Rite of Creation (1/2) Anonymous 2020/08/13 (Thu) 14:48 No. 40867 ▼ File
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Keiki Haniyasushin, Sculptor Goddess of Creation, was in high spirits. She swept through the smooth hi-tech passages of her new garden with a spring in her step that her aloof, regal bearing couldn't quite hide, her long azure hair bouncing girlishly as she went. Haniwa armsmen scattered at the sight of her, sketching brief bows and curtsies before skittering back into the shadows. Their goddess was a strange woman; fey and unpredictable, her mind seemingly unable to settle on any one thing for long. She treated her subjects well—very well, as those lucky enough to catch her interest could attest—, but stories of the woman's temper hung around her like a cloud. No matter how polite she acted outwardly, Keiki was above else a deity of prodigious power, and only her closest underlings viewed her without a seed of unease in their hearts.
And that, Keiki thought as a pair of diminutive clay statuettes scuttled out of her way, was as it should be. The duo had been in the process of stripping away the wild, untamed vegetation of old and replacing it with new trappings more suited to her tastes. One, wobbling at the top of a stepladder and already overburdened by the vast heap of bright tapestries in its arms, stepped back a hair too quickly and overbalanced. Keiki clicked her tongue in annoyance, the thin shriek as the haniwa fell cutting into her thoughts like a knife. She turned and snapped her fingers, catching the animated effigy with a cushion of divine wind and lowering it gently to the ground.
“Careful now,” she said. “I understand that few can control themselves when faced with my divine beauty, but perhaps next time, you might," she placed a long, calloused finger on the top of the haniwa's cap and gently pushed it down, "avert your eyes? It would be a shame if I were forced to... rebuild you.”
The little statue bowed nervously and hurriedly collected the pile of metallic sheets it had dropped. Behind it, its companion fiddled nervously with its own burden: colorful neon lights in appropriately futuristic shades of blue and red, mattresses etched with modern-looking circuitry and towers of weird artifacts to decorate them. Several weeks ago, the
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Rite of Creation (2/2) Anonymous 2020/08/13 (Thu) 14:52 No. 40868 ▼ File
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Yes, that was it. He was like an artist’s impression of a crossbreed, depicting something imagined but never seen. Beautiful in its own way; the rich, deep hazel of his skin, the sleek lines of his horned skull, the powerful tension in his raw muscles. She imagined the way he might move; a tall, proud step, befitting a great, hulking mythical beast. Her thoughts drifted, other images flitting through her imagination. Hot, slick flesh and smooth bone against her skin, a thick tongue against her intimacies, the satisfaction of gently teaching him to appease her needs… Needs which were growing quite real. A familiar restlessness was settling upon her, an irresistible urge to act upon her endless curiosity. Keiki felt the first pangs of genuine arousal forming inside her, firing her imagination. She saw Taisho in her mind's eye, the body she would sculpt for him hunched over hers, her back arched and her derriere raised up as he rutted at her in a union of beauty and adoration. The goddess found herself drifting closer, caressing Taisho's jawbone, her fingers running along the tendons that bound it together. Thin strings of drool stretched from his languid tongue, pattering against her arm. She let out a long, low sigh, her skin tingling as she imagined herself sat in her throne, Taisho lying next to her like a faithful mascot, ready to trample and gore on whichever poor fool next dared to oppose her. The beast hung still in his restraints. She could feel his ebony eyes on her, running across the subtle curves of her slender body, trying to look past the apron and intricately decorated robes that hid her homely figure from his gaze. Keiki had seen that same look from her previous captives, and she knew she had Taisho right where she wanted him. When confusion and suspicion warred with desire and temptation, the latter always won out.
“Toutetsu isn't the only one who can grant you a body. I can do that and more.” Keiki's hand slid down Taisho's body, over his slick, throbbing musculature. His jaws clacked. She felt his thin fur over her fingers giving way to raw skin, and kept going lower, until her fingers came to rest on the lumpen bulge growing between his legs. Her hear
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Stuffed Bell Anonymous 2020/08/13 (Thu) 17:31 No. 40870 ▼
Crickets and shadow smothered the village’s evening streets. Sweat beaded on her knuckles, invited in part from the warm, muggy air. But the real reason for the moisture on her skin was, well…
It was the same one that kept her fist paralyzed, just before the humble home’s door.
Kosuzu gulped. This, this was it. Too many possibilities for her to process laid on the other side.
Possibilities hotter and wetter than the air. But also… possibilities much
darker than the dimming sky.
Whatever she did here, she’d need to be back in her bookstore the next morning.
Early the next morning. Not for fear of her family’s response, nor for the health of their business.
No. If she showed up too late, her stick-in-the-mud friend would know. If her friend knew, she’d
suspect. If her friend suspected her, she might not be able to come back.
And worse, she may even lose everything she’d built this all
on. Her friend-Akyuu-
had to be kept in the dark, no matter what.
No. She shook her head, bells jingling. It’d be fine. The woman on the other side of this door would know and understand. That beautiful, wise, and downright
intoxicating woman would help her. She’d provide all the help she could ask for.
But, but…
Before any of that mattered, Kosuzu would have to knock. Or to announce her presence. Or
something. Instead, after all the countless minutes she’d already spent, that hand remained frozen, her lips sealed shut.
She couldn’t, she just couldn’t…
This precious opportunity would be snuffed out before her eyes as the sun set and she’d-
Tap, tap. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but her knuckles struck the door. Even those quiet noises thrust the poor girl’s heart to her throat.
But as the noises faded, echoing into the night, nothing followed. Her beating heart stilled.
She breathed
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