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File 155459428512.jpg - (792.51KB , 1000x1550 , 69669759_p0.jpg ) [iqdb]
39636 No. 39636
“Sex is the consolation you have when you can’t have love.”
—Gabriel García Márquez

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>> No. 39637
File 155459437354.jpg - (1.91MB , 1650x2200 , 70649691_p0.jpg ) [iqdb]
39637


Follows: >>/shrine/41953

(X) Minamitsu



Minamitsu shoved the bald man into the room.

Within the wedge of time between that and locking the door shut, the resident ghost of Myouren-ji had, what those inside her profession may call, another think. Someone without it might say, second thoughts, instead – but that was a few fingers off the mark. Second thoughts occurred afterwise of whatever they concerned and lent themselves to mending whichever moral fibre said whatever had snapped. Another think was a concurrent deal… and the first squeak of the fibre stretching beyond comfort.

And the weight at its end was the man. Named, riotously, Handai Mu – to hear him tell it. Seldom had Minamitsu met a creature as obstinate in its advances as this; even in life, most of the men she’d dallied with on shore leave had been enough courteous to wait until Minamitsu was solidly drunk ahead they stuck their hands under her skirt. Handai Mu had known her for five whole minutes – none of which too brief to stay him from pressuring her for sex at the end of sixth. Or fondling her ass at the end of seventh. Or, in the same, from sneaking a finger up her kitty and attempting in utter earnest to finger-bang her in the middle of a public hallway. He was either absolutely confident… or an absolute, irredeemable scumbag.

But these were frail, human concerns… and Minamitsu had shed those, in faraway waters and an even farther past.

This was what sister Byakuren refused to acknowledge. Mahâ-Vagga may speak of eleven dependences; yet, for youkai, they fell apart at the penultimate. On ignorance depends karma; On karma depends consciousness; On consciousness depend name and form. These had the truth. On name and form depend the six organs of sense, it went; On the six organs of sense depends contact, yes; On contact depends sensation; On sensation depends desire. On desire depends attachment, to which Minamitsu was a testament. On attachment depends existence. On existence depends birth. On birth… depend old age and death, sorrow, lamentation, misery, grief, and despair.

And herein was Byakuren’s failure. Sorrow and death, misery and grief… These were human fears. Youkai needn’t be born; nor were they compelled to spread their seeds. All required to live on was an attachment and the existence it allowed. Why should anything else matter?

This was the wind astern Handai Mu’s question. When existence was a surety, not a chase; when the only care in the world was time; when no vice, however low, held a lasting consequence… Then, hedonism was the natural answer. Sex was a simple and rewarding counter to boredom; and, when one had the crude avails of a female form and basic reasoning, a youkai may find it just as well. Minamitsu could point to a handful who did, herself; even in Myouren-ji, which had taken to enlisting men with bricks for wits and peanuts for balls, there were opportunities for restless youkai ladies to get their itch scratched. Visitors, solicitors, hopefuls and applicants. Men from without. With spunk and no shame.

Men like Mu.

And still, it was her female, human side which had strummed her moral fibre first. Her blood was still quick with arousal, and her kitty was already missing its new, pushy friend; and yet, inside Minamitsu’s head, there was a nagging voice demanding explanation. Off-hand, there were a couple ready to sail. Mu may not win a beauty pageant if it was held on a stormy day, but he was tall and had a nice pair of arms below his shoulders. Nothing about his smell turned her off; it was even – in that sharp, masculine, after-jog way – exciting to breathe. Minamitsu could all too easily imagine waking up in a bed swamped with such a smell after a night of intense, under-sheets work-out. There was the piercing intensity in Mu’s gaze, which shied, ostensibly, from no barrier of convention or privacy – and that would have been enticing by itself.

Most of all, however, there was the overt and glaring sense that his attention never fully belonged, not even when trained squarely on her, to her. That, were it not for Minamitsu’s youkai body and core, he would never have spared a minute, let alone five, to divert her from watching the flowerbeds hibernate. That there was nothing, to Handai Mu’s mind, she could ever offer him beyond her expertise on youkai and her mouth around his dick.

And that all but morally obliged Minamitsu to expose his error.

Incredible, she thought to herself, how much reconsideration you can squeeze between a door and its frame when you’re about to lock yourself in a room with a guy you promised to suck off. Sister Byakuren would lose her marbles.

She was not the only one who would. Minamitsu clicked the door shut. Then, lips curling into a feline smile, she turned about to face her quarry.

“Fool man,” she told him, all naughty mischief. “To let yourself be lured a youkai…”

Mu pushed the hood back from his shaven head and cocked a brow. Minamitsu giggled her thoughts. No fear there. Not another think. Only a probing stare and a persistent bulge on the front of his trousers. He’d either jigged this jig before… or really was a consummate bilge rat.

“Ah, forget it,” Minamitsu gave up. “I’m not that stripe of youkai, anyhow.”

“Hadn’t pegged you,” admitted the bald man. “And which are you?”

“More of a… a ghost, I reckon.” Minamitsu shrugged. “Used to be human. Kicked the bucket. Thought it was a crock. Fumed about it something fierce. Whoosh. Youkai. Simple.”

Mu’s brows pressed a crinkle above his nose. “… A ghost?”

Minamitsu gave him a grin. “Ooh. Scared now? The stench of death is in the air…!”

“Confounded, sooner,” said Mu. “I’ve been strongly impressed ghosts weren’t interested in… in body stuff, broadly.”

“Think with logic, Captain. What defines a ghost? What it had to leave behind? What it cannot let go? For a ghost, who has lost life, earthly things are the cardinal desire. But, enough about me. About you, now. Show me the goods, already.”

The man called Handai Mu hitched open his jaw, as if to add something witty to the conversation. Then, with a “Too right”-type of nod, he snapped it closed. His broad, long-fingered hands went to his waist, where they began to unkink the sash tying his grey cloak. Minamitsu, giddy from anticipation, hopped up to him with speed that would have given a nyuudou a nasty shock, and thrust out with a palm against his chest, until Mu was backed up against the nearby wall. Smiling coquettishly, the whilom captain of Myouren-ji’s Palanquin Ship went to her knees, brushed her hair behind her ears, and waited obediently while the man before her unpacked her prize.

Mu’s cloak at last parted to reveal a plain linen shirt and hakama trousers, favoured by the Human Village’s male populace. The length of twine ministering to as a belt was worked through swiftly, leaving the trousers at leisure to slip down and pile atop the man’s Winter boots. That left but his bulging underwear in the way.

Minamitsu found patience in thinning supply. Ahead he could, she slid her hands up his thighs and hooked her fingers under the band of his overfilled shorts. Then pulled them down. There was a delicious snag when the band caught on his erection. Minamitsu giggled softly at the clumsy underwear – and guided it with care around the obstruction.

A thick, hard, impatient-looking penis filled her sight. A faint, wood-chip fragrance wafted off the shaft and tickled her nostrils. Minamitsu let the underwear complete its descent on its own and gave all of her attention to her trophy. It wasn’t… anything outrageous. About two hand-spans long (of her feminine hands, anyway), with a ring of foreskin strapped around the ridge of a plump, swollen head. It wasn’t crooked or curved in such a manner that would scrape her kitty in all the curious ways if she were to ride it; it was, actually, as straight as an oar… if the oar was also a little on the portly side. It was the type of stiff, upright cock you wanted to learn your good spots, because it would always hit them and never bend aside.

And, by some hilarious set of circumstance, it was as bald as its owner. Shaft – creamy and hairless, with a triangle of shaven skin on the abdomen above.

“Here too, Captain?” Minamitsu chuckled, casting up at his face. “For real?”

The shaven-headed (and shaven-crotched) man returned her mirth as a general’s smile. “The war is absolute,” he revealed. “Which you see.”

“I see not here.” Minamitsu pinched his moderately hairy thigh. “Mm. Well. No big deal. I’ll live. Or, you know – deal.

“You don’t like?” he asked.

Minamitsu let fly a faux-dramatic moan. “I’m not cruel, Captain,” she told him. “I do reckon with the misfortunate fact that men need keep on a layer of fur to stay warm in Winter. Here, though?” She scuffed closer on her knees, until the smooth, warm cock was resting against her face. “Here,” she sighed, “I totally love it.”

Mu ventured no reply, which was as well – because Minamitsu was fast losing all focus to his handsome, well-groomed tool. For a full, dreamy minute, her world shrank down to the eight-mat room, the scent of a raw penis filling her head, and vague fantasies that made her kitty twitch, but which she had no intention to satisfy just yet. At length, Minamitsu pursed her lips, and pecked a gentle kiss on the cock’s rough underbelly. A pleased smile stretched her cheeks when it stiffened in response to her affection. She slid her dry lips a little farther up, and gave the gorgeous penis another kiss. Then, another. And another. She kissed the hairless shaft all over, before moving on to where the foreskin attached to the glans.

With the fingers of one hand, Minamitsu gripped around the meaty base of the cock, and tugged the sheath of skin free of the chubby head. Stripped bare, vulnerable, the head of Mu’s penis twitched under Minamitsu’s heated breath. She brushed the tip of her nose on his frenulum, then kissed the strip of pink, sensitive skin just below the ridge of his glans.

Mu groaned up above – his voice tinted a shade edgy.

“… Making friends down there?” he asked.

Minamitsu reluctantly removed her lips from his cock. “… What did I say, Captain?” she reminded. “I’m not about to fellate a guy I haven’t even kissed.”

“We’ve kissed.”

“This guy and I haven’t.”

“You have,” he countered. “Sixteen times.”

Minamitsu couldn’t not laugh. “You counted?”

Mu made a mock-exasperated face. “Since you plain weren’t…”

It’d have been a glass-transparent lie if Minamitsu claimed otherwise. “… Got me,” she confessed. “Mm. Fine. If you’re that anxious to screw my mouth…”

Mu shaped a tense smile. “I want to screw all of you.”

Minamitsu sneered. “As if.”

“I do.”

“Mhm. No,” she disagreed. “All you want to do is to stuff your fat cock up my kitty and unload your filthy semen into my womb. Isn’t it, Captain?”

There was a pause. Then, something dawned behind Handai Mu’s eyes. “… Yeah,” he confessed. “I want to do that.”

“Barbarian. This is a temple.”

“One way to stop me.”

“What-ever could that be?”

Mu nudged the tip of his cock against her lips. “Put that obscene mouth to work. Now.”

A tingle of arousal squeezed the inside of Minamitsu’s belly. She drew in a long breath, the indecent smell of naked manhood making her head light.

She licked her lips. “… You’re the Captain,” she surrendered.

And then, wrapped them lovingly around the needy cock’s glans. Mu grunted his approval overhead, even as the raunchy ghost slipped her mouth farther down, past the ridge and over the sensitive area below. The thick, vein-lined shaft throbbed and trembled in delight when she tightened her lips and began to slide them back up – sucking the entire way. Mu’s cock sprang of her mouth with a bawdy noise. Minamitsu gave the pulsing tip a chaste kiss; then, sinking to its root, she stuck out her tongue – and dragged it up the whole, brutal thing in a slow, polishing stroke. Her reward was another satisfied grunt… and something more.

The bald man tipped her sailor’s cap and dug the fingers of his hand among her hair. There was a brief pull when he grabbed a tender, but firm hold of her head. Minamitsu thrilled all over when he jerked it up to meet his demanding gaze.

“Open up,” he said.

She opened up. Mu smiled like the murderer under his name.

“Good girl.”

The words slammed into her brain, bowling over every last moral thought. Handai Mu need not have pulled (even if he did anyway) to make her wrap her mouth again around his eager cock. He needn’t have pushed to make her glide it down along the shaft – tongue scraping the underside – until his tip was braced against her tonsils. Minamitsu hauled her lips up, leaving Mu’s tool glossed with a layer of fresh spit. She didn’t let it pop out this time; rather, she paused just as the glans caught on the ring of her lips, and dipped her head back down for another round-trip. Mu scratched her scalp and softly praised her efforts as she worked the whole length of his erection.

“There,” he would whisper, in a husky, breathless voice. “Yes. Like that. Now up… Unh. That’s it. Suck it here. Good girl. Good girl…”

And so on. Minamitsu toured the length of Mu’s hard-on, gurgling whenever it struck the back of her throat and slurping with noisy relish as she pulled it back out. A dozen or two more flights up and down, and Minamitsu missed her upper stop. A moist smack signalled Mu’s penis suddenly leaving her warm, wet embrace. It was followed by a groan from him and a halting gesture from Minamitsu.

“Nn… Mm. Cap’n? Hold’n. Jus’ a shake.”

Mu’s gaze told everything he thought of the idea. “… Yeah?”

Minamitsu swallowed down the contents of her mouth… only now realising the faint taste of pre-cum tainting her saliva. “You—” she choked out, “You, um, mind if I touch myself a little? I know this’s your blowjob, but… imagining what this thing would do to my kitty really got it going.”

Mu’s face turned a touch suspicious. “… Why would I mind?”

“N’reason,” mumbled Minamitsu. “Some men just prefer I keep my hands on them at all times. You get?”

Whether he did or no would forever stay an unknown. “I can help you out with that,” he proposed instead.

Minamitsu wrung out a tight smile. “Yes. You’ve shown. But, no. This is a blowjob. Nothing more. Sorry. If you absolutely want to do something for me… then roll up your shirt.”

Mu’s head titled a few questioning degrees to starboard. “My shirt?”

“Yup. I mean, you’ve got a great cock and all,” she went on to explain; “but, I want to see more. Unless you’re really self-conscious?”

The bald man made to make his reply. Then, another wave rocked his mental boat. “… What happened to ‘mast?’”

Minamitsu tittered. “That’s what you want me to call it?”

Mu looked entertained. “You did, earlier.”

Minamitsu squeezed out a sigh. “Keeping to the role, Captain,” she told him. “That’s what the pith of being a youkai is. You get? You play the role… else, you disappear.”

“And now,” pressed Mu, “why have you—”

“And now,” she cut in, “now, I’m way too horny to keep it up. Going to give me something to ogle or not?”

Anywhere, anytime else, a question like that could have done to a flirt what too much tar does to a hawsehole. Not with Handai Mu. With him, it ushered the hand that hadn’t its fingers in her hair up to the collar of his shirt. Minamitsu leaned in and gently slid her lips around the tip of his cock while he plucked the buttons out of their slots. The shirt split down the middle, and Mu drew the halves aside to present his chest and stomach.

Oh, niiice… Minamitsu heard her brain comment.

The war on body hair, which the man Mu proclaimed, proved narrower in its scope than he might have dreamed; and there was no shortage of wiry, dark curls below his collarbones and between his pecs. The pecs themselves were pleasantly defined; and the stomach beneath, while nowhere as rugged as some seamen Minamitsu had known (and molested), was nonetheless flat and toned. Minamitsu slipped her mouth off his erection and her hands up the criss-crossing lattice of muscles above it. She giggled when Mu turned out to be surprisingly ticklish.

And then, he said something that made her ticklish entirely someplace else.

“Show me yours.”

Amusement melted from her thoughts like snow in Spring. With a tingling hand, Minamitsu moved to obey the perverse order. She gripped the edge of her cropped sailor’s top, and pulled it up under her chin. Her bare, sweat-sheened breasts glistened in the room’s filtered daylight. There was no bra or undershirt to spoil the moment for either her or Mu; and Minamitsu glanced, coyly, up at the bald man’s intense expression.

“… Well?” she asked.

Mu bunched up his faculties before speaking. “… Cute,” he opined.

Minamitsu spat a flustered chuckle. “A girl shows you her tits,” she moaned, “and that’s everything you’ve to say, Captain? ‘Cute?’”

There was a pause, pregnant with anticipation, as the man reviewed her palm-size assets with his eyes. “… Those perky nipples,” he at last volunteered. “They make me want to suck on them until they’re red and sore.”

“That’s better. No dice, though.”

“… Oil them up and knead them, then?”

Minamitsu snorted. “Not what I meant, Captain. I meant, not this time. This time is this guy’s.” His still-hard penis gave a throb when Minamitsu angled it so the head was poking her right breast. A drop of milky pre-cum beaded out at the tip, and Minamitsu rubbed it in a circle around the stiff nipple. “… Mm. Too bad I’m not big enough for a titty-fuck, hmm?” she wondered aloud. “Then, we would have had an excuse…”

“You’re a ghost,” pointed out Mu. “Can’t you…?”

“Shift some fat around? Mm. Technically,” Minamitsu allowed. “But it’s not all that fun. It’s… Imagine a wig, Captain,” she supposed, “except, you wear it instead of your hair, not over it. Or instead of your lack of hair, as it were. Glued straight to your skull. It isn’t your body, and your body would remind you. This is my shape; I’m most comfortable like this. Tough break. Want a boob-job? Ichirin’s got the perfect boobs. She might let you play with them.”

“The nun?” Mu sounded dubious. “She would do that?”

“Our dear Ichirin may be the starchiest arse on this end of the Pilgrim’s Way, sure,” granted Minamitsu. “Get her drunk, though, and those inhibitions shed faster than a young snake. There was this one time, even… I’ll trust you won’t tell this to anyone, Captain. You get? There was this one time when sister Byakuren and I walked in on her sharing a bottle with a young man. An aspirant – of less than two months. On the floor – with his dick between her tits – and pissed out of care. Sister Byakuren was livid.”

“… What’d she do?” asked Mu, in the tones of a captain who asks after newly instituted docking fees.

“The boy, she expelled on the spot. Never even let him clean up. Clothes back on and out the gate. Ichirin? Kneeling on a washboard and house arrest for two weeks.”

“Two weeks of kneeling?” Mu was sceptical.

“Just house arrest,” Minamitsu clarified. “Washboard, nope. That was a couple hours. Six or odd… Couldn’t sit at the dinner table without a pillow for days anyway, poor Ichirin.” What Minamitsu eschewed to mention was that the mandated murder of her kneecaps hadn’t forestalled her best friend from boasting, upon their next drink together, how she herself had seduced and ensnared the young aspirant – on account of him always stealing glances her way at morning muster. “… Anyhow,” she went on, when her partner turned out no further questions, “enough about Ichirin’s tits. Shall we? This guy has rested too long, I reckon.”

There was another of those “Too right” nods from Mu, who lost no self-assurance as Minamitsu repositioned his lube-dripping erection toward her face. At the same time, she moved her unoccupied hand under her skirt. With dumb amazement, she discovered her panties were still rearranged from Mu’s drawing them aside to get at her kitty, back in the hallway. Minamitsu tapped a finger on her swollen clitoris, enjoying the jolt of pleasure, even as she pursed her lips and pressed them to the tip of Mu’s cock.

The bald man caught the hint behind her upturned gaze. He clutched a tighter hold on her short hair – and pushed her mouth down his spit- and pre-cum-smoothed length.

As the penis relentlessly filled her mouth, Minamitsu slipped her middle and ring fingers down, then up between her slick lower lips. She wriggled them up, as far as they could go – then pulled them out, covered in a sticky coat of her own girl-lube. She brought them back up, and began to roughly rub it into her most sensitive place.

Mu grunted, in both arousal and disappointment, when Minamitsu yanked her head back and off his engorged, throbbing cock. Quite another sound issued from his chest when she lapped her tongue around his bare tip, then swallowed the entire cock – lock, stock and barrel – in a single, merciless dive. Minamitsu flicked and slapped her clit beneath her skirt, while she screwed Mu’s shameless cock with her slavering mouth. Up and down, up and down – drool and pre-cum trickling down her chin and slobbering down Mu’s shaven sack. Minamitsu slurped up what she might, but the wide, fat glans scooped it out again each time she wrenched her head up.

She felt, more than heard, Mu’s breath hitch, and barely caught his curt announcement ahead he started to come.

A touch light-headed from the furious blowjob, Minamitsu sealed her lips under the ridge of Mu’s glans, and let her mouth take the brunt of his orgasm. The first, powerful spurt of cum crashed into her throat – causing her to swallow on a reflex. The thick, hot semen clung to her gullet, refusing to go down. All the while, Mu’s cock kept gushing more and more into her mouth: a sticky, virile prize that should have ended up in her belly entirely another way. Mu gasped and groaned up above as Minamitsu softly glided her lips down his still-cumming cock.

And while this would never have been fine from a mutual point of view – while Minamitsu should never have had to tease her own kitty when an able man was right forward – she knew, in the depths of her stomach, that once Mu peered down and weakly called her a “good girl” one last time, that she would think back to this afternoon, long and hard, more than once in the coming seasons.


>> No. 39638
Now this is how you do eros. Absolutely love the psychological paths being traced here. What would have been a simple "she succ him gud" in another's hands is a conversation on desire, youkai-ness, and the normally unseen deviancies of people. I particularly like the sense of tempo once the scene gets into the erotic action; the starts and stops are very reflective of reality. Maybe it's a bit more intellectually stimulating than physically, but that's more than fine. Porn is what you look at for a nut. Erotica is what you savour for stimulation.

Fantastic job. In my book, this surpasses last time's spidery lovers' embrace.
>> No. 39640
>>39638

I honestly don't have anything else to add, really. I'm not much of a connoisseur of the erotic arts, but this was some fun porn.
>> No. 39641
File 155485244225.jpg - (480.45KB , 1920x2560 , D3YasemUwAIbJAh_jpg orig.jpg ) [iqdb]
39641
Back to the main story: >>/shrine/41998
>> No. 39698
File 155839582853.jpg - (278.93KB , 535x825 , mononobenofingering.jpg ) [iqdb]
39698


Follows: >>/shrine/42074



Futo stared at her brother over his violated, dripping hand, feigning breathlessness – while Mu reconciled inside with the thought that it might have been another part of him, instead. He met her wet, devious smile with one of reluctant longing. Futo did not let him speak. Mu, too, swallowed down his readied quip, and braced – even as his sister reversed his hand, and ushered it down under her skirt, then up and between her giddy, itching thighs.

There was a hiss and a soft curse when Mu discovered just which critical part of her attire Futo had omitted to put on after her shower.

“Oh, damn it,” Mu groaned – marking the very first Futo had ever heard her brother and student swear in their shared language.

Futo grinned. “Mu brother?” she chirped.

A flurried wince preceded her brother’s reply. “… Yes, sister Futo?”

The familiarity of the exchange set her to giggling all over again. “Come now,” she chided him. “We both what you want to wit. You may put them in.”

Mu swore again. And then, giving in to his overdue desire, he did just that.

Futo shut her eyes and moaned quietly when her brother pressed the tip of his middle finger to her snug opening and wriggled it inside. Her privates gave a needy, restless flutter as he passed in the first, intruding inch, then the one after that. Mu kept pushing apart her hot, pliable walls, her own saliva easing his entry, up until the long finger bottomed out and Futo’s crotch was resting directly on his palm.

Futo relaxed, permitting her weight to spread her legs and land her on her brother’s lap. Mu, in a moment of tenderness, wound his free arm behind her back, securing her in the spot. His warm, shallow breath ruffled the hair above her left ear.

A patch of sticky, rigid silence settled between them as each took in their new, obscene situation. Mu – with a finger three-fourths of the way up to her womb and a splendid rise in his trousers; and Futo – blue ranked official of this Sen-kai, and having her privates toyed with by a once-student. The wonderful sensation of something hard and persistent inside her. The awareness of her brother inhaling the scent of her freshly washed hair. The sheer, forbidden overtone of it sent a thrill of vicious, rogue excitement up the inside of her belly.

Mu felt the thrill at its hot origin, and shook his clean-shaved head, as if to ward off sudden weariness.

“… Gods,” he gasped into her tingling ear, “but you’re tight down there.”

Futo giggled out the tension in her chest. “… Mm,” she teased in response. “Yes. I am. This body very young is.”

Mu’s voice penetrated her head as a sultry whisper. “… How young are we talking?”

Ahead she satisfied his rare interest in her age, Futo reached out and slid a yearning hand down her brother’s shirt-clad rampart of a chest. Heavens, but he was huge up close. Small wonder manhandling his tutor, such as he had, came to him naturally as walking. Futo wished, in her aroused state, that he would manhandle her much, much more.

“… It how I looked is,” she answered, “afore I to Umako wedded was. Afore Shigisan. My best years.”

“That tells me nothing,” complained Mu. “How old are you, in this shape?”

As he demanded this, Mu’s long, rigid finger curled inside her, as if readying to treat her appropriately – dependent on her answer.

Futo twisted her hips, nudging it more toward the spot where it would feel best. “Mm… Methinks I fifteen was when I to husband Umako took,” she recalled. “Therefore… fourteen? Thirteen? Afore my first child, for a surety… yet afterwise I flowered.”

As a reward, Mu began to slide his finger up and down between her hungry, squirming walls. Futo gave him an appreciative moan, even if the technique was far from stellar. Then again, perchance Mu hadn’t meant it elsewise. There seemed an escalating quality to his interrogation. Futo was determined to see where it would lead.

“And, by then,” Mu asked next, “you weren’t a…?”

“A maiden?” she guessed. “Nay, Mu. I that e’en longer agone relinquished.”

Mu groaned. “… Why must my wonderful sister be so damn naughty?”

Futo drew a breath to turn into a reply… which was stolen by a wash of aching distress when Mu extracted his finger from her clinging embrace. And yet, she had no sooner turned up a hot glare with which to chastise her mule of a brother than her frustration was given a wholly better vent. For then, Mu slipped back in two. Futo clenched her teeth; but, in truth, her walls were slickened enough by now to allow something even thicker to slide in without much trouble. As ripe as she was, Mu noticed it not. His fingers stopped, no farther than halfway inside her.

Or perhaps, the next instant told, he had realised where it was that Futo wanted him to touch most. For he hooked both of his long, intruding digits… and scratched their coarse tips all along the front wall of her vagina.

Futo went taut, moaning obscenely into the air of the room, as they stumbled right over her special, secret spot.

Mu, that imp, had known exactly and without fail what to aim for. And now, he was looking to her sloppy, blissful expression for vindication.

“… Take it that was close, then?”

Futo forced out a hateful, steamy grimace. “… Lower, you mule.”

Obedient as never ahead, Mu complied. He adjusted his fingers, and gave her weakest spot another rough press. “Here?”

“… Nn. Mhh. Yesss,” Futo moaned through her teeth. “Fie… Fie, Mu. If you’ve this wist… I that youkai wench for you spurning pity.”

A chip of confidence clipped away from Mu’s exotic eyes. “… This is the first I’ve tried, actually,” he admitted. “… I’ve wanted to try, though. Since… uh, a while.”

Futo managed a shaky smile. “Heyday,” she praised him. “And upon your second essay. Fie. I’ve had men me impregnate and it altogether miss…”

The word smashed into what had been left of the damaged confidence, and attired her brother in a lumpish, slack-jawed look. Futo could do naught for the grin which crept over her roseate face.

“… Think you of it?” she teased her mulish brother. “Of me pregnant getting?”

Mu startled. “N—” he began. “… Nyes,” he gave up. He attempted a conciliatory smile. “Told you. Wicked man. Imagination.”

May have had me fooled, thought Futo. “Ah, trouble yourself not,” she dismissed their little fantasy. “This body nay its monthly blood sheds. It dry and sterile as a barren desert is.”

“… Somewhat damp, this desert,” Mu observed.

Then, he resumed his work down below. Futo’s thighs shivered when Mu poked his fingers into her special place and began to scrape them up and down. Quickly, her breath devolved into panting, and then into quiet, lustful moans.

Soft-kneed from his lewd, internal massage, Futo pinched a hold of her uniform’s skirts, and drew them up to her waist. The scent of her arousal laced the room’s already stuffy air. Her bare, hairless slit was wrapped around Mu’s ring and middle fingers, which were buried up to their second joints and pumping vigorously. Strings of milky, viscous liquid were sticking to his palm below. Futo thrust one arm behind, and leaned back – lifting her hips to give her brother a clearer view of her nether lips selfishly enjoying his fingers. Skipping a beat, Mu stuffed them up, as far as they went, into her hot, eager depths. He wormed them around, as if testing how wide she could stretch.

Then, he drew them all the way out – coated in her sticky love-juice. Mu rubbed it between his fingertips, looking perplexed by his sister’s natural lubricant.

Futo wanted to laugh. All which came out was a needy titter. Mu’s attention tore away from his investigation of bawdy physics, and travelled up her horny, quivering body. He murmured something apologetic-sounding, and grazed his sticky fingers back up the inside of her left thigh.

He froze, bemused, when Futo slid a barring hand over her crotch.

“… That it do shall,” she declared, as imperative as she could make her gasping voice. “I wet enough am, Mu. I you inside me now want.”

Mu’s arrested hand balled into a fist as he peered up to give her an imploring look. “… Couldn’t I make you come like this?”

“Mu.”

Mu set his jaw. “… Yes?”

Futo did not speak to the part of him which was more shrewd by half than what befit a man his age and vitality. Futo, instead, addressed the one manifest in its desire to find out what it would feel like to climax while pressed against her womb. She felt out and gripped Mu’s full, wood-stiff erection through his trousers. The thick, cudgel-like member – which Futo had seen this morning for the first time in its non-floppy state – throbbed with impatience inside her choke-hold.

“This,” Futo said, irritation fast colouring her voice, “inside me as well wants. Say not you elsewise, Mu.”

Her brother swore under his breath. “… No. It does. And I do.”

“Then wherein does the rub lie, pray?

Mu opened his mouth. Then, clacked it shut. Then, opened it for a second try. “… What about this?” he asked. “I’ll like won’t be able to hit that spot with my—”

“You will,” assured Futo. “A man’s member may fain any place stimulate, in an aright position. I may you a few show. I a widowed woman am; I do how to these affairs pleasant for myself make know. You may that spot with your member massage while we sex have.”

Mu wavered. “… What if I fingered you,” he suggested, “and you gave me that sucking blowjob you teased me, instead?”

“Afterwise,” countered Futo. “I’ll merrily you with a blow-job clean up. Until you soft and docile are. And you me finger may during.”

Mu’s wits tossed and turned behind his eyes, clambering all over his mental shelves for an excuse that Futo couldn’t easily trump with something better.

At length, he licked his teeth, breathed in – and confessed.

“… It would make me feel better, Futo,” he said, “if we didn’t have real sex. That’s all.”

It would you feel better make, Futo amended inside, if you would me already plough.


( ) She could settle for non-penetrative sex with her thighs.
( ) She would not leave here without his seed in her womb.
>> No. 39699
(x) She would not leave here without his seed in her womb.

CONSENT IS NON-NEGOTIABLE
>> No. 39700
(x) She could settle for non-penetrative sex with her thighs.
>> No. 39701
[R] She could settle for non-penetrative sex with her thighs.

You losers better not set us up for Nice Palanquin end
>> No. 39702
[x] She would not leave here without his seed in her womb.

Sometimes the way to a thickheaded man's heart is through his rod.
>> No. 39703
[x] She could settle for non-penetrative sex with her thighs.
Our egg man can get the sugar walls anywhere. What he can't get is juicy, toned hermit thighs.
>> No. 39705
Called for thigh action.
>> No. 39707
File 155899377271.jpg - (595.69KB , 850x1202 , 42755060_p0.jpg ) [iqdb]
39707
(X) She could settle for non-penetrative sex with her thighs.

Withal these thoughts, Mononobe Futo was, above everything, an enlightened woman. Or, more rigorously, a moral one. The distinction was somedeal of an import. It told apart those women who achieved their ends with wiles and ample busts from those who, occasionally, found themselves in the intimate presence of eminent men who wished, among mutual assent and respect, to relieve some of the stress contingent in courtly life – commonly ahead of delivering on seminal decisions.

Futo had never beguiled a man. A few she may have coaxed – and reached certain agreements with others still. Mostly, however, Futo had paved her Way. When it had run parallel to that of someone else, she had welcomed the opportunity for exchange. When those Ways had run astride, she would take subtle pains in order to preserve both. Futo had never, not once, hindered on purpose the natural course of the world; even her disgust and culling of youkai, for which she had been reproved, furthered their existence in the end – which was Gensokyo’s purported goal and therefore a good deed of a sort. When Water flowed, Futo let it; when Wind blew and fire burned, Futo ushered on their rage. That had been the one immutable constant of her life.

The one lesson her blood brother had implanted deeper than anything else.

And so, she would impose nothing on her younger, more squeamish one – even if it was, expressly, the thing they both longed for. Once Handai Mu ironed out those humps in his Way which stymied his desires – once he judged himself ready – then Futo would give him her full, willing cooperation. The whole, unbridled stretch. Until his hips were trembling from fatigue and her still, immortal womb was pumped tight with his youthful, virile seed. Until she couldn’t walk to the temple’s baths without having to lean against a nearby wall. Until, weeks afterwise, she may say beyond the palest shade of doubt she was well and truly sterile.

These, however, were aspirations for the future. Her first, adulterous, impregnation sex in a thousand years could bear to wait a little longer. For the present, Futo would have to content with something that would satisfy as well her brother’s picky sense of loyalty as the aching, wanton need his disloyal fingers had stirred up under her bellybutton.

And, for fair, ideas were not exactly in a dearth.

Futo released her brother’s raring member, and, with a stray tug of petulance, removed herself from his lap. Where his fingers flaked away from her thigh, a patch of warm, sticky juices glistened atop Futo’s faintly Sun-bronzed skin. Mu’s face betrayed his dejection at her departing closeness by flashing its tongue across his quirking lips. Futo eked out an arch smile. What a ham-handed adulterer her young brother made.

“Fie, fine, Mu,” said Futo, having only to slightly inflate her frustration of being denied her long-teased sex. “Some else a place, then. If you so retribution fear.”

Mu’s eyes unenthusiastically let go of her naked hips to give her a wavering stare. “… Where?”

Now Futo did dare an enticing smile. Squeezing together her stocky legs, she went up onto her knees. Slowly, with exaggerated difficulty, Futo pushed her own fingers in between her thighs – where the supple, limber flesh split to become her loins. She began to part it, forming a triangular gap: with her thighs as the walls and her smooth, moist groin as the roof.

“Herein?” she proposed.

Mu did not leap out of his trousers as she might have doltishly hoped, but his member almost overtook him to the feat. It’d have had to travel faster than Mu’s repartee, however, and scant aught in Gensokyo could boast that stripe of speed.

“… And here I’d contrived,” he said, mock-tragically, “that I could get that blowjob and swim it as a comparative piece.”

Futo stared him down, keenly ignoring his linguistic error. “Then you do nay this want?”

Had her brother a winch attached to his head, he could have roped up a bucket of well-water in a trice. “No, no, no—!” he sputtered. “Gods, blasted, I do want it.” His eyes wandered down to give the soft, snug hole between her thighs a covetous glance. “Yes, let’s do that, damn it. I want to feel that for myself. Only, I… See, I couldn’t get your mouth out of my imagination.”

Futo’s eyes were rolling ahead she thought to roll them. “Mu brother?” she said.

“Yes?”

“I a woman of my word am.”

Mu swallowed. “… Yes.”

“And I promised I would fain you this blow-job give. Afterwise this. Why, Mu—” she feigned a fresh idea, “if you should me thereafter to the baths accompany, we may that part of our clean-up make. And—” she increased her bid ahead Mu may decline it, “should you crave more still, then to my chambers eft my rites with the Crown Prince in the evening come. Thereon, you may me another special massage give – and I polish you afore bed in return shall. What say you?”

Mu’s Adam’s apple lurched up and down as the bull-headed man weighed her immoral offer against his crumbling conscience.

Truthfully, Futo’s inward opinion on oral sex was, at best, middling. It was, indeed, pleasant to be on its receiving end; giving it, however, was a draining, filthy ordeal, with usually scarce in the way of reciprocation. The beauty of what Mu crudely hight a “blow-job” lay not in the member having a palatable taste or feeling nice in the mouth. It did in the sense of domination. It lay in that look behind a man’s eyes as she gazed up into them, whilst his manhood was at the mercy of a pair of sucking lips and loving tongue. It did, betimes, in him seizing the lady’s hair in an attempt to wrest back some control – yet failing always to endure her skilful torture moments later.

With an insidious thrill, Futo decided that this look would suit her brother something fabulous.

“… I was walking out tonight, too,” Mu, at last, rasped out. “I hope you know that, Futo.”

Futo smiled in turn. “It much your own choice is, Mu. I’ll fain my side maintain. Now, mayhap…?”

The question she had left dangling sliced apart his doubt on the return swing; and Mu did rise as well onto his knees, fingers already busy at the twine keeping his trousers decent. It gave way to Mu’s enthusiasm, and let them to fall loose from his waist. The short underpants her brother wore beneath poised to burst at the seams. Mu pulled them down also.

His hardy truncheon of a member struck out of his shaven groin at an eager, suggestive angle. Futo, quitting her thighs for the moment, leaned forward to lay her hands on her brother’s wide, muscular shoulders. She dragged them down along his chest, together with her nose – plucking the buttons of his shirt top to bottom, and purring all the while like a ruttish cat. Mu’s member wobbled with unsure excitement when Futo arrived at its home level and pressed her face against its harsh underside.

Stubble pricked at her chin and left cheek. Albeit she had only ever pestered Mu about his upmost cap of hair, once in the vicinity of a razor, her brother had taken on and expanded on her request. Without its curly nest, its whole length exposed, Mu’s erection cut a sleek, creamy and utterly delicious sight. Futo skimmed down the bared shaft, until the top parted her hair and her nose was buried beside its root.

Then, she sucked in a long, craving lungful of its gamey, manlike smell.

Her head came awash with all sorts of images as her body remembered all those secret, debauched circumstances wherein her nose had been assailed by this same, heady scent. The memories needled the wee small voice in her heart, which told her – from the perspective of deathless centuries – that she had, perhaps, not been a moral woman after all.

Futo of now elbowed it aside, and focused on her brother’s smooth, robust erection. Awhile, she toyed in her fuzzy thoughts with the notion of giving Mu’s stubborn member a brief, intense introduction to her mouth. Awhile, she searched his smell for traces of the woman who had reportedly done the same (and more) earlier in the day. At length, she found naught except more of Mu’s wonderful, manly odour.

It was among a lug of black, foiled humour that Mu grasped her by the chin and pulled her away from her prize. Yet, Futo had but to peek up at her brother’s short-tempered face for that to upend once more. And, not only it. For Mu was gently pushing on her hips in order to let them know he would very much oblige if they but swung around and let him insert himself from behind.

Tingly from her ears down to her bare toes, Futo thrust herself away from her brother’s crotch. Straightening up, she picked up the skirts of her uniform – and turned around to present Mu with her round, defenceless rear. A shiver of base, perverted glee bowed her back when she felt Mu make a grab for her hips and shuffle close. He slid his hard, warm tool up along the valley between her buttocks. Futo sensed the tip come to a rest a little below her waist.

Mu released a deep, comfortable sigh at her back. “… Futo?”

Futo smiled. “Mm… Yes, Mu brother?”

His hands shifted to sink their fingertips in her soft, welcoming flesh. “Have I remembered, ever,” he asked her, “to say you have an awesome butt?”

Futo giggled her reply. “Nay, Mu” she said. “Albeit you’ve oft to it grope remembered. On divers occasions.”

Mu managed an embarrassed scoff. “That. Yes, well. Your legs are terrific, too.”

“Fie. You have noticed.”

“Yes. Most each time they were threatening to crush me, Futo.”

“Mm. Heyday,” she purred back. “Then this your chance to revenge for all erewhile assaults is.”

“… That is a dangerous precedent.”

“You a brave man are, Mu.”

Mu made a disparaging sound. “Too brave sometimes, I’m finding.”

All the same, he drew back his hips, and dragged the tip of his tool down the middle of her rear. Then, he stuffed it up and under the cleft where her buttocks became her thighs. Futo kept them squeezed together – counting in full on Mu’s stiffness and the juices she’d been leaking since his earlier fingering to carry his member through.

Mu steadied himself by her waist… and pushed.

His member’s plump head wedged the meat of her thighs. Futo felt a slight hitch in its infiltration when the skin scabbard was peeled back from its tip. Mu grunted, and resumed his push. At last, his member peeked out from the other side – stripped bare and shiny from her secretions. Her brother pushed on, to the point where her butt was squished tight against his stomach. He let go, extracted himself from Futo’s tight grip – and then plunged back in.

Twice as fast, thrice as easy, now it was properly greased, his member slid to the base into the opening between her thighs.

“Mm… Mu?” said Futo. “Should you more upwise aim… it would me as well stimulate.”

Mu made a wordless, affirmative hum. He drew back – slightly adjusted his hips – and thrust in.

Futo tensed, moaning in a quivering voice, when the slick glans of his member bumped into and spread her nether lips, caught her clitoris, and made it ride down his remaining length whilst he completed the push.

“Mmh… Nn… Yes,” Futo cooed, “like that – do it like that.”

“That felt like it almost went in,” noted her brother.

“Nn… Nay,” she lied. “Nay at all. If you to sheathe yourself inside me and kiss my womb want – tell. I will myself for you hold open.”

Her brother spat a chuckle clipped by choking arousal. “And who— fuh. Who here is the minx, say?”

Futo reached around to give one of his arms a twisting pinch. “I mine own desires well wit, Mu,” she said; “and I wherewith to talk know.”

“For now,” grunted her brother, “let us forget I asked.”

Nay ever, Futo promised inside.

The thought faded away into fatuity once Mu resumed their pretend-sex. Soon as he found an anchored pose – knees out wide and thrusting upwards – Futo’s mulish brother also found his pace. Quicker and quicker, he thrust his long, savage member among her clinching thighs, whilst his spear-shaped glans poked, rubbed, parted and overall galled her dripping privates. Futo watched, in giddy fascination, as Mu briefly paused – his erection sticking out from under her groin – and a rich glob of pre-come oozed out of its tip. Her brother lost no time in pulling back and smearing this all over her thighs and outer labia.

Ahead much too long, the room’s air was rife with unmistakeable sounds of copulation. Futo’s lewd moaning, Mu’s ursine wheezing, the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of her buttocks colliding with his waist and the squelching of their flirting genitals… None of those could have been mistaken for familial bonding by any chance pair of ears passing outside. That some might be stoked a fire under Futo’s aroused mind. To at last deliver on those rancorous rumours – that she and her exotic brother were in an immoral, bodily relationship – would have been ironic, but liberating, justice.

And the prude Toziko… what would she say?

Almost Futo pitied her old-maidish daughter when a shiver of pure, carnal pleasure crept up the length of her back. Mouth locked in a foolish, mushy grin, she laboured to compose her thoughts – whilst Mu’s member kept sliding up between her thighs and spreading out her moist petals. With every noisy, abrupt end of each shove, her stiff nipples chafed on the innermost layer of her uniform – each such rub a tiny shock of arousal tightening her chest. Futo groped behind and gripped onto one of the hands yoking her hips at the wrist. It did naught to slow Mu’s assault of her thighs, of course; but it made her feel a touch more in control.

Toziko. That was who she’d been thinking of. Such a ravishing figure, in life and death alike. Had Toziko but bent a finger to the purpose, she could fain have any man within the temple at her beck and call; even Mu, the seat of obstinacy that he was, spoke casually of courting Futo’s buxom daughter. Nor was Toziko innocent of these matters. Not once had the Lord Taishi ever complained of His spouse’s bedchamber manner; and Futo had it in utmost confidence that her daughter had educated her husband very well. No. Toziko was aught except innocent.

Why, then, she would confute those advances now, when death and change had sweepingly voided her marriage… Futo could ill understand. Neither may she muse further on her daughter’s priggish Way, ahead Mu’s feral panting cohered out of the blue into semi-civilised words. Albeit, not to be overtaxed, his civility ended well above his waist.

Fuh… Futo?” he huffed.

“Nn… Nyes, Mu brother?”

“Could we—” He smacked his hips roughly against her rear. “… Could we switch around a bit? If I come now… it’ll go all over my blankets.”

Futo laughed – a small, breathless laugh. “Ahh… Already, Mu?”

“Getting there,” Mu assured. “Slowly… but certainly. Your legs feel great… you know?”

“Nn. Heyday… And my vagina?”

Her brother groaned, rubbing his tool hard along her silky opening. “… It’s the best.”

Futo drove her hips back, arresting Mu’s next push. “Want you… Mmnn. Want you to it longer enjoy, Mu?”

“Gods, yes,” gasped her brother.

Futo thrilled at the desire in his voice. “… Then here.” So saying, she slid the hand off of his arm to touch it flat on a particular area of his stomach. As if terribly ticklish, the stomach went taut under her palm. “Here. On this point focus. Sense you the Wind within? Yon pressure mounting?”

Mu scoffed. “Do I ever.”

“Then on it seize,” ordered Futo, “and Damp it.”

There was a fleet pulse of surprise ahead Mu spoke again. “… Um, Futo?” he said. “I’ve… I’ve been doing that. Whenever we bathed, actually. To keep myself from getting… you know. Overexcited.

That on plenty things clarifies, thought Futo. Still, she reproached him, “Wrong Wind, Mu. Fie. We to your release postpone need. Nay to your lust suppress. More nearby your lowest dantian. Whence your potence to pour forth yearns. Have you it?”

Mu stilled. “… I think?”

“Damp it.”

Futo waited the tense, tantalising heartbeats it took her brother to grasp and re-direct the Feng of his body. Then, Mu released a small, startled breath.

“… Huh,” he said at last. “Well, I’ll never…”

“Success, Mu?”

She sensed Mu’s body give a nod. “Yes,” he admitted. “Yes. I did. I don’t feel any… uh, worse – but I can tell…” He struggled for appropriate terms. “… Yeah, I can tell,” he vaguely summed up. “Though, this… This is sensational. Men would kill to learn this, Futo.”

Futo smiled. “It a grave secret of the arts is,” she revealed. “Nay to be swith shared. You fain still tire and chafe will,” she cautioned; “yet, you shan’t erupt ere you wish.”

Mu swallowed it down. “… Where did you learn this, Futo?”

Futo’s smile warmed up on her face. “… Only,” she confessed, “from my brother.”

Mu’s pause bespoke his surprise. “… Your brother?”

“Yes. Yes, him,” sighed Futo. “Moriya. Of the Mononobe clans-head. My blood brother.”

“He was Taoshi, too… wasn’t he?”

“Yes. The truest.”

At her rear, her new brother absorbed this new, dubious knowledge. Then, he chuckled his incredulousness. “You must remind me,” he scoffed, “to honour his research somehow.”

Futo hadn’t the opportunity to avow he already was. For Mu pushed her off of his reinvigorated erection, and then slammed it back among her well-lubricated thighs. He began to grind his long member back and forth, back and forth, under her drooling crotch – his new ability having stripped all tact and shyness from his motions. Futo collapsed into loose moaning as he returned them to their previous, savage pace, and scraped her sensitive places on the ridge of his glans. For the minute in consequence – or five, or twenty, impossible to tell – the blue-ranked aide of Toyosatomimi Miko reverted into the moaning, twitchy mess that her previous brother, now a thousand years dead, had regularly used to make her. Futo’s current one was nowise that wise, nowise that bright… but his long, thick member felt even better on her privates after so long a drought.

And then, it felt better still. For upon the next stroke, Mu’s flagging hips misaligned his thrust.

As smoothly as if it’d been designed specially for this purpose, Mu’s plump glans spread her drooling lower lips and sank inside. Futo’s breath escaped her chest in a lewd gasp, her whole body stiffening, when the tip of her brother’s member rammed into the secret spot on her front wall. Her vagina eagerly gave way – accepting his magnificent length – until the bare glans slammed against the mouth of her womb.

In her lonelier moments, Futo had stuck an assortment of odd and odder objects inside herself. Her fingers, pom-poms, a broom-handle, a stout cucumber spirited away from the temple kitchens – even an obscenely true likeness of a man’s organ, sculpted from a dark, varnished wood, which she had purchased, half as a jape, at one of the Human Village’s motley fairs. Instantly and by half, Mu’s stiff, warm member outperformed them all. Futo bit down on a lip, eyes rolling back in their sockets, when – through sheer, frantic momentum – her brother towed back his hips, and speared her squirming, wet tunnel once more.

Mu growled, like the western barbarian he was – his gravelly voice mingling with Futo’s long, ecstatic whine. Then, as roughly as beseemed his broad posture, he yanked his fat member out of her hungry, clinging depths – scooping out her soft folds, snagging her clitoris, and spraying their combined fluids all across the bedsheets.

Absurdly, with scarce in the way of warning, Futo’s vagina clenched in the onset of a sudden, vicious orgasm.

White, hot bliss turned her thoughts into mush and her knees into wet paper. Futo crumpled onto her face – legs spread out, butt still in the air – moaning into her brother’s blankets and feeling her defiled thighs tremble under the weight of her twitching, bucking hips. Sweet, wonderful release saw her slump sideways, then roll onto her back. Futo tucked up her legs and rode the waves of pleasure shuddering up her compact, immortal body.

Her first orgasm from sex since her resurrection proved longer and more distracting than any she had given herself on her own. All but, and she would have missed it when Mu lifted her legs upright and hugged them to his chest. Her brother reached for something below… and, a second afterwise, the head of his unsatisfied member poked out from between her thighs. Mu steadied himself – kissed both her calves – and then started to hump.

Futo watched her handsome brother sate himself on her toned legs. Once his thrusting grew hectic, she rolled up the bottom of her uniform to expose her navel. None too soon, her perfect, tan skin was splattered with her brother’s fresh, virile seed. Mu’s orgasm, compared to hers, was short, concise, and over too soon. Spent, limping, her brother swayed back onto his seat, where he schooled his breath back to a semblance of control.

Futo gazed at the mess he’d left in his wake. Coasting on the backwash of her orgasm, Futo scooped some of the milky fluid up onto her fingers. Her brother’s semen stuck lovingly to her nails and skin. Futo sat up, and fanned out her legs.

Then, for little aught except the perverse relish of it, she stuffed the sperm-coated fingers into her aching, sensitive vagina. Her walls gave them a weak, gratified squeeze.

Hardly what she had wanted, this… but every journey began with a step.


>> No. 39710
File 155908934363.jpg - (378.28KB , 800x565 , 45196794_p1.jpg ) [iqdb]
39710
Back to the main story: >>/shrine/42083


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