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File 141944072233.jpg - (515.72KB , 1000x800 , Playing with the Cat Chen.jpg ) [iqdb]
36544 No. 36544
Okay, so I’ve been simply unable to get out of the rut ever since I’ve come back. Lots of health issues, lots of bureaucracy, lots of headaches both figuratively and literally. Lots of classes to get my EMT certification renewed, lots of arrangements for classes in the spring.

For Christmas, I’m looking to turn things around. I’d do a New Year’s Resolution, but I already know I’m going to have to be on a plane during then (seriously who the fuck reserves a ticket for then except the most miserly of misers).

To wit, I’ve got three major short story ideas that I’ve painstakingly constructed in my head but as of yet not had time to commit to paper. With the last CE credits just finished yesterday, though, it’s time to try and light the burners once again.

Yes, this is on /at/. That’s because all of these are going to involve smut in some fashion. It’s easy and fun to write!


[ ] Nazrin. “So I lost the pagoda the other day – oh, please don’t ask what I was doing with it, I’d rather not tell, it’s embarrassing – and I had to send Nazrin to fetch it. Again. But this time, she didn’t find my pagoda, but some other pagoda in the mountains. It’s a weird story, but at the end of it all a lion found a new home, Nazrin got herself a boyfriend, and most importantly I got permanent set of eyes on that thing, so hopefully this’ll be the last time I drop and lose it somewhere. Problem is, now he keeps sneaking off with my cute little servant for quickie, but I suppose that’s a better use of her time than having to chase it down – “

[ ] Hoshiguma Yuugi. “The oni have always loved competitions. Feats of strength, jugs of liquor, boasts and tales that go on for hours. We humans of Gensokyo have always tried to best them via trickery, the only thing they hate more than an empty cup, and so we drove them underground. And yet there are some of us, tired of the politics and power struggles on the surface, who would also flee there for peace of mind, if not body. And there are yet some of us able to match an oni in ways that neither of us would have ever guessed.”

“This is not a story of one of these times. This is a story about one oni’s explosive run-in with Mexican cuisine, in more ways than one, and how it put us on even terms for a day…”

[ ] Fujiwara Mokou. “I ever tell you about the time my buddy Keith got so lost in the swamp, he ended up in a forest on the other side of the planet? I mean I think it’s on the other side in that China country, because he sent me a letter on that really flimsy rice paper stuff, and he had to write it with a brush, ‘cause they don’t have printers or pens or nuthin’ modern over there. And ‘course, the first thing he does is hit on a chick, ‘cause they’re all real pretty over there, like their painted dolls right? Third-degree burns on ninety-five percent of his body. When they got him to the doctor she said she’d never seen three layers of burns before – “

[ ] Chen. “When I abdicated the throne of Queen of Cats, I only did so after setting up a little private nest for myself, just so I could have a place to… be alone, y’know? Lady Yukari’s gotten adept enough at gapping things in the general direction of noises in the house, so that’s right out, and if I tried to hide anything, uh, fun in the drawers Lady Ran would have confiscated them to preserve ‘my purity’, the fact that I’ve been a hormonal teen notwithstanding. (Oh, and when I’d steal them back the next week, the batteries would all be dead. Kappa made batteries should have given them a lifespan of a few dozen hours. You do the math.)

“But it turns out nature abhors a vacuum. Nothing stays empty for long. Only after I got comfy did I realize that one: someone had made their own nest within mine; two: that someone had risen to power in my absence; and most embarassingly three: that someone had been enjoying himself just as much as I had been, watching me… well. Now that I’ve shown that rat in the wall who’s boss, though, there’s another something of mine that doesn’t stay empty for long, if you know what I mean. Maybe it’s time to start asking Lady Ran about how exactly one becomes the master of a shikigami…”

[ ] Kijin Seija. “Now, this is a story all about how; My life got flipped-turned upside down; And I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there; I’ll tell you how I sodomized an amanojaku to cries of ‘not fair’ – “

[ ] Soga no Tojiko. “Oh, you actually read that tabloid? The local nosy news expert has officially demoted her from ‘vengeful spirit’ to simply ‘ghost’ that ‘causes thunder’. She’ll have you believe it’s just because she’s run out of things to be angry at, or that she was never particularly spiteful in the first place, but it’s a good thing she doesn’t know the truth: the girl found herself a boy, if you can believe it. A potter, and from the downright glow in her cheeks whenever she comes floating out of his ceiling to greet us, he’s got some pretty gifted hands. Now, I’m not sure what’s more ironic, the fact that Miko screwed up her jar to start with or that clay’s gotta be some kind of opposite to electricity, but either way, whatever you do, don’t let that crow hear about it…”

I’d do Dolls but I’ve already found I can’t get back into the swing of things. Maybe if this goes well.

If this is a success, I might come back and visit another of these ideas later, in case you guys really like them.
No. 36545
Oh, yeah, and you officially have until midnight EST (12 hours from now aka 0500 GMT) to vote. Unofficially, you have until I decide to start, which will probably be some 8-10 hours after that.
No. 36547
can i vote for like literally every single one of these prompts?
No. 36548
File 141944197691.png- (212.74KB , 625x700 , Okuu No.png ) [iqdb]
No. 36549
File 141944280311.png- (1.77MB , 1924x1384 , Tenko From Behind.png ) [iqdb]

annnnnnnd somehow I lost an entire choice, add this in as a possible route:

[ ] Hinanawi Tenshi. “Tea? You must be tired. The Eldest Daughter can be quite the handful. Especially since she’s gotten bigger where it matters, you know. Two firm, ripe, perfectly proportioned peaches… of course, they only got that way through constant cultivation, you know?~”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, she wouldn’t be into a fellow celestial if it had a cock the size of my arm or tits the size of melons. No, she acquired her… taste for people of the land all at once. It was quite a feast. Just don’t go whispering to the elders about this; polyamory’s no different than adultery in their eyes…”
No. 36551
[X] Hinanawi Tenshi. “Tea? You must be tired. The Eldest Daughter can be quite the handful. Especially since she’s gotten bigger where it matters, you know. Two firm, ripe, perfectly proportioned peaches… of course, they only got that way through constant cultivation, you know?~”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, she wouldn’t be into a fellow celestial if it had a cock the size of my arm or tits the size of melons. No, she acquired her… taste for people of the land all at once. It was quite a feast. Just don’t go whispering to the elders about this; polyamory’s no different than adultery in their eyes…”

That is two paragraphs which is one paragraph more than everybody else. Also Tenshi needs more focus.
No. 36552
[x] Hinanawi Tenshi.
No. 36553
[x] Hinanawi Tenshi. “Tea? You must be tired. The Eldest Daughter can be quite the handful. Especially since she’s gotten bigger where it matters, you know. Two firm, ripe, perfectly proportioned peaches… of course, they only got that way through constant cultivation, you know?~”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, she wouldn’t be into a fellow celestial if it had a cock the size of my arm or tits the size of melons. No, she acquired her… taste for people of the land all at once. It was quite a feast. Just don’t go whispering to the elders about this; polyamory’s no different than adultery in their eyes…”

No. 36554
Chen has a lot more.
No. 36555
[X] Kijin Seija
No. 36556
[X] Hoshiguma Yuugi. “The oni have always loved competitions. Feats of strength, jugs of liquor, boasts and tales that go on for hours. We humans of Gensokyo have always tried to best them via trickery, the only thing they hate more than an empty cup, and so we drove them underground. And yet there are some of us, tired of the politics and power struggles on the surface, who would also flee there for peace of mind, if not body. And there are yet some of us able to match an oni in ways that neither of us would have ever guessed.”

This sadly will be ruined by pointless shitty writing but try to not disappoint me too much
No. 36558
[x] Hinanawi Tenshi. “Tea? You must be tired. The Eldest Daughter can be quite the handful. Especially since she’s gotten bigger where it matters, you know. Two firm, ripe, perfectly proportioned peaches… of course, they only got that way through constant cultivation, you know?~”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, she wouldn’t be into a fellow celestial if it had a cock the size of my arm or tits the size of melons. No, she acquired her… taste for people of the land all at once. It was quite a feast. Just don’t go whispering to the elders about this; polyamory’s no different than adultery in their eyes…”

This is the only way.
No. 36559
File 141946852982.jpg- (137.38KB , 643x643 , mokoublush.jpg ) [iqdb]
[x] Fujiwara Mokou. “I ever tell you about the time my buddy Keith got so lost in the swamp, he ended up in a forest on the other side of the planet? I mean I think it’s on the other side in that China country, because he sent me a letter on that really flimsy rice paper stuff, and he had to write it with a brush, ‘cause they don’t have printers or pens or nuthin’ modern over there. And ‘course, the first thing he does is hit on a chick, ‘cause they’re all real pretty over there, like their painted dolls right? Third-degree burns on ninety-five percent of his body. When they got him to the doctor she said she’d never seen three layers of burns before – “
No. 36560
[x] Hinanawi Tenshi. “Tea? You must be tired. The Eldest Daughter can be quite the handful. Especially since she’s gotten bigger where it matters, you know. Two firm, ripe, perfectly proportioned peaches… of course, they only got that way through constant cultivation, you know?~”
No. 36561
File 141947417417.jpg- (155.17KB , 600x812 , 1418431157635.jpg ) [iqdb]
[X] Nazrin.

There ya go bal~
No. 36562
[ ] Soga no Tojiko. “Oh, you actually read that tabloid? The local nosy news expert has officially demoted her from ‘vengeful spirit’ to simply ‘ghost’ that ‘causes thunder’. She’ll have you believe it’s just because she’s run out of things to be angry at, or that she was never particularly spiteful in the first place, but it’s a good thing she doesn’t know the truth: the girl found herself a boy, if you can believe it. A potter, and from the downright glow in her cheeks whenever she comes floating out of his ceiling to greet us, he’s got some pretty gifted hands. Now, I’m not sure what’s more ironic, the fact that Miko screwed up her jar to start with or that clay’s gotta be some kind of opposite to electricity, but either way, whatever you do, don’t let that crow hear about it…”

It's good to see the Taoists in a short story, for once.
No. 36563
[X] Fujiwara Mokou.

No. 36564
[x] Hinanawi Tenshi.
No. 36565
[x] chen

Hormonal teen dom chen? Sounds good.
No. 36566
[x]Soga no Tojiko

Concurring with all the sentiments of "I'd like to see them all but if I have to choose one". Even though only one other person chose Tojiko.
No. 36568
[X] Chen. “When I abdicated the throne of Queen of Cats, I only did so after setting up a little private nest for myself, just so I could have a place to… be alone, y’know? Lady Yukari’s gotten adept enough at gapping things in the general direction of noises in the house, so that’s right out, and if I tried to hide anything, uh, fun in the drawers Lady Ran would have confiscated them to preserve ‘my purity’, the fact that I’ve been a hormonal teen notwithstanding. (Oh, and when I’d steal them back the next week, the batteries would all be dead. Kappa made batteries should have given them a lifespan of a few dozen hours. You do the math.)

Although, like most of us, all of them sound interesting
No. 36569
[X] Chen. “When I abdicated the throne of Queen of Cats, I only did so after setting up a little private nest for myself, just so I could have a place to… be alone, y’know? Lady Yukari’s gotten adept enough at gapping things in the general direction of noises in the house, so that’s right out, and if I tried to hide anything, uh, fun in the drawers Lady Ran would have confiscated them to preserve ‘my purity’, the fact that I’ve been a hormonal teen notwithstanding. (Oh, and when I’d steal them back the next week, the batteries would all be dead. Kappa made batteries should have given them a lifespan of a few dozen hours. You do the math.)
No. 36570
File 141948333228.jpg- (151.16KB , 696x920 , 9eb405833b963c104720460cfbfa0377.jpg ) [iqdb]
[ ] Chen. “When I abdicated the throne of Queen of Cats, I only did so after setting up a little private nest for myself, just so I could have a place to… be alone, y’know? Lady Yukari’s gotten adept enough at gapping things in the general direction of noises in the house, so that’s right out, and if I tried to hide anything, uh, fun in the drawers Lady Ran would have confiscated them to preserve ‘my purity’, the fact that I’ve been a hormonal teen notwithstanding. (Oh, and when I’d steal them back the next week, the batteries would all be dead. Kappa made batteries should have given them a lifespan of a few dozen hours. You do the math.)

“But it turns out nature abhors a vacuum. Nothing stays empty for long. Only after I got comfy did I realize that one: someone had made their own nest within mine; two: that someone had risen to power in my absence; and most embarassingly three: that someone had been enjoying himself just as much as I had been, watching me… well. Now that I’ve shown that rat in the wall who’s boss, though, there’s another something of mine that doesn’t stay empty for long, if you know what I mean. Maybe it’s time to start asking Lady Ran about how exactly one becomes the master of a shikigami…”

To echo the others they honestly all sound great but I think I'll pick the Chen one.

Incidentally for the Tojiko entry, who is the one narrating the entry? Seiga?
No. 36571
[x] Cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen
No. 36572
[X] Chen.
I just wanna see some Chen love around here... Though to be honest all of them are good but I wanna see Chen's the most
No. 36573
[x] Hinanawi Tenshi.

nigger I am traveling abroad you have no idea how much trouble I've gone through to vote on this you better fucking deliver balista
No. 36574
[X] Tenshi
No. 36575
[x] Chen

Can't say anything that hasn't already been said.
No. 36577
[x] Chen.

Non-loli Chen sounds nice.
No. 36578
Also I want to call you a faggot from the future.

ur a faggit balista.
No. 36579
[ X] "Hinanawi Tenshi"
No. 36580
[X] Hinanawi Tenshi. “Tea? You must be tired. The Eldest Daughter can be quite the handful. Especially since she’s gotten bigger where it matters, you know. Two firm, ripe, perfectly proportioned peaches… of course, they only got that way through constant cultivation, you know?~”
No. 36581
[ ] Hoshiguma Yuugi
No. 36588
[x] Soga no Tojiko.

Want some soft ghost action.
No. 36589
File 141954502519.jpg- (319.90KB , 483x800 , Tenshi PAWNCH.jpg ) [iqdb]
Should've done this earlier. And the drum rolls...

[X] Tenshi: 10.

[X] Chen: 7.

So let's hear it for the Eldest Daughter!

Don't worry, Chen'll have her time in the spotlight soon.

I read an old children's tale that gave me an awesome idea idea for our resident nekomata.
No. 36590
[x] Chen. “When I abdicated the throne of Queen of Cats, I only did so after setting up a little private nest for myself, just so I could have a place to… be alone, y’know? Lady Yukari’s gotten adept enough at gapping things in the general direction of noises in the house, so that’s right out, and if I tried to hide anything, uh, fun in the drawers Lady Ran would have confiscated them to preserve ‘my purity’, the fact that I’ve been a hormonal teen notwithstanding. (Oh, and when I’d steal them back the next week, the batteries would all be dead. Kappa made batteries should have given them a lifespan of a few dozen hours. You do the math.)

Ran and math. Excellent!
No. 36592
Does this image have an original?
No. 36595
File 141956640984.jpg- (128.06KB , 600x600 , imgoodatposting.jpg ) [iqdb]
“You call thish wine?! More like cat pissh!! Fetch me something else!!”

With that screeched declaration, she flings the cup blindly into the long-vacated common room, adding one more piece of detritus to the destruction there. The crash of ceramic as it lands comes not from the cup itself, for the cup is wood – no, our porcelain is already out there in a thousand tiny little pieces, the dust-like shards returning to the clay they were fired from as they soak in all manners of discarded beverages.

Why are we serving our third-best wine to such an irate customer? Well, she already saw fit to throw the best of it on the floor with the porcelain it was served in.

Of course, she’s already drunk out of her mind, having imbibed enough of what we’ve served her to reach this inebriated state, so the taste of the wine clearly isn’t her biggest complaint at the moment. In fact, when she grabs the next pitcher and chugs our next offering straight from it for the lack of a proper cup, she does so without the slightest whimper of complaint. For a second, both my partner and I take in a sharp breath, wondering if our hypothesis was correct, but when she drops the pitcher at her feet and lets out a huge, debauched sigh, we duck behind the bar counter and give each other two big thumbs up. That was one of Ennek’s batches gone hilariously wrong and sour (fairy-grown grapes, never again), a stronger vinegar than most vinegars, and here this girl was, swilling it down like the nectar of heavens.

We would have rolled up our sleeves and cooperatively ejected this girl hours ago, but when her response to inquiries of payment was to sink a huge glowing sword into the solid oak bar as easily as a knife in cheese, we were kind of inclined to do what she asked. I mean, the two of us have outwrestled even the occasional oni – you’d be surprised at how much extra leverage two sets of limbs give you, if you know how to work together – but no matter how you look at it, a sword like that is pushing our luck.

And… well, I’ll be honest. She’s a looker, and that took both of us off our guard to start with. It’s not enough for her creamy, completely unblemished skin to practically glow from within, but her long, blue, pristine waist-length hair marks her as someone who probably never has to work an honest day in her life. Seriously, not so much as a single split end! I’ve just barely got enough to tie back properly – Ennek said that as the frontman for the place I should look a little more affluent, although he keeps his own short – but already I’m having to deal with all kinds of problems. There’s probably some Outside cosmetic product, some miracle ointment or something, that makes them a non-issue, but Heaven knows that it would take five times the total gross income of our tavern to pay for such a luxury.

As Ennek goes back into the cellars to dig up some more of that vinegar batch, I steal another look at her. She won’t notice me, busy with muttering into her cups as she is. Her fine silk dress ought to be hopelessly soiled with food and drink, given the way she’s splattered it around, and yet it miraculously repels another slosh of burgundy that escapes from the side of her mouth as cleanly as water off a duck’s back. Her crumpled felt hat is literally soaking in a pool of spilled wine and covered in crumbs and salt, but it has yet to curl up from having absorbed so much as a drop. Hell, I think that’s a fresh peach on the brim, and it looks as fresh as if it just came off the branch – or as if it hasn’t been picked at all. Now that the sun’s set and we’re operating by the dimmer evening lamplight, I can see that the radiant rainbow-colored diamonds forming some sort of hem to the apron-like front of her dress literally shine. No, really, they’re casting light by themselves. And then her face, cast into harsh angles with a mixture of anger and frustration as she glowers into space, completely missing that I’m openly ogling her. Even now, when it should be ugly with… I dunno, some kind of self-loathing, it’s still positively stunning, her eyes still sharp and commanding even though it’s clear she was having nothing more than the world’s biggest temper tantrum at the world in its entirety.

Perhaps I should ask my compatriot what he sees in her. “Hoi, Ennek,” I whisper to him as brings up the small cask, neatly tucked underneath his arm – he automatically shuffles his feet in place to cover up the sound. “What’s so eyecatching about her, anyways?” He initially responds with a tilt of his head and a sharp footfall – eh, what? is the unspoken question. “C’mon, just look at her… I caught you drooling, you know.”

He rolls his eyes at that jibe, but ultimately he shrugs, and I’m the one to cough and blow my nose as he replies now – and also to do a small double take at his blunt response. “Oh, y’know, the usual bits of a girl that look good. Tits. Legs. Also, dat ass, man, c’mon, look at it.” I steal another glance as Ennek marches up to her and plops the cask down in front of her, drawing out a wordless, vaguely pleased sounding hum in response.

She’s hardly curvaceous, but her dress had clearly been cut for when she had been younger, for although her bust is objectively of a modest size, it strains eagerly against its confinement, forming two sharply defined peaks in the silk and giving the impression that her bust is far larger than it actually is by nature of its wrappings. In fact, if I strain my eyes a bit, I’m pretty sure that I can see nipple when she bends back to knock back the next pitcher of swill Ennek pours for her – ugh, let’s not think of that at a time like this.

I turn my gaze lower before she finishes her swig so that she doesn’t catch me. Underneath her knee-length skirt is a perfect inch of revealed leg before her skin again escapes view into two long-legged, tightly-bound leather boots, the footwear outright accentuating the slenderness of her limbs. And as for her rear… well, okay, Ennek loses me there. Sure, she’s standing in such a way that should accentenate whatever assets she has back there, eschewing the scattered stools to instead lean against the bar in a standing position. And yeah, it’s underneath a generously sized bow of a blue ribbon around her waist, drawing the eye to that location, but no matter how hard or long I look, all I can see is that her skirt just falls straight down from there. I can instantly think of half a dozen more butts more fetching than hers. Maybe he just said “ass” to complete the expression or something, but hey, maybe he sees something I don’t.

But regardless of looks, at a certain point the line has to be drawn. Merely covering up the hole in the bar her sword’s made is going to put us in the red for the day. We’ll probably be down the week given the amount of stock we’ve lost, unless I don’t gently bump up our rates. Oh, all the “business” she’s given us in terms of wine down her gullet and thrown all around the room? Okay, if she paid properly for it we’d be pretty well off, but currently the sword’s the only thing she’s shown us, and as far as I can see she lacks any sort of belt or purse or anything that might be holding coin. And somehow I doubt we’ll be able to demand the sword as payment. She’d just use it on our heads instead, and that’s no way to go out.

I give my compatriot a stern look, asking that we resort to our last line of defense. In his eyes I can see nothing but agreement. We both silently mouth the words to each other at the exact same time.

“We’re going to have to use that.”

[ ] [ ] [ ]

More to come, but I wanted to, y'know, show that I can in fact still produce something after this long.

fuk the haterzzzzzz

Also, Chen is definitely getting her piece straight after Tenshi's, because I woke up this morning with a brainwave for her.

why couldn't you people have had her win that would have been neat and convenient uguu
No. 36604
[x] monetize the celestial by using her in some water repellent task. Surely someone has a need for hydrophobic drunks
No. 36617
File 141973160664.jpg- (248.22KB , 675x800 , goingtohellforthis.jpg ) [iqdb]
Merely thirty minutes later, three oni-sized doses of that have taken its course, and our noisy compatriot has ceased her rampage, having slumped facefirst into a final mug of vinegar. Anyone else would merely think that the liquor she’s stolen from us has, at long last, had its effect, but Ennek and I know the truth. Just the barest pinch of that tasteless red powder, dissolved into grape wine (or at least a dark hued vinegar, in our case) to conceal its color, and ten minutes later you’ve sent an enraged monster into sweet dreamland. Perfect for dropping belligerent patrons when you’re not sure an army could pacify them safely.

And yet it’s not triumph we feel, even though we’ve won a great victory. It’s regret.

Our hands on our hips, we take in the situation. “… we can’t just throw her on the street like this,” Ennek muses at long last, voicing both our unspoken thoughts – as if this newfound concern would somehow exonerate us from the guilt of having drugged her. A common room capable of hosting some one hundred drunken patrons, if they all stand and take up residence on the tables, has singlehandedly been reduced to a post-festival state by one waif of a girl. If it was someone else’s establishment, we’d be clapping and whistling in awe, but since it’s our place, all we can do is sigh and calculate the damages.

“… yeah. I mean, just look at her, seriously,” I find myself sighing, throwing my hands up in a pleading gesture to the unconscious girl, the mess in our establishment, the heavens, and no one in particular. We’ll have to replace all the porcelain she’s shattered too, and some of the wood as well – she’s got quite a throwing arm, apparently. Not only that, it’ll take weeks for the stains in the middle of the floor to fade, so we’ll have to throw a rug over it. We had one, but now it’s been hopelessly soiled beyond repair, so that’s right out, unless we buy a completely new one, which is just yet another expense that I don’t want to have to think about.

I don’t want to have to think of a LOT of things right now. Like how we’re basically one step away from some kind of social deviance, like how we’re one witness away from being accused of criminal acts. Putting down a seven-foot tall brawler in front of a hundred witnesses is one thing, but deceiving a cute girl like this when she doesn’t suspect a thing, when she’s the only other person besides the two perpetrators at the scene of the crime…!

Ennek marches tentatively out into the destruction, picking up what was once the better half of a china plate of fried meats, gingerly polishing off the grease and swill with a sharp exhalation and a buff of his apron. It’s an act of defiance against the dozens of manhours of cleaning that face us, and yet he turns his head back and pouts at the one who visited it upon us, as if this is something that just a little elbow grease could fix. “Yeah. Look at her. Like an angel.”

I grimace. “Don’t be silly. Angels don’t snore.” For my part, I turn my attention to the sword she stuck into the bartop. Now that she’s unconscious, I feel brave enough to dare and lay a finger on it. Grabbing the hilt, I give it an experimental tug, attempting to wiggle it a bit up and out to the side. It doesn’t so much as budge an inch. At least it didn’t electrocute or incinerate me, and hey, some part of me was expecting the sword to be unnaturally keen or something and slice deeper in the tough wood. It’d be just my luck, the way the evening’s gone.

‘It could have been worse.’ That seems to be our general attitude towards this girl. I think it’s the only mindset that can possibly keep the two of us from finding a nice, tranquil part of the forest and committing seppuku.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to leave that there. Hey, she can be the one to pull it out for us,” my friend jokes. “C’mon, let’s get this over with,” he groans as he picks himself off one of the barstools. “It’s late, I don’t want to have to think about tomorrow morning, and I’m bushed from having to deal with all this right now. Got her legs?”

I blink, then hurriedly slide out of my own cushioned chair. “Ah, yeah.” As comfortable of a throne it might seem now, the thought of laying out my personal futon and escaping this grimdark reality for those of my dreams is a far greater motivator. As he grabs our pocketbooks’ destroyer underneath her arms and gently lifts her off the stool she collapsed into, I slide my arms underneath her knees and unceremoniously fold her into a more manageable V as we tote her upstairs to the guest rooms.

Of course we have to put her up under our own roof. If we threw her out on the street, there’s no telling what kind of misfortune might befall her, especially since we’re responsible for taking away any and all agency and ability to defend her virtue in the first place, to say nothing of any of Gensokyo’s more unsavory night horrors.

But as Ennek spins around to navigate the stairs and her gravity shifts more of her weight onto me, pressing the soles of her boots into my own apron, some spring or gear in my rational thinking bends out of shape. She ought to stink of sweat and booze after drinking this hard, but all I can smell is something… foreign. Not in the “foreign to a person” way, but foreign in a kind of place-of-origin, hometown way. Tantalizing. And although I didn’t originally intend on anything unvirtuous, the slightest brush of the backs of her thighs against the backs of my hand sent waves of sparks up my arms and spine, and that doesn’t so much as stir when I have to bounce her a bit to shift my grip when we angle her up the stairs leads to me to start wondering just what else she won’t notice. And if I just relaxed my arms a little bit, she’d fall closer to me, and naturally those legs I’m holding would part just a bit, and she’d slide until my own body hiked up her skirt to reveal… and with every step we clear, she ever so gently rises and falls against me, just as if she were…

Thinking back, I’m pretty sure this was the moment when I began to make poor life decisions.

Through judicious use of elbows and knees, we’re able to slide open the door to one of the few guest rooms we have. This place is a tavern first and an inn second. We gingerly lay her down on the tatami before I go to the closets to fetch out a futon, while Ennek leaves to… lock up, from the sounds of things. We’re way past closing time, after all.

“Good gods above, man, you’re not undressing her are you?” I throw the accusation at him as if I hadn’t just been contemplating it myself, as if doing so will exonerate me of my own guilt.

“Of course I’m not!” he shouts right back. “Dude, boots! Linens! Keep’em off of each other, or do you wanna add an entire set of bedding to tomorrow’s workload?!”

I was just going to keep her pulled low, with a pillow some third of the way down the futon instead at the proper head, so that her feet stuck off the end, but I guess she might kick herself back up… or something.

“You’re… right, yeah.”

And… Ennek is bent over, his nose right up against the top of her foot, an expression of the utmost severe seriousness raging like a caged typhoon. It’s such an out of character face for him to make I have to raise an eyebrow. “Dude, seriously, what the fuck. That’s disgusting.”

He only lifts himself up enough to glare back at me. “Man, you come here. Seriously. This shit don’t stink, it smells like goddamned rosewater.”

I fire back a skeptical look of my own, but Ennek’s not lied to me once over the course of our long partnership, except when it would be funny... which, come to think of it, is actually pretty often. Which is probably exactly why I shouldn’t trust him now, but the fervor in his eyebrows slowly wins me over, and in a few seconds I’ve shuffled over on my knees to his side of the futon.

Huh. He wasn’t joking. There really isn’t even the slightest stink, not even that damp, fresh swell of an honest sweat. In fact… there’s just that same, pleasant, neutral-but-not-of-this-land smell.

On a hunch, I peer into her boots. Unable to see anything out of the ordinary, I tip them out to see if there might be something inside of them. Nothing comes out except a couple errant grains of sand. So troubled is Ennek that that he fishes even those up off the linens and scrutinizes them. I scrub the leather on the outside of the boot with a finger, and then bring it to my nose, but get nothing but the scent of common leather for my troubles. I do the same with the softer inside, though, and get… the same scent as from her stockings.

The scent of her.

“Let’s get her into a robe or something,” I hear myself say. I know exactly what I’m leading up to, and from the twitch in Ennek’s cheek I initially get in response, he knows exactly where this is going too.

And just like when we both decided to take out loans with the local tanuki and start our own place up, he leaps straight off the edge of reason with me. “Yeah, her, uh, clothes. They’ll get the futon dirty. You saw how much she spilled all over them, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I murmur, reaching out to rub a section of the spotless white silk over her stomach as my compatriot shuffles off to the closet to get one of the complementary robes. “Quite a mess. Can’t have that.”
No. 36618
[X] Sniff more Tenko parts.
No. 36620
smoke tenko erryday
No. 36623
Hasn't been much chance for user input, so I just wanted to say I'm enjoying this so far.
No. 36624
File 142011771411.jpg- (241.58KB , 735x735 , Crime and Punishment.jpg ) [iqdb]

I'm going to be out of town for the next few days helping my brother move across the country; past day or so's been spent getting ready for it, so loldelays.

As for reader input, this piece was basically setup with zero input in mind, but it's not too late; in fact, right after the next block would be the perfect time to start twisting in votes. So while I'm out, I can open up a small vote:


[ ] Just here for the ride. Don't bother with votes/choices/branching points, and just write smut.

[ ] Peanut gallery. Do my best to have choices and solicit input in between updates.

Pic mostly kinda sorta unrelated.
No. 36629
[X] Just here for the ride. Don't bother with votes/choices/branching points, and just write smut.
No. 36631
[X] Whatever OP prefers.
No. 36632
[X] Just here for the ride. Don't bother with votes/choices/branching points, and just write smut.
No. 36633
[x] Whatever OP prefers.
No. 36635
[X] whatever gets me the porn faster

I assume that's not having choices, but whatever
No. 36637
[X] Peanut gallery. Do my best to have choices and solicit input in between updates.
Changing my vote to this. I wouldn't mind suggesting kinky stuff to do with Touhous.
No. 36638
[X] Peanut gallery. Do my best to have choices and solicit input in between updates.

Why advertize this as CYOA when you're NOT going to have it be that.
No. 36639
Er did he advertise as a CYOA? Other than providing a first choice of who he should write I mean.
No. 36642
[X] Peanut gallery. Do my best to have choices and solicit input in between updates.

Nothin' wrong with a few nudges here and there.
No. 36653
[x] Just here for the ride. Don't bother with votes/choices/branching points, and just write smut.

Nope, he didn't emphasize it much, if anything he emphasized the non-choice side of things more. That and votes can drag things if not muck them up with people wanting to derail things to insert their fetish like >>36637

This vote is a PERECT example of how voting and delay things.
No. 36656
[x] Just here for the ride. Don't bother with votes/choices/branching points, and just write smut.

I came in here not expecting votes except to pick which touhou gets railed, and dammit I'm sticking to my principles.
No. 36657
>Two full posts
>Still no smut

As expected of the Master Balista.
No. 36716
[X] Peanut gallery.
No. 36717
File 142198837980.jpg- (232.21KB , 640x480 , 13391913052.jpg ) [iqdb]
>last post almost a month ago
>doesn't sage
No. 36718

This is still an active story. He can post however he wants.
No. 36719
You're still supposed to sage though if it's not been active for some time.
No. 36720

Please don't impose your arbitrary rules on the rest of the community. He was voting in a active story, thus saging would be inappropriate. Until Balista says he isn't updating this anymore, there's no reason why some new readers can't bump this thread and prod balista to get off his lazy writefag ass and update.
No. 36721
Still, not saging your posts will bump the thread and make it appear on the Latest Updated list on the homepage, and readers who see it will believe Balista has finally updated and--Pffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft, who am I kidding? He never updates anyway.
No. 36723

Wait you'd think he'd actually write smut here?

Well we're never gonna get smut just pretentious writing
No. 36725
File 142207389862.jpg- (103.16KB , 749x453 , 1323393298377.jpg ) [iqdb]

No. 36727
File 142207791452.png- (425.47KB , 800x735 , bestgirl.png ) [iqdb]

>yfw in the pipeline are 10K words of Ran

I'll be honest, I wrote the first part of Tenshi molestations proper and then I got hit by a thunderbolt overnight in a dream.

Then I had to go to college.

I'm putting the finishing touches on it now. Goal is to have it out by the end of this weekend.
No. 36728
Forgot how pointlessly flowery that shit was
No. 36729
File 142208631559.jpg- (87.99KB , 724x720 , 1411431774512.jpg ) [iqdb]
[x] Dolls
No. 36730
File 142210220679.jpg- (142.42KB , 870x960 , fmY1CvZ.jpg ) [iqdb]

>ruined by pointless shitty writing
>Forgot how pointlessly flowery that shit was
>never gonna get smut just pretentious writing

While I'm probably biting the mother of all baits here, fuck it, I'm gonna ask Anon (Anons?) something anyway.

Why are you even here, again? You're literally pic related. Why not do something you like instead of bitching about nonexistent porn that you're apparently set on hating anyway, no matter what the author does? It doesn't make you look cool, or convince anyone of your views, it's just whining for the sake of it.

You baffle me, honest to God.
No. 36733
Have you never been in a balista thread?
We like his writing.
That's why we make fun of him.
No. 36738
But his writing is pretty shit though.

This guy just never changes. Now we just need to add a male OC and he'll be back to his usual formula

You can put your trip back on balistafreak
No. 36740

>Have you never been in a balista thread?

Well, I never!

But, ah, the last time I read TB was years ago, so if people were jokingly making fun of his (admittedly terribly purple) prose back then, I'll just take your word on it.


>But his writing is pretty shit though.

While I know writing quality is very much in the eye of the beholder past the technical level, I think you're full of shit.

>You can put your trip back on balistafreak

I'm actually a different writefag, though I like how you assume that someone disagreeing with you has to be the author and not simply a guy who, again, thinks you're full of shit.
No. 36758
File 142225199489.jpg- (294.12KB , 800x568 , Ran Sweaty.jpg ) [iqdb]
Ugh. Got visited by folks, only had time to knock out 2K words towards the projected 10K (up to 9K) and now anticipating at least another 2K before completion. Maybe three. Can't post what I have, because I'm writing at both the middle and the end (aka both smut sections) at the same.

Sorry for not delivering. Have a Ran to share in my pain.
No. 36865
File 142399174465.png- (426.84KB , 579x819 , Towel Lip Licking Ran.png ) [iqdb]
Disclaimer: the following wasn't given a final proofing, because I ended at an astounding 15K words - 14.5K if you don't include various author ramblings.

If there's a sudoku that truly bothers you, copy-paste this stuff into a word document and fix it yourself, and read that when you get comfy in bed at night instead of my broken English.

Tenshi a shit. Ran top-tier waifu. That is all.


“Eh? No, you can’t possibly!” Ran Yakumo, your most appreciative and reliable customer and part-time lover, flushes red to the roots of her nine tails as she reads the fine print of the two tickets you’ve handed her. It’s not a figure of speech: she’s laying prone on a waist-high table wearing naught but a pair of herb-treated towels over her back and legs. Her deliciously curved rear remains bare to allow her nine tails to wave free from the base of her spine, and yes, that cream-colored skin just turned a few shades darker.

As much as you would like to, though, you don’t stare at her butt, lovely as it may be. Firstly for propriety’s sake, although it’s not like you aren’t intimately familiar with the smoothness and softness of those two rounded cheeks already, having recently reacquainted yourself of their ply and weight when you’d greeted each other an hour ago with a smoldering, minutes-long embrace before she’d so much as shed her robe. To say nothing of the two abundant bosoms currently spilling out to either side of her torso, tipped with rosy nipples so sensitive she’d screamed out and squirted against your questing hand when you’d finally opened her robe to suckle and nibble at them. And then there’s the pale pink treasure between her legs, its folds as dainty as flower petals, crowned with a meticulously maintained thick thatch of golden curls that’s currently matted with a combination of sweat, female arousal, and your own seed from her revenge, where she’d tossed you onto your own massage table and mounted you, legs forced between yours in a parody of the missionary position. But as always during these appointments, you have yet to taste the sweeter nectar only coaxed out from deeper inside her, as she’d serviced your straining manhood only with practiced squeezes and strokes from between her cum-slicked thighs and frantic circular grinding against the palm of her hand until your non-existent resistance crumbled and you’d reached your own shuddering climax.

Where months ago you’d have to actively suppress all reminiscing of those hot and heavy moments of bliss in order to continue rational action, at this point you’re comfortable with freely indulging in them, the steamy memories of half an hour past stretching a grin upon your face and slowly reviving your erection as your feet and hands continue their work. The second reason why her rear isn’t the focus of your attention is because there’s a frankly more wondrous sight springing from it: a light amber thicket of tails that marks her as a full-fledged, nine-tailed kyuubi of a kitsune. There’s more hair on those than on twice as many princesses’ heads, and what it lacks in raw length it more than makes up for in sheer volume and abundance. That’s not to say it lacks for quality, especially with the professional care and grooming she pays you to lavish upon it: rare herbal and mineral blends combined with cutting edge modern chemical blends from lands of science, ancient alchemical transmutations, and a more than a little hedge magic that runs in the blood, a unique bit of spice and sorcery that’ll never be completely emulated with mere technique or study.

Your ancestors, forefathers, brothers and nephews, all were and are hairdressers of nobility and royalty across the universe, paid in mounds of silver and gold, precious stones, lands, spices, titles, and every other valuable currency and commodity imaginable. But while they’ve been using their wealth to live lives of luxury and decadence, you’d entrusted every groat of your personal share of inheritance to a celestial bank with the qualifier “break in case of emergency”, then retired to this rustic backwater of a demiplane to enjoy a simpler, more fulfilling life.

And who’s to say that you aren’t actually richer than them? Not even in the classic spiritual sense, but the single clipped and worn silver coin you ask for recompense from a village girl, the culmination of hours of weaving by hearthlight deep into the night, all in hope of at long last catching the eye of the hardworking merchant’s son she’s fawned over for years at the end of year festival, is worth more to her than an entire coffer of platinum paid without so much as blinking from some godling. To receive such an earnest, sincere payment almost makes you feel guilty, but you need that silver to turn around and thus support the gatherers of herbs who risk their lives on the youkai-infested mountain, the prospectors who pan the streams for trace amounts of substances already depleted on older, larger, more established planes of existence. The rest of your family handles vaults and wagons of wealth that their patrons can comfortably spare purely for the sake of maintaining appearances; your modest, battered purse, on the other hand, contains the combined livelihoods, dreams, and wishes of an entire village and mountain.

And while there are those in your family who would turn up their noses and mock your domicile, a simple second-story apartment above the studio and waiting room in which you work, surrounded on all sides by other shops and establishments in the heart of the modest village’s market, even the original progenitor of your specialty would have to bow low the woman you service now. It’s hard to believe that the right hand of the god that helped spin this land from the void of the aether now croons happily underneath your practiced hands as you massage a conditioner into one of those nine signal banners of unfathomable power.

You have even more trouble believing that the two of you are fucking like rabbits at every opportunity.

Truly, while you may have the privilege and boasting rights of serving outright divinity, the most valuable payment is found not in the sparing amount of credit her master deposits into your account at the moneylender, an amount you’d had to haggle downward to a mere shadow of her original offer, but in the attentions and affections of the kitsune that had grown so quickly and so naturally you still suspect sorcery at work. Those old folks may have the right to lay eyes upon, touch and handle princess’s locks with combs and gloved hands, but surely they would turn green with envy if they knew that you were embracing these hallowed monuments of unimaginable fluff and softness. They’d faint out of disbelief to see you childishly diving into them like some kind of literal honey trap. And if they find out that you’re all-too-regularly their plaything for unspeakably intimate acts, they just might die out of shock. Or they might congratulate you. You wouldn’t know. You don’t talk much these days.

You can’t help but dig your fingers in a little harder at the thought, but you refrain from reopening your robe and pouncing upon her for now, only partially because despite your half-masted member, you’re still mostly satiated from her sumata earlier, and also because you know full well the burning discomfort that the current soap in use will plague you with if it ends up working its way into the more… delicate parts of your body. Mere parts of it are a flower that only blooms underneath the light of a crescent moon and crumbles in that of the sun, the root of an oak tapped directly into the juncture of leylines of fire and wind, and a steeping of a breathing, healthy behemoth youkai’s fang. Such esoteric and varied materials aren’t merely for bragging rights, but outright required in order to drill through Ran’s innate resistance, a required step in properly treating that fur of hers and coaxing it to shine above and beyond even its native state. The mornings after your appointments, she could warn boats from shore on a foggy day. Not that Gensokyo has an ocean or maritime trade, but the point stands. The sight of her makes standing on a tongue larger than you are, desperately holding up a bucket of alchemical product above your head to immerse one of a hundred fangs the size of your torso into the fluid, knowing that if you spill so much as a drop the resulting gag reflex will have you spit a hundred feet down into the forest canopy, totally worth it.

In fact, the sheer amounts of soap your current patron requires is the only reason you acquiesced to letting her master install a modern contraption of a “shower” installed in your quarters, as it’s the only sane way to bring in the sheer volume of heated water it’ll take to fully rinse every sud out from those infinite waves of sleek fur. Yes, you’ll need both need a second one in the morning to clean you both of other fluids both already accumulated and yet to come, but this soap in particular is caustic to the point of being a moodkiller within the hour. Honestly, though, at this point in your relationship you’re almost glad it’s so potent, as it singlehandedly keeps your lover from attempting any lascivious mischief while you actually do your job.

That’s not to say that you don’t get some splatter, though. Troubled by the tickets in her hands, she can’t help but flick several her tails in thought, their shining golden fur lathered in soap, hard enough splatter those suds as she continues to try and make polite excuses as to why she shouldn’t accept your all-too-generous gift. “That is the time you should be working, attending to other people’s holidays, though.”

You laugh nervously. From another person’s standpoint, her words might seem demeaning, but for someone who keeps as little liquid funding as you do, her realization of your sacrifice warms your heart, even if it is a little embarrassing to be seen through so easily. “Well, I was thinking that this year, perhaps I’d like to enjoy the holidays myself, be one of the common folk, you know?” you say evasively. “Even a kitsune’s hairdresser – ”

“Custodian of the Ninefold,” she interrupts you with mock severity, insisting on her personal, painfully stilted and formal title for you. You’re sure actual ‘custodians’ would be mortified at the thought of soiling their charge on purpose, to say nothing if said soiling was the direct result of being masturbated into them as had happened thirty minutes ago, but after you’d first slept with her she’d told you with a straight face that a little, er, “life essence” goes a long way in boosting her tails’ already palpably divine aura. You’re still not sure if that’s a joke or if it actually has a seed of truth within it, but you can hardly fail to notice that ever since she became a lover she makes a point of wringing a load out of you into her fur at the very start of things, whether with her hands, feet, mouth, breasts, or, in today’s case, thighs. Curiously, though, she hasn’t yet serviced you with them, choosing simply to blush and change the subject the one time you raised it. You haven’t pushed it, but somehow you get the idea she’s saving it for a special occasion.

You don’t lose sleep over it, though. You need every minute of rest you can get to keep up with her body, whether professionally or carnally. After all, it’s your job to make sure those tails leave your parlor more breathtaking than when they came in. A happy glow in her cheeks, though, will take a load or five of seed inside her.

Custodian of the Ninefold,” you groan sarcastically in mockery, earning a quirk in the corner of your lover’s mouth, “is at the end of the day just a commoner.”

“Setting aside that your expertise, both cosmetic and otherwise”, she emphasizes with a small lick of her lips and sultry glance, referencing the many feverish hours she’s invested coaching you in all manner of bedtop sports for indoor types, “elevates you to that of an artist and thus makes you deserving of someone’s patronage, you forget that you were the one who asked me to balance your books and calculate your taxes and exemptions.” Her voice is still velvet soft, but you note that the bold, pointed fox ears on the top of her head, far larger and expressive than her dainty, rounded woman’s ears on the sides, are slowly rotating outward. You now know that that’s body language as blatant as a spoken sentence, saying ‘you have gone beyond playful exaggerations and clever double meanings, and are attempting to disguise the truth for the sake of deception; please do not attempt to lie to me, or else I will grow more irate’ – yes, it says a sentence that long and complex, or it simply wouldn’t be Ran. So chastised, you swallow your pride and resolve make your next few statements more honest, and not attempt to obfuscate and flatter like your normal banter.

However, she continues before you can get a word in, taking in a deep breath in the shortest fragment of a second to launch into her normal, overly comprehensive conversation style, her earlier flirtatious attitude evaporating. “While you only told me I had to review this year’s books, you didn’t forbid me from perusing the rest of them for purposes of gathering a general impression, you know.” You only shrug, having nothing to hide from her in any of them. “Therefore, I took the liberty of starting from the very beginning to serve you to the utmost of my capability, as expected from someone on the path of sincere repayment.” She smiles, a radiant and beautiful expression that you’d never thought would go with such needlessly long explanations, but you’ve fallen in love with both nonetheless. “When that hot springs inn was established and you began operating there on a special basis, your revenue sharply increased; indeed, almost an entire fifth of the entire year’s earnings can be attributed to the various holiday events where you sell your services to vacationers on his premises, and half of that fifth, that is to say an entire tenth, is earned on this weekend alone, this weekend you’re now telling me you plan on taking off to spend with me.” She narrows her eyebrows at you, boring into you with a stern, asking stare. “Considering that you work around half the days in a year, two days accounting for eighteen days’ worth of average is not insignificant; those days are, hour by hour, nine times as profitable as the mean of the rest.”

Impassioned and now fully into the swing of her analysis, she presses her hands into the table and lifts her upper body up to take a deeper breath, one that you can’t help but notice causes her bosom to lift and sway in such a way that draws attention to the fact that her nipples have hardened. Whether that’s because of the stimulation of the smooth leather as she lifted herself up, the fact that they’re bare to the open air movement even in the warm room, that your mere presence is affecting her, or even that she’s excited by simple mathematical hurdles, you can’t say. You try and open your mouth to slip in a word edgewise, but she’s only interested in concluding her speech. “That’s to say nothing of what you must be spending in order to reserve an entire wing to ourselves, not just the deluxe suite that would demand every penny of your disposable income. I know I was able to save you several weeks’ worth of revenue with more exact calculations of intake and expenditure and clever reclassification to more than a few obscure and archiac building codes, but I also know that an entire wing would be more expensive than even that amount, so either you’re spending savings that are being kept off the books or there’s some favor you’re cashing in…?”

You only wish you had such financial security or political leverage, but the truth is less conniving than it is outright embarrassing. The proprietor of the inn’s actually a childhood friend who sought a slightly different meaning of hospitality and service in his life’s work and thought that the only fair challenge was to follow you to Gensokyo, and, having reached greater heights than you in both the financial and familial sectors – he’s the full owner of the establishment you normally work in during that weekend, and where you’re merely dating a youkai he’s already tied the knot and had a child with his hashihime lover – he thinks that he should repay his good fortune back. You just wish he wouldn’t do it by literally shoving those two priceless tickets for a weekend of bliss into your protesting hands while shouting at the top of his lungs “IMDOINGMYPARTNOWSTARTPLANNINGTHECEREMONYYOUUNGRACIOUSFUCKOFAWANKERSOSTOPPROTESTINGANDGETYOURGAMEFACEONYOUHAVEAMAR
”, conducted by his green-eyed wife’s awkwardly lewd, enthusiastic hand gestures and punctuated with her bassline of insane mutterings of “wontyoufuckingrealizethatyouhaveaninetailedkitsuneheadoverheelswithyouandthatshedfuckingbecomeyourlittlebitchandb

Honestly, you wonder how they ever hit it off in the first place. If it was over anything, it would have to be over their ability to speak in boldtext without any spaces.

Not that you’d ever tell Ran about that incident at this point, given that it’d only be intensely embarrassing and not make any real progress towards “being more honest”. She just wants you to say what you actually think, which is that you’d like to ask her if you can, contrary to your normal aversion to pomp and circumstance, make some form of official promise or commitment to one another – not like an engagement or marriage or anything, just boyfriend and girlfriend or something, because you started courting one another as casually as two dragonflies on the wing, with almost no discussion of pasts or futures between the two of you. It’s entirely possible that a woman as powerful and well-traveled as she is has lovers elsewhere, maybe even a special someone she’s got something actually serious going on with and you’re just pleasant company? Good heavens, maybe that’s what her reluctance to use her tails on you means?

Okay, that’s a bit farfetched, but you can’t help but imagine the worst, most surreal scenarios and setups possible. This is something you do actually lose sleep over.

Yes, better to neglect that little one-sided shouting episode. Not because discussing a breach of the fourth wall aloud in dialogue would probably result in some kind of meta-singularity, but more because having to tell her every incident that led up to today’s events is going a bit far, because the end of that road means having to start every anecdote as minor as what you had for breakfast with the history of the Dragon forming Gensokyo. Arguably the Big Bang. Knowing Ran’s mystic roots, maybe even the origin of the gods themselves.

“You can call it a repaid favor, although not one I asked for, so to that end I still have a little leverage. Repaid favors out of the blue being worth less than a favor asked for and all that. I got a discount, you might even say,” you clumsily explain. “I don’t have anything pressing to spend the money you’re sparing me on, so I’m coming out ahead, overall. I’m not allowed to treat my most valuable client?” Letting a tinge of mockery into your voice, you add, “You know, you went through all my records in a single morning, and before breakfast, no less. Are you sure you didn’t cut any corners?”

A tail that was submissively taking each wring and knead your hands are applying suddenly springs to life, gently but firmly latching around one wrist to pull your hand off to the side. Automatically, you open your fingers and spread them as wide as you can, and she just as casually weaves herself in between like the warp and weft of a loom. It’s like holding hands, but a lot smoother and softer. Not quite fluffy, though, not with their current sodden state. “I’d never cut corners when it comes to the affairs of my dear underlings.”

You detect the hook in the tart and deftly yank it out with a snort. “Oho, ‘underling’, now, am I?”

“Well, you always give me the most dedicated service, I can’t help but think myself a queen, you know?~” she giggles. You laugh with her even as you contemplate that. Truly, it would be the greatest honor to serve such a being as her. While you need some payment to cover material overhead costs, frankly, if she’d presented herself with majesty and demanded you to swear fealty, you would, and be happy doing so. The extra money that’s classified as “labor” costs only puts up a barrier between the two of you, even if you do share a bed all too often.

But you’d be even happier if the vows were mutual – okay, that’s dangerous waters.

“If you’d just accept a little more as wages, let us fully support you, you could live a lot more comfortably, and not have to worry about this sort of thing, you know,” she murmurs, her head having descended back down onto the bench, eyes closed to heighten her appreciation of your handiwork.

You sigh, wishing you could rub the bridge of your nose. “Ran, dear, we’ve been over this already, and you know why that’s not an option.” You’re a bit sterner than you meant to be, and her tail retracts just a bit; she makes a suppressed whine in the back of her throat, like a scolded puppy. Chastened, you give the tail woven into your fingers a reassuring squeeze, even as you fumble to work one-handed on the rest, making sure the soap penetrates the seemingly infinite layers to the undercoat underneath.

… actually, you reflect, it made it there a while ago. Honestly, you’ve just been working it in and standing here to enjoy a bit of quiet time with her, knowing that the moment you retire to the bedroom things are going to get more than frantic enough.

Unfortunately for you, though, it seems she’s realized you’ve been stalling as well, and suddenly tugs on your hand. “Fine, then. I won’t question your sudden generosity. In return, then, perhaps I can repay you with patronage of… another kind?”
No. 36866
File 142399181912.jpg- (378.52KB , 600x800 , Washing Ran.jpg ) [iqdb]
You scoff and roll your eyes, but it seems that since now that the sun has fully set outside, her evening needs have decided to assert themselves. Muttering under her breath, she rocks her body from side to side, using the motion to reposition her legs slightly farther apart and pull her body slightly farther up. Doing so paints a streak of the aftermath of your earlier play across the table, a white smear that draws your eye to first it, and then splash of pale pink at her groin, framed by the flawless, alabaster skin of her buttocks and thighs. Her hand reaches down to absentmindedly scratch the side of her leg, only to suddenly change course, run through the puddle, and smear it across her sex. When you finally peel your gaze away from the show, you find her leering at you, cocksure of the effect her antics surely are having on you.

If she thinks that’ll cloud your wits for long, though, she’s wrong; the process of soiling her in the first place has only served to sharpen your mind, hardening your resolve by way of softening your flesh. You deftly parry her hamfisted attempt at temptation with a laugh like a hyena, your washing hand freeing itself from her tails to spank her rear like a child. The unexpected attack breaks her sultry expression for just a moment, eliciting a reflexive gasp with the sting of the impact and the rush of sensation afterward. She tries to pass the inhalation off by letting out a flirtatious, high-pitched coo with a slight gyration of her hips, but she just started a battle with you well inside of her guard already. Your fingers spread wide and press against a set of very specific spots at the bases of her tails, all at different lengths along them, until her hips shudder of their own accord and her needy whines become low, satisfied moans. An eavesdropper might think it sounds like lovemaking, and it is, in its own way, but you know that that has its own set of sounds.

No, she won’t be making those sounds yet. Not just yet. But soon. You’re pretty sure that last week you found another vulnerable spot of hers deep inside and to the left, and the moment she fans her tails out underneath the showers you’re going to pin her hands above her head and try and find it again.

“Don’t worry your head,” you say lightly, enjoying having the upper ground for once. It might be fighting dirty to wring sweet music from her when she’s trusted herself totally to your care, but then again it’s fighting dirty for her to simply be herself in front of you, so you consider this course of action fair and evenhanded.

“Aww,” she pouts. “Well, regardless, I know that the moment we enter the showers, you’re going to pin me down and use those strong fingers of yours – ”

Yowch. Got you in one.

“ – but warning you now, I’m not going to let you wring me out like last time. It’s not proper foreplay unless it’s mutual, after all,” she finishes with a lick of her lips and a wink. “Oh, don’t look so crestfallen, it’s literally written across your face!”

Double yowch. Okay, now your member is beginning to awaken again. There’s hamfisted attempts at sexual temptation, and then there’s flat out propositioning in that matter-of-fact tone of voice that brooks no argument. She predicted your intended method of attack and outright approved of it, just on the condition that she gets what she wants as well; well, you’d expect no less of the great youkai sage.

Satiated as you may be from earlier, it’ll be a cold day in hell before you outright turn down an offer of service from her, even if one thing tends to lead to another with the two of you. As futile as resistance may seem, though, you’re obligated to run down your closing checklist one last time anyways. You check the clock on the wall; not that there any appointments after Ran’s, mainly due to how her appointments tend to naturally extend themselves into debauched rutting until the sun rises. A benchmark of your body tells you that you’re still wide awake, none of your muscles are overly tired from anything like grinding pigments or mixing soap batches, and you’re more than sure that the ache inside your groin is definitely still in the range of ‘pleasant need’ and not ‘exhausted suffering’. “One condition,” you hurriedly say.

She beams, sure of her victory. “Sure, anything.”

“Just let rinse you off first, at the very least, or you’ll get that tacky residue in your undercoat again.” Last month’s incident had required such hard scrubbing you hadn’t the spirit to so much as lift a finger afterwards, although that had only led to the far more discomfiting tongue cramps the following morning. As novel as getting to that point was, you could do without the sharp stabbing pains literally within your skull. “We don’t want that, now, would we??”

“It’d give me an excuse to come back here sooner, at least,” she whines, both complaining that it’s too long between your appointments and that you’re taking too long to start the action. “Now come on; no, I see you looking at the mop and bucket, you can do that tomorrow, come on!”

Mindful of the layers of lather all over her tails, she doesn’t so much slide off the massage table as slither, the two herbal towels on her back and legs flowing off as smoothly as a magician’s trick. Her steps are so smooth and light that barely a single bit of foam drips off of her, reminding you yet again that her body is, for all its proportions and appearances, inherently inhuman. You give a long-suffering glance at the rest of the various liquids pooled on your table’s surface and floor, knowing that cleanup now before everything cakes, dries, and crusts over will save you a lot of effort tomorrow morning. It’s what you used to do.

You also used to be the early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy, but ever since a certain kitsune walked into your life, though, you’ve had to make some adjustments.

Ran wants you now, and you her, so sacrifices must be made for the common good. You’ll clean the shop when she’s taken her leave, both of you already daydreaming and fantasizing of your next appointment together. At the very least you’ll have a lot of fresh daydream material to make the time go by quicker.

The shower room was seemingly designed for exactly three people to use it simultaneously, a strange number until you realize it was actually designed for one man and one kitsune with tails voluminous enough to require an extra half. While Ran minces her way across the studio, still naked as a jaybird, you unhurriedly shrug off your own robe and throw it into a convenient hamper, then find the one she discarded earlier and give it the same treatment. Stepping out onto the center of the tiles, you study the temperature settings on all three showerheads and judiciously bump each of them up just another couple of hairs before throwing the taps open, summoning forth a downpour of water greater than any monsoon. You want to be absolutely sure that she’s glowing inside and out within only a few minutes; that may be the longest she can wait.

You haven’t even turned around yet when her arms snake over your shoulders and around your neck in a loose embrace, two generous and pillowy breasts gently squashing against your back. She’s actually taller than you, by an inch, but not for any want for height on your part. Quite the opposite; you have a height advantage over almost any man in the village yourself. One might say that her majestic, imposing figure is perfect match for your own. If the two of you were to walk the village streets together, arm in arm, you’d surely appear like a pair of descended gods –

Her arms were like serpents around your neck, so it shouldn’t surprise you that her hand finds your shaft with all the precision of a striking cobra. “My, my, my, what have we here?” she moans huskily into your ear as she begins squeezing her fingers, making you grunt in time and buck your hips slightly into her grip. Already her tails, covered in soap as they are, are coming around capture your limbs. You instinctively tense up for just a second, knowing just what’s on them, but you soon relax; the huge volumes of water coming down are already carrying the white foam away with them, so there’s no risk of it burning lines into your relatively delicate flesh. You writhe a bit in play, pretending to try and break her grip, but when her hand starts sliding up and down your shaft in earnest you clear your throat and put a bit more earnest force into it. Her response to your escape attempts is just an impatient huff, and she still persist, sidestepping back and forth with you as you attempt to skitter away, shifting her grip to around your balls and squeezing just a bit more tightly than is pleasurable. “Stay put,” she hisses, an almost feral edge in her voice, “and let me have my fun, okay?”

You make one last, halfhearted shuffle, then sigh and hold still, holding your hands high up in seeming surrender. With a happy sound, she reaches to wrap her second hand around the upper half of your cock while moving her first hand back to the base. Stars explode behind your eyelids as she begins spinning the palm of her head over and around your glans, even as the side of her other hand beats a rapid tattoo against your groin as it pumps.

Before she gets more than a dozen strokes in, though, you turn the tables by plucking the showerhead from its perch above your head and turning it into her face. Your lover makes an undignified “ackpfffffff!” sound, but that alone isn’t enough to dislodge her as she simply buries her face into your neck, trailing her tongue across your heated skin in random patterns, the movements of her head stroking your cheek with her hair and ears; you can feel how they’ve both turned to present their backs to the spray.

What is enough to send her scampering away, ears pinned flat to her head with a squeak, is when you drop your arm low and flick your thumb over a toggle. The rain goes from a gentle but firm spray to a shuddering, battering barrage of high-pressure jets, jets that fire out from between your own legs to assault the juncture of her own, an unexpected ambush that sends her leaping back in surprise. Spinning around, you flick the switch back to its original setting and arc the spray upwards to fall gently upon her frontside and over her head. Ears still flattened and tails still visibly puffed out in surprise even through the layers of suds, she submits, shaking herself and kneeling onto the floor with her eyes closed. “You’re no fun,” she manages to say through a pout, tossing her head this way and that until you’ve soaked the hair on top of her head and the showerheads on the sides have reduced the layers of soap on her tails to a dull, seemingly grey coating. “In fact, you’re an immoral scoundrel. I’ll be expecting that next time.”

“I hope you do,” you say airly, putting the shower nozzle back into its holder to keep it out of your way filling your hands with a bottle of shampoo in its stead. As you walk towards her, you deftly snatch a short stool from its resting place in the corner with a crooked foot. Hearing the rattling of its legs against the grout of the tiles, she gets her feet back under her and cracks open an eye, just enough to let her deftly catch it with a tail and pull it under her when you kick it at her. She gives the bottle of shampoo in your hand a final one-eyed glance before sighing in resignation and closing it, submissively bowing her head to the final step of her appointment that can still be classified as “business”, even if it wasn’t technically part of the original advertised service.

In fact, when it was first put in, you’d never have thought there’d be an occasion more than one person to use it at a time when it was built. But then she’d “innocently” asked you to show her how it worked, and then you had the excuse of already knowing how to operate it so you could make sure she didn’t accidentally burn herself. Less than two minutes after you’d both disrobed she was not-so-innocently working a completely different thing of yours as the realization for its three-person volume hit you like a truck.

Snapping your thoughts back to the present, you carefully position yourself alongside of her, your feet and manhood facing the same direction as hers as you twist your torso to get your hands into her hair You don’t dare stand in directly front of her – waving your equipment right under her nose like that would just flat out inviting shenanigans to happen.

As your fingers work their way into that beautiful golden head of hair, threading themselves into her locks and massaging a copious amount of shampoo into them, she writhes in her seat. With each scratch of your nails against her scalp, her face twists and grimaces in reaction. You watch, fascinated as ever, as she ever so gradually loses control. Muscles in her face twitch erratically, her closed eyelids occasionally clenching even harder as stars of pleasure explode behind them. Soon her lips part in silent gasps, only for her teeth to bite her lip to barely hold back a moan. This holds for a minute until it slips free as she nearly bites down, the first of many whimpers finally leaking from her. Her head suddenly snaps back, your clever hands quickly parting her hanging bangs in order to plaster them along the sides of her head before they stick to her face. A sudden rush of blood to your groin leaves you lightheaded when you realize that her motions in her seat have taken a purposeful, determined rhythm. The hands in her lap have their fingers curled through the patch of hair at the peak of her sex, tightly gripping the lush thatch for dear life to pull back on the hood of her clitoris as the smooth, polished wood of the stool grinds against her exposed bud with every movement of her hips.

It’s been long enough. Even knowing that she’s doing it to tempt you, you know you’d consider yourself a failure of a man if you let a stool bring her to climax while you stand there.

“Spread your legs,” you growl in a tone that brooks no argument; not that she has the slightest reason to resist. She squeaks in inarticulate glee as her knees part to make just enough space for you to drop down onto all fours and shove your head between her thighs. You take the time to rub each of your cheeks along those expanses of smooth, flawless skin, but soon the fragrance of her dripping sex is too much to bear and your nose nestles into her curls as your tongue laps at her womanhood. Gasping in relief, she hugs the back of your head as you crush your lips against her outer folds with as much strength as you can put into your neck.

Still desiring to be closer, you move your arms up until they wrap around her upper thighs and hips and your hands grab hold of each other above her stomach in a strong, powerful hold. This gives you the purchase you need to her up and off of the seat, putting her lower back on the stool now as you angle her up towards your voracious ministrations. You rotate between a variety of styles, not giving her a moment to prepare herself mentally against a single one, whether it’s lapping at surface in long, one way strokes like a dog, rapping her peak like a boxer with a speedbag, or thrusting your tongue within her in an imitation of the act to come. You can’t get enough of this taste, but if your brewer friends in the village were to ask what it was of, you’d never be able to give an actionable answer. She tastes like a goddess, and the only way they’d know is if they’d had a taste themselves – and that is something you hope they never get.

You can feel the tension in her body as she shudders with pleasure, both that which was already there from her earlier masturbation and that which you’ve wound into her with your cunnilingus. Your lover wriggles underneath you, seemingly unable to decide whether she should crush your head between her legs to keep you there or spread them wider to allow you more freedom of movement, and you muddy the waters by teasing her further. When her knees draw closer to her body, her legs folding up in what you’ve learned is one of her preorgasmic tells, you tease her by pulling back, taking a tour of the soft skin of her thighs and nuzzling the soft thatch in her lap.

“F-fuck you!” she spits out in a shaky laugh, grabbing at your hair and pulling you painfully back to her sex. You only glare upward at her, not even so much as shaking your head – after all, that would stroke her with your lips, and while she presses you to her a few more times, soon enough she moans in resignation, letting go of your head. She tries to tempt you into finishing her off by spreading her pouting, flushed sex for your viewing pleasure, and while it is a lovely pussy, it’s no longer a new and novel experience for you. “I – I’ll do it myself, if I have to!” she blusters, her fingers dipping into her folds until they come up soaked in her juices, slick fluids that she makes a show of rubbing against her throbbing clit. You only call her bluff, staring up at her with the most stoic expression you can muster, knowing that she won’t dare actually finish herself off with you right there, promising an experience far superior to anything she could give to herself.

When you’ve judged that she’s visibly calmed, though, you explode back into action, resuming at the ravenous pace and gusto that you’d left off at. She doesn’t last another minute before she screams your name, squeezing her thighs against the sides of your head, forcing your lips and tongue against her. Her hips buck up and down as she desperately adds to her pleasure – and just like that, it’s the only source of it, as you suddenly stop all service, leaving her humping your face stupidly like some kind of toy. You can see the conflict in her eyes, her pupils narrowing to slits before dilating out again half a dozen times in as many seconds as she wonders if maybe, just maybe, this might be the time to simply give in and let go.

She’s too proud for that. You know her too well.

“You. Are. An. Asshole,” she moans. Her tails swish underneath her, knocking the stool out from underneath her before lowering the rest of her body gently to the floor. “I don’t even care anymore. You’re a villain. A monster. My worst enemy.”

“You have to be cruel to be kind,” you leer back. “You wouldn’t put up with it if you didn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Of course I’ve seen it!” she laughs, although there’s so much tension in her voice it comes out as a strangled chuckle. “Dear gods! Take me away! I can’t deal with this upstart man of mine any longer!”

You straighten your posture a bit, moving up and away from her groin as if finished. “How rude,” you sigh melodramatically. “I’m wounded! So scorned, perhaps I’ll just pack my things and go to bed. By myself. Alone, crying to those gods that the most – “

Did you take it too far? When you look down, her eyes are shining, mouth agape, her lips quivering. It makes you stop midsentence, and for a few seconds, there’s naught but the sound of the showerheads gently casting water upon nothing but bare tile. “I, uh, Ran, I didn’t mea – “
No. 36867
File 142399200371.jpg- (95.96KB , 850x980 , Kneeling Nude Ran.jpg ) [iqdb]
Whoops! You hadn’t noticed the tails creeping up behind you, tails that roughly toss you into her embrace as easily as a ball. A fox’s grin greets your gaze as you shove a deliciously taut and heavy breast out of the way with the side of your head to glare up at her. You’ve been had. “C’mon, you ape. Touch me. Kiss me. Caress me. Love me,” she croons. “Fuck me~”

You briefly consider trying to regain some dignity in this matter, but you’re grasping at straws at this point. All you can manage is to make a show of grumbling about oversexed kitsunes, a show that has her laughing like a noblewoman before a comedic opera. Her good humor irks you, so you bend the pitch of her voice into something more base and primal by attacking her breasts, kneading them both underneath your grasp while your mouth moves from one to the other, pulling and nipping at her swollen nipples.

Her fingers move across yours, picking at your fingers in an attempt to weave her own in between. You let her grip onto one of yours, but you have its mate escape away to her side to allow you raise your weight off of her. Dazed, she arches her back and stares up at you, her expression confused and unsure as to why you’ve stopped, eyes glazed and cheeks flushed. She’s ready for it now, and realizing that, she sighs happily, spreading her legs just a little further out. A few tails move up from the floor to coax you in between those long, perfectly curved thighs of hers, but no – not just yet.

You instead impale her with your upturned middle and ring fingers, your pointer and pinky crushed against the hotspots flanking her slit.

You hadn’t thought you’d left her peaked and primed, but she gushes against your wrist immediately, her legs folding and quivering and voice rising and falling in that all-too-familiar rhythm of orgasm. But it’s not over yet – in fact, if this evening goes the way it should, this is hardly the beginning. Each churn of your hand and wrists evokes such violent reactions from her body, they threaten to rip your fingers out from her. Since neither of you want that, you swiftly lay yourself back down on your side against her, pillowing her head with your upper arm and capturing her kicking feet by squeezing her shins between your calves, one under, one over. For better or worse, this has your cock grinding against her hips with every shudder of her body, but you do your best to shove the distraction out of your mind as you begin exploring the most intimate parts of her body. Frankly, the greater distraction comes from the scent of her freshly washed hair; already the pleasant blend of perfumes and fragrances put into it is being overwhelmed by the waves of pheromones her sex-addled body is producing. “You didn’t think I wasn’t going to take this opportunity to try and find that spot again from last time?” you whisper into her ear before nuzzling your nose deeper into her locks. She only squeak in response, butting her head stupidly against your chin in wordless encouragement.

Anyone with the slightest bit of carnal knowledge of the female body knows that some of the most sensitive places in a woman’s channel are found on the upper wall, and so your curled fingers are no new innovation. But you know her body well enough to play it like a shamisen in the pitch black night under the covers, and you’ll be damned if you miss a single fingering that you’ve painstakingly charted underneath hours of her breathless tutelage, hundreds if not thousands of “ooh”s and “aah”s, “fuck”s and “mmmmmngh”s, “justlikethatyesyesyes”s and “unnngghhhhrightthererightthererightthere”s. This one, so far back and “high” within the outer wall of her channel is only reachable if you thrust forward until even the knuckles of your hand force their way into her folds, with your fingers stabbing upwards so sharply as if to rip through her belly.

The moment you work your way just deep enough with a pop, your outer two digits crushed against those sensitive leylines alongside her opening, is immediately apparent. Water pooled on the tiles’ surface goes everywhere as her tails whip out and around uncontrollably in ecstasy, her mewling cries echoing in perfect harmony with themselves as you bring her to a second climax.

Only when your fingers have gone fully numb underneath her contractions do you finally relent, wincing as you try to straight the bend they seem to have permanently frozen themselves into. You bring them up to her face to stroke her cheek, and she shamelessly sucks them into her mouth. The spectacle makes your neglected cock – and it is neglected at this point, given the disproportionate amount of service you’ve showered your lover with – twitch as it recalls the feel of those lips and tongue around it. In your mind’s eye, you see yourself ripping your hand from her mouth, only to straddle her face in turn and thrust deep into her throat, balls slapping against her chin until you cum straight into her stomach –

Ah, but you’ve lived out that fantasy once already. More than once, if you count the times you’ve sixty-nined, or the time she laid herself out on the massage table with her head tilted all the way back to put her gaping mouth at waist level, or – well. Hastily, you peel yourself away from her, finding your footing on the tile and taking a step towards the faucets to turn them off.

You don’t make it two steps.

Teasing her like that was a huge tactical error; you’ve awoken the sleeping giant that is her sexual appetite. Your four muscled limbs have exactly zero chance of escaping the grapple of her nine tails as she outright drags you back towards her, the furred appendages fully helixing themselves around your arms and legs. So preoccupied with restraining yourself, you’d completely missed her rising up right with you. For one heartstopping moment you’re lifted high into the cloud of steam above the showerheads, mere inches from the ceiling, and then your stomach lurches once more as grips are transferred and you’re gently laid down upon your back, a few of her tails simultaneously cushioning you from the unforgiving tile and tilting you slightly towards her. Slowly, she lifts your hands and feet up and away from each other, and you can’t help but squirm in trepidation, hands and feet waggling in panic as you look up at her with wide eyes.

She crawls between your legs with a starved expression on her face that makes you swallow in outright fear. But as one tail very carefully wraps around the base of your length, pushing it almost parallel to the floor, you realize that your own arousal has become unbearable – that, heavens forbid, being manhandled has actually made you harder. Licking her lips, she carefully mounts your spread legs, the backs of your thighs coming to rest against each other. It’s a position that you’ve been in many times – it was the very first position you’d taken her in, in fact, thrusting down with the entire weight of your body and ejaculating over and over again until your seed overflowed from within her. There’s just one thing wrong with it: you should be in her position, and she in yours.

She licks her lips. “My turn to give you a new experience.”

In this position, she’s the one fucking you – there’s no other way to describe it. Even in a traditional cowgirl, it’s quite clear that you’re the one with the cock, and she’s the one taking it. But in this position, if someone to walk in on the two of you right now, it would appear that at first glance that your genitals have done some kind of freaky swap. But your bodies are still exactly as they are naturally, and the awkward angle that your penis is bent down into creates an unusual friction as it attempts to spring back up into a more natural position, grinding long and hard against all those most soft, sensitive, spongy spots in her sex. Already, only a few slow, tentative thrusts later, you feel her channel flutter around you, a thick nectar suddenly flowing over your manhood and dripping out over your balls. Your pride as a man awakens just enough for you to try and wiggle free, but as she contracts around your member, so too do her tails around your limbs even harder, even if her eyes are fogged completely over with pleasure.

There’s literally nothing you can do in this position, but in all honesty you have no right to complain. It’s not like you haven’t pinned her down with a similar lack of freedom before yourself with a few ropes hidden underneath the comforter, or even just with your hands and arms. In fact, there’s a perverse pleasure in having no control whatsoever; even in a riding position you have the ability to time a simple angling of your hips with her own thrusts, but here all that happens is that you struggle against yet another tail. Without the slightest bit of onus of participation or thought, the only thing left for your mind to consider Is in just how your member presses into her channel, in how her very body seems to perfectly remember and prepare itself for your cock and yours alone, in how her breasts somehow settle into a perfect figure eight pattern, in how her mouth hangs open and her tongue lolls out as she pants like the bitch in heat that she is. It’s so completely removed from her normal persona as a dignified, near omnipotent sage that it makes you uncomfortable, but only in the best possible way.

Dignity, you decide as your eyes finally roll into the back of your head and you blow your second load of the evening deep inside of her, is overrated.

The feeling of your seed erupting within your kitsune lover is enough to touch her off as well, and she sinks down to the hilt so that she can feel each spurt hit against the entrance to her womb, her arms hugging across her own hips and her knees pointed inward emulating the undulations of her inner folds as her entire body tries to wrap itself tighter around you, milking out a dozen powerful shots from your balls, with some number of smaller spurts barely escaping out right after. When she shifts just a bit to the side with a grunt, a huge rush of mixed cum flows out onto your lap, over your sack, and across the wet tile. All too soon, your deflating member slips free, and she sits back onto her bottom away from you, now hugging her shoulders, a stupid expression on her face.

You try and summon the willpower to get up and regain your composure… but… you’re just… too tired…

There are ways of wearing her out before you, but when it comes to proper intercourse nine times out of ten you’re the slower to recover. All too soon, she’s crawling back over you, futilely painting your unresponsive member with the mélange of fluids oozing from her pussy. “Again, again!~” she begs like a small child for a piggyback ride, if small children could have a voice as husky and as sensual as that.

You’re not about to oblige her, though. The last time you went for a second round in the shower, it became a third, and then a fourth, and then you woke up aching in all kinds of uncomfortable places and wrinkly in others from having passed out underneath the showerheads. You’re barely able to turn over onto your stomach before she tries to pin you down properly with her body weight, but fortunately even then you manage to crawl out from under her and scramble to your feet. Feeling a number of wet things barely touch at your feet, you desperately leap towards one wall, trusting that you won’t actually have to try and land properly – after all, it’s your bare feet upon the water slick tile. Indeed, her tails blatantly expand and extend to try and reel you back in, catching you before you can hit the floor, but you’re just barely close enough. While one arm goes low and flips the water temperature setting as far as it can towards the blue circle, the other snatches the showerhead itself and brings it to bear. The kitsune half-laughs, half-shrieks as a flow of water as icy as a flowing river in winter hits her sex-flushed skin, her tails retreating to do their best to form a mostly-waterproof cocoon around her.

“Back, you voracious monster, you rapacious beast!” you call out, putting every drop of energy you still have into an imitation of a narcissistic doomed hero. “My champion is yet exhausted from your assault, and must have a moment to itself to brace itself yet again.”

“You rat bastard,” she laughs, walking up to you in spite of the spray so that she can splay her hands against your chest, pressing slightly but throwing her elbows out in an exaggerated fashion; it’s play-shove, but she doesn’t actually put any force behind it given the slick tile the two of you are standing on. Nevertheless, you play along with it, taking a few tottering steps back as if unable hold fast against her attack, and she begins moving towards you once again. “Can’t a girl get what she needs these days without a fight?”

You raise an eyebrow at her, legitimately unsure at this point if she’s simply bantering with you or if she’s completely forgotten. “But Ran,” you say slowly. “Weren’t you going to show me what was in that bag of yours?”

Her advance towards you freeze in place, and interestingly her hands suddenly fly across her body in an almost virginal reaction – one arm inadequately across her breasts with the other going down her stomach towards her groin, fingers splayed as if attempting to block your view. “I – ah. Yes. Right,” she stammers, blinking rapidly. With a cough, she regains her composure completely, and suddenly you’re left feeling like you’re underdressed. “I’ll – I’ll prepare myself down here. Set out the futon our bedroom, would you? And no peeking!” she suddenly barks out, finger waggling in premature admonishment.

Your ears still flushing from the casual way she’d called it “our” bedroom, you turn away to quickly step in and out of one of the still-warm shower sprays, turning off the ice-cold one in your hand and putting it back as you do so. You don’t turn back towards her, but you can still feel her gaze rake you from head to toe, easily picking up on your embarrassed state.
Imitating you, she moves underneath the remaining warm showerhead to quickly rinse herself off as well before following you at a polite distance out into the drying area, a “polite distance” being not in your arms or pressed against you with a hand around your member as has happened many times before. Still unable to meet your gaze, you pluck a towel from a rack and wrap it around your waist, not trusting yourself to even so much as dry yourself properly.

As a peal of laughter chases you out, you blindly throw a second towel back over your shoulder into her face. It’s the best resistance you can offer in a situation like this.
No. 36868
File 142399206754.jpg- (408.03KB , 360x1000 , Lingerie Ran.jpg ) [iqdb]
You’d once proclaimed in a fit of post-orgasmic insanity that one kitsune shikigami Ran Yakumo would look exactly the same no matter what her garb. “Your beauty will shine through even a nun’s garb, and your dignity will make even rags seem like fine raiment over your shoulders.”

“What about a trashbag?” she’d jibed.

“Even a trashbag,” you’d replied with utmost sincerity.

She’s not wearing a trashbag tonight.

As much as you hate asymmetry in fashion for sake of asymmetry, your assertion that Ran makes anything look good still holds true. A ribbon-in-cloth garter around her right bicep is only matched by one on her left thigh; her right thigh is instead covered in a very scant net stocking, topped with lace thicker than the actual nettings. The fabric of the cloth of her bra and panties sport a Western blue-on-white cross-striped pattern, topped with lace and ribbons to complete the image, but panties are merely sideties, revealing the perfect way her thighs sweep into her hips, and her bra seems to be undersized, her generous breasts threatening to spill up and out of the cups if she were to so much as take a step on a stairwell.

Come to think of it, perhaps that’s why she hesitated outside the door. Your bedroom is the first on the right after the stairs up, after all.

You sit crosslegged on the futon in a hastily donned robe whose belt you haven’t even bothered to tie, doing your best not to drool as your lover poses in the doorway for your pleasure, first stretching her arms high above her head and hiding her tails behind her torso to accentuate the skimpiness of her bra, then moving her arms out in a cross with her tails in a wide fan while swaying her hips from side to side to draw attention to her exposed hips underneath the sideties. When she bends forward, hands behind your back, you blink realizing that you can actually see her nipples thrusting proudly into the too-tight cups, for the material doesn’t reach quite high enough to cover them properly from above. But what truly blows your mind is when she turns around and thrusts out her rear while sliding the door shut behind her, lifting up her tails to show you exactly what she has in store for you. In lieu of attempting to simultaneously cover her rear and yet allow her tails freedom of movement, the cloth’s simply been tailored short. The tight bud of her ass is completely exposed, and when she threads her thumbs into the strings and pulls just a little bit up the front, the garment shifts high enough to fully expose her still-soiled sex. The glob of your seed that escapes her is soaked up anew by the cloth of her panties when she pulls it back into a “decent” position, making your member throb with renewed dedication.

“So, uh, what do you think about this?” she hums as she takes a half dozen exaggerated, seductive steps onto your futon before taking a seat upon your lap with her arms around your neck, grinding the front of her panties through the silk of your robe against your member as you shrug your own arms out of your robe. You wonder to yourself what position she’ll ask for tonight – but whatever it is, it won’t be in as many words, so you pay close attention to whatever play she’s about to subject you to. You’re about to ask what she means by ‘this’ when she suddenly reaches into garter around her thigh and pulls out a thin red ribbon. For a moment you wonder if she means to tie it around the base of your cock – a experience of outright denial that, while absolutely euphoric in the end, leaves you aching in all the wrong places in the morning – but then you watch as she ties it first around her finger, and then yours. The proverbial red string of fate. Your heart leaps into your throat as you think about the implications of it, but you swallow it back down. As much as you want an answer regarding the permanency of her affections, when she’s scantily clad and about to mount you is not the time to do it.

Instead, you try to divert your uncertainty into painfully bad humor. “If I pull too hard on this string, will I die?” you joke, reaching around her to grab two overflowing handfuls of delicious kitsune ass. While it is a long string, perhaps one and a half arm lengths, if it snags on an elbow or knee it could easily snap – or if it’s tougher than it looks, it could snap something else entirely. Her fingers find your belt at your sides, moving to your front in an attempt to find the knot. Upon finding none, though, she simply flicks open the two sides of your robe, exposing your member to her attentions.

“It would be extremely painful,” she giggles as she lets you hug her closer, hissing in appreciation as her fingers wrap around your member. She must have run straight upstairs after putting on those panties, as by now enough of it has leaked out to fully soak the garment. Or is this simply a fresh batch of her own personal arousal? Either way, though, it has you rearing to go.

“You’re a big girl,” you try and argue. Indeed, the way she bucks and kicks during sex, you’re worried about accidentally dislocating a finger in what should be a pleasurable moment. But if she has any concerns, she chooses not to voice them as she lifts one edge of her panties to thread your penis into the gap, trapping it between smooth, soft, cool wet cloth on one side and a mixture of similar but warm flesh and hair on the other. But this treatment doesn’t last long, for the two of you have been holding back long enough at this point. She rises up onto her knees and puts one hand behind her head as she slowly spins her hips, lifting her body up and around just enough so that your dick shifts her panties to the side itself, its softly capped tip pillowing into the dripping outer folds. Just the slightest bit more pressure downward, and you’ll push past her tight entrance into her waiting depths.

“For you,” she whispers, no longer referring to the original conversation, and then she penetrates herself onto you. Unlike in the shower, she doesn’t hurry to hilt you into her, instead savoring the feel of you slowly reopening her up insides before withdrawing all the way out, all so she can enjoy the feeling of that initial entry over and over again. She does this a dozen times, each a hair-raising and worldview-changing experience in and of itself, until her entrance remains fully open and waiting for you despite withdrawal, and so she simply sinks back down and begins grinding against you in circles. “Oh, shit, I can’t wait any longer, I want it again,” she groans, her voice coming out in tremors as the last remnants of your prior lovemaking are scraped out by your motions. Moving out from behind her head, her hands slide down her sides to the side strings, pulling out the knots by pulling her arms up into a cross, the rest of the undergarment sliding out to flap in the air, pulled taut behind her. I want your cum inside of me again, take me, take me, take me, fuck me, fuck me until I’m full of your cum, shoot it deep into my womb – “

Her dirty talk is certainly that, but with the reason for your invitation to the hot springs inn bouncing around in your surface thoughts, it sparks memories. In the afterglow of one of your early appointments and more specifically the first where you ended up sleeping with one another, the two of you had discussed the exact wording of her words, of the emphasis on your sperm filling her womb and how it implied more than just sex, namely the raw animal instinct of mating to produce offspring. You had to get that notion out of the way, knowing her both to be a youkai and a creature of magic and divinity far beyond your kenning, so that there would be no misunderstandings between you. Namely, she doesn’t actually want to be impregnated and then raise your children for the sake of your own daily lives, as she’s already quite busy with both her work and her own young, still maturing and growing, basically-a-child shikigami. After all, if she had more time, she’d be making appointments to get her both her tails and herself, er, done far more often, from the once every week she does now to once every few days, if not a few days every day if she could swing it (not that your own mortal stamina would keep up for that last pace for long). As for yourself, while you are seeking out an emotional commitment, you’re decently sure that the demands of raising a baby would ruin a lot of things you currently enjoy about your life. Besides, you’re sure you’d be a horrible father anyways, even if that’s an assertion she passionately protested.

“But,” she’d continued, chattering as eagerly and unashamedly as a housewife discussing the weather, “I’ve found over many years and partners that such conversational subjects and seemingly out of character vulgarity, when brought up during the act in a primal and emotional way, heighten the pleasure for both parties. Despite being privy to my own intent, the act of speaking such words multiply both my own orgasms and the contractions they contain overall for a quadratic effect, exponentially increasing further when synergized with the male’s increased penis size and ejaculation volume when so encouraged.”

A raised eyebrow, a twitchy cheek, and two blinks was what you’d given her as a response.

“… it makes the sex spicier,” she’d sighed.

… leaving out just how she collects the latter two measurements without breaking out rulers and beakers and sticking them where the sun don’t shine, it certainly wasn’t the kind of pillow talk you’d have fantasized about. But that’s the kind of thing you and Ran end up talking about every time, when she’s pillowed her head and sweet smelling hair onto your arm and you’ve done the same on a few of her fluffy tails, and you wouldn’t have it any other way now.

Even knowing the true intent behind her words, you have to admit that your lovemaking would be a lot duller without it. You bull forward to throw her down into the blankets, leaving your robe behind so that you’re fully unclothed now. Her earlier withdrawal and entry play has her remain gaping open even when you pull free of her in the movement, making it easy for you to simply sink back down and renter her in a single clean motion.

Not only that, it told you exactly what she wanted to do with you tonight, even after all the service she got in the shower. She really is hungry tonight.

The two of you soon settle into a particular rhythm she’d coached you into, something she’s worked on and perfected over a period of time that’s almost certainly longer than your current age, and probably your entire estimated lifespan. When she’d broached the topic, you’d laughed awkwardly and joked around about it being a needlessly complex and overthought out thing for what’d thought was best as a spontaneous and instinctual act, but after many months of her gently (and not so gently) coaching and tutoring you through it and dozens of other bedroom techniques and hundreds of positions, reaching sexual highs you’d never felt during casual romps and tumbles with previous partners in the village, you can safely say you’ve been swayed to her side on this issue.

The somewhat needlessly flowery name of “Kitsune’s Cadence” (not that you’d dare mock her on it at this point) refers to a rhythm begins with twenty or so slow and deliberate hilt-deep thrusts, each with a full-body-weight grind at its end to kiss your tip against her womb’s entrance and peel back the hood of her clit within your own curls. Following it is a coy withdrawal so that you can tease and tempt that sensitive, now-exposed bud with twice as many quick and deft strokes with the underside and tip of your cock. Your aching balls slap into her flushed and yearning folds as you paint the mélange of her wetness and your precum onto her lap and belly with the brush of your newly freed manhood, only at length dipping back into her sopping inkwell to both moisten it anew and churn out a fresh batch of her cream. There’s double the teasing to thrusts to begin with to make for an equal amount of time of both, the thrusts deliberately timed to be half the speed of the clitoral stimulation.

Sometimes you reach a hand down to grasp the base of your cock for extra leverage and snap for the latter rhythm, but you can’t always manage it. For those times, usually your hands are too busy stroking her face, hair, flank, breast, or thigh, sometimes you rely purely on the dexterity of your hips, but often she’ll take the initiative, peeling a hand from its encouraging embrace behind your butt, back, neck, or head to reach down for a little extra mischief. Early on, while you’re still reaching your peak size and shape within her, she impatiently jerks you off for additional encouragement, all too eager to get you fully hard even while she covers for your lack of attention, especially in the three or so periods it takes for you to figure out the front hook of her bra with one hand and at long last knock it aside. Once that’s been achieved, she focuses on her own pleasure, whimpering as she roughly handles your manhood like a sex toy to drum a tattoo on the peak of her sex or forgoing it entirely to knead that taut nubbin with frantic, circular strokes of her fingers, perfectly timing her own caresses to flit out from underneath every single one of your member’s movements.

There’s also an emphasis on keeping the vaginal and clitoral stimulation somewhat distinct. Oh yes, there’s a little blurring around the edges, much of which comes from the fact that the latter is literally part of the former, but despite the similarities between them they have two entirely different expressions of appreciation from your kitsune partner. One of the first thing she taught you is that while there’s a time to go for broke, a mere few minutes into the coitus proper is not it. Instead, in order for you to properly take the lead, you’re to set a pace and only accelerate it with the utmost deliberation, leading her on a path where her only choice is to cum and cum again, over and over until she first loses count and then her mind at the very end of a long, arduous journey.

While you no longer have the need to communicate aloud to make this happen, it’s not as if you make love in silence. You can’t help but grunt slightly at the end of each thrust, and whenever some sweet nothing about her skin or warmth or wetness comes to mind, you simply let it spill out from between your lips like so much water through a creek. When she inevitably cums around your cock for the first time, gripping it within her with clenching folds from tip to root, she does so with low moans and groans, her legs reflexively rising up to embrace you closer but only making it as far as hugging you with her thighs or knees before she goes limp and languid again, her generous gush of extra nectar oozing out in a thick cream all over your cock and balls. When next the rapping and stroking of her clit brings her to climax, she instead twitches with squeaks and squeals, perhaps giggling a bit as her feet suddenly point and her toes curl, her legs flying up and apart in a near-split and hips thrusting up to try and offer up a little more of that tiny, sensitive place for your attentions, perhaps squirting a small spurt of juice onto the sheets. Combining the two multiplies the pleasure, yes, but also knocks her completely out into a soporific afterglow. In order to lengthen your lovemaking, you carefully and deliberately pace between the two, as steadily as one walking across a tightrope, never doubling up on one, never attempting to fuse both together. The end result will be a chain of multiple orgasms for her that lasts from the very beginning to the epic finale.

By this stage, the rhythm has shifted to downplay the teasing and focus more on the increased desire to blindly rut. The periods of teasing begin to shorten, although the thrusting remains capped at twenty tops before withdrawing for a break. When the thrusts and teases reach an equal quantity per cycle, the time spent teasing is now merely half what it originally was; two parts thrusts, one part teasing.

Then finally, as you begin to tremble and spurt in preorgasmic contractions of your own, she simply locks the base of your ridging manhood in a firm, tight grip with either a ring of thumb and forefinger or a V of fore and middle finger, staving off your ejaculation with direct neural pressure. Everything here begins to approach an extreme as you begin to thrust harder and tease even more lightly, accelerating your movements and the cycle itself by shaving numbers off both counts of the halves, down from twenty and twenty to some ten and ten – or as Ran prefers to do it, nine and nine, for the easiest way for you to attempt to keep track of the cycle with both your rapidly slipping sanities is to twine one of her tails around a limb of yours with every thrust inside of her, and to let it slip off in anticipation with every thrust outside, on and off and on again, over and over until the count is lost and you both scale the heavens together.

The attacks on her clit actually being less intense at this stage didn’t initially make sense to you, but without the decrease of pleasure, the cycle devolves too early into the mere animal rutting that Ran was trying to avoid for as long as possible. With such powerful, hip-crashing thrusts, there’s no need for her clit to be strongly caressed, as the sheer force of your body slamming into hers sends tremors through it strong enough to weaken grips and roll back eyes. The teasing therefore lightens up to head off a too-powerful clitoral orgasm that would sync up with the penetrations, serving to delay it and weaken each individual one but only serving to edge her in preparation for the final one.

“You will know it has worked,” she’d assured you with flicking ears and flushed cheeks, having excited herself merely talking about it without so much as touching a single finger to herself, “when we find yourself unable to remember and unable to care whether or not we missed a beat, when we suddenly find ourselves laying entwined with each other with little memory of the past few minutes and submerged in a stuporific afterglow. Perhaps you will succumb and merrily rut the cadence to its inevitable conclusion, or perhaps I will neglect to apply post-withdrawal pressure in time when you withdraw; either way, you will spray your semen both within and without like an open tap, and it will be in both places, for I will not stop until I feel it inside me, and by now, after such a journey, your ejaculation’s contractions will continue for long enough. Or perhaps I will be the one to unconsciously make a conclusion, simply locking my legs about your hips and my tails around your limbs until you have no choice but to shoot every drop deep inside of me. ”

If you had had animal ears of your own, the raw sex drive woven into her words would have pinned them flat to the top of your head. “Uhh… you mean I will be unable to remember,” you had eventually responded, unable to come up with more. “As in me, myself, the human here speaking, not you, the kitsune.” Surely with her cunning mind and memory, she’d still be able to keep up with events.

But her response had been a smug and confident smile. “No. I mean we. Do not think that I am incapable of reaching a state of oblivious pleasure just because I am a youkai.” That smile became a mischevious grin. “After all, it would be in my interests to reach that blank state once in a while, given the complexity I ensnare myself with the rest of the time.”

But that was all in the past. She doesn’t need to say a word to you for you to know what she so desperately wants, and you don’t have to read notes on the back of your hand and across her chest to remember what comes next. It kills the mood to have to concentrate to read something, especially when that something has been smeared to hell by sweat, saliva, or semen. Usually “and/or”, come to think of it.

Nine thrusts within her, each punctuated by a short scream and an arch of her back. “Fuck! Oh fuck! Oh, fuck me! Yes!” she cries, all decorum lost. Gone is the dignified youkai, and all that remains is a rutting beast. Her ribbon-tied hand holding yours while her other hand shoves at your groin, guiding you to pull out the extra inch to fully withdraw out of her. Nine thrusts outside of her, sliding your cock over her lap and belly while she clamps down upon your circumference, nine painfully long thrusts that aren’t rewarded with contracting spasms around your length. She lets go, only to grab it again when you miss your reentry, somehow having the patience to guide you back inside of her despite your stuttering hips. More inside – you want more, but she pushes you out again just in time. But did you renter her early? It didn’t seem like very long, and your building climax seems that much closer already. She’s not forcing you out, though. In fact, she’s just blindly calling your name, legs twined around yours. Well, those legs just pushed you out again with a quick, fishnet-covered knee into your thigh. But there’s no space for a hand to get between you, and the scraping against the thatch in her lap only serves to edge you harder. Inside of her again – gods, you don’t want to pull out any more, any more of this and you’ll cum, you know it. But you do and – you’re going to do it. Why? You pulled out, she’s grabbing you and – oh, she’s jerking you off. Is that liquid flying against your stomach your cum? No, it’s hers. Still, that’s not going to help. Are you inside of her or is that her hand? Does it even matter?

No, it really doesn’t.
No. 36869
File 142399214885.png- (436.43KB , 620x877 , Come Here Ran.png ) [iqdb]
“…ey, dear. Hey. Hey!” You blearily open your eyes and turn your head towards the voice. A beaming, gold-haired head greets you, licking up something from its chin. “You really outdid yourself tonight, Custodian.”

You wearily prop yourself up on one elbow, trying to gauge the havoc you’ve wreaked upon her body. The sheets are sticky and damp seemingly no matter where you touch them, to say nothing of the outright puddle of your fluids underneath and around her groin. You shot cum out over seemingly every square inch of skin you could manage; as if her body were a painter’s canvas, thick white ropes slowly run downwards towards the sheets as long as her knees and as high as her brow. You can see where two shots ran up her stomach and were blocked by the bottoms of her breasts, and where yet another two cleared them to pool into her collarbone and the hollow of her neck. She lays on top of her bra, but not even that escaped soiling, nor the garter around her bicep.

But for all the havoc you’ve wreaked upon her body, one thing draws your gaze the most, and that’s the absolute satiation and adoration in her eyes. You bring your face close, closing your eyes as you see her own eyelids flutter shut, and with your brows pressed against each other, you kiss each other long and contentedly. There’s no wildness left now, just a mutual satisfaction of having given each other the absolute best.

“… help me out of this getup,” she chuckles against your lips at long last, her spare breath escaping out in a rush from her nostrils. “It may look good, but frankly it – “ She flushes a bit. “It – uh, it – “

“Gets in the way,” you finish for her, already slipping the garter down past her knee. As sexy a display that lingerie might make, accentuating the natural colors of her skin, hair, and tails, when it’s time to bed down and actually sleep, it’s a downright foreign presence when you’re used to the feeling of skin upon skin. She giggles happily as she kicks it off to unknown destinations, stupidly pleased that you share her exact sentiment. A second later, the arm garter follows. Somewhere in that mess, her single stocking pooled around her ankle, so it only takes a single toe wormed into it to kick it off and away.
When it comes to the red string around both your fingers, though, you hesitate. “Could… we keep this on?” you tentatively offer. “I… kind of like it.”

She only shakes her head in response though. “Absolutely not. Neither of us want to make up with a finger blue from lack of circulation, now, would we?”

“I guess,” you say, deflating a bit, but her expression softens a bit seeing how crestfallen you are.

“I know what you’re thinking, dear, but it really isn’t necessary.” Hurk. A knife stabs into your heart, and you can’t help but avert your gaze downward. But suddenly she cranes her neck forward to give you a quick, amiable kiss on the lips, beaming at you. Her own cheeks are red as apples now, but she’s able to muster the courage to keep facing you. “Let’s just say… I don’t think I’ll need a stupid string to stay with you for a long while yet.”

The blade twists sharply now, but for a completely different reason, and you find yourself laughing at your own stupidity. Sure, her words are certainly no formal proposal, but laying here with her, you get the impression that you were stupid for feeling that one was ever needed.

“Can… can we do it one more time?”

You start trying to gauge your remaining stamina; after having given your all like that, going in one more time is flat out impossible. And… and yet…

“Just hold me close,” she murmurs, twining her arms behind your neck, gazing up at you with warm, limpid eyes. “No techniques. No cadences. Just… I want to be with you.”

“Ran,” you moan, feeling your member, against all odds, straighten itself against her thigh. When you sink against her for the last time, she’s still warm and yielding, her limbs quivering as she hugs you close, the two of you only able to rock gently against each other.

And yet that’s all you need to do, as your next joining passes in a haze. It might have lasted mere seconds, or perhaps it took hours. Did you remain on top, or did she roll to onto your side as she sometimes does? Did she cum first, or was it the feel of you releasing inside her that finished her off? Such questions seem petty and insignificant when you finally come to rest nestled against her side, blissfully cushioned on a few tails far comfier than any pillow, the afterglow of your own body – and the afterglow radiating out from her body – is so warm, so deep, so inviting. You drift off to sleep with her whispering sweet nothings into your ear: “I love you… love you so much… so much… love you…”

… maybe you don’t have anything to worry about, after all.
No. 36870
File 14239928748.jpg- (148.59KB , 850x1022 , Happy Valentine's Ran.jpg ) [iqdb]
Welp. That was a thing.

Time for some surprising news, perhaps.

Lots of people call me out on being overly purple, and I agree with it. Most of the time, though, I think the purple tends to enhance the atmosphere and action, rather than obfuscating it.

In this case, though, I think it does outright detract from the intended impact of the piece.

The idea here is that Ran is a beast, but she's also a cunning, thinking, practiced one, simultaneously a primal force of nature and a computer capable of Super-Difficult-Ultra-Fast Arithmetic. In this work, I tried to make the action juxtapose both of these at the same time, unlike where in Tainted Bonds I had the far easier job of putting her rational side on a bus to [t]mindrape[/t] [t]seduce[/t] tenderly love Sai with a one-track mind. Did it work out? Honestly, skimming over the work of several weeks, I'm more inclined to say "no" than "yes". Would a few more days of revision and review help? Perhaps, but I believe that for all the love and affection I'm supposed to shower upon MAI WAIFU, it's time to move on. Tenshi still needs to get molested, Chen has a shota to dominate, and Nazrin has the swan song of an old veteran to hear out. Each of these has a distinct theme and tone that sets it apart from the rest, and I'm interested in seeing just how much I can flex myself to give each the best treatment possible.

Is it all porn? Yes, it is.

Tainted Bonds when? When I get tired of writing porn.

Dolls when? Okay, I've got no excuse there, it's also porn. Let's just say that it is, for better or worse, on back burner priority. Like, after-a-Tainted-Bonds-update priority. Sorry to all you Margatroid lovers out there.

Honestly, I was supposed to have finished my job training more than two weeks ago. The only reason I haven't is that I've sunken nearly 40 hours into sitting in front of this goddamned porn. Who needs money, anyways?

I know I talk and keep tabs with a lot of people on the IRC, but I know that there's at least three distinct clowns who follow the threads but resolutely avoid the IRC, and definitely a lot more passerby. If you've got questions or comments, fire them at me whenever you want. I'll be around for a long time coming yet.
No. 36871
File 142399376951.jpg- (156.17KB , 850x991 , Valentine's Chocolate Ran.jpg ) [iqdb]

>But his writing is pretty shit though.

Can't disagree there! I mean damn, I write erotic fanfiction about girls from a Japanese shmup who have next to no characterization in official works. I am the pinnacle of artistry and creative talent right here.

I've actually been thinking about starting up a quest on ye olde /tg/ called "X-Communicated: Demon Defense" but when I consider how much creative time I sink into porn writing, for better or worse, it just seems like an effort doomed to putter out in die.

>This guy just never changes. Now we just need to add a male OC and he'll be back to his usual formula

Hey, it's as they say. If nothing else, write characters you know. I know more males better than I do females. If you're going to venture out, write plots or scenario setups you DON'T know, but the moment your characters become unbelievable in and of themselves, you've shattered verisimilitude and lost your readers completely. I try not to do that.

>You can put your trip back on balistafreak

>needing to have a trip
>not having such a unique tone of voice and writing style that anyone attempting to falseflag is just going to make themselves look retarded

Of course now some faget is going to make snarky one word/one line posts with my name on them in all kinds of inappropriate places, but hey, if they get banned, then how am I still able to post? Huh.
No. 36872
Hm, nice. A little too purple for my liking but I can work with--

>baneposting bedtalk

No. 36873
Interesting that you noticed this, though TB Ran works better considering that she's an animal youkai, there's a point where the brainy assistant ends and the lusty foxy lady begins.

Don't mind the haters, he's likely butthurt at the lack of yuri.

My sides when I double checked that.
No. 36878
>Tainted Bonds when? When I get tired of writing porn.

Going by the amount of words in this, RIP Tainted Bonds.

Oh well, glad you're not dead at least!
No. 36896
Look man, I'm not going to get on your case for being purple because after all, I am not forced to read it and I just skip the posts that are and don't contain anything I want. I read about five lines added up out of the entire Tenshi writings and it told me all I needed to know, Tenshi doesn't pay and gets shitfaced, dudes pack her into a room after drugging her, she smells like roses and is dirt repellent, okay done. If you're fine with people just not actually reading what you labored for then that's fine with me.

But you broke the first post of your Ran block. It causes a horizontal scroll bar on this thread because the uninterrupted string of letter in all caps and bold is wider than my screen is. Yeah I know 1aptop resolution 1366x768 is turds but at least try to predict this. I might have given that block of text a shot but this is too annoying to put up with like this.
No. 36897
I did like the Ran stuff but I feel it was a little too flowery. That there was so much purple prose it sorta distracted me from the sex.

Also I'm kinda annoyed it just popped up in the middle of the Tenshi stuff. Like Tenshi is stuck about to get surprise sexed and then bam! This Ran scene, which was still great by the way.
No. 36972
If in doubt, err on the side of longer words and stories. IMO. Good work.
No. 36973
If in doubt, you should probably sage
No. 37260
File 143644936499.png- (101.94KB , 494x300 , sadchen.png ) [iqdb]
Okay, it's been a while, but I feel I should probably check in for those of you who don't hang around the IRC.

Summary of things that probably interest people:

-Found out I have literal KEY AIDS. The docs only classified it as an idiopathic symptom... that causes other symptoms at random in an unpredictable fashion. Which basically means they know I have brain problems and that's all they can tell, but since I can still fend for myself I'm obviously not a vegetable, so clearly there's nothing severely wrong with me. So far, I've experienced sleep deprivation (exhausted yet completely unable to fall asleep), whatever the opposite of sleep deprivation is (slept for 32 hours straight and woke up exhausted), seeing spots, ringing in the ears, funny taste in mouth, episodes of tremors like an old man with Parkinson's, memory lapses (the thing that got me investigated and ultimately booted out of AF basic). Oh, and headaches. Persistent, barely-there, yet definitely-there headaches that come and go so subtly I have to actively think about whether or not I'm having one at the moment. No, it's not a tumor, they checked. Any further doctor stuff won't be on the government's bill anymore, so I'm not about to investigate further, not when I can still operate like a normal human being and not when I was discharged with the diagnosis that it "shouldn't" get worse. Of course, if my life continues to be the drama it has been, it will. Eventually, but not any time soon. I have to find a waifu first, and only then will my condition take a sudden turn for the worst, so I can pass away before getting to see my currently unborn child. Since my ideal waifu is 2D, though, that shouldn't happen for a long time yet.

-I almost failed several classes, but barely pulled through.

-I sold out. I work for Mangagamer now. And while my job is formally "editing", let's just say some of the scenes only retained dialogue in the form of sexual onamatopoeias, and basically everything else is 100% original balistafreak content, taking a few keywords from the original lines and mixing them into far more appealing sentences. At first I was a bit shy about making such sweeping changes, but then I came across hilarious combinations of words like "INTESTINAL FLUIDS" and I felt a lot better about spinning things my way. My first project got released not too long ago, I just knocked out the bulk of the second, and the third should be starting by next week.

-Probably because of this job, my appetite for creating the written word has been more than satiated for the longest time. I'm also slated to assist with the next installment of Kenchinroku, so there's that.

HOWEVER, the good news is I opened a word doc entitled "Chiyuu" and wrote two lines. Since I'm basically in a limbo state between projects for the time being, I should have some energy to dedicate towards my roots. No promises of dates, but this thread is officially alive. For now. Until I say otherwise. By which I mean I don't post for months on end yet again.

dolls when

No. 37261
Man congrats! And, I'm sorry. I'm not really sure what to say.

Except that I hope you never give up. I'm talking about your dreams, your health and, of course, this site. Looking forward to reading you again!
No. 37262
Okay, wow. Well I hope your life is getting better and like the previous poster said, I hope you never give up as well. At least you've told us just why everything stopped which makes me feel okay.
No. 37265
There's nothing wrong with a bit o a spiced up localization; just as long as you maintain the general plot and not name all the guys Kenji.

I better pick up the pace, I'd have to commit sudoku if Tainted Bonds updates before I get to THAT scene
No. 37266
Shit, son, that's harsh.

AND good.

The job part's good. Not the AIDS part.
No. 37267

I apologize profusely
No. 37295

really man. Trying to get sympathy from us with that TV Tropes talk? Just say you just got writer's block and not be a sympathy whore

And I feel so bad for the company that hired you for your painfully bad writing.
No. 37298
what if Tainted Bonds has Youmu x Ran?

Thread Watcher x