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25694 No. 25694
A hypothetical to Tainted Bonds. I just love doing these future skips, don't I?

Also, this is my first foray into writing H, so if it's a tad purple... well, blame the flowery romance novels I grew up on.

Blame Rabbit for picking Youmu instead of [your favorite character here]. It's all his fault. Clearly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And in the space of a single raucous evening, your oath to Youki is fulfilled.

For so long, it was nothing more than a footnote in an extremely long list of obligations, an afterthought if you managed to survive the more pressing concerns. Whether exterminating extraplanar horrors, delving deep into lore both ancient and experimental to research how to seal the rifts, or working to mend the fractured political relations in the land, you and your now tight-knit group of companions rarely had time to rest, much less have a party with a list of honored guests longer than you are tall.

That you’ve just retired from a wedding where you were the man of honor is a… disorienting realization.

Youmu Konpaku is kneeling beside the futon for two, face turned demurely towards the floor. No, it’s Youmu Konpaku Kawarou, if you’re to use the naming conventions from your home plane, although the traditions here in Gensokyo say that it’s your name that’s changed, making you Lord Konpaku. Akyuu said she’d maintain your name as Kawarou in the records for simplicity’s sake, keeping Konpaku as a mere title of honor, but…

Okay, now you’re just stalling for time.

You’ve been pacing on the other side of the room for the last ten minutes, staring out the window at the pink tree-flower blossoms – sakura, they’d called them. They’d combined your wedding with a flower viewing, the latter apparently a ritual to view the blossoms and an excuse to debauch like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Adding to the former celebration to it...

Well, it’s the stuff of legends. You’ve heard of giants before, and you’ve seen the effects of very powerful enlarge person spells as well, but watching a horned oni girl go from barely reaching your chest to above the tops of the tallest trees was awe inspiring. Watching her get drunk at that size, even more so.

Youmu – your wife – doesn’t move an inch from her position, and yet you can feel the tension radiating off of her, or more accurately, within her. Half of it might be the fact that your parts of your souls have combined, the metal of her family blade and phylactery – your family blade, it’s yours as much as hers now – now irrevocably alloyed with the quicksilver that once was one of your few possessions in life. Not that you mind the trade; you wouldn’t trade your current friends for anything, not for the most potent artifacts in the multiverse, nor the most hidden arcane secrets.

Her blade has joined your own – or rather, the one you took possession of from her so long ago during the Battle for Hakugyokurou, where she became the full phantom that she is now – at the head of the futon, sheathed in a new lacquered scabbard and resting on the lower stand an intricately carved sword rack, the last two among the countless wedding gifts showered upon you. You haven’t had time to read all the well-wishing notes, so you’re not entirely sure who it’s from… they’re accessories to a sword, so perhaps it was the grumpy Ippon-Datara? But it’s carpentry, not metalwork… and yet a true master of the craft would be adept at creating the necessary accessories –

“Lord Kawarou,” Youmu says softly, derailing your train of thought faster than a lightning rail car with an unbound and enraged air elemental. You even come close to leaping up into the sky like one. She’s been sitting there ever since you snuck away from the crazed celebrations and into your room. Your room, not hers; Yuyuko did put you and your companions all into adjacent rooms, yes, but separate rooms. Not that some of those rooms haven’t been empty before on other nights. And other rooms with more than one occupant. Sometimes more than two. War is stressful, and the bonds your companions have forged between them have become hopelessly complex and tangled. That you’re at the center of such a nest just makes it a thousand times more confusing.

But until today, Youmu had always kept herself at arm’s length. The understanding was that you may have been betrothed to her, but that was merely a formal contract, one of law and honor, not feelings. She’s been an invaluable ally, a consummate swordswoman and warrior. While she was never much help when it came to working with magic, her understanding of that local code of honor, “bushido”, has steered you clear of more than one political meltdown. Yet between the battles, the expeditions, the diplomatic meetings, you’ve seen glimpses of a softer side to her. Discussions with Yuuka about gardening and flower arrangements. Minding children with Kogasa. Once, you saw her hiding a half-written poem, although either she gave that hobby up or has managed to conceal it ever since.

And now you’ve found her waiting in your room, changed out of her ornate wedding dress and into a simple green robe decorated with white swirls, sitting expectantly by the futon as if – as if –

Perhaps this is the reason that Ran gave you that sly smile when you said you were going to retire to your quarters to avoid the party. She had to have known, the fox. Women. That must be it. Women talk to each other like that, plotting, scheming, planning for things like this, and if Youmu was going to be so daring, then of course, she’d talk to Ran of all people about it first.

You consciously avoid associating the word “outfoxed” with the current situation. If Ran asks how this night went later in casual conversation – and she almost certainly will, if she’s involved in this as well – and decides to take a quick look into your surface thoughts, the horrifically bad pun will have her in tears. She’ll definitely tell it to the rest of your companions too, just to complete the humiliation.

“Sorry,” you exhale nervously, turning it into a self-derisive chuckle. Your palm lands on your brow, sweeps back through your hair to cradle your neck, then slides back around to scratch your cheek. You turn your head left, right, up, and down as you do so, still attempting to not look her in the eye. “I’m still a bit – frazzled, I came here to try and recollect myself – “

Something changes about her stoic expression, something that bothers you. “I understand.” No, you shouldn’t have tried and stall for more time. You can see it written on her face now: it’s been ten minutes already, this was a bad idea from the start, I never should have hoped. “If it would help you to relax, then I will retire to my own – “

“Thatwontbenecessaryatall,” you frantically say. No. Not what you intended. You take another deep breath. “No, it’s fine. You can stay.”

The atmosphere is shifting now, or perhaps your respective moods are just in turmoil. You can’t place it exactly. Is it… getting warm in here?

“You couldn’t have been… expecting someone else?” she says slowly. There’s an undertone of disappointment in her voice, one that causes you throw your hands forward and shake them dismissively as fast you can.

“No, nonononono!” No, even worse. Up, down. Side to side. “I’m just not – the best with large parties. Too much going on.”

“The great Kawarou can dominate a battlefield and yet flees from a mere party?” She’s raised her head now, giving you a look of sudden mirth, eyes twinkling. Something rising in the room. No, not that. The mood. Lighter now.

“One of those I can run away from without shame,” you riposte.

Surprisingly, this time she proves as quick with her words as with her blade. “Fleeing from a battlefield is without shame when you’re hopelessly outmatched. Indeed, it is the correct decision.” The corners of her mouth quirk upwards in a smile. “But what excuse is there to flee from a celebration? The worst that can happen is fatigue. Considering that, one should stand one’s ground until the very last.”

“I have no plans of passing out drunk on the grass,” you grumble. You decide to turn her teasing of retreat right back at her. “And besides – if that’s the case, then you were here before I was. Did you not flee before I did? You didn’t merely retreat – you deserted before the fight was over.”

“I – yes, I was here before you. Waiting here. In your room.” Blinking twice, she flushes red to the roots of her hair and ducks her head again. That was not the direction you meant to go.

“Well…” you chuckle, “I suppose you did already have your own victory this evening. I couldn’t help but watch.”

“Ah – that.” Her hands, resting on her thighs, involuntarily seize two handfuls of the silk over her legs. Trepidation. “Ummm… that was not a battle I intended to fight.”

“It was less of a battle and more of a spanking!” you can’t help but laugh. “She just came at you, waving that sword of hers and saying she wanted a duel – “

“ – and drunk as Tenshi was, a match would not have been safe. So I – put her down.”

You cross your arms, unimpressed by her attempt to play it off as nothing special. “You do know you gave her exactly what she wanted, right? Did you not see her face?”

Youmu flushes again. “She… enjoyed it? I may not have drawn my blade out of its scabbard, but I still beat her senseless.”

You raise a hand to your mouth in a futile, too-late attempt to hide your smile. “In case you didn’t notice, those screams weren’t entirely out of pain. But I suppose you were too busy keeping her in an armlock to take a look at her expression…”

She can’t help herself any longer, and releases a helpless laugh from her lips, placing a hand over her eyes in shame. “Ah, she used me for that, didn’t she? I’ve heard the rumors, but I didn’t actually think they’d be true!”

“I haven’t heard the rumors, but anyone could tell.” A sudden thought occurs to you. “She was thrashing rather violently. And you still managed to hold onto her with one hand. I know she’s a celestial, so she’s not weak – Youmu, how does your arm feel? Even for you, that feat was impressive.”

“I – ah.” When she lowers her hand from her eyes, you catch the slightest stiffness – not anything near the injuries she’s received before, but there’s certainly some strain there. “It’s nothing.” She doesn’t give her old excuse that starts with “just a” – she’s stopped ever since you scolded her for trying to dismiss a gash from wrist to shoulder as “just a scratch”. Both of you mayhave purely spiritual forms, soul and mind exerting their will to create a physical manifestation, and yet that doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt.

You take a few deliberate steps to circle around to Youmu’s side. She watches you for a little bit, then returns her head to its neutral, downward position. Her shoulders stiffen as you then walk behind her before kneeling so close the front of your robe barely touches the tips of her bare toes. Those shoulders involuntarily scrunch up almost to her ears when you reach out to lightly put your hands on top of them.

Just as always, touching Youmu, even slightly, causes your skin to tingle. Your sight tells you that you’re touching satiny green silk, your senses say that silk is smooth and luscious, and yet your sense of propriety has warning bells going off as though you’re touching her naked body. Perhaps that’s why you’ve always stayed slightly apart – the little touches and gestures of those close to each other sizzled with this feeling, leaving you to jump apart every single time.

It’s not… unpleasant though…

Your pulse quickens when your mind, having seen enough of the robe, finally recognizes it for what it is; Alice had explained it to you when you’d been browsing through her work and had ignorantly asked her to make you one. It’s not one that gets worn in public. Politely called an indoor robe, truthfully it’s a lover’s robe; a dalliance robe. There’s no under robe, and somehow you doubt that Youmu’s even wearing underwear; for that matter, the front sides barely overlap for easier, err, access; from your position behind her, you can see that the hem can’t be any lower than the bottoms of her knees; the ribbon that keeps it together, while large, is tied so that it can be easily released with a single pull –

Don’t think about doing that.

“Lord… Kawarou…?” she says softly, voice wavering slightly.

You move your thumbs to lightly rest on the muscle of her shoulders. “Here. Meiling showed me how to do this.”

You can feel, rather than see, Youmu furrowing her brow. “Under what circumstances…?”

Suspicion. Jealousy. Resentment. You laugh slightly before dispelling her fears. “She practically ripped me in half the first time we met. Putting me back together was the least she could do.”

Youmu turns her head, giving you a look both nervous and curious; the former because of your position, the latter because of the story. “I never heard about that,” she says slowly.

You curse inwardly, and decide to drop the topic. That story is a bit of a moodkiller for this sort of situation. “Later. It’s a little long. But as for what I’m doing: ki manipulation. I’ll never be as good as she is, but I think I can make a small strain feel a bit better…”

You bring your thumbs and fingers towards each other, tightening your grip until those thumbs knead into the meat of her shoulders, even as you focus on those lines within yourself and the girl in front of you. The deeper you look, the more complicated and snarled the lines get; only a truly sagacious mind could hope to make sense of them. Manipulation of those lines can do things like cure disease or mend bones – no, that’s inaccurate. It can set up the body to heal itself like that, but only if a person’s mind and soul are strong enough to will it so.

Both you and Youmu can force the material plane to acknowledge your existence in your sleep, though, so for her to gain the benefits of a simple shoulder massage is easy. There’s a slight kink there, so you reach towards it with your hands, pressing slightly on the edges of the crease to let her ki flow unimpeded once more.

Both of you suddenly quiver in place, and you let go of her like you’ve seized a branding iron from the business end. You clamp your jaw shut and grind your teeth together, but Youmu fails to hold back a sensuous moan of raw pleasure. Just in time, you scoot your knees back to account for certain… growths.

As you surreptitiously loosen your own robe’s belt to hide your current situation, you watch the white-haired girl bring a hand to her chest. She takes a deep breath, down to the bottom of her lungs, and then another, and then another, and when you feel safe enough to open your mouth again, you find yourself sucking in breaths as well.

That wasn’t supposed to be that intense. “I’m sorry,” you gasp, sliding one foot underneath you in an attempt to stand up, take some steps away, reevaluate the situation.

Quick as a snake, Youmu’s hand whips back, finding the front of your robe and seizing it; again, that strange feeling of direct contact contrary to what you see. You freeze in place, then slowly drop back to your knees as you originally were. She tugs at your robe when you try and keep your distance; realizing that there’s no hiding it anymore, you return to your original proximity, which means that the new tent in your robe is nestling itself into the ribbon of hers. A normal person wouldn’t notice, but since your clothes are part of your manifestation, you can both feel the contact. There’s no hiding it.

A few seconds pass, and then she whispers huskily, “Do it again.”

There’s no point in dancing around the reason she came here anymore. Of their own accord, your hands return to her shoulders, and squeeze again. You can’t bring yourself to manipulate her ki again, though, you’re not ready –

“Harder,” she sighs, an edge growing in her voice. You comply, practically crushing the between your fingers. “Please.” Your next squeeze would be enough to leave a bruise on normal flesh. “Please!”

You try and play dumb. “Youmu, I don’t – “

Her left hand comes up to rest on top of yours, and as your fingers interlace themselves together without any conscious thought, you see that her other hand is clutching the front of her robe as if afraid she’ll fall out of it – in both a figurative and literal sense. Her head turns back towards you as she gives you a glance over her shoulder, a look smoldering with pent up need. “Please, Lord Kawarou. Please. Touch me like that again, please.”

That contact of skin upon skin is nothing like anything before. Your hands on her shoulders were pressing through the part of her she’d thought of as cloth, whereas this is touching her bare skin. It feels as though a current is flowing through you, a pulsing need that compels you to take this woman in front of you. But no – not yet. She’d bolt if you moved that fast.


You stare down at her neck, avoiding her gaze. Even there, you can’t avoid her beauty. You’ve always thought her limbs were impossibly willowy for someone of her strength, but it now occurs to you that there’s a similar grace to her neck and spine. Like a swan, almost. Two gentle swells of her vertebrae are visible before they plunge underneath the neck of the robe; two ridges flank the slightest depression at the back of her head. It’s too much for you; you pull slightly with your hands, leaning her a few degrees back, just enough to bow your head and plant a light kiss on that neck.

“Don’t make me beg,” she gasps, turning her head to the other side, still watching you with the edge of her vision through eyes half-lidded with pleasure. As your lips continue to move over her skin, her grip on your fingers tightens, but even though you’re busy burying your face into the crease between her shoulder and neck, you can still feel her focus on you, boring through your resistance until you no longer resist giving her want she wants.

“… okay.”

She manages to give you the smallest smile of thanks before you wipe it off her face with a gentle bite into the fleshy part of the side of her neck, causing her to purse her lips to hold in a gasp. Again, you focus on your ki and hers, bringing the lines into contact, creating that searing sensation, forcing her mouth and yours open into matching moans. Her head snaps forward As her right hand moves behind your head to hold you there, you try and nose aside the neck of her robe to expose slightly more skin, but the robe is tightly bound enough to make that an impossibility. Carefully, you reach for her robe’s sash –

Before you can draw more than two inches of cloth out of the bow, her hand stops you yet again, this time seizing your wrist directly. “Too fast,” she murmurs, even as your hands manage to find each other yet again, weaving your fingers together in a miniature embrace.

“It’s in the way,” you feel the need to point out, squeezing slightly.

A moment of silence passes. “I know. But – not right now. Just – go more slowly. Please.”

“Then what would you have me do?” you laugh shakily, unsure of how best to proceed.

She hesitates a second as she considers that question. “For now… simply… lay with me. Here, I mean!” she suddenly rushes to clarify. “Not the other meaning. Just – “

You stifle of her further attempts at protecting her chastity by nipping her neck yet again, taking advantage of the sudden weakness in her knees and legs to gently guide her onto her right side towards the sheets of the futon. Sighly contentedly, she turns half onto her stomach, knees slightly bending as you slip in behind her. You keep your hands on her shoulders, but you can’t actually hold her per se in this half-spooned position.

When she tries and turn her head towards you, you notice that her hair, still tied up into a knot, is getting in the way, and so you do her the favor of taking it down. She flicks her head back slightly when you’re done, pouring the silvery white strands all over your fingers. You can’t help but crane your neck to bury your face in it. In preparation of tonight’s festivities and ceremonies, it’s been pampered and groomed into something far removed from its normal state, smothered in cosmetic products and perfumes. But it’s not those that you’re searching for; when you take a breath, you can still make out that unmistakable scent of sweat and steel behind the foreign flowers and spices, that unique, personal scent of Youmu’s. You’ve been able to recognize it at this point, but you’ve never been able to enjoy it so closely, and especially not in a situation such as this.

“Stop that,” she giggles, reaching back with a hand again as if to try and push your head away. Despite her words, though, her fingers lace themselves into your own hair and pull you closer, reciprocating your caress.

You’re unsatisfied with your arms folded between you and Youmu’s back, though; that means that there’s something between you. You want to nestle her closer, against your chest. Removing your right hand from her shoulder, you slide it as far as it will comfortably go between hershoulder and the futon. “Youmu.” She instantly understands, writhing up and onto your arm and into your embrace as your left arm curves around her side, crossing your wrists in front of her and trapping her own folded arms as well. One gentle pull later, she’s firmly on her side, with her weight leaning against yours.

>> No. 25695
For a few minutes, the two of you simply enjoy the close contact and intimacy, acclimating yourselves to the crackling sensation between your two bodies until it seems nothing more than a pleasant buzz. She lets out a happy sigh as she wiggles away the last few millimeters of distance that separate your chest and her back. Your legs bend a few degrees to match the angle of hers, allowing the four limbs to fit together almost perfectly. You’re too busy nuzzling the back of her head to see it, but you feel her kicking slightly back towards you with her feet, as if attempting to get comfortable. Before you can move away, the feel of smooth skin against your leg causes your breath to catch in your throat. She’s parted the bottom of your robe and lifted the lower one so that she could rub her naked legs against yours.

Thus begins a war of escalation. To retaliate against that advance, you lower your lips to her neck once again, tracing them over those two ridges until you’ve memorized the shape and feel of them. A night of peace is nothing more than a fantasy now that she’s threading her ankle between your calves, reaching back with her other leg to embrace your left, grinding the limbs together as if attempting to analyze the difference between her carefully shaved legs and your carelessly hair-roughened ones. You strike a blow close to her heart by bringing a hand out of the hug to slide along her flank, higher, higher… you pause. “May I?” you whisper in her ear.

She doesn’t say anything at first, but instead guides your hand up those few additional inches needed to cup around her bosom. As you make contact, your breath catches. Her breasts are on the petite side, able to fit almost completely within your relatively small hands, and yet that doesn’t detract in the slightest from your enjoyment, kneading the soft mound back and forth, as if gently wringing it for the breathless moans escaping her lips. “Yes, Lord Kawarou, yes – yes – yes – “

The silk of her robe is too thin to hide her shape; you can feel her nipple thrust boldly into your palm, eager for further attention. Yet you’re not satisfied with this alone. She gasps at the sensation of loss when your hand stops its ministrations, only to choke and crush your thigh between her knees as you peel the robe aside off her shoulder and slide your palm back into its original position, sans that bare millimeter of cloth. It occurs to you that the sash’s ribbon has untied itself completely of its own accord; an unconscious advantage to manifesting one’s own clothes rather than wearing physical, “real” ones.

Your lover makes a counterattack, but overwhelmed as she is it’s much less impressive than yours. The fronts of both your robes are in twisted bunches within her hands, and you ultimately spare her by consciously releasing your own sash before she attempts to rip them to shreds, allowing her to part the folds until she finds your own naked flesh. One of her hands roams dangerously near your arousal, several inches away where your thigh melds into your pelvis. Unsure if you would be able to control yourself if she found your erection with that hand, you deny her access by rolling onto your back, bringing her on top of you so that her rear sits on your lap and her back across your chest.

Now that your right hand is no longer restrained by her weight, it joins its mate in worshipping her bosom, flicking open its own side of her robe. Digging her nipples into the center of their mounds with the heels of your hands causes her to throw her head back, make keening noises in the back of her throat while stabbing her hands between your arms and torso and pointing her feet into the futon. That motion lifts her body inches upward until you release the pressure, whereupon she flops like a doll with its strings cut back on top of you.

You press in; she rises, choking; you relax; she falls, gasping. Enjoying your control, you start to massage her in earnest, enjoying the feel of her body rising up and down, up and down, up and down. On perhaps the fifth or so lift, she takes control, lifting up an additional inch as she transfers her weight onto a single hand while craning her neck as far back as she can.

What she plans is suddenly clear as her freed hand comes up to your face and turns it towards hers. Confronted with her upside passion-hazed look of pleasure, there’s only one logical thing that she can want, and so there’s only one logical thing to do: raise your head that mere inch you need so that you can kiss her properly for the first time that evening, your lips mutually agreeing to open so that your tongues can dance around each other in a wet waltz of pleasure. You both can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut to focus on the sensation.

Too late, you realize that she’s started deliberately rubbing her taut rear against your bare erection, letting the folds of her robe capture it and pull it back and forth – just when had she opened your robes that wide? It must have all been through her riding movements, either a serendipitous discovery on her part. Breaking the kiss, she swiftly springs onto her knees, lifting completely off of you. In unspoken agreement, you both finish undressing: you pull your arms out of your robes, flick the front off of your chest, and lay back completely on top of them even as she seizes her flimsier garment by the back of the neck and violently pulls it off over her head, giving you for the most damnably short second a heart-stopping glimpse of her naked back and buttocks.

You have every plan of admiring that view in further detail tonight. Preferably while thrusting inside of her, and hopefully while orgasming to boot.

Her green silk robe lands forgotten by your leg as she falls back on top of you, openly panting as you close your arms around her again – you’re breathing uncontrollably as well, come to think of it. The tug of silk against your cock is gone now, but instead there’s the even more sensuous feel of the surprisingly satiny skin of her lower back and the globes of her bottom slipping and sliding as she continues her riding motion, aided by a mixture of her sweat and, soon enough, your precum. You’re fighting back with your hands over her bosom, palming them in varying patterns of circles while teasing and tickling the engorged peaks with your fingers, but it’s a battle you’ll swiftly lose.

Her knees and ankles are providing most of her movement; but in this position, she needs to have both her feet and at least one hand anchored into the futon to continue the motion. Given that her legs are staggered relative to yours, her left leg hovering between your own two while her right goes wide for stability…

Wide. She’s wide open, spreading her legs, leaving her most vulnerable spot just begging for your attention. You transfer the role of worshiping her chest to a single arm, turning it across her body so that your forearm still massages the breast not actually within your hand. You extend one finger on the newly freed hand, moving the tip down in a long stroke down her body. She giggles as it passes over her navel – you’ll have to investigate that spot later – squirms as it moves over her mound, and then stops cold, joints locked and muscles taut, as it passes over the flower of her sex.

And it is a flower; the lips, newly engorged with blood, have blossomed apart of their own accord, preparing her for your eventual entry; at the very top of it is a tiny nub of a pistil, a throbbing protrusion begging for affection; within those petals drips sweet nectar, slick and yet sticky to the touch. Unable to control yourself, you bring your moistened fingertip to your mouth, sucking it clean. Tones of water and salt dominate, but beneath the foundation flavor is the same hot metal flavor you’d smelled earlier. Some might think it an odd taste to enjoy, but you savor every last droplet.

The dance of one bee brings the whole hive, and when your hand returns, it’s with all five fingers working together. At first you’re content to use the four long fingers to stroke over her labia in large circles, intentionally avoiding her clitoris for the time being. She lets out a short bark, almost a scream, as first one, then two of your digits pillow between those lips and spread her apart. She doesn’t even manage to make a sound when those fingers eventually find their way inside of her, exploring her tight opening and stroking her insides as deep as they can go. You know she’s a virgin, but she lacks a hymen; she must have broken it through her physical exercises as a youth. That being said, her entrance is still tight, perhaps even painfully so for you, but deep inside she’s open and swelled, ready to take you to the hilt.

That will be for later, though. For now, you simply thrash those fingers inside of her, battering her clitoris with your thumb as you make short thrusting motions with your hand. She’s lost all strength and ability to act coherently, simply holding onto the futon’s sheets for dear life as her toes fold creases in the padding, curled in pleasure as they are. Her feet are still pointed as she uncontrollably rocks back and forth as if trying to drive your fingers deeper within her, or grinds in circles as if to further massage the peak of her sex –

– a distant part of your mind warns you that the way this strokes her rear against your erection will lead to your own orgasm mere minutes, but you dismiss it, zeroing in on her own peak before even daring to dream of yours –

– meanwhile, your arm at her breasts moves in a sawing motion, quickly pressing and pulling both mounds back and forth to only heighten her torment. Her head bends all the way back again, and you look down at her, feeling a predatory grin grow as you realize it’s you, and no other man, who’s driven this beautiful girl into such a state of pleasure

Her eyes, originally pressed tightly shut, snap open to watch you, and you feel almost ashamed for having such a dirty look on your face. There’s no reason to feel it though, as she has a similar open-mouthed look of sexual pleasure on hers. Something perverted within you twists and makes itself known through your mouth as you ask her, “Youmu, tell me, are you going to come…?”

Contrary to what you’d expected from her – a look of mortification, a shaking head of conscious denial, eyes screwing shut to avoid having to confront you – she only nods vigorously in confirmation, although she does flush red to the roots of her hair. “Yes, yes, I – I am about to – yes, yes, yes yes yes yesyesyesyesssssssssSaaaaaaaaaaai…!~”

It’s the first time she’s ever called you by your first name; you wonder if she views it as some sort of inner guilty pleasure, only revealed during the most intimate of times. You don’t change a single thing about the way you’ve been pleasuring her when she reaches her peak, and that more than anything causes her orgasm to continue without apparent end. Her eyes remain open yet they fail to notice you, allowing you to watch something shatter behind her green irises as her inner folds spasm violently around your intruding digits. Her juices run down your wrist and her thighs, staining the sheets underneath for now; they’ll be wrinkled but uncolored when you take your leave, a trait of their manifested nature.

You don’t plan on leaving any time soon, though.

“Stop! Stop! No more!” Youmu cries out all of a sudden, snatching your fingers out of her sex when you fail to comprehend when the cries of your name changed to commands to halt. The sensation of removal and the loss shocks your focus away from her own reactions, and the throbbing of your own member, tight with impending climax, suddenly overwhelms your senses. Even with her limbs trembling with aftershocks of her own peak, she rotates around until her knees are again flanking your leg. Leaning over your body while widening her knees slightly further, dropping her low enough to press her sopping pussy and come-streaked thighs against your leg, she weaves her fingers together around your pulsing cock almost as if it were the hilt of a sword, leaving the sensitive head poking half out of the cushions of flesh between her thumbs and forefingers.

And then she starts bucking.

Her hips thrust forward; her snatch grinds into your thigh; her palms jerk your member upwards, the head disappearing within her hands. Her hips thrust backward; her clitoris drags roughly across your hairs; your cock thrusts back through the folds of flesh. And her motions aren’t merely forward and backward; she grinds herself and her hands in twisting circles at the same time, her palms rolling across your shaft in a delicious friction that’s about to send you over the edge.

She had to have talked with Ran, the kitsune was the one who discovered how this method of handplay was always enough to drive you over the edge, but she’d never done it in so aggressive of a position, nor so soon after her own – or even during her own – “Youmu, Youmu you’re going to make me – “

“ – make you come – damn it – what the fuck – do you think I’ve – been trying to do – this entire time –” she violently swears. You stare down at her incredulously. Something had shattered behind her eyes, and this is the result. She’s never sworn in your entire experience with her, this –

– is a first for her. It makes sense, in a roundabout way.

That’s the last rational thought that goes through your head before your climax overtakes you. You force yourself to keep your eyes open and not squeeze them shut, so you’re able to watch Youmu practically throw herself downward with a forward buck, wrapping the quivering head of your cock between her lips in a last ditch attempt to bring you to orgasm before her own frenzied climax ends. She needn’t have bothered; even before her cheeks can hollow with suction, you’re giving her what she wanted, the first few blasts of your seed spraying the hot wet insides of her cheeks and tongue.

There’s more than she anticipated, though, and so her head only bobs up and down with her rhythm twice more before she pulls up and off a foot or so on a backward thrust, coughing to clear her mouth as your essence drips from her lips. Yet even that mishap doesn’t cease the movements of her hands and hips, and you can only watch amazed as your phantom lover brazenly takes the rest of your load onto her neck, collarbone, chest, and belly; in that order, as each few spurts travels shorter and shorter as your ejaculations lose strength, the white ropes of come painting shorter and shorter strokes across her body. That’s not to say your orgasm weakens; the burning, exploding, rocketing pleasure inside of you is just as intense as it was when her mouth was on you as it is when you’re dribbling your last drops onto her fingers. She clearly enjoys each splatter as much as the next; for that matter, she reciprocates, the back half of her own orgasm raining down upon your thigh, wrung from the folds inside of her by exposure to your own passion.

Gods above, the sight is enough to inspire a man anew…

You must have blacked out for a second, because you miss just how the two of you end up cuddling again, uncaring of how your respective fluids mix and smear across each other’s bodies. “Sai,” Youmu sighs happily, running a hand down your chest. You moan her own name back, hugging her close with one arm, pillowing her head on your shoulder as you bend your neck to bury your nose back into her sweaty hair.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours, you’re not sure; the noises of the party outside never die down either way. All you know is that at some point in time, Youmu has your member in her hand, gently reviving it back to its original state with long, gentle strokes. “This time, Sai,” she says, a naughty smile growing on her face, “make love to me properly. We’ve a marriage to consummate, after all.”

“As if I could do anything else,” you admit shakily, walking your hands up by their fingers up her belly and onto her breasts, laughing slightly when you see that she shivers a little as you tickle her navel.

“I’m glad you understand.” You’d seen the steel within her on the battlefield, and that you’ve seen in in the bedroom too makes your heart swell with love – yes, honest love. “Now, take me until the sun rises. I don’t plan on sleeping.”

“There isn’t a sun in Hakugyokurou!” you laugh, rolling her onto her back before following on top of her. She unhurriedly spreads her legs to make room for your knees even as she curls her arms around your neck, holding you in a loose embrace. What she says next makes your heart leap into your throat.

“Yes. I know.”
>> No. 25696
I liked this. Not too purple like you had led me to expect. Also:

>“ – make you come – damn it – what the fuck – do you think I’ve – been trying to do – this entire time –”

I busted out laughing at that point. Well done, sir.
>> No. 25709
The Thousand Year-Old Virgin?
>> No. 25715
can't fap, too romantic
>> No. 25716
This is brilliant. You are brilliant. Well done indeed, sir.
>> No. 25727
Will there be a part two?
>> No. 25728
>>25727

Did you really think this story would end before the consumation?
>> No. 25730
>>25728
Possibly, yes. I mean, we're already intruding upon their wedding night. I felt voyeuristic reading through the darn thing. Don't stop writing.

As an aside, my mind kept drifting back to the actual mechanics of ghost sex. I won't post my ruminations because that'd just be silly.
>> No. 25731
I tried to think about it. But then I remembered Dr Weird's "WE HAVE BECOME ONE" gag.

And I puked.
>> No. 28378
CHOOSE YOUR AS-OF-YET UNWRITTEN BUT IMPLIED SCENE

[ ] Sai x Ran
[ ] Sai x Youmu
[ ] unknown x Alice
[ ] Gand x Dolls
[ ] Sai x Kogasa Choice blocked by incestuous-relations censor. Inconceivable!
[ ] unknown
[ ] unknown
[ ] unknown
>> No. 28379
[x]Sai x Kogasa

fuk u ima pick this one
>> No. 28380
>>28379
>> No. 28381
[x] unknown x Alice
ALIICCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee111111111111111111111!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
>> No. 28383
>>28379
>>28381

Okay I'm 100% sure that my nemesis who I am planning to sacrifice to my benevolent kitsune overlord friend Rabbit here is trolling me, and 95% sure that this anon overheard me complain that Alice was overdone. I think it's the 1s. There are a lot of them.

But maybe I should explain a little more.

>[ ] Sai x Ran
Sai and Ran did more in Hakugyokurou than what was written. Here are at least one of the scenes that were skipped over to make time for more exposition.

>[ ] Sai x Youmu
Continuation of the story within this very thread. Youmu enjoys her wedding night with her new husband.

>[ ] ]spoiler]unknown[/spoiler] x Alice
Alice enjoys the pleasures of the flesh with her guest, new lover, and future spouse.

>[ ] Gand x Dolls
Because I've never written three-way action before. Gand has shut himself away in silence to compose one too many times, and the two doll sisters come up with a way to get him to come out of his own accord.

>[ ] Sai x Kogasa Choice blocked by incestuous-relations censor. Inconceivable!
Sai is working on repairing Kogasa's umbrella when she brings up the topic of love. When Kogasa reveals that she's had many lovers over her years, Sai's brain flows out of his ears, unable to contemplate the thought that this cute little girl is at heart a woman.

>[ ] unknown

There will be other couples and implied H-scenes in Tainted Bonds's future! These scenes may be put up here for completion's sake.
>> No. 28385
[X] Gand x Dolls

I want this so bad.
>> No. 28390
>>28383
stories aiming for Alice have been overdone but none that actually made to the point to the sex.

[x] Sai x Youmu

As much as some of the other options appeal to me, I'd like to see things get properly finished between these two before doing anything else.

I would pick an unknown, but I have no idea what each one corresponds to. Now if one of them was Komachi/Sai, then it might be a different story.
>> No. 28393
[X] Sai X Youmu

Like >>28390 said, I'd love to see Kogasa Ran, but I refuse to allow this to go unfinished.
>> No. 28396
>>28390

what the shit it's like you're reading my notes

Anyways, calling votes in 24 hours.
>> No. 28397
[X] Gand x Dolls
We haven't seen enough doll action in general.
>> No. 28401
Excellent short, balista, and I love reading it.

[c] Sai x Kogasa.

Sorry, I cannot resist.
>> No. 28402
[x] the third unknown

It's the third, that makes it the luckiest.
>> No. 28403
[X]Sai x Youmu

Some ties simply must be broken.
>> No. 28404
[x]Gand x Dolls

DOLLS, DAGNABBIT.
>> No. 28409
[X]Sai x Youmu

I DEMAND COMPLETION!
>> No. 28411
Votes called. Pic related. Writing now. Please wait warmly~
>> No. 28416
>>28404
We can do that next when the vote comes up unless Sai/Komachi comes up
>> No. 28440
For a minute the two of you simply lay there, taking your time to recuperate after your first exchange. You let your senses take their fill – the feel of her warm flesh, the taste of her lips, the scent of her hair, the sound of her breathing, the glow of her skin. The sound of the still-raging party outside floats through the wood-and-paper walls, and you wonder just how long it will take for them to settle down.

Shorter than it’ll take for Youmu to exhaust you, you hope.

Her legs unhurriedly lift themselves from the floor, the smooth skin of her inner thighs stroking against your sides until they clutch at your hips, her calves wrapping around your back until her ankles lock together. Seeing the hungry expression on her face, you adjust your weight on top of her, your arms braced to either side of her head.

“What’s wrong?” she murmurs coyly, shifting herself likewise, stroking the underside of your member with her moist nethers.

“Loosen your legs slightly,” you breathe out, a shiver rolling up your spine. “I can’t – reach – ”

You lower yourself down only to feel your erection grind futilely against her sex yet again, causing you to moan in a combination of sensation and frustration. “Let me try again,” she whispers into your ear.

Those legs around your waist flex strongly as she drops her arms to the futon for leverage. For a moment you contemplate resisting, seizing her hips to pull her away, but your curiosity at her attempt to take the initiative wins out. Her legs unlock cleanly as you’re deposited onto your back, the phantom maiden poised lightly on her knees, straddling your thighs. Your newly freed arousal stands proudly before her as it did a few minutes before, and she stares down at it hungrily, reminding you of how she brought you to climax mere minutes before.

“Youmu,” you groan, wanting to relive that moment – and more, besides.

She only hums happily as she walks herself down your legs, her skin sliding sensuously against your own. As she moves back, she bends her body low, and she eventually lays upon her side between your legs, her cheek laying against your own stomach. Her face is turned to face your member, and you shiver with anticipation as her hot breath washes over its length.

“It’s so lively,” she giggles, sliding a hand down your chest until it bumps against the root. Hissing, you stroke the back of her neck and head with both of your hands, tunneling your fingers through her gossamer hair when she wraps her fingers around it yet again. She gently pumps her hand up and down, marveling at how the skin slides up and down your shaft, repeatedly concealing and revealing the softly capped head, wicking away the drops of moisture oozing from the tip with each stroke.

Unable to contain yourself any further, you slide your thumbs between your abdomen and her head, and she continues the upward movement, rolling onto her belly and lifting her torso up to position herself above you, eyes affixed on your prominent arousal.

You stroke her cheek with the back of your hand, and she glances back up at you, a tender expression on her face that you’re sure mirrors yours. “Sai,” she sighs happily, and you let the smile on your face answer her.

Then she wipes it off your face by wrapping her lips around your cock.

As her gaze lowers to focus on her task, she first turns her head slightly, treating you to the stroking sensation of her smooth lips. Her slick tongue is the next sensation you feel as it licks at the liquid proof of your arousal, savoring its taste slowly now, unlike before. For a few minutes she continues like that, slowly bobbing her head up and down the first few inches, her breaths quickening as they pass through her nose and over your groin. Her technique is clumsy and unsure, but her earnest attempts at pleasuring you still cause your heart to swell up until you think it might burst. Some crazy part of your mind, however, decides that that conclusion might not be a bad thing, and so you decide to give her a little advice.

“Youmu, love,” you moan, carefully gripping her chin with your thumb and forefinger, halting her movements.

It takes her a few seconds to shift her attention, so intent she is upon your cock, but at length she glances back up at you again. She gives you one last lick as she lifts her head off of you, freeing her mouth for speech. “What is it, Sai?” she pants, her expression heart-wrenchingly vulnerable. “Am I not...”

“No, no, you most certainly are,” you assure her hastily. “But – you can be even better.”

“Tell me,” she gasps eagerly.

You swallow, almost unable to believe that this is happening. “Suck on it. Like you would a succulent piece of fruit.” Succulent. You’re getting a blowjob from one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever known, and you use the word “succulent”.

If she finds it out of place, though, she doesn’t say anything. More to the point, she can’t, because she’s taken your advice to heart, her cheeks hollowing with suction now as she takes you into her mouth anew.

This time you know that you’re done for. The added suction combined with her licking and stroking is too much for you to ultimately resist. One of her hands keeps itself at your base, thumb and forefinger in a ring around it, while her other slides to one of your hands on her head, coaxing you to weave your fingers with hers. You lose yourself in her ministrations, your member stiffening dangerously as your orgasm draws near. When she lifts herself off again, you’re not sure if you want to sigh with relief or shove her down until she finishes the job.

“I want to taste you properly this time,” she moans hungrily, her fingers squeezing hard upon yours as her thighs rub erratically together in anticipation.

You reciprocate that gesture, giving her your tacit consent. Your second squeeze is unintentional as she envelops you once again. Eventually she develops a steady rhythm: several short bobs of her head, her lips repeatedly tightening and relaxing, then a long, quick stroke down as far as she can comfortably take it. She takes her time on the upstroke, working her tongue over and around it, taking several breaks to pause her movements and simply suck as hard as she can. When she gets to the head, she opens her mouth with a pop to cover the tip with several long licks, catching her breath with several quick pants, and then she’s moving down once again. At every step you think you’ll spill, yet unbelievably you last half a dozen cycles before you feel your balls tighten beyond the point of no return.

“Youmu,” you choke out, clutching desperately at her hand, feeling yourself perched right on the precipice. “I’m – ”

She understands, instantly moving to clasp your tip firmly between her lips, her tongue flat and ready to catch your release. Her fingers tease at your underside, causing it to ridge outward as that tiny caress pushes you off into freefall. With a shock, you crash repeatedly into an ocean of pleasure, your essence splashing into her mouth in powerful bursts. She catches you before you can sink to the bottom, though, launching you back up and down with several quick swirls of her tongue around the head until you’ve thoroughly coated even the insides of her cheeks.

She holds her position after you finish, still licking desperately as if to try and coax a final spurt out of you. Only when you begin to soften, despite her attempts to the contrary, does she relinquish you, pulling herself upright and out of your reach. When she brings both hands in front of her mouth, you notice her eyes squeezed tightly shut, two tears beginning to run from the corners of her eyes. Concerned, you sit up yourself, scooting your way between her legs until she’s in your lap. Reaching for her shoulders, you reassure her, “Youmu, you don’t have to force yourself if it tastes bad, just spit it – ”

Ignoring you completely, she tilts her head back to face the ceiling, her throat moving tellingly. You watch her in disbelief as she drinks your entire load down in several dainty swallows, as if reluctant to finish it quickly, savoring it to the last drop. Only then does she open her eyes and look at you, her eyes bright and blazing with happiness as she licks her lips. “You taste delicious,” she gasps, twining her arms around your neck once again. “Like steel, tempered in spring dew… infused with cherry petals.” You open your mouth to ask her if she’s serious, but you lose the opportunity when her eyes flicker closed again. She tilts her head and moves closer, and your only choice is to match her to exchange several brief, sweet kisses, lips and tongues touching and retreating like courting birds.

“You already have part of my soul in you,” you chuckle in your throat as you both settle in each other’s arms once more. “Was that not enough for you?”

“Oh, no,” she sighs, her voice just as teasing. “I could do with a little more.”

You blink in pleasant surprise. You wouldn’t have imagined that the normally straight-laced swordswoman would pick up bedroom talk so quickly. “What a naughty girl,” you exclaim breathlessly. With a quick flick of your torso, you jostle her slightly loose from your embrace, then find a grip on her shoulders to catch her and lower her to her back, letting her legs kick themselves straight to either side of you. Her stare up at you is dazed with lust, her cheeks flushed with passion, her chest heaving with anticipation. You can’t help but descend on her breasts, falling on top of her to knead them between your hands and cover them with kisses, nibbling at the hardened tips until her voice escapes in moans of ecstasy.

“More,” she groans, her hands seizing your head away from her chest and pushing you tellingly down towards her lower body. You feel a grin slowly stretch across your face as you crawl down, the pressure on your head abating as she begins to run her fingers through your hair, just as you did to her. You leave a trail of kisses as you move, the wet trail tracing over the flat plane of her belly, the curves of her hips, the sparse curls above her mound. There, you linger for a few seconds, letting your breath wash over the petals of her sex, admiring how her engorged, darkened folds have blossomed outward, how her essence has begun to leak until it runs in rivulets towards the sheets. Knowing she can’t wait much longer, you move – down the inside of one creamy thigh, as you intentionally curve away from the ultimate target.

Your delay causes her to make a high-pitched whine in the back of her throat, her grip on your head tightening. “Sai…” she groans, her grip tightening anew on your head.

“What is it?” you say innocently against the underside of her knee. You slip a hand to hers, coaxing her fingers to clutch at that – and away from their intended goal of driving you straight to her pleasure.

No, not just yet. Let the anticipation build a little more.

Using your free hand, you begin pushing yourself back up her body, your tongue weaving its way back up her leg. Again, she stiffens as you approach her sex, whimpering as your hot breath blows over her core. She practically screams with frustration as you divert yourself yet again, this time to her other knee. “Sai, please…” Her voice quivers with restraint, as if she’s about to burst.

“What is it you want?” you ask innocently as if the answer isn’t already clear as day, lazily pillowing your cheek against the groove above her knee.

Her response is magnificent. As her two hands grab desperately at your own offered hand, her shoulders and feet shift as she arches her body upwards you. “You – monster,” she chokes. “Do I have to send you a written invitation?”

“Maybe?” you reply, letting your voice curl with mischief.

Her hands finally let go of yours, and you prepare to be bodily grabbed and rolled underneath here for teasing her too far. Instead, her knee slides out from underneath your head, and from your new vantage point on the sheets you watch wide-eyed as she spreads her legs in a wide V, her hands reaching to her sex and gently repeating the same motion with her outer lips, exposing her inner folds to your sight. “I want you to touch me,” she whimpers.

That’s all you can take. As if in a dream you reach out towards her offering, coaxing her hands away. As they carefully lay themselves to either side of her body, you touch her soft flesh with your pointer and middle fingers, moving her outer folds apart just as she had, your heartbeat quickening as you feel the escaping moisture begin soaking your fingers for the second time.

“Do you want these inside of you again?” you ask, your own voice begins to tremble as you hold back your own building need.

She swallows, her body rocking slightly from side to side in anticipation as she nods. “Just – do it already.”

No, not this time. “I’ll do you one better,” you tell her, pulling your head up close to her groin again. She gasps with realization when your breath falls upon her sex once more, then again when you touch your tongue to the small patch of smooth skin between the bottom of her slit and the star of her anus, her breath stopping completely as you begin to slowly draw it up between her folds, making sure that you extend the movement over the length of a four-beat bar of the ditty being played outside. Her arousal tastes of hot steel, sweat, a hint of flowers, a sweetened tea, and – you can’t think of any other word for it – her.

Her hands fail to cover her mouth before she shouts in surprise as your movement passes over the hood of her clitoris, her body convulsing underneath you. Fortunately for her, a trumpet in the band decides at that moment to squawk completely out of time and harmony with the strings and keyboard, instead managing to strike a chord together with the pitch of your lover’s cry. The song soldiers unsteadily on as the phantom girl turns beet red with embarrassment, eyes clamped shut as she hides her face entirely behind her fingers.

“Now, now, I want to see you like this,” you chide her. She slides her hands down slightly lower, letting you stare up into her mortified stare, but she still covers her mouth, unable to trust herself to not lose control again.

“I – I couldn’t help it,” she admits, her voice unbelievably soft and vulnerable. “I didn’t think it would feel – even better than what we just did – ”

“You don’t need to,” you assure her. Your hands slide up her sides to find her breasts once again, taking the globes gently within your grasp, kneading until she averts her gaze again, unable to keep her composure. “May I continue?”

“… yes,” she says in a voice barely audible behind her hands. You pretend to not hear, still staring expectantly up towards her. “Yes,” she says again, louder this time. “Yes, damn you, I want you!”

“Good girl,” you murmur back into her sex, and she resumes gasping as you repeat the same caress as before. This time she’s able to control her voice when you pass over her peak for the second time, but her knees bend and straighten rhythmically, sawing her feet into the cloth of the futon. A third time as you restart your strokes at her breasts, and she can’t help but moan aloud as you attack both her hardened nub below and the two buds above.

The number of licks begins to climb. A dozen. Two. Three. By four dozen she’s at the end of her rope, her breathing ragged, her limbs covered in sweat. “Gods,” she whimpers, dropping her hands back to the sheets where they take massive fistfuls in an attempt to find some anchor in the waves of pleasure you’re giving her. “Sai, I can’t – ”

“That’s okay,” you cut her off. “Just lay there and enjoy. And, oh,” you think to remind her just in time. “You might want to cover your mouth.”

Her eyes widen as she realizes your intent, and she hastens to follow your suggestion, staring down at you with unbridled anticipation. This time, you don’t bother with the long movements, instead kissing directly over her pearl and swirling your tongue in circles there. She squirms underneath you and spread her legs even further, trying to give you even better access, and at length your movements peel the hood back and expose it directly to your caresses, your lips encircling the area around it and gently sucking. Her muffled gasping turns to quiet cries as you begin battering the vulnerable nub, up-down-up-down, left-right-left-right, circles clockwise, circles counter-clockwise –

And somewhere in the middle of those rapid movements you lose her bud in the folds as it retreats, your victory at hand. Moments later she screams, her hips lifting up as her sex pulses with orgasm, trickling her own essence down in rivers across her thighs.

This time there’s no trumpet, but instead thundering applause as the song outside concludes after a final blaring cadenza.

You hold on for as long as you can, enjoying the taste of her nectar even as your assault continues unabated, but it’s not long before her frenzied writhing dislodges your hold, and you content yourself with pressing your tongue over her folds to try and catch as much of her escaping passion as you can. In this way you ride out her climax, your efforts to hold on gradually becoming less and less needed as her limbs lose their strength completely, leaving her laying spread-eagled and limp.

With a grunt, she pulls back slightly. When you attempt to follow, she makes an effort to roll over onto her stomach, and you finally have to fully pull away. Carefully licking your lips to gather up every last remaining drop, you sit yourself back down beside her as she tries to catch her breath, recovering from the exertions of her release.

“How do feel?” you ask, touching her arm.

“Like I just survived a typhoon,” she exhales, the only movement she can manage a quick wave of her hand at the wrist. “Oh, I don’t want to move, I feel so weak.”

“Oh, you’ll want to,” you reassure her, carefully pulling yourself upright to kneel by her side.

“Oh?” She turns her head out towards you from where she was blotting her brow in the sheets. “… oh,” she repeats, smiling as she sees you kneeling before her, your member standing proudly erect. And she does move; first lifting her hips up, then slowly rising onto all fours, a smile creeping across her face as she starts crawling towards you.

Words fail both of you at this point – you don’t need them to coordinate what happens next. Carefully, she sits herself down and lays onto her back before you, opening her legs and extending her arms towards you in an offered embrace that you accept, carefully lowering yourself once again. This time she doesn’t lock you in place with her legs, and when you nudge forward slightly your tip meets the softness of her awaiting sex. You exchange a quick glance with your lover, receiving a nod of readiness in return, and you begin to slide forward, both of you groaning in pleasure as your head slips inside of her.

Her hymen may have already been broken, but she’s still extremely tight, and you’re not exactly small – you both have to struggle to make further progress as you try and move as slowly as you can, and she squirms, wiggles, and pants, trying to take you just a hair deeper, just another bit more. But, at length, you succeed, thrusting farther and farther into her, her inner folds wrapping around your shaft to embrace it the same as her arms behind your back. She doesn’t ask any silly questions like if you’re done yet, and you don’t feel the need to badger her with questions about how much pain she’s in – you’re in this together, and, like on the battlefield, you don’t need to speak to coordinate your movements. But the difficulty is certainly not for lack of arousal – each inch of her ultimately parts for you the same as the last, her inner body already ready for this moment long before now.

At long last you’re filling her to the hilt, every inch of your shaft accepted into her tight channel. You take a minute to let her simply lay there and get used to the feeling, her gaze misty with emotion. “You’re so kind, Sai,” she whispers, her eyes filling with tears of joy as one of her hands flattens itself on her stomach, as if attempting to feel you even more inside of her than she already is. “I – dreamed of this moment, our wedding, our joining, even if I didn’t think it would be in this body.”

“When did you start?” you murmur, cupping her cheek and stroking it with your thumb. You knew eventually that she began to fall in love with you, if the nudges, winks, and subtle tilts of the heads of your companions weren’t enough, but you never did find it appropriate to pry. Now that she’s opening this up, though, you feel no such reticence. “Dreaming, that is.”

She wiggles her hips tentatively in a small circle, enjoying the feel of the mingling hairs around the point of your joining, her smile wavering as she tries to resist moaning in pleasure as her clitoris grinds against the root of your cock. “The dreams started after you beat me in Hakugyokurou,” she sighs. “They weren’t dreams of – this – though,” she amends. “I was so focused on achieving victory, I thought it would be the goal of my entire life to improve myself until I could finally beat you.”

“It didn’t take long at all,” you chuckle, withdrawing just a little bit, your eyelids flickering unconsciously at the sudden movement.

“N-n-no,” she agrees, shuddering as well, “it didn’t. In so short a time you corrected a basic flaw in not my technique, but my entire – mindset!” she cries as you push forward again. After a few breaths, she continues, “And then – the dreams changed, and instead of fighting you, triumphing over you – “

“You’d already done that over and over again – ” you laugh, pulling back again, just a little further.

“ – we would fight side by side against the enemy together. Parrying blows, creating openings, two allied souls united in a sum greater than its parts – ” She loses her voice completely as you thrust yet again. She stops trying to tell her story, letting her elated face tell of her wishes, wishes that you eagerly fulfill with every stroke.

Perhaps if she still had a purely physical body, she wouldn’t have grown so accustomed to your body in such a short span of time. But there’s no pain anymore, and the tightness of her sex is just enough to drown you in pleasure without being uncomfortable. It’s a perfect fit, one that you test more and more of with each new stroke. Soon enough she’s comfortably taking your entire length from tip to root, stroking you as if inviting you in and pulling as if reluctant to let you go.

Eager to bring her to new heights, you lift yourself off her body and back onto your knees, sliding your hands down her back until they clutch at her buttocks, lifting her hips up at an angle. She finds leverage by hooking her ankles together behind your back, splaying her hands in the sheets, and balancing some of her weight on your thighs, and uses it to buck vigorously against you, her tight entrance repeatedly stroking the lower half of your shaft, your quickening breaths synchronizing with hers as you match each of her movements. “Oh – Sai – ah – oh – Sai – love you – love – so much – ” she pants, unable to string together a coherent sentence any longer.

“Beautiful,” you exhale roughly, your own voice losing its form as well. “Oh, Youmu…”

You drink in the sight of her pleasure-drunk face below her freely bouncing breasts, watching her eyes lose all focus when you start pressing your thumb into the peak of her sex, furiously rubbing the pearl of her womanhood. At this angle, your thrusts strike hard into the upperside of her passage, driving repeatedly into her most vulnerable region, forcing her voice out in small, short, high-pitched cries. It’s not long before she goes over the edge without you, her folds spasming around your cock as her essence boils forth, soaking the sheets underneath as she opens her mouth in an uncontrollable shriek of ecstasy.

Nothing covers her voice this time, but you could care less about that right now. When her ankles fly apart from their grip behind you, causing her to start slipping off and away from you, you capture her legs in your hands and lift them high and wide apart, practically bending her into an L. You lift yourself up and pound into her from above, your flesh slapping loudly against hers. Her breath hammered out of her, she’s only able to watch you with shattered eyes as you extend her peak into a plateau, keeping her at that unbelievable level of pleasure even as you swiftly reach that point yourself, your jaw clenching as you attempt to hold back just a few more seconds – just a few more – just a few – a few – just –

“Oh!” Youmu gasps as your will finally shatters, expressing her surprise as she feels your member throb tellingly inside of her, splashing hot seed against the entrance to her womb. As if eager not to leave you behind, her own walls contract around your cock for the second time, eagerly milking you for every drop they can. Your knees fail, causing you fall on top of her, and she automatically wraps her limbs around your body once more, hugging you as tight and close as she can while you blindly attempt to push further into her, unable to control your own moans now. She grabs at you hungrily, her moans blending with yours as you join her in a mutual moment of joy.

At some point, you both slip into a luxurious afterglow, still locked in that embrace, the vigor of before replaced with sloth after your exertions. Your shrinking member slips out from within her, pouring your combined essences out onto the futon, and Youmu groans at the sensation of loss, trying to hug you even closer. “I love you,” she sighs blissfully, turning to plant a surprisingly chaste kiss on her cheek.

“I love you too,” you sigh in response, burrowing your nose into her silky hair. You think to yourself that despite her earlier request, neither of you will be able to move until next morning, so drained you are from the revelry of the night.

How wrong you were. True to her word, she’s coaxed you into sweeping her off her feet and against the wall within fifteen minutes, and when Kogasa shuffles in hungover the next morning, looking to fetch you for a late brunch, she stumbles out with far more haste, traumatized by the spectacle of Youmu riding you on your own desk.

You hardly noticed. Youmu didn’t at all.
>> No. 28447
GHOST BLOW JOB WOOOO!!!

But seriously nice piece though from the sounds of it, Youmu's more endowed than the fanart usual.
>> No. 28450
>>28440

Kogasa seemed very surprised.

Nice work. Very, very nice work.
>> No. 28467
If I look at you with puppy-dog eyes, would you consider doing another one someday?
>> No. 28472
>>28467
What if Shanghai and Hourai look at you with puppy-dog eyes?
>> No. 28508
I say you should be a romance writer. That was pretty impressive.
>> No. 30855
Like this, you lose the main melodic motif in the muddle of arpeggios and inverted chords. Like that, it’s there, but too bare and unadorned for your liking. And when you try to compromise, it sounds okay by itself, but after leading into it with a few measures it sounds completely out of character instead, failing to maintain the style. Perhaps if you went back and changed it all into this style – but that would represent an entirely new style – but thinking upon it, that might not be a bad thing, this doesn’t sound bad at all on its own merits, and making the rest of what you have match this style would sound pretty good, you think –

A tinkle of bells alerts you to someone’s presence outside the soundproofed room. “Gannnnnnnnnnnnnd,” your wife’s voice whines from the hemisphere of stone mounted on the door, rising up and down the register in a smooth contour. It’s a pretty sound, but marred by being ever so barely tinny at the crest and just slightly too warm during the falloff. “I’m borrrrrrrrrred.”

You sigh, but your fingers, callused and tough as they are, could do with a break. Without further complaint you put up your harp, leaving it to rest on a stand surrounded by its numerous mates in music-making – two guitars, a set of chimes, three wind instruments of various families, a larger harp, and, looking slightly out of a place, a tambourine and castanets. Those last two aren’t exactly yours, although they were crafted by your hands – the two sisters amuse themselves with them from time to time. “I’m sorry, Hourai,” you sigh, walking towards the door. “Have I kept you waiting?”

Before you can touch the doorknob, though, it turns by itself, the door opening with a strangely resonant kachunk – that would be the acoustic charms in the room disabling themselves. A petite girl in a red country dress steps in, and without a moment’s hesitation spins on the fruitwood floor and shuts the door behind her with another kachunk. With her back still towards you, she bows her head and groans, “You’ve been in there for hourrrrrrs.”

Has it really been that long? “I’m sorry – you could have come earlier if – “

She cuts you off with a shake of her head, the crimson and gold-embroidered hair ribbon over her long, thigh-length golden hair catching the warm glow of the magelight from the ceiling. When she turns around, the black stockings over her feet sliding readily over the smooth surface of the floor, your breath catches in your throat as it always does, even after over a year of living together underneath the same roof.

She’s absolutely breathtaking, her proportions perfect: her body slender without being lanky, curved without being exaggerated. Her face, even drawn and dull as it is in vague annoyance, is exquisite – you have absolutely no idea how else to describe it. The little exposed skin of her hands and neck is smooth and flawless like porcelain, and yet it has a radiant glow that no ceramic can ever capture. That she’s dressed in thick, demure homespun and not flashy silks only serves to exaggerate her beauty, rather than mar it; although you suppose that half of that fact is due to your mother-in-law’s talents with a needle and thread, making the otherwise utilitarian garment flatter her figure against all logic. Well, needles and threads, as many as one for each finger when she’s feeling particularly productive.

Without any further words, Hourai floats on tiptoe across the floor into your embrace, her arms circling your waist as she gives you a tight hug. Again you marvel at just how small she is, the top of her head just barely reaching your rapidly accelerating heart. You take in a deep breath, the aroma of jasmine rising up from her hair and filling your nostrils, threatening to wipe all rational thought from your mind. In order to preserve your sanity, you start consciously breathing through your mouth, before wrapping your left arm around her shoulders while rubbing the silky hair on the back of her head with your right; if you did it the other way around, the jointed fingers of your prosthetic left would catch and pull painfully at those resplendent locks, a crime that you’ve long since learned to avoid committing.

“Don’t worry,” she purrs contentedly, sounding far happier now that you’re in each other’s arms. In this position, with her head laid against your chest, her sweet, dulcet voice carries directly into your body, sending a shiver running up your spine. You wish there was some way you could capture this voice in an instrument to have at your whim – it’s really a pity that both she and her sister are comically tone-deaf. “I didn’t spare a moment before coming here.”

And she was already complaining of boredom. That’s Hourai for you. “You rushed through your duties, then,” you gently scold her. “Where’s Shanghai?” Hourai’s weapon of choice, a massive, oversized magecannon, has to be disassembled in order to be maintained, and its internal workings normally take several long hours to clean out and recharge besides. Her sister’s greatsword, while no less fine a weapon, is far simpler, being a single piece of beautifully wrought mithril and adamantine.

“I did not,” she huffs, turning her head upwards at you, her cheeks puffed out in a pout. “Sister said to go on ahead while she polished her armor, too.”

“Ah,” you say, failing to find any rebuttal to that statement. Both sisters’ platemail is buffed to a mirror finish, and not just for show – that level of attention acts as a minor focus for several of the protective charms forged and etched into its surface.

But you distinctly them cleaning their armor together yesterday after the rain, and they haven’t worn it since, so there’s absolutely no need for Shanghai to be polishing it again

Oh. So she’s letting her sister have a bit of time alone with you, then.

Oh.

Your dawning realization must be showing on your face, for when you next glance downwards her pout has transformed into a mischievous smile. “… you have me alone for an hour, then?” you say, a flush rising in your ears. It’s not the only thing that’s rising.

“Less, if she hurries,” she giggles, eyes twinkling with anticipation as a similar blush grows across her cheeks. “And she will be hurrying to join us, no matter what she insists aloud.” Her hands slide away from your back to grab two small handfuls of shirt over your chest. “She tries so hard to be nice, but when it comes to sharing you, she gets so full of jealousy she practically turns green.”

“Well, she has the eyes for it,” you joke. “And anyways, look who’s talking,” you cackle. “Have you seen your face when you have to leave Shanghai and me alone together? It’s terrifying! You might as well go underneath a bridge and snatch away passerby for supper.”

The sound of her merry laughter melts your heart, and she snuggles even deeper into your chest with a contented sigh. “Even when we were little, we were always fighting for your attention,” she sighs nostalgically. You recall their service as you worked underneath Alice, setting simple children’s ditties to complex accompaniments with orchestral harmonies. Teatime: Shanghai in blue struggling underneath the weight of a sugarbowl, Hourai in red barely balancing a cup of cream. Shanghai with butter, Hourai with jam. Ink and staff paper. Oil and grease. Needle and thread. Cloths and polish. “And yet you would never favor either one of us over the other, and so we would quarrel all the more.”

“You seemed to get along whenever I saw you,” you say, although you already know how this conversation will play out. There were plenty of times they worked together for mutual gain, beaming radiantly yet scowling darkly at each other whenever they thought you weren’t paying attention. Dragging a blanket over your shoulders, moving a book from your desk to its place on the shelf, bringing in meals that Alice had prepared for you the day before…

“We knew better than to argue in front of you,” she reminds you. “You would have shooed us away for distracting you.” And then there was the one time they had tried making a breakfast for you when she hadn’t had the time. Despite being able to fly, Shanghai had managed to become bogged down in the depths of the mixing bowl, and poor Hourai had joined her in an extremely poorly thought out rescue attempt. Only the fact that they could not drown had saved them from a battery grave, and they had smelled of cake for days afterwards. “That would have broken our simple little hearts. And even if you didn’t, the risk of you taking a side and a favorite was too much for either of us to risk. What if you decided you could only stand one helper?” she pretends to wonder aloud. Not that you need to answer; you can’t imagine living without either of them now.

“When you were little,” you echo, “the two of you could dance in the palm of my hand. You would dance in the palm of my hand,” you scoff, recalling those moments of madcap hilarity as the two spun in reels to the accompaniment of your own humming, their disappointment whenever you put them down to make edits to the growing score. “I thought there would always be enough of me to share between you two.”

“We’re bigger now, though,” she whispers. Not just content with having her arms around you, she lifts up one of her legs and wraps it behind your own, leaning more and more of her weight onto you until you’re forced to slide one hand underneath her thigh to keep the two of you upright. That action pulls your mind away from recollections of her diminutive doll body of the past, and reminds you of her far more womanly one of the present. If she didn’t know about the effect her presence had on your manhood before, she has to know now.

“That just means I have to give you both even more attention, then,” you say smoothly, keenly aware of the direction this conversation is going.

You can’t see her face, but you can picture her predatory smirk. “That takes more time,” she hurls right back.

“I was aware of the duties I was taking on when I married the two of you,” you remind her, trying to put up a gallant front even as rubs herself against you, exploring the contours of your body once more even though she’s charted them hundreds of times already.

“And yet you only have an hour alone with me,” she whines with a mocking edge of mourning to her voice. “Less, now that you’ve made me wax all nostalgic.”

Part of your intentions – you can’t last an entire hour underneath Hourai’s inhumanly lustful attentions. Yet simply thinking of those causes a wide, stupid grin to snake its way across your face as you give into temptation and condemn yourself to her care. “You had better make the best of your remaining time, then.”

With a final giggle, your wife finally turns her head up towards you, giving you a brief glimpse of doe eyes before her eyelids flutter shut as she rises up on tiptoe, demurely offering her lips up to your attention in a show of submission you know is nothing more than a trap. Yet you know that you have to play the part of the oblivious huntsman, and so you bend down and brush them with your own in a quick kiss.

Rather, it appeared to be a quick kiss, but she springs the trap by twisting your shirt in her hands, yanking you even closer as she opens her mouth, a quick tease of her tongue coaxing your own to do the same. Your tongues touch fleetingly, like two courting songbirds, but then she closes her lips around yours in a possessive gesture, sucking and nibbling until you see stars behind your own eyelids. Your mouth occupied, you accidentally suck in a breath through your nose for the second time after she entered. Her floral scent, now with an added undercurrent of musky arousal, turns your mind to a heated blank.

You keep breathing through your nose.

“You’re already so hard,” she gasps, also breathless with excitement. Somewhere in the middle of that kiss, she moved one of those grasping hands to your groin and began caressing the ridge through your trousers, testing the length and volume of your passion and finding it to her satisfaction. “Shall I relieve you?”

You open your mouth to answer, but she wasn’t waiting for one, already sinking to her knees with singleminded intent. Her small, nimble fingers flick open your belt before worming their way behind the waist of your smallclothes as she rubs her cheek against your imprisoned arousal like some sort of overly friendly feline. With one quick, purposeful pull, she exposes you to her appraising gaze, eyes widening with approval.

“Hourai, not so fast,” you groan, but she’s not listening. Or rather, she is listening, as she stares back up at you with defiant eyes and a naughty grin – she just doesn’t care. Grabbing the base of your shaft with one hand, she pulls the foreskin back just enough to fully expose the head of your cock to her view. You shudder in both reaction and anticipation when she blows across it, bathing you in hot air, and when she slips you between her lips and swirls her tongue around your tip, collecting the few precious beads of arousal oozing in reaction to her attentions, you moan aloud and grab at her head with your good hand for support.

Seeking relief, you start inching back, but she nimbly slides her stocking-covered knees along the floor with you until your back abruptly hits the wall. Your prosthetic splays against the wall in search of support even you grab a handful of her hair, seeking to rein her attentions in somehow.

It really doesn’t help.

Her fellatio is intense and all-consuming; the only thing that keeps it from being completely rapacious is the fact that you want it just as much as she does. For a few minutes she’s content to suckle and nibble at your glans, switching between the smoothness of her lips, the stroking of her tongue, and the occasional careful nibble of her teeth, all while her fingers dance around the your base. She amuses herself by experimenting, humming, moaning, gasping, and growling to test each one’s effect on you, her occasional upward glances gauging your reactions.

It’s not long, though, before she seizes the tails of your shirt, ramming your cock down into her throat without the slightest gag of complaint, massaging your entire length as she swallows in a steady rhythm. On your wedding night, she had protested that she would never be able to do such a feat. Now she’s had enough practice to do this without the slightest bit of distress, to the point where the only that thing that keeps her skill from frightening you is that it arouses you more.

She can’t possibly breathe with your member that deep in her throat, and yet she stays in that position pleasuring you for what seems to be an eternity, her face now bright red from both unbridled passion and lack of air. You let yourself be washed away in the waves of pleasure for a time, but at some point your worry overtakes your ecstasy, and you pull her off forcefully by firmly wrapping her hair around your fist until she comes free with an audible pop.

Despite her frantic panting, she still manages to pout at you for a second before taking you back into her mouth, lapping at the bottom with her tongue while her cheeks hollow with suction once more, forcefully drawing forth more of your beading arousal as she bobs her head up and down to vary the sensation, rubbing your tip with the entrance of her throat again and again as her lips stroke your shaft. Her nostrils flare as she sneaks breaths in through her nose, her lips too tightly pursed around you to breathe there – if she had the talent to be a wind player, she’d be able to play without ever breaking a phrase, one melody moving straight into another until the final cadenza. As it stands, she demonstrates a more erotic form of blowing, giving you the most intimate performance she can.

When she swallows you all the way back down a second time, she turns her eyes up towards you, those deep baby-blues silently willing you to cum. It’s an order you can’t refuse, your hips bucking erratically as your first load explodes from your member. She doesn’t even cough as your essence rains down her throat, simply holding her position and swallowing as she has been, swallowing and swallowing and swallowing until your orgasm abates without the slightest diminishment of your arousal, your cock still standing in preparation for more. She’s trained you well, but even so you’re only human; you can’t keep this pace up forever.
>> No. 30856
She’s the one who pulls herself off of you this time, but not out of any desire to end the situation – no, she’s simply seeking a change of pace. “Sit down,” your lover commands, her voice slightly hoarse from her earlier abuse of her throat. She stands and tugs you forward off the wall, then pulls you to the side towards the chair you had been practicing on not a few minutes before. A quick jerk of one of her two hands spins you around her, and when the backs of your knees connect with the seat’s edge you sit down hard.

Hourai releases you and backs off a step, her hands rising to her chest as if to pluck at the laces of her bodice. But you’ve had enough of her taking the lead, and so you snatch at her sleeve, yanking her back into your lap and thrusting your hips upwards in imitation of the act to come. Accepting the change of position, she immediately straddles you with a throaty giggle, fingers lacing behind your neck as presses her brow against yours. Thusly anchored, she starts to undulate her body on top of you to match your own movements. With some shock you realize that your member is grinding not against folds of cloth, but hot, flushed flesh, wet with a mixture of sweat and her own oozing essence.

“No drawers?” you gasp in disbelief. Not that your skepticism changes the situation – you flip up the hem of her skirt to grab your cock and use it to stroke the swollen, pouting, dripping lips of her sex, massaging her mound this way and that until you see her gaze mist over – for the thousandth time you thank Alice for the charms that keep your prosthetic at skin temperature, else this would be a far more uncomfortable activity. “Don’t tell me you just left them laying somewhere? Timbuktu, Orleans, they’re playing around the house – what’ll they think?”

“Don’t be silly,” she pants. “I made a quick stopover at my room first. And besides, I still have my shift,” she whispers mischievously against your lips. You can’t help but extend your own for a quick kiss against hers. “I’m not completely indecent.”

“But I like it when you’re indecent,” you complain, imitating her wheedling voice with surprising accuracy until she can’t help but laugh helplessly. As her body shakes with humor, the cloth of her left stocking slips against the wood of the chair, causing her knee to jerk suddenly out to one side and her body to tilt back – you catch her from falling by her buttocks, your hand splayed wide over her tailbone. It works out, though, lowering her body in a quick jerk against the underside of your straining erection, pressing it flat against your lap – you both take in a sharp breath at the sudden contact. As if of the same mind, she brings her knee back inwards to raise herself up again while you grab the cloth of her bodice between the gentle swells of her bosom with your free hand, lifting her back up to her original position.

But before you can begin teasing her anew, she tries to lower herself down onto your upraised member, all too impatient to start the main event. As premonitions of a humiliating premature climax, leaving her sulking and unsatisified, dance in your mind’s eye – you still haven’t really calmed down from her blowjob, even after cumming once already – you hastily yank on her bodice again, but towards you this time instead of upwards. That and a small shove upwards with your hand at her rear cause her nethers to merely slide over the upper side of your member as her weight flops back onto your upper body, her hands now clutching at your back for support. “Gand,” she whines, already raising her hips up again for a second attempt at penetration.

“Hourai, please,” you hiss, your own resolve starting to crumble at the pure, wanton need in her voice. You can’t really pull her closer when her body is already draped over yours, so this time you push back against her shoulder until her weight is on your lower hand again, her torso now tilted back at an angle with her arms fully extended.

With an annoyed huff, she glares impishly at you before roughly bringing one hand to the dress over her stomach, moving the other to hold onto your shoulder for support. You grunt as she sandwiches your member between her lap and her hand with firm pressing and rolling motions, the thin silk of her shift underneath the homespun dress bunching up and sliding over your tip.

“Can you wait just a minute?” you gasp, looking for a way to distract her. Now that she’s mostly supporting her own weight, you set one hand to work massaging her bosom, while the hand on her rear starts exploring the expanses of smooth skin. Again, you’re reminded that your lover is no delicate waif of a princess, only good to be kept in a tower; underneath the curve of her rear is toned muscle tougher and stronger than yours, or for that matter any womb-born human. But she’s hardly a stone – no, she’s soft higher up, at her ripe and yielding bosom. Even through the thick homespun, you think you can feel her nipple proudly thrusting against your kneading palm, eager to be bared to your attention.

And, of course, there’s the softness between her thighs…

“You were the one who reminded me my time was short,” she purrs, her eyes turning limpid and liquid once again as you start sliding the middle finger of your lower hand between her pouting labia, two bottomless pools of blue that threaten to drown you completely. With surprising grace she tucks her knees inwards towards each other, closing her thighs around your length underneath her skirt, stroking it up and down even as her fingers continue to dance over your tip through her clothes You can’t help but roll your head back and groan, moving your gaze to the ceiling. If you look into those eyes for any longer, you’ll lose all restraint, standing up and slamming her against the wall, bouncing her entire weight up and down the length of your shaft as you plough her roughly in half with huge thrusts of your hips –

“C-c-control yourself a little bit more!” you insist, but there’s no conviction in your voice. When she doesn’t respond, you roll your head back up to look at her face again. The moment you do, she narrows her eyes slyly and tweaks your sensitive frenulum almost painfully – and in the moment you close your eyes and flinch, she pounces, impaling herself onto your member with a triumphant, ecstatic cry.

In retrospect, attempting to delay the inevitable only inspired your rapscallion of a wife to hasten it. You try to focus on anything but the molten heat of her channel, the rhythmic squeezing of her folds around you, the – it’s an impossible task, you realize with resignation. As her legs scissor behind your back, you resolutely clap both your hands over the tops of her shoulders, keeping her from rising up and starting to ride you like a galloping cavalryman. You open your mouth to try and make some protest, but then she throws herself forward to seal off your lips with a kiss, her tongue conquering the recesses of your mouth until your pride forces your own to sally forth against her, repelling the invader to a more neutral battleground between you where they twist and turn around each other, her breathy moans creating dissonant chords with your own.

You hug one arm around her shoulders while sending the other to blindly quest around her neck, searching for the laces of her bodice. Realizing that you’re attempting to undress her, she breaks off the kiss with a last nibble at your lip and a sigh, her face bright red and expression drunk with passion; yours must look similar. As she leans more of her weight onto your arm, you move it slightly away so that she tilts back from you at an angle. Even that small movement shifts her dangerously around your member, causing you both to grunt wordlessly at the pleasure, but it’s better than if she were pounding herself onto you.

Scrunching her face up in concentration, both her hands fly to her chest, unlacing her dress with quick, practiced movements. With a pull around the neck to widen the freed shoulders and a fluid shrug, it falls down to gather at her waist, revealing a white silk shift. It would normally be a modest piece of clothing, barely any less revealing than a sundress, but with her belt gathering it tightly around her waist, it presses tightly against her breasts. Even in the diffuse magelight of the room, you can see the two dark circles of her areolae, her nipples forming sharp peaks at the summit of each gently sloped mound. You can’t resist cupping one of her breasts as she struggles to undo the laces between them, gently admiring its soft, yielding weight before giving it a firmer, appraising squeeze that steals her breath and numbs her fingers, making them slide uselessly over the tiny knot the same way the silk slides between your hand and her bosom.

“Gand, let me get this off,” she blurts out desperately, slapping your cheek gently with an open palm – no, she was trying to stroke it, but between the friction of your sex and your questing hand, all dexterity has fled her body. Chuckling, you lift your hand away, but only for as long as it takes her to loosen the laces. The moment you feel the silk slacken, you sneak your hand through the neckline to fondle her without the interfering smallclothes. She hisses and clamps down on your member in reflex, but retains enough of her wits to slide off the shoulder straps and shrug off the undergarment until it joins the dress around her belted waist, leaving her upper torso completely bare for your enjoyment. You move your hand to her other, unattended breast, caressing that with wide, sweeping gestures, using your elbow to knead deeply into the first.

“Gand!” she suddenly snaps, although the bite of her voice is mostly swallowed up by the way it trembles in pleasure. “What are you doing?”

You play dumb, wanting to hear her say her thoughts aloud. “Making love to you,” you sigh shakily.

“But – but m-m-m-my nipples,” she whimpers, squeezing her arms behind your neck until her head is close to yours again. This is always how it goes – you intentionally neglect them until she begs, and she hasn’t yet begged.

“Are dusky red, hard as pebbles, and just as beautiful as the rest of you,” you murmur while seeding a curved path of kisses along her jaw.

“They’re also begging for you to touch them,” she hisses, even as she butts her head gently against yours, enjoying the sensation of the rough stubble of your evening beard while you capture the lobe of her ear between your lips.

Not quite. “Perhaps, but I only listen to you,” you tease her, gently adding your teeth to the caress until her body stiffens and her back arches, lifting her slightly off your shaft.

A sound not entirely unlike a sob and yet almost like a laugh explodes from her chest, and she leans away to escape your bite until her arms are fully extended again. With her weight once again her full responsibility, you take advantage of the reprieve to slide your hands to her sides just underneath her breasts. She’s so small – you almost feel as though you could completely encircle her with your hands alone.

“Very true… you barbarian,” she spits, arranging her features into a hateful sneer. Her eyes twinkle with mirth, though, spoiling the effect. It’s a scene the two of you have indulged in more than once: the defenseless maiden trying to resist the advances of the ferocious chieftain. Of course, she always capitulates with wild, screaming enthusiasm in the end. Never mind that you’re more suited to be the maiden than she is in terms of strength; underneath the belt and bunched up clothes, her core capable of lifting fallen oaks, and the seemingly willowy arms holding her to you can launch a kedama out of sight with a one-inch punch.

Her hair is starting to come loose of its ribbon, matting slightly as it catches sweat on her brow and now naked back. A sheen of exertion covers her body, pooling ever so slightly in the dips of her graceful collarbone and shoulder blades and beading in the furrows around her breasts, creating reflections on her reminiscent of the porcelain she was born of. But her former body was never this erotic, incapable of the sex-flush blossoming across her face and breasts, of heaving erratically between frantic gasps and uncontrollable moans, of – wrapping around your member with an insistent grip, pulling you out of your wandering thoughts and back to the lustful lady on your lap. “But you’ll not break me. I have my pri-dah!” The second half of her last word comes out as a cry as you thrust your hips up, raking her inner walls with an unexpected attack.

“Tell me your secrets, wench,” you growl as set a deliberate tempo for your lovemaking, only half of your rough tone an act as the sensations of her clutching womanhood take their toll. Sweat rains off your nose and chin to soak into her skirt – its heavy cover is overheating both of you, and yet neither of you are pausing to eliminate it.

“Like I’d tell anything to a brute like you!” she moans.

“It’s your only hope at coming – hnk!” You meant to follow that with ‘out of this in one piece’, but just then she grins and thrusts down off-beat to the hilt, kissing your tip with the entrance to her womb, unable to resist the pun.

“I suppose it is,” she sighs, playfully mournful as she lifts herself up until her nethers encircle the middle of your shaft, a neutral position to allow you to reestablish the tempo of before. “Very well. I do this out of duty,” she says in a small voice, closing her eyes in surrender. Marital duty, perhaps. She squeaks slightly as you resume your movements, and she falls back into pace, rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

“You’re doing the right thing,” you pant, both in praise of her coordination and to prompt her to start spilling.

“Mmmhmm,” she nods. She opens her eyes, her expression vulnerable as she stares down. “When you my nipples are pinched? I go crazy. But they have to pinched hard.”

As if commanded, your hands rise back over her breasts, fingers already reaching. You know what this will do – tweak the sensitive nubs so that they swell even more, becoming so sensitive that merely brushing them will drive her to convulsive pleasure. Resolutely, you press down around each tiny bud with thumb and forefinger, drawing a throaty cry from her lips. “H-h-harder!” she stammers as she again interrupts the rhythm, slamming herself hilt-deep once again.

She could tell you were holding slightly back besides. Bracing yourself with a reminder that she’s built tougher than you, you increase the pressure until the beds of your nails turn white and her eyelids flicker, her gaze rolling upward as she comes close to fainting with pleasure. Her sex flutters in tiny contractions, trying to coax you closer to the brink, but you can tell she hasn’t cum quite yet and so you remain firm. “N-n-nails,” she sobs.

This is particularly adventurous, even for her. But your curiosity must be indulged, and so you turn your fingers inward until the sharp edges of your perpetually trimmed nails graze the throbbing buds. Even that small contact is enough to have her flinch away, her entire body tensing dangerously, but then she bows forward, her hair falling in a curtain between your face and hers. “You sure?” you ask concernedly, dropping your tribal-conqueror tone for the moment.

She doesn’t answer for a few seconds, hiding behind her fair locks as she gathers her courage, but right when you start to slide your hands up her body to tilt her head up, she nods. “I trust you,” she says, her voice dreamy.

You’re not entirely sure what her trust has to do with the situation – you’re putting far more trust in her not to cut and bleed underneath your abuse – but you nod back, knowing she’ll feel the movement even if she can’t see it. With a bracing inhalation, you gingerly grab her nipples again. Already you can tell that they’re swollen, and even that small touch has her bucking against you in spasms of pleasure.

The moment your nails bite into her, she loses it. Disregarding all attempts at cooperating with your movements, she frantically crashes her hips against your own even as she throws her head and body back, letting out a shout so loud and uncontrolled that the charms in the room audibly adjust. Her chest jerks free of your grip, but her unrestrained breasts now present a tempting target for your hungering mouth, and you bend down to seize one of those hypersensitive nipples between your lips.

You mean to move to the other, but it doesn’t even take that much to push her over the edge. As your tongue flickers out and washes around the straining nub, she stiffens like a spring. With three final huge, pounding thrusts, each one accented with a hoarse, lung-emptying cry, she brings herself to orgasm on top of you, her cream flowing freely out over your steadfast member until it drips to the floor. You grit your teeth and just barely keep from exploding inside of her yourself, knowing that if you release now you’ll never be able to satisfy her.

This is only the beginning of your trial.
>> No. 30857
For just a few seconds after she cums, she’ll be naught but a boneless pile of limbs and curves to do what you please with. Racing against this clock, you grab her around her waist, pulling her up and off of you with stony resolve. Tears fill your eyes as your body protests, not wanting to separate from her, but you set your mind against that mating instinct as you rise, gently carrying her up until her legs slide out from behind your back and her feet bonelessly touch the ground, forcing you to lean her onto your body for support.

A hop, skip, and two-footed kick frees you of your now-soiled pants, the forward motion stabbing your erect length into the bunched up bodice of her dress at her waist. She’s recovering fast, and makes a greedy grab for it as you struggle with the wide cloth belt still holding her skirt in place. You dodge it with a quarter-turn to one side, and her lunge shakes the loosened belt off of her hips, sending her dress and shifttumbling to floor, leaving her nude but for her stockings.

“Put it back in me!” she gasps. One of her feet snakes between yours, but it’s too purposeful to be a gesture of intimacy, but an attack. A twist of your body and a quick step mean that her internal ankle sweep hits nothing but air.

Stymied, she switches tactics. Pushing away from you and turning towards the wall, she turns her head and gives you a smoldering look as one of her arms flicks out to the side, catching your eye. Her spine arches as she slowly bends her upper body down towards the ground, folding her arm back in to stroke her own sweat-streaked flank, all the muscles of her shoulders, back, buttocks, and thighs rippling like running water in a captivating performance, the black stockings around her legs contrasting beautifully with her fair skin and flaxen hair. Her other hand comes out forward to brace herself against the wall as her stocking covered feet slide readily away from each other, spreading her legs and presenting her dripping, trembling nethers to your gaze, her mound dusky and swollen. You can see into her – even after her climax her sex is still in full bloom, her parted and pouting labia begging just as convincingly as her voice for you to reenter you. “Oh, Gand, there’s not a night where I don’t go dewy with need thinking of your hard, thick cock, my thighs sawing against each other, my hips moving on their own – “

You blink and shake your head, her poor choice of words dispelling the blind haze of lust thickening around your mind her words were starting to create. “Now you’re just quoting cheesy porn mags,” you chuckle, even as you unbutton your shirt and discard it. “Where did you read those?”

She looks a little sheepish as she straightens, turning back towards you as she starts babbling excuses. “Uh, there was one laying on the table, so of course I snatched it up before Timbuktu and Orleans could find it, and then I decided it wouldn’t hurt if I just took a peek – “

You grin as you compare stories in your head. “That’s the same tale Shanghai spun when I asked her,” you say slyly, having caught their mutual lie. As Hourai looks away in embarrassment, you take advantage of the opening and scoop her up in a bridal carry, causing her to whoop and giggle as she throws her arms around your neck for support. Even a gangly musician like you can do that much, although she is heavier than she appears to be – it’s all the muscle in her frame.

You don’t need to carry her far, fortunately – just as far as the dress she left behind, laying her gently on the floor on top of it before sitting down beside her. Without a moment’s hesitation, she pulls her feet towards and to either side of her body, exposing her to your gaze as she slides her hands down her body and shamelessly starts to masturbate, her two middle fingers unhurriedly pumping into her channel to the knuckles of her hand. You swallow and drag your eyes back up to her face, greeted by her small, knowing smile. “Well, then, why don’t you tell me what really happened?” she asks, altogether too smug for a caught liar.

“Kourin ‘accidentally’ slipped it into my order of sheet music from the Outside,” you explain, lowering your gaze. “The same order I had you and Shanghai pick up for me.”

“And how do you know that?” she says defensively.

“He told me,” you snicker. “He said that it was an experiment. That it didn’t make it here with you two told me something.” Dropping to your knees beside her, you ask her in a conspiring whisper, “So just much did you learn from it?”

Her fingers pause, and then she lifts a hand away to the ceiling, admiring how her nectar slicks the middle two digits, strings stretching and breaking between them. “Just those cheesy lines,” she says, her voice sultry as she rolls onto her stomach towards you, cleaning her fingers with a quick suck that has your member twitch in remembrance of the service she gave you earlier. “But if you come here, I’ll show you just what you’ve taught me.”

Absolutely insatiable.

Again, she lures you in with an offer of her lips, her eyes modestly half-lidded as she leans towards you, head upturned. Again, you can’t help but fall into her trap, sliding a hand over her shoulder as you lean in as well, and again, she turns the kiss from a chaste peck to a searing, spit-swapping, breath-stealing exchange.

This time, though, you’re both already naked, and you’re not about to let her toy with you with no window for retaliation a second time. A quick, firm shove on her shoulder separates you two, sending her back down to the floor. She stares at you in confusion for a moment, but understanding blooms across her face in a smile as you swing one leg over her thighs to mount her. Turning her head back into a neutral position, she shifts her knees and angles her hips just high enough to allow you access, shoulders quaking with anticipation as you settle your body over hers, splaying your arms and legs wide in order to gain what purchase you can on the hardwood floor.

Right before you ram yourself down into her waiting heat, she sweeps her head down to snatch up the hem of her discarded dress between her teeth, then takes a double handful of the material into her hands. You can almost hear her molars grind as she cums a second time – her own fingering must have taken her closer to the edge than you thought, sparing you the effort. It’s difficult to keep on moving as she contracts and spasms, but you try and keep riding her through her orgasm, hoping to extend it straight into a second one.

Three. She can only last three, and then even her ridiculous endurance will be played out, at least for long enough for you to recover as well. But she isn’t so wound up that your hurried pace will send her straight back to the top without a recovery period, and soon ‘only’ squeezing until her hands are white-knuckled each time you kiss against her cervix, and as she starts to calm down and regain control of herself, the hem of her skirt falls back onto the floor as she pants with animal need.

She’s fully recovered now, rocking her hips back up towards you with every thrust you make, her voice warbling with more comically cliché dirty talk. You listen to that for a bit, biting your tongue to stifle your chuckles as she attempts to narrate how your cock is moving inside of her, but soon enough that starts you hurt your brain. Instead, you rock back fully onto your knees, dragging her up from her prone position into a crawling one. Grabbing her waist firmly in both hands, you drive that ridiculous prose straight out of her with huge, plowing movements, your tumescent member carving its shape into her womanhood and turning any semblance of proper speech she had into wordless screams.

… it’s no good. You were able to resist her tight embrace the first time, but you won’t last now. You know this feeling, this tightening in your balls, this trembling of your limbs, this pounding in your ears, that tells you that your own peak is rushing in with all the inevitability of an opening floodgate. Your posture crumples, your body falling over until you catch yourself in a position similar to hers. She’s so small that your arms actually fall in front of her shoulders; when you bend your head, you can kiss the top of her head, the jasmine scent of her hair ripping out your last bit of willpower – interestingly, it seems to have been joined by a hint of sandalwood. The familiar, comfortable scent has you curl your body and nibble the nape of her neck with a growl, causing her channel clamps around you in reflex –

Any reluctance you still felt about disappears in a huge rush of orgasmic bliss, your member spurting inside of her as colored explosions burst across your vision. Underneath you, Hourai gasps and tenses underneath you as your hot essence pours into her, her sex milking you for every drop she can, but she’s still not quite there. With a grunt, you crawl back just enough to pull out of her, the feel of her tight entrance sliding over your sensitive head wringing a last, feeble spurt out of your cum onto her cream-splattered thighs.

“It… it’s okay, Gand,” she says in a small voice, as you fall back into a sitting position. Damn it… damn it! The warm post-coital bless enveloping your senses is a lie – this isn’t over yet, just because one part of you is exhausted doesn’t mean you can’t use the rest, but you’re so… tired… shaking hands unable to reach for her unsatisfied nethers, knees still watery and refusing to extend to push you back behind her where you apply your oral talents. Her fair hair around her face acts as a curtain blocking your gaze, but you’re sure that she has a blank look as she tries keep her disappointment from showing. “I – I can, wait a, minute, take your, time – “

“Gand, what are you waiting for?” a light, spritely voice says from your side. You give a decidedly unmanly squeak of surprise as a finger jabs you in the ribs. “Here, come on, it’s impolite to leave a lady hanging – “

Your heart leaps at the encouragement – it always has, since the first time you heard it near death in the Forest of Magic. Without a second thought, you snatch up the offered object with renewed vigor, your muscles moving on their – er, suddenly strong and cooperative as you kneel beside Hourai’s quaking body.

When you thrust it inside of her, she practically leaps off the floor with a squeal of pleasure.

You left her close to her own peak when your body finally gave out, so taking her back doesn’t take long at all. Your grip remains firm despite the creeping numbness the vibration is driving into your hand and wrist – you’ve plucked instruments for hours, so a few minutes of fast-paced thrusting is nothing to you. You curl the fingers of your prosthetic and press up on the small thatch of golden curls above her mound, just behind where the hood of her clit is receiving a rhythmic pounding just like her passage beneath it. The movement not only pushes the top wall of her channel, the most sensitive region within her, to the front of your attentions, but it also peels the shielding folds of skin away from the pearl of her womanhood, exposing it directly to the pounding of your hand’s movements.

A dozen hilt-deep thrusts is all it takes to turn her into a keening banshee, her knees buckling with orgasmic pleasure as her sex explodes all over your hand, her thighs, and the dress she’s laying on. Her rear jerks spastically into the air as she thrusts up at random, seeking even deeper contact, forcing you to awkwardly twist your wrist to continue your rhythm. After a dozen more, she’s a happily sobbing, whimpering, dripping, twitching pile of limbs, as content as a cat in cream – and she’s certainly soaked with enough of the last. The joints of prosthetic’s fingers catch and pull at the patch of hair at her groin when you try and pull your hand away, forcing you to bend them back and forth until you can move without yanking anything else but the object out from body with a small grunt. You carelessly drop it down onto her dress to shake the soreness out of your wrist, and sit back, releasing a satisfied sigh. A job well done.

You’re still not sure if the embarrassingly large studded, flanged, ribbed, flared, lewd phallus was a gift from your friends in the village, your parents, your parents-in-law, or even your wives themselves. All you know that is that a mere month into your married life, you were barely able to get out of bed much less lift a harp or even a pen after a long night of indulgence. But you were hardly about to suggest that they restrain yourselves – the mere implication of being separated from you is enough to make them give you the most heart-wrenching looks of neglect. So much as a single day of abstinence for duty-travel related reasons leaves them with bags under their eyes, trembling with what most would take as nervous energy. After things finally spilled over and you fainted in the middle of a rehearsal, the dildo showed up in a discrete wooden case in the pen drawer of your desk the next morning in a pointed suggestion. A second one snuck its way underneath your pillow in a very pointed suggestion.

That night you all went to sleep satisfied, for one reason or the other.

Ever since then, you’ve incorporated it into your lovemaking in order to extend the capabilities of your body in order to meet the demands of two extremely sexually active women. Not to replace you, though, you’re not a eunuch after all. One stays in your bedroom for after you all go to bed, and the other floats around the house in various inconspicuous locations for when your collective lusts boil over – like just now, for instance.

The thing is, you were sure that you had left it in the armory after, er, paying an impromptu visit last afternoon, so that you have it now means –
>> No. 30858
You sigh and look to your side once more, now that the herculean feat of satisfying Hourai is over. Your other wife stands before you, wearing only the turtleshell comb that keeps her hair in a bun and a gentle, understanding smile. She’s about as tall as Hourai, if just barely stockier, though she still has the same basic willowy body shape. Her eyes, however, are a huge departure from Hourai’s, smouldering green with an all-consuming hunger that causes your breath to catch in your chest, her sandalwood scent now mixing with Hourai’s jasmine one to form that comfortable combined aroma you know and love. You watch her walk over to her sister where she lays on the floor, bending over so that she can carefully undo her sister’s sweat-soaked ribbon until it pulls free, gracefully straightening upright so that she can let down her own hair in breath-stealing, shimmering waves that reach down to her lower back, leaving the curves of her rear to be traced with your gaze.

“… thanks,” you say late, giving a small, tired wave towards Hourai in appreciation of her timely delivery.

“Any time,” Shanghai says with a laugh that warms your heart. “How impatient were you, sister?” she says with a mockingly scolding tone. “If you’re going to make love, at least undress properly first.”

“You’re one to speak,” Hourai mumbles, even as she shifts slightly in the folds of her thoroughly soiled dress, seeking a more comfortable position with only the thin padding to shield her from the hardwood floor. You’re glad that they do their own laundry. The location, number, and size of all the stains would raise all too many strange questions. “You’re far too early. That wasn’t an hour.”

“It wasn’t,” the younger sister agrees without hesitation, “but you left the speaker on.” As your start to turn red, realizing that the sounds of your lovemaking could be heard in the hallway, she points a finger to the hemispherical stone speaker on the door. “Since the two of you were clearly too busy to turn it off, I had to come in and disable it.”

“I didn’t notice,” you admit with a sheepish smile. “You’re getting better at sneaking around.”

“Thanks,” she says with a wink, “but the moment I came in you turned, and if nothing else you’d see the door opening and closing by itself.”

“You watched,” Hourai giggles, apparently finding the situation funny enough to sit up and look at the two of you with bright eyes, unmindful of how your seed is trickling from between her legs into a pool, the cloth underneath her so saturated that it can’t absorb it. They might do their own laundry, but getting Hourai out of this room will mean having to avoid running into any of the other dolls in the house if you don’t want them to needlessly encourage their elder siblings any more than they already do each other.

“And I’m not holding myself back for another twenty minutes,” Shanghai declares without a hint of shame, tossing her head back to clear her face of a few stray hairs. The movement also thrusts her chest forward – it’s still relatively modest, but you know quite well that her round bosom is more ample than her older sister’s.

“Well,” Hourai drawls out casually, running a finger along her thigh and raising a thick glob of your mixed liquids to her gaze, “I can live with that, I think, on one condition.”

“Of course,” Shanghai beams. The ease with which she agreed sends a shiver down your spine. You know exactly what that condition is going to be. Only one would make sense.

Hourai starts to scooting herself and her rug of a dress back towards the wall, getting ready to take her turn watching. “You let me join in when I’m ready.”

You knew it was coming, but the thought of that makes your heart flutter with a mixture of terror and excitement. “That is a very reasonable request,” Shanghai says happily. “I accept.”

Impossible. It’s absolutely impossible, even after admiring her naked body you still haven’t recovered down there, and when you readjust your weight your knees scream in protest, you probably bruised them after leaning on them so long, and –

“Gand?” your younger wife suddenly asks, turning her green eyes towards you, those emerald-tinged irises sucking every thought of complaint out of you.

“Yes?” you answer, unable to form a protest.

She walks deliberately to the chair you were practicing on earlier, her hips sashaying seductively in exaggerated movements as she grabs the back and unhurriedly drags it in front of and facing you where you sit on the floor. When she sits down into it, she does it with a wide sweep of her leg over the seat from the side instead of backing into it, leaving her spread and exposed for your gaze. Several long trails of her juices run down her thighs as low as the knee, and her nethers underneath the dainty, carefully trimmed strip of hair are already flushed dark red with need. Watching the two of you go at it without her must have been a very stimulating spectacle. That she abstained from revealing herself and leaping in as she normally does seems to have left her helplessly wound up.

“Gand!” Hourai calls from the side. When you turn your head, the low whistle of a thrown object prompts you to reflexively thrust a hand out. You barely catch the phallus business end first, and its slick length almost slips out of your hand anyways. “Apply yourself! I want to be entertained~” she warbles as you flip the toy around in your grasp.

With a sigh of resignation, you turn back to Shanghai. Her eyes are still on you, but now they’re half-lidded, one of her hands already kneading her breast in a show of impatience while she gives you a one-fingered beckon with the other. As you take in a bracing breath and stand up, knees protesting, her beckoning hand sinks back to her side – no, her groin, her index and ring fingers spread her nethers apart while the middle one begins to slide up and down over her clit.

Despite your exhaustion, your manhood stirs awake at the sight, stretching parallel to the floor to point towards her. The sight makes both your wives smile with anticipation, one’s gaze bright and curious, the other’s smoky and hungry.

Doomed to your fate, you lower the phallus in your grasp with determination and advance. What else can a man do?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, I know it's not done yet. I'll try to have the second part up in a week or so.

And then the third and final part before I return to the States.
>> No. 30863
>> No. 30869
>>30863
This is GLORIOUS.
>> No. 31002
>>30869
Yes it is. Shanghai and Hourai don't get enough love.
>> No. 32964
In the big picture, not that much. But in the realm of bedtop sports? It turns out there’s quite a bit.

You’re not sure if you prefer Shanghai with her eyes open or shut. If they’re open, it means she’s lucid, and that means she’s capable of plotting some way to ambush, subdue, then have her way with you. If they’re closed, it means that you currently have the upper hand, overwhelming her sensibilities with either something tooth-achingly sweet and thoughtful, or something searingly erotic. You’ve done both in bed before, but in this current situation it’s firmly the latter.

“Aah! …oh, oh, oh! Oh! Aaaaaaah!” Her hips have long since abandoned simply sitting in the chair like those of a civilized woman. Instead, she’s holding onto its backrest as a brace for the pre-orgasmic spasms of her spine which has her lower body bucking in a frenzy against your ministrations; you can hear the wood creaking underneath her inhumanly strong grasp. Her long, sculpted legs are spread wide with her feet firmly supporting the rest of her weight. You’re kneeling between them, the better to get underneath her so you can thrust the phallus upwards into her sopping folds as hard and rough as possible. Her other hand flails about, unable to decide if it should be kneading her breasts, plucking at her nipples, diddling her clit, or joining its mate on the backrest.

Her exertions have covered her in a shiny layer of sweat and matted her golden bangs to her forehead, dripping off of her body to rain upon the floor. It’s not the only liquid there; unlike her elder Hourai who has a “rule of three”, Shanghai’s rule is simply “until I feel like I’ve had enough”, where “enough” is a number that usually reaches two digits, and on some particularly noteworthy occasions three. As of yet it hasn’t reached two digits, but numbers one and two have already left their sweet smelling offerings on your hands and wrists.

A part of your mind can’t help but think that the forces she’s subjecting herself to would hurt outrageously; her toes point at the peak of each thrust yet her heels don’t touch the floor at the base, even though at that point she’s sinking the entire weight of her lower body onto the toy. While it’s long enough to bottom out against her cervix – actually, it can do that more easily than your own equipment, given its, er, overly generous dimensions –what’s stopping it short of that is the protruding branch that, the way you’re currently holding it, crushes against her clit. Yes, this means that each time she rolls her hips, the weight of her lower body smashes against her most sensitive region, an impact she luxuriates in with grinding twist so strong you have to hold the phallus with both hands lest she rip it from your grasp. What’s neat about it is that if you hold it at a slightly different angle, you can actually hit both her cervix and her clit in the same thrust, either simultaneously or with a repeating one-two combo, but that would be rushing things. You’re saving that trick for number four when it comes close –

… which is now next in line as she gasps wordlessly and reaches her peak for the third time, her rapid tempo transitioning into an erratic, crescendoing cadenza of circular movements, furiously scraping the crest of her womanhood all along the ridges of the extension. A moment later, even as her grinding continues, a fresh wave of her scent fills your nostrils as her nectar trickles out and over the toy’s length. These smaller movements of hers are less strenuous for you to provide resistance against, so you take the opportunity to switch your grip to a one-handed one, shaking out the pins and needles in each hand and wrist in turn while the other matches her grinding movements to plateau her peak for as long as possible.

It isn’t long, though, before she’s lengthened her thrusts so that her labia are dragging pleasurably along the ribbed length of the main shaft once again. “More… oh, more, harder, Gand, harder!” she moans. You glance up nervously at her face, but although her breathing has slowed, making her breasts sway hypnotically as they interrupt your gaze. Her eyes still haven’t opened from since her first peak, so you’re still good there. She shouldn’t suddenly decide to seize the initiative and wring you dry just yet.

Still, though, your hands are about to fall off after this long; a solo guitar concert has nothing on the strain Shanghai puts you through. If you thought for a moment you could outlast her, you’d be tempted to stand, lay her on the blanket, and take her then and there without any of this leadup, but since you already know exactly what happens when you try that, you stall for time. You can’t help but glance to the side where Hourai is lounging against the wall, still exhausted from your own time with her but rested enough to intently watch you service her sister with dreamy eyes. “You should listen to her,” she advises, a dazed smile permanently perking up the corners of her lips as she basks in the afterglow of your loving. You wish you could laze about like that – you can’t feel your fingers. Your knees too, now that you think about it.

With a pained sigh, you shift the toy’s position within her and begin striking both spots simultaneously, a new rhythm that has her breaths coming faster once again. A shuffling noise prompts you to drag your gaze away from admiring Shanghai’s glistening curves; Hourai has stood up, completely unabashed by her nudity nor the aftermath of your previous lovemaking as it slowly trickles down in rivers down her thighs down as low as her knees. With some relief, you realize that she’s getting the blanket from the shelf. You give her a look of relieved thanks as she walks back towards you, and she reacts by flushing and looking away, folding her arms upwards to drag it over herself in a surprisingly demure move.

Gods, she’s cute. Even if you can’t ogle her bosom freely now, you find her just as appealing like this compared to the way Shanghai looks right now as you fuck her silly, even if it is with a toy.

“You sure you don’t want to take a turn for me here instead?” you joke as you carefully lift one knee up at a time, your older wife kneeling beside you to slide the blanket underneath for your personal comfort.

She laughs, waving away the request. “Please, Gand,” she scoffs. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“If you try… try… and give that to s-sister I’ll throw you into the lake myseeeeellllf!” Shanghai moans. She bending her body out of its upwards arch and turns her downwards as if to give you a glare, but with her eyes still screwed tightly shut, you simply send her back into her previous position with a particularly hard thrust.

“Fine, fine,” you laugh. One-two, one-two, one-two… both, both, both… one-two, one-two, one –

“Turn that thing around, Gand, and lean closer to me,” she suddenly gasps, her bottom suddenly settling down properly on the chair’s seat and her arms coming down from the chair’s backrest to instead grip it by her thighs. You drag your gaze up from her nethers, and end up staring into a bottomless pair of emerald wells –

Ah, crap, her eyes are open now.

It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap, but you do it anyways because at this point refusing her would only make her pout and whine until you obey, and you will obey, because you both know that you’ll do anything to make her stop. She grunts slightly as you mostly withdraw the phallus and turn it so that the protrusion that was once hammering her clit is now teasing against the star of her rear – this is the third thing you can do with the attachment, and probably the lewdest.

You start the movements once again, only pressing firmly against her ass with the attachment for now. If you really wanted to, you could push it properly into her, as enough of her own juices have run down there to make it slick and slippery, but you’re holding that back for now. Her much-abused clit, flushed and swollen, pokes gtemptingly out from its hood now that it’s no longer being touched at all. But the moment you lean forward, you know exactly what she’ll do, so you hold back for now, simply concentrating on increasing the pressure with which you attack her anus on each thrust in attempt to distract her and stall for time.

Eventually, though, she loses her patience with you. “Now, Gand.” You still think you can wait a few more seconds before she moves to force you though, but –

“Here, let me help you, sister!” Hourai chirps behind you. Behind you? When did she –

Hands that aren’t one of the two currently gripping chair in front of you give your head an insistent shove forward, putting it into range of the ones you can see. Faster than you can follow, those other two hands leave your sight as they shoot forward, twisting handfuls of your hair into grips, then shooting back until your nose is grinding into Shanghai’s trimmed strip of curls above her nethers.

Oh, dear, they’re already working together.

In revenge, you firmly press the extension of the toy against your younger wife’s rear, wringing a sharp gasp out of her lips as its nectar-slick, finger-thick length finally pops into her – her instinctive reaction is to clench and force it back out again. But she escalated it first, and you insist, thrusting it into her again and again until she finally relaxes, letting it thrust as smoothly as the main shaft into her snatch. It’s in this position, with four hands on your head to hold you in place, that you finally bring Shanghai to number five by sticking your tongue out to franticly battering of her clit, her sweet juices sprinking against your lips and into your waiting mouth as she screams with delight, orgasming for what seems like a small eternity as you try not to suffocate in her embrace.

But all good things must come to an end, and so too does her climax. “… oh… Gand…” she sighs, still not letting you go. You make a pained sound somewhere in the back of your throat in response; you can’t really say proper words in your current position.

“A short break, perhaps?” Hourai giggles, releasing your head. As she does, she makes sure to have her hands brush against her sisters, reminding her to let you go. You finally rock back onto your bottom, gasping for breath, carefully wiping your face clean on an edge of the blanket you’re sitting on.

From an outsider’s perspective, her enthusiastic response to the artificial phallus might seem demeaning, emasculating. But you know – from long experience, no less – that for the younger of your wives this is merely foreplay, and when she’s ready she’ll demand your cock, accepting no substitute no matter how skillfully you think you can use your other parts.

But with Hourai here, you aren’t even dreading when Shanghai will finally start begging for you to give her your seed inside of her. No, you’re panicking over just how long it’ll be until the elder sister joins in and makes this into a proper orgy.
>> No. 33006
“Gods, I still don’t know how you can find that enjoyable,” Hourai laughs as she drapes herself onto you from behind, her jasmine perfume mixed with the musky smells of sweat and sex you’ve now visited upon both sisters.

“Shut up, sister.” Shanghai, still breathing hard, manages to gasp out a laugh, slithering off of her higher seat in the chair and turning around to lean her back onto your left side, replacing the hard wooden backrest with a more comfortable, manly one. You cough slightly as her hand bumps up against your shaft; she laughs, but spares you for now, allowing you to wrap an arm around her shoulders to hold her closer. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Need I remind you that the last time I tried that I was walking funny for days?” Hourai whines indignantly. It’s true – she and her sister were standing up even at dinner for four days in a row, your parents-in-law giving each other knowing smiles that made you all want to slither into a dark corner and never face them again.

“The first and last time, and so was I, need I remind you,” Shanghai chides her.

“What am I, a piece of meat?” you complain, but that line only has all three of you grinning.

“Our favorite piece of meat,” Shanghai reminds you, turning her head to steal a quick yet intoxicating kiss from your lips.

“Our only piece of meat,” Hourai drawls dangerously. Her hand snakes around your right, the side her sister isn’t using for support, to cup your sack and gently roll the treasures within. Again, your breath catches, but this time she doesn’t stop by herself. You have to gently grab her wrist and peel her groping hand away to get her to stop. She’s starting to get needy again already…

“Never look at other women, okay?” Shanghai pouts at you, and this time you’re the one who kisses her in order to avoid having to face that doe-eyed look.

“What, should I stop eating meals with you?” you joke, referring to your family dinners with their mother present.

“Y-y-y know what we mean!” Hourai stutters indignantly, giving you a lovebite on your shoulder that stops just shy of actual pain for your impudence. “And don’t follow strange women either!”

“Not after that time,” you assure them with a chuckle. It’s true. One time a succubus from the Scarlet Devil Mansion asked you to help her get something off of a high shelf. Although you were immediately suspicious, you went through with it anyways, leading to a comedic series of events which ultimately ended up teleporting the two of you into the kinkiest boudoir you’ve ever seen. Despite stripping you naked and generally squirming all over you, she couldn’t so much as get your parts to twitch, much less tempt you into infidelity.

After being returned to your apoplectic wives as “a faulty product”, a tongue-in-cheek insult from the succubus which had you physically having to hold them back, you later found out that said succubus had simply been doing her job as the assistant of the mansion’s resident magician. Apparently the entire debacle was “simply a scientific experiment about the effects of two-way imprinting and aromatherapy on the human body”, according to the letter you later received alongside an envelope full of money for “compensation for services rendered”.

Your two wives then proceeded to blow it all on racy lingerie.

“But really, sister,” Shanghai whines, her pleading expression staring over your shoulder towards her sibling on your back. “I’m telling you, you really, really need to give it another chance, it’s such a refreshing change of pace from the usual!”

The older sister flushes again – you can feel it where her bosom is gently pressed against your back. “M-m-maybe later,” she says, deferring the suggestion for the moment. “I still think the ‘usual’ is all I need.” As if to emphasize her point, her hand slips around once again, but this time grabbing for your shaft; it’s still slick from its time inside of her. You decide to tolerate her affections now, though, actually thrusting slightly forward into her palm to let her know you’re okay with it. She responds by starting a slow rhythm up and down with her fist, refraining from running over the head just yet.

“I’d be fine with it, just so long as you don’t tear my manhood off,” you grumble darkly, provoking sympathetic laughs from both of them and a gentle squeeze from Hourai that makes you grunt slightly in reaction. Between their involuntary clamping-down and reflexive jerks of pain, you consider it a small miracle from your father-in-law’s god that all your parts stayed attached during that first night of experimenting.

Shanghai, doesn’t notice that her sibling is surreptitiously stealing you away from her right underneath her nose. Seemingly on a crusade, she insists on pushing her previous point, turning within your embrace so that she can confront her sister more easily. “Really, once you get used to that, it stops hurting at all! If you’d just kept up with me, you’d start to enjoy it, and it’s easy enough with just a little muscle training – “

“I’d like to keep ‘muscle training’ in the sparring ring where it belongs, and out of my bedroom, thank you very much,” Hourai interrupts, more firmly this time. Just like her words, her confidence with your cock increases, her hand now flying easily up and down your shaft’s length.

“Haven’t you ever talked to Mother about it?”

That line comes completely from nowhere, and both you and her elder sister flinch instinctively back, her hand’s service screeching to a halt at this revelation. “S-Shanghai!” Hourai stammers, looking as horrified as you feel. “You didn’t!”

“What, did you think I came up with that myself?” she giggles.

Hourai blushes even hotter than she did before. “I thought you… well… read about it in a book or something…”

“I asked her one day how I could, well, spice things up, and she suggested that – “

“Are you sure she wasn’t just trying to say something outrageous to chase you away?” you groan. Oh, gods, you’ll never be able to look at your mother-in-law the same way again, that prim, proper, perfect lady talking about all kinds of lewd acts without a hint of embarrassment –

“Absolutely not!” Shanghai insists. “She’s really quite concerned with us, you know. The amount we go at it, she’s afraid we’re going to wear out the romance, and then comes the wandering-eyes phase, so we should experiment now while it’s still fresh! I mean, that was only one of the things she suggested, she also suggested her personal favorite, using ropes and knots and –

“… could you please just say the word ‘anal’ already?!” you say in a pained voice, cutting off a flow of information that you most certainly do not need to hear about. “Stop dancing around it like it’s some kind of taboo word, because I think we all know you enjoy it at this point!”

“Fine.” She clears her throat. “Mother suggested that we try anal to keep things fresh,” she declares proudly.

Both you and Hourai are flushing now. “… you didn’t need to say that out loud,” Hourai mumbles, more to herself than either of you. You nudge back against her in sympathy, but that movement also shifts your shaft within her grip. Either misunderstanding your intentions or reminded by the action, she starts stroking you once more.

“… and that’s why I’m trying to get you to try it, sister dear.” She says that with an air of finality, and turns back to snuggle against your side. Almost immediately, she freezes. “Hourai…” she drawls, her voice dangerous.

Ah. You’ve been caught then. Honestly, with the slight squishing noise Hourai’s service has been producing, you’re shocked her sister didn’t notice earlier.

“Yes, sister?” Hourai doesn’t stop even after being discovered – in fact, she starts stroking you even faster and harder, making you groan and throw your head back. Her voice is cheerily innocent, a complete reversal from her earlier embarrassment.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting him ready for you, of course!” she chirps.

Shanghai remains quiet for a second, staring at you and her sister hard, but ultimately she realizes that she’s missing out on the action the more she waits. “Move over a bit,” she says, a bit grudgingly.

Humming with glee, Hourai scoots on her knees to the right until she’s able to nestle your arm between her breasts, carefully peering over your shoulder to watch her handiwork. Shanghai takes a similar position more quickly, standing and jumping up, spinning behind you, and folding back onto her knees so that her hot breath washes against the side of your face. When her hand finds your erection as well, there’s a brief moment of struggle as each of their hands fights to worm its way underneath the other girl’s, but eventually they compromise by interlocking fingers in a completely balanced grip, falling into perfect sync to start giving you a double-handjob.

Your own hands don’t remain idle – they slide between each pair of creamy thighs until they part cooperatively, allowing you to push and buff at their soaking nethers and extract the occasional gasp and moan from their lips. You won’t be able to make either of them orgasm from this alone, but it’s better than leaving them unattended. You briefly consider trying to use the toy, but there’s only one of it. It’d be too hard to use it on both of them in this position.

Shanghai’s the first to use her free hand to turn your head towards her; you only manage to get a brief glimpse of her fierce green eyes before your eyelids clamp shut as she coaxes your mouth open and your tongue out with her clever lips. The kiss doesn’t last long, though, as she pulls away to start nibbling on your neck, her free hand stroking up and down your back. You can’t really complain, though, immediately after she stops, Hourai prompts you to turn towards her with a kiss on your cheek. As you move, your lips slide perfectly against hers; surprisingly, she lets you take the lead on this kiss, obediently opening her lips and offering her tongue to your attentions. In contrast to this more demure attitude, though, the older sister’s hand playfully grasps at your butt.

You carry on like this for a while, each sister taking their kisses in turn to fill your senses with either jasmine or sandalwood. When you’re not kissing one, the others finds some way to apply their mouth whether it’s on your neck, ear, or arm. Sometimes their hands roam over your chest, back, or stomach, but sometimes they ruffle your hair or stroke your butt, and a few times they poke and prod at your tip or purse. With every further minute you endure, they silently agree to pick up the pace until the sound of their hands on your pre-slicked shaft fills the room.

“Girls,” you manage to choke out as Hourai releases your tongue with a smacking sound, your manhood throbbing strongly in their tight grasp in warning. “I’m...”

At that, Shanghai’s hand suddenly extricates itself from Hourai’s as she does that same bounce-up-and-down to put herself in front of you. “Eh? Shanghai, where do you think you’re going?” Hourai asks, her pace slowing in confusion.

“Where do you think I’m going?” she says as she bends down low, already opening her mouth to suck on your oozing tip.

Before she can take you between her lips, though, Hourai hisses, “Hey! But I want to see it!” Her gaze rests fiercely upon your throbbing manhood, as if watching it spurt out your seed is her greatest wish in life.

“That’s such a mess, though!” Shanghai huffs, straightening back up while grabbing a handful of your cock back for herself. With her now in front of you, though, the sisters can’t make that fingers-locked grip again, and so they’re back to struggling to get underneath the other’s hand.

“So what? You can just do that finger wiggly thing and clean yourself off!” Hourai counters.

“That’s true,” she concedes, “but then I don’t get to taste it! I’m sure you made sure to get your fill of it earlier, it’s my turn now!”

“But you said I could watch…”

“… fine, I’ll do it later,” Shanghai relents, “but only if you try that today!”

“What?! But, but!” Hourai splutters.

“Ohwouldyoustoparguingalready.” That’s you, grinding your teeth and doing your best to not explode in their struggling before they come to an agreement. They’ll needle you to death about it tonight if you do.

Your distress seems to be what pushes Hourai over the edge. “Okayfinefinefine, we’ll do it your way!”

“Smart move,” her younger sister croons. “Let go of him for a second.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHOOSE YOUR FAVORITE PART OF THE (NOT-EXACTLY) HUMAN BODY

[ ] Face.
[ ] Hair.
[ ] Belly.
[ ] Breasts.
[ ] Back.
[ ] Ass.
[ ] Groin.
[ ] Thighs.
[ ] Hands.
[ ] Feet.
[ ] Screw the body, floors are erotic.
[ ] Other parts I haven’t mentioned.
[ ] Describe the position?

[ ] Shanghai plunders Gand all for herself.
[ ] Shanghai graciously lets Hourai share.
[ ] Shanghai tries to take everything, but Hourai butts in anyways.

Because I figured I might have a smut-vote for once, just to get a tally of how many people read it.

Pick as many as make sense. Gand is not a firehose, so “all of them” isn’t possible. Sorry.
>> No. 33007
[X] Back
[X] Ass
[X] Thighs

[X]Shanghai and Hourai on all fours, shaking their hips and looking behind their shoulders.


[X] Shanghai tries to take everything, but Hourai butts in anyways.
>> No. 33008
[ ] Face.
[ ] Shanghai tries to take everything, but Hourai butts in anyways.
>> No. 33010
[ ] Face.
[ ] Hair.

[ ] Shanghai tries to take everything, but Hourai butts in anyways.
>> No. 33011
[x] Face.
[x] Hair.
[x] Breasts.
[x] Shanghai graciously lets Hourai share
>> No. 33013
[X] Face.
[X] Hair.
[X] Breasts.
[X] Girls in seiza, Gand standing

[X] Shanghai tries to take everything, but Hourai butts in anyways.

>she also suggested her personal favorite, using ropes and knots and –
So Alice wants to be the puppet?
>> No. 33015
>seiza

That seems a little... uptight.

>Alice
>wanting to be the puppet
>implying that her husband isn't the one getting tied up

Or they could be taking turns, or maybe they're somehow both managing to get tied up and it's a Mission Impossible-esque puzzle to figure out how to get just loose enough to copulate underneath such restraints, I dunno.
>> No. 33025
[ ] Face.
[ ] Breasts.
[ ] Thighs
>> No. 33026
[X] Ass
[X] Thighs
[X] Face

[X] Shanghai tries to take everything, but Hourai butts in anyways.
>> No. 33034
[X] Feet

[X] Gand lying on his back

[X] Shanghai tries to take everything, but Hourai butts in anyways.
>> No. 33036
[x] Breasts.
[x] Face
[x] Groin
[x] Ass
RL preferences.
[x] Shanghai tries to take it all, Hourai butts in anyway
YES

Thank you to however bumped this, I don't check the board often.
>> No. 33068
>>33015
For additional spice, they'd have to untie themselves and fuck before the timer runs out and the floor gives way to the shark tank beneath.