❤️‍🔥V❤️‍🔥 #EdgerunnerSaturday #CakebyV #Cyberpunk2077 #Cyberpunk2077PhotoMode #virtualphotography #NSFW #AIErotica

❤️‍🔥V - You are the Answer to the Koan of Me.❤️‍🔥 #CakebyV #EdgerunnerSaturday #Cyberpunk2077 #Cyberpunk2077PhotoMode #virtualphotography #NSFW #AIErotica

Chapter 5 – Interlude – Part 2: Into the Grey. #CakebyV

Vices of V - A Tale of Sexual Unfolding. Chapter 5 – Interlude – Part 2: Into the Grey. The morning after buying the bike, V rode across Watson with the low rumble of the engine vibrating up through her thighs. It still felt strange — having something this big and expensive that was now hers. The dual-sport handled the cracked streets and uneven pavement without complaint, the dorky top box sitting behind her like a quiet reminder of what she still had to pay for. Horizon Dispatch sat in a low, unremarkable building between a noodle shop and a closed-down laundromat. The sign was small and faded. No neon. No flash. Just a clean, boring name on a clean, boring door. The kind of place most people would walk past without a second glance. She killed the engine, swung her leg over, and took a moment to adjust her cropped black leather-style riding jacket. The matte black pants hugged her thighs in a way that was practical for riding, but still made her feel like herself. She left the jacket open enough to clearly show the bold black ARASAKA tattoo across her upper chest. Not for attention. Just because she liked the way it looked when she caught her reflection in the bike’s side mirror. Inside, the office was exactly what she expected — small, clean, and deliberately forgettable. A man in his forties looked up from behind the front counter. He had the tired, slightly bored expression of someone who had seen a hundred new riders come and go. “You here about the courier gig?” he asked. “Yeah.” He gave her a quick once-over — the bike outside, the jacket, the way she stood. “You got your own ride?” She nodded toward the window. “Dual-sport. Just picked it up yesterday.” He raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. “License clean?” “…as a whistle.” He studied her for a second longer, then slid a tablet across the counter. “Fill this out. We don’t do long interviews. You show up, you deliver, you get paid. Some jobs are time-sensitive. Some need discretion. You good with that?” V took the tablet. “I don’t ask questions.” That earned her the smallest hint of a smile. She filled out the basic information, handed it back, and watched as he tapped a few things into the system. A moment later, a simple app icon appeared on her phone. “Jobs come through there,” he said. “You accept what you want. Cash on delivery for most of them. We take a cut. You keep the rest. First one’s already live if you want it.” She glanced at her phone. One job. Good pay. Cash on delivery. Charter Hill drop-off. “I’ll take it.” He gave her a short nod, already turning back to whatever he’d been doing before she walked in. “App’ll give you the pickup address. Don’t be late.” V stepped back outside into the morning light, the cool air brushing against her face. She looked at the job on her phone for a moment, then slipped the device into her jacket pocket. She swung a leg over her bike, started the engine. First job. No questions. Just delivery. The address the app gave her was in Watson, tucked between a half-abandoned strip mall and a row of storage units that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years. The building itself was nothing special — three stories of faded concrete with tinted windows and a single security camera that didn’t even move when she parked. V killed the engine and sat for a moment, letting the quiet settle. Something about the place felt off, but not in an obvious way. It wasn’t dangerous-looking. It was just… empty. Like the kind of building people used when they didn’t want to be remembered. She zipped her jacket a little higher and headed inside. The lobby was small and smelled faintly of old carpet and cheap coffee. A man was already waiting near the elevators. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Average height, average build, dressed in a plain dark jacket over a button-up shirt — the kind of outfit that let him blend into any mid-level corpo office without anyone looking twice. He looked up as she approached. Calm. Polite. But his eyes moved over her a little too carefully. “You the new rider from Horizon?” he asked. "Yeah." He gave a small nod and reached into his jacket. “App said you’d be here within the hour. Good timing.” He handed her two items: a small, sealed data shard in a protective case, and a compact hard case no bigger than a lunchbox. Both looked expensive. Neither had any markings. “Deliver this to the Charter Hill address in the app,” he said. “That’s it. No names. No questions.” V took the items without comment and slipped them into her jacket. The man watched her do it, then reached into his pocket again and pulled out a folded stack of cash. He counted out the payment in front of her, then added another bill on top. “Discretion bonus,” he said, almost casually. “Most people don’t last long if they start wondering what’s in the boxes.” V met his eyes for a second. He wasn’t threatening her. He was just stating a fact. Testing how she’d react. She took the money, nodded once, and turned toward the door. “App’ll confirm when it’s delivered,” she said over her shoulder. The man didn’t answer. He just watched her go. Outside, V walked back to her bike and carefully placed the data shard and hard case into the top box. She secured it, swung her leg over the seat, and started the engine. For a moment she just sat there, hands resting on the grips, the low rumble of the bike beneath her. She could feel the weight of what she’d just done. Not the packages. The choice. She hadn’t asked a single question. And she wasn’t going to. V pulled out of Watson and merged into the steady flow of traffic heading toward the center of the city. The dual-sport bike moved smoothly beneath her, the engine’s low rumble steady and reassuring. The dorky top box sat behind her like it had always been there — plain, functional, and completely unremarkable. No one gave her a second glance as she wove through the afternoon traffic. She was just another rider on another bike, carrying another package. The city blurred past in streaks of neon and concrete. Towering corpo buildings loomed on either side, their glass surfaces reflecting the pink and violet glow of the sky. Street vendors, pedestrians, and the constant low hum of Night City life moved below her as she took the elevated routes where she could. The wind pressed against her jacket and whipped at the ends of her purple hair. She didn’t think about the contents of the top box at first. She focused on the ride — the way the bike responded to her lean, the familiar vibration between her thighs, the simple satisfaction of moving through the city on her own terms. But the thought came anyway. This wasn’t a normal delivery. She wasn’t stupid. The man at the pickup had been too careful, too calm. The sealed data shard and the locked hard case. None of it felt like standard corporate paperwork or harmless personal items. She knew she was carrying something that probably shouldn’t be moving through the city like this. And she had taken the job anyway. She could feel the shift happening inside her as she rode. She was going to deliver the package, take the money, and see what happened next. If more work came through Horizon Dispatch, she would take it. If this was the kind of job they offered, she would keep doing it. For the first time, she was consciously choosing to step into the grey. Not because she was desperate. Not because she had no other options. Because it made sense. Because the bike needed to be paid for. Because in Night City, being fast, quiet, and willing to not ask questions was worth something. And she was starting to understand exactly how much. She leaned into the next turn, the engine growling as she accelerated toward Charter Hill. The building in Charter Hill was exactly what she expected — clean, modern, and quietly expensive. V parked the bike in the designated delivery zone and killed the engine. She sat for a moment, hands resting on the grips, staring up at the glass and steel façade. Then she opened the top box, removed the sealed data shard and the locked hard case, and tucked them under her arm. The lobby was quiet and temperature-controlled. A receptionist glanced up as she approached, took one look at the packages, and gave a small nod toward the elevators without asking for identification. “Floor twenty-three,” the woman said. “He’s expecting you.” V stepped into the elevator and rode up in silence. When the doors opened, a man was already waiting in the hallway. Mid-to-late forties. Tall, well-built, dressed in a dark button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled once at the cuffs. Handsome in a quiet, composed way. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard. He looked at her for a second longer than necessary. Not in a crude way — just taking her in. Then his eyes moved to the packages under her arm. “You’re the new one,” he said. His voice was low and even. “Yeah.” He stepped aside and gestured toward an open apartment door a few meters down the hall. “Come in.” V followed him inside. The apartment was sleek and minimalist — dark wood, clean lines, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city. He closed the door behind them and turned to face her. “Did you look inside anything?” he asked. “No.” “Did anyone follow you?” “No.” He studied her for a moment. There was a quiet weight to his gaze — not threatening, but deliberate. Like he was seeing more than just the courier who showed up with his package. V felt it. A small, unexpected flicker somewhere low in her stomach. She didn’t react outwardly. She just held his eyes, calm and steady. He gave a small nod, then spoke again. “Harlan Vale.” V paused for half a second. Then she answered. “V.” Something passed between them in that moment — small, almost nothing, but real. He didn’t smile. Neither did she. But the air felt slightly different after the names were spoken. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded stack of cash — thicker than what she’d received at the pickup. He counted it out in front of her, then handed it over. Their fingers brushed this time — not quite an accident, not quite intentional. Just close enough. “Good,” he said. “If I need you again, I’ll contact Horizon.” V took the money and slipped it into her jacket. She gave a short nod, turned, and walked back toward the door. He didn’t say anything else. He just watched her go. Outside, V rode the elevator back down in silence. When she stepped back out onto the street, she walked straight to her bike, secured the now-empty top box, and swung her leg over the seat. She sat there for a long moment, the engine still off, the cash heavy in her jacket pocket. She had just delivered something she was almost certain was illegal. And she was okay with it. Not excited. Not guilty. Just… okay. She started her bike and pulled out into traffic. The grey didn’t feel as far away as it used to. And neither did the man who called himself Harlan Vale. -V.🌺 #CakebyV

She's got this licked. #CakebyV #EdgerunnerSaturday #Cyberpunk2077 #Cyberpunk2077PhotoMode #virtualphotography #NSFW #AIErotica

Good morning Chooms. These videos keep getting longer each week. Here is your #EdgerunnerSaturday showcase video. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you so much for continuing to use the tag each week to keep it alive.

Chapter 5 – Interlude - Part 1: New Bike, New Problems. #CakebyV

Vices of V - A Tale of Sexual Unfolding. Chapter 5 – Interlude - Part 1: New Bike, New Problems. The final exam had ended three days ago, but V could still feel the quiet hum of it in her body. She had done well. Better than well, actually. Her professors had started looking at her differently over the last few weeks — not just as another pretty face in the lecture hall, but as someone who actually understood how power moved through words, images, and silence. She had walked out of her last exam knowing she had performed. Not just passed. Performed. And now, with her first semester at Arasaka University officially behind her, there was only one thing left on her mind. Her motorbike license. She had been taking lessons on the side the entire semester — early mornings before classes, sometimes late afternoons when everyone else was drinking or fucking or pretending to study. It had been her private rebellion. Something that was just for her. And yesterday, after her final practical test, the instructor had simply nodded and said, “You’re good. License will be in the system by tomorrow.” Today, it was official. V stood outside the dealership in a sleek black one-piece catsuit and motorcycle boots, the matte fabric hugging her body while still giving her freedom to move. She had zipped it up most of the way, but left just enough open at the top to show the bold black ARASAKA tattoo across her upper chest. She wasn’t here to flirt. She was here to take something. Through the showroom glass, the bike she had been quietly obsessing over for weeks sat under the lights. It was a brand new dual sport bike. Aggressive lines, but practical. The color scheme was what had first caught her eye — a deep matte black base with subtle gold and pink accents that caught the light without being flashy. The wheels had soft glowing pink highlights that pulsed gently when the ignition was on. And bolted to the rear, looking almost comically out of place against the rest of the machine, was a slightly dorky but very practical top box. V hated how much she loved that stupid top box. She stepped inside. The dealership lights were bright and sterile compared to the pulsing neon of the street. A salesman in a standard corporate polo looked up from his desk and did a visible double take, V could feel his eyes trace the zipper line of her catsuit, lingering on the bold black ARASAKA tattoo across her chest. She didn’t smile. She didn’t need to. “I’m here for the dual-sport in the showroom window,” she said, voice calm and confident. “Matte black with the gold and pink accents. Top box already mounted.” The salesman recovered, flashing a practiced smile. “Sharp eye. That’s the new Paris-Dakar edition. Aggressive on the trails, stable on pavement. You looking to test ride?” “I already passed my practical yesterday. License is active. I want it tonight.” He blinked, a little thrown by how direct she was. “We usually need to run full financing and paperwork first, but—” V leaned one hip against the edge of his desk, the matte black catsuit pulling tight across her body. She let the silence sit for a beat, then started talking specs, financing options, and competitors she’d memorized weeks ago. Her tone stayed professional, but the way she carried herself — tall, calm, radiating that quiet dangerous confidence — filled the space between them. She wasn’t offering anything physical. She didn’t need to. Her presence alone did the work. Ten minutes later the paperwork was signed. A small discount applied “for a motivated buyer.” The bike was hers. She walked it out of the showroom and into the night air. The matte black finish drank in the city’s pink and violet neon, the subtle gold accents catching every flicker of light. She ran her hand slowly along the tank, then swung a leg over and settled onto the seat. The engine roared to life with a deep, satisfying rumble that vibrated straight up between her thighs. V let out a soft, breathless laugh as she twisted the throttle. The first ride was pure freedom. She tore out of the lot and into the glowing streets, wind whipping her purple hair, the catsuit clinging to her like liquid. The bike handled beautifully — aggressive when she pushed it, steady through the city traffic. Neon reflections slid across the matte black fairings and her partially exposed chest as she leaned into turns, the glowing pink wheel accents painting streaks of light behind her. For a few perfect minutes nothing else mattered. Just speed, power, and the city opening up for her. But reality always hits. She finally pulled over on a quiet overlook above the glittering sprawl, heart still racing, thighs warm from the engine heat. The slightly dorky top box sat behind her like a quiet reminder. She stared out at the lights as the high slowly faded. She had the bike. Now she had to figure out how the hell she was actually going to pay for it. -V.🌺 #CakebyV #NSFW #AIErotica

I told her I liked it when she was filthy....but... [:48; animation repeats twice, sound effects, no music, end card] #CakebyV #Cyberpunk2077 #Cyberpunk2077PhotoMode #virtualphotography #NSFW #AIErotica

Desert Storm. #CakebyV #EdgerunnerSaturday #Cyberpunk2077 #Cyberpunk2077PhotoMode #virtualphotography #NSFW #AIErotica

V Music Select: #CakebyV youtube.com/watch?v=G6GLEIw5…

"We've both been so horny for cock lately!" -❤️‍🔥V❤️‍🔥 #MFM #Cock #heteroflexible