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I have been afflicted.

“Curse” could be the wrong word to use. After all, my new condition could be construed in a more complex way than “well, Odou, you’ve rolled a bad pair of dice, you’ve drawn the wrong hand, you’ve been put in the proverbial shit”.

It’s complicated.

“Hahh... it’s complicated,” I lament, my voice echoing throughout the room.

I became the target of a whimsical god.

Somewhat follows >>40675

Previous Thread: >>38360

[x] Play around a little. You’ve still got some frustration to work out on your would-be ‘lover.’
[x] Blast Mystia with your orgasm beam for so long, and make her cum so hard, that Mystia reaches a level of pleasure and ecstasy she never thought possible.
　- [x] Tell Mystia that we will never use the orgasm beam on her ever again unless she never tries to rape us ever again, and does whatever we say for the rest of her life.

You can’t help the evil twitch at the edge of your lips. You give Mystia’s leash a tug and she approaches, one timid step at a time. You lean in close, feeling her excited breath wash over you again. “Close your eyes.”

Her eyes flutter closed as she puckers her lips. You wait only a second before you bring the ball to her lips and press. Her brow furrows and her stubborn lips twitch. Her eyes open, questioning, or perhaps pleading. You push and for another rebellious moment she resists. Then she allows the ball to slide behind her lips and through her teeth until it hits her throat, stretching her jaw wide open to accommodate its sheer, curving girth.

Satisfied, you step around her and pull at the straps, buckling it tight against her head.

You run your fingers across the rigid frame of her wings. She groans a quiet, muffled protest. You hum, rubbing the crescent depressions. No response. Your hand slides back up, out, and down, eliciting a shiver as you hit the base. You smile as your tone drops close to menacing. “Say, Mystia, did I ever tell you how I managed to satisfy Wriggle?”

“Hwogh…” She shivers.

You pull one hand back and slip a finger under her back strap, between her shoulder blades.

“Would you like to find out?”

She shudders and pauses, shuffling her thighs. She bows her head, small tremors running up and down her body. She nods. Your hands slide back up her wings, then clench around the crescent depressions, your fingers sinking into the smooth feathers.

“Good.” You reach around and grab the leash. Letting go of her wings, you step back toward the bed

The aloof face of the Moon slides up the night sky over the shrine’s roof. The many feminine voices of the flower-viewing party out front are no more than a muted, drunken buzz. A nature-gazing party after dusk sounded a dull idea when brought up first, but the guests have readjusted their attentions as appropriate. When you go back far enough, hops are nature too.

It is with that thought uppermost in my mind that I refocus my own attention on the natural beauty before me. Seated on the back porch of her home, Hakurei Reimu, the shrine maiden of Gensokyo, peeks up at me – pink of face but calm. I rather expected she would call our “breather” off at the first interruption, but no. Instead, she holds the bottom edge of her short, Summer vest pulled up to her chin and says,

“Just the wind. Go on, keep at it. I haven’t all night.”

I nod my assent and wrap my fingers back around my unsated erection. Reimu’s gorgeous, keen eyes lock onto my selfish motions, and she leans back to present me with an even clearer view of her nude chest. There is a certain underbite in her expression, a controlled annoyance, as I resume stroking myself to the sights and shapes of her nudity. It is an underbite I understand. A servant ought never to be serviced by their master. A shrine maiden should never leave her charges to play around. It is why, I imagine, we are both a smidge jumpy. It is why, I presume, Reimu’s cheeks are flushed pink… and her nipples stiff and cherry-red from arousal.

At the back of my preoccupied mind, the wilful little miss Reimu whom I met once years before at somebody else’s behest refuses to concede. She refuses to accept she is one and the same as the ripe, young woman now tamely baring her tits for a man behind her shrine while a besotted reception goes merrily on in her front yard – precluding her supervision. Nor am I without trace mistrust. The Reimu I am gratifying myself to is little no more. Her slim, girlish hips have widened, readying her for childbirth. Her breasts have plumped out beyond even the largest palm-size. Her tongue has taken on an e

Content warning (tags, if you will) below the story post

______

Satori Komeiji trembled in inexplicable excitement. Today was it. The day. The momentous day, after nearly a year of sending Rin out to cajole, market, hawk her mistresses’ services to any who would hear. Even Satori herself, if asked, could not tell why she’d put so much effort into this project of hers, and would balk at looking inwards at it. In her heart of hearts, she knew the intentions were not wholly pure.

Regardless, now it was done. All she could do now was wait for her mark. She tapped her desk, bit at her nails, kicked her legs, got up and paced back and forth at regular intervals. Rin would laugh if she saw her master acting as such, for certain, but Satori could not contain herself. It was a wonder and a testament to Koishi and Rin’s skill that she had achieved it at all. Luring a young girl into the den of the most hated youkai to freely talk about their problems specifically should have been near impossible, but time and insistence were on the mind reader’s side. She knew first hand that Rin was a tremendous talent at getting what she wanted and annoying people, and there were a number of good arguments going for her, after all. She knew many people’s secrets already, and had never let a single one pass her lips without very good excuse. She’d been very well behaved in all fronts, ever since the underground was unsealed a good year ago. All in all, she’d made herself as trustworthy as she could have.

She paced again, running a hand through her messy hair and took a sip of her strong wine, calming herself as best she could. It was only the first session, and she wasn’t burdened with any over malicious thoughts. Only an edge, a blackened thorn in the corner of her mind that, unbeknownst to her, would come to grow and corrupt her mind into the one thing she didn’t want to become, the very fear that others held when they beheld her, ever since she was a flesh-eating, uncivilized stripling, running wild with her sister.

But for the time, no such thing went through her head. She was helping, yes, helping the poor girls of Gensokyo, burdened as t

Previous thread >>33941

Cosplay threads are not hot, that's what we don't want to see.
So this time, let's start with Musou Kaihou.
Hardmode
http://g.e-hentai.org/g/768449/3a71a50152/
Extramode
http://g.e-hentai.org/g/768709/49b0377bc1/

Well, no lunaticmode.

Youmu Konpaku had a broad education. She’d taken studies at the Konpaku School of Swordsmanship, been to lady Saigyouji’s Cookery Seminary, and was now a postgraduate at the Hakugyokurou Academy of Gardening. The count of things her swords, Roukanken and Hakurouken, youkai-forged, couldn’t cut was only forerun by those which hadn’t passed under her kitchen knives. There was not a fern or flower in the dead-realm she mightn’t name, none she couldn’t nurture into blooming. She was a warrior-servant, the best Konpaku loins had ever produced.

And she was fighting a losing battle with her own face when lady Yuyuko swished into the room. The vague widening of her lavender eyes might have been a trick of the dim lighting, or it might’ve been surprise at the two half-phantoms awaiting her at the table, one in the other’s lap. She moved on, graceful as the Sun-warm winds of the dead-realm, until seated opposite from her fantastic attendants. There was a soft, dignified cough and a faint, endearing smile.

“… Well?” lady Yuyuko said in her silvern voice. “Was there something requiring my attention?”

The older, wiser of the half-phantoms spoke first, his jolly, middle-aged voice rumbling behind and above Youmu’s left ear. “Certainly, certainly, ma’am,” he confirmed. “Yes, indeed. Yet before we rejoice you with these jubilant news… Youmu?

In his lap, the young Youmu Konpaku jolted to attention. She brought forth an obedient smile and plastered it to the front of her face with all the self-possession she could muster, which was not a great deal. The core of the warrior-servant understood the idea; the extremities of her body had their own. The busy, pantiless one underneath her skirt most of all.

Master Youki granted his student a moment’s mercy before prompting, “… Youmu?”

And Youmu, still a trifle jittery, complied, “Yes. Yes, um… thank you, lady Yuyuko, for all your tender care and patronage until now. This Youmu Konpaku is indebted. W—We do, however, have an announcement in regard to my tute

It is, sometimes, to the point to celebrate humanity’s less industrious underside. And here, he thought, on the doorstep of the Hieda household – at the heart of the so-called Human Village – was this notion at its most pointed.

A man in his ripe twenties, clad in no-nonsense Winter hanten and trousers, the messenger had little issue gliding past the attention of servants milling about the estate yard. No one liked a messenger; least liked all were those liable to cut their own work short and dragoon the first retainer to make eye contact into running the final stretch. On nothing but a caprice, he tore off a salute at a nearby worker, to see the man all but duck out of the way. It was a superpower in everything except the name, and no Spellcard duel between Gensokyo’s fireball ladies may diminish the messenger’s pride in his own, secret little spell.

And, as is with most underhanded superpowers, his, too, was a double-edged sword. As a wise man had once been quoted, mis-quoted, and then paraphrased, couriers and runners would always have a use, regardless of when and where, because, “there will always be folks who will pay someone else to do the trivial things they could do themselves, but cannot be arsed to do.” It was this bit of tacit hypocrisy, after all, which allowed messengers like him their little niche in the town in the first place… and then, in an ironic turn, to bully menials from other social strata to step aside.

As long as he looked pregnant enough with responsibility, he could strut inside the noble Hieda household unchallenged by anyone with better things (not) to do.

Which, rather promptly, he did. Gensokyo’s cold season was no laughing matter; the mountainous, inland climate could hang icicles from a man’s brow if it caught him running too hard. Nor was this stranger to the Hieda, who kept the straw, clay and lath walls of their manor heated to cosy coat-off degrees. More inarguably occupied servants passed the messenger by while he plied the pristine halls, as soon to interfere with his work as to pull a

Being that I am a succubus, the situation I find myself in isn't exactly a terribly uncommon one. My entirety, after all, is focused on sex; my existence is predicated upon it. Where should I be found but in the middle of carnal encounters, then? It's only natural that my thick hips lower slowly and my cunt tightens around each inch of cock that I fill myself with. It's barely less common that I run my hand along my stomach, feeling the bulge that travels upwards as I enjoy this wondrous specimen of turgid flesh. It's daily at least that I can be found with a hand upon one of my hanging breasts, plenty enough to hide an average endowment, twisting and flicking a nipple as I sigh in pleasure. None of this is strange. None of this is foreign. There is, however, something that is, here in this scene. And that would be my partner.

The strangest thing about her is not that she's a she, nor that, as a she, her crotch bears an appendage which can make a size-obsessed succubus salivate. The most confounding thing about her also isn't her apparel here in the early afternoon – she seems to favor these purple, ribbon-laden pajamas, no matter the time of day... I tend to guess it's because their flowing nature is meant to obfuscate her somewhat fatty figure. The floating books and implements that surround her, they are to be expected, for few with no magical aptitude ever have a run-in with any demon, even one of lust. No, the queer thing about my partner right now is that her eyes are locked onto those books, not onto me; that she's only undressed herself enough that I can get it in, rather than flinging her garb off with supernaturally induced passion; that her dick bears no honesty and awards me no hint of its pleasure, neither throbbing with the need for release nor forcing her hips to lunge at me with all she can muster. My most recent master, Patchouli Knowledge, is the strangest person I've ever met, as all signs say that she would like it more if only I were nothing but an automated grimoire delivery system.

Thus today, again, I'm trying to tease some greater reaction from her. To get any hint that she has a libido, somewhere, buried under this f

SUBJECT ONE: KOSUZU MOOTORI
SPECIES: HUMAN

“Day one of human cross-species mating analysis. Subjects have been briefed and await further consultation in the lower chambers,” Yumemi spoke in a cold and clinical voice, her words caught in the voice recorder as she paced back and forth in her laboratory, the distant scratching of her assistants pencil against paper being the only other sound in the entire room, “Plan is as follows; supply all three subjects with the means of sexual…”

“Didn’t you say you didn’t want me to be a part of this? You said it was inappropriate given my age?” Chiyuri called out from across the room, the scratching of her pencil ceasing as Yumemi sighed and turned to face her, clicking the button on the recorder as she did so.

“Yes? What about it?” Yumemi asked, a little more frustrated than she normally was. Most of the time, Yumemi found Chiyuri’s more naïve moments to be somewhat endearing and was more than happy to entertain them, yet today, she was somewhat focussed on the operation at hand. Being on the brink of significant scientific advancement, Yumemi desperately wanted to get started. She considered herself to be devoid of any personal motivation to pursue this research, yet the slight tingle in her lower ‘extremities’ betrayed just how far her enthusiasm for the study went. Though naturally, Chiyuri was completely oblivious to the nature of the experiments.

“Surely you should do the whole research recorder in a different room then. Or am I okay to know what you’re going to do, but I’m not allowed to witness?” Chiyuri asked, rising to her feet and propping herself up against the table, “And why can’t I take part?”

“You’ll just have to trust me on this. Now, are you done. Can I get back to making the most significant scientific advancement of our time, or do you want to continue asking questions?” Yumemi asked, causing Chiyuri to silence herself and return to the inane pencil scratching that she occupied herself with. Turning back, Yumemi took a deep breath before clicking the side of the rec