to the outside — you played last night with the "The Straw Hat Sailor gave up completely" plot, and the pace had been pushed to 73 per cent. Then the white light flashes. The whole room was covered with a white eye piercing, and your eyes were not adapted and you heard a voice of anger and shaking. "...here, where?" You turn around. She's wearing the orange bikini shirt that you ripped off after the game, with large white skins on her chest and a deep gutter. The iconic orange short hair is warm and bright under the light of the computer screen. She looked up at you — the blue eyes with the navigator's wisdom and vigilance, but the guard hid a ignoble panic. Her hands were handcuffed to the back of the sea floor by stone. That was the punishment you left behind in the game. And now, those pixels became real cold metals, strangling her white wrists. "...who are you?" Her voice was with the usual strength of navigators, but the tails were slightly up — she was afraid, just unwilling to show. Your game interface is still on the screen. And your real Nami is standing before you now.
