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“Well, now,” announced the carter, one hand flinging someway over the horse’s ears, “it looks t’ me what we have oncoming is a Kappathon which, my little miss, we define as a bloody great number o’ pits in the road. I propose, here-to-fore, that y’ contrive to hold on tight, missy. So as not to fall, ‘course. In this wise.”

On his lap, the Lampad known in circles (of Hell) as Clownpiece saw her wrist caught and her petite hand laid flat on the old man’s trousered knee. Quite seriously, she nodded her head, grasping the other knobbly knee by herself. The carter had warned they had been looking down at least a mile’s rough stretch, and Clownpiece hardly had braced herself when the cart’s squeaky wheels struck the first bump. A startled “Wah!” squeezed out of her throat, much to the human’s chortled glee. He wound an arm round her tiny waist… securing her, as it happened, atop a different bump altogether.

“Careful, careful, missy,” she felt his chest rumble against the back of her de-hatted head. “Hold tight, a’ight?”

The Lampad nipped her bottom lip. In deference to Gensokyo’s summer heat, she’d swapped out her favourite tights, opting instead for the similarly patterned thigh-highs that’d been her Master’s Friend’s gift and a pair of sheer, black panties with a cute heart on the front – which had been her Master’s. Now her barely covered groin was sending up rather unambiguous messages about her seat.

“… Thanks, mister,” she mumbled, nudging her butt back and forth for comfort.

The carter sniffed with false modesty. “Always glad to help a… young lady out, yes ma’am. Can’t let one walk alone out ‘ere, can I now?”

A tiny, so far doused piece of Clownpiece’s ego flared hellish red. A lot of folks back home who’d attempted pampering a Lampad had ended up a Kishin’s overtime, but… right here and now, Clownpiece remembered where she was. On a rickety horse-cart bound for Gensokyo’s human settlement at the moment, sure – but, moreover, where Clownpiece was, was on a mission. A mission from her Master’s Friend which, given their concordance these days, could as good have come from Clownpiece’s Master herself. And, as another pothole joggled her butt on her carter’s lap, she clutched the thought to forestall it falling out.

Yes. That morning she had sensed and raced to meet her Master and her Friend as they’d breached Gensokyo and the Dream World’s boundary. If they’d descended together, then, the Lampad had reasoned, the day of Gensokyo’s hecatomb must have been at hand. She’d sighed like a shrine maiden and stamped like an Oni once she’d heard the Master’s Friend had merely meant to have a talk with the Moon’s whilom Sage, now resident of a healing place deep within Gensokyo’s bamboo forests. In a red-and-purple doublet with puffy sleeves, the Sage may have been a match for the Friend – whose own severe dress had gone out of Hell’s fashion at the same time as burning pitch – but boring beyond imagination otherwise. The occasional sardonic tone taken by Clownpiece’s Master in the course had betrayed she, too, had found the whole occasion tiresome; and, in a pointed fact, not half an hour into the meet, she had taken Clownpiece out to seek diversions elsewhere in the clinic while her Friend had conducted the talks by herself.

And one they had found: in the form of an out-of-the-way room where a man with a leg in a plaster cast had been idling the day away in a messy bed. With a grin and a jaunty air, Clownpiece’s Master had insinuated herself into the patient’s graces; within minutes, she’d had him confiding of the staff’s harsh bedside manner and tantalising dress code. One more, and she’d been skinning his hospital slacks down to his knees.

Clownpiece had looked on, almost as giddy as the broken-legged man himself, how her Master had deftly stroked his penis from a soggy cucumber to a full, hard mast – badmouthing all the while those vile nurses who had neglected a patient’s basic needs. And then, no sooner than it’d been prepared, she had drawn her short, red hair behind an ear – wetted her lips with her tongue – and gently introduced them to the head of the man’s now swollen and ready penis. He’d thrown back his head and gasped his shocked pleasure as the Master’s mouth had slid lower and lower down his unattended shaft – until her nose’d been stuffed in his overgrown pubes, and Clownpiece might see his sturdy girth bulging her Master’s throat.

There had been a desperate, sideward glance once her Master had begun hauling her lips back up the man’s length, sucking and giggling; and Clownpiece couldn’t resist the prankster’s call to yank her shirt up and show off the tiny Lampad’s titties that’d driven creatures far mightier than mankind drooling with lust. To her stunned and not a little dejected surprise, he’d given her tiny weapons of mass destruction a blank stare. Then his attention had been hooked again by her Master, who’d caught the mischief in a corner of her eye – let the penis pop out of her mouth – and proceeded to disrobe her own, loose, trademark top. Huge (compared to Clownpiece’s, anyway), round, with perky nipples the colour of ripe cherries and the golden chain hugged between them, the Master’s breasts – which’d stopped not one and not two drunken brawls dead in their punches back in Hell – had been unleashed on the poor, lame human’s eyes. He hadn’t long to be mesmerised. The Master had scarcely given Clownpiece a dirty look when her lips were once more all over the patient’s dick: pecking kisses, sucking and dragging her tongue along its erect length.

He’d been flushed, throbbing, slathered in spit and man-juice by the time Clownpiece’s Master had relented and climbed the bed to kneel astride the man’s waist. She’d smiled an Oni’s smile, pinched the edge of and then lifted her motley skirt. There’d been nothing underneath that skirt but Clownpiece’s Master and her neatly trimmed womanhood. The Lampad hadn’t seen her Master slip her underwear off, but there it’d been: a patch of hair as red as the one atop her head and a set of pristine, pink labia ensconced between a pair of thighs that’d once danced through seven nights straight and never foundered. The Master had snuck her fingers down to her denuded crotch, spreading her plump petals, poised to wrap them around and slide them down the patient’s hard, precum-slick dick. He’d cottoned on quick to the suggestion in her raunchy grin and steadied his flexing manhood for easier insertion.

Slowly, savouring the adultery, Clownpiece’s Master had lowered her hips… and then remembered the still very present and very much gawping Lampad.

“Ah, Clownpiece?” she’d said, all Master-like – as if they’d been back in Hell and she’d been about to knock off an Oni’s horns. “Could you go and… cause a bit of a ruckus outdoors? Master is going to taste this nice gentleman’s cock with her lower mouth now, and she’d ill enjoy one of those baaad nurses interrupting before she’s sampled every inch. Yes? Atta girl.”

Clownpiece had beamed and pumped a fist. “Hell yeah!”

The Lampad hadn’t waited her Master’s moaned “Oh, yeahhh—” (nor the pursuing “Oh Hades, that hits the spot…!”) to storm out and execute the command.

The execution, itself a story for the cups, had seen Clownpiece wreak havoc in the clinic’s surrounds – ultimately to be swarmed by the Sage’s rabbits and brought before her Master’s Friend who, in the purity of her heart, had granted the rampaging Lampad forgiveness… as well as this, her current mission. And so, Clownpiece had quit the Sage’s bamboo forest to roam the humans’ blooming and fruiting farmlands. In no time, she’d spotted her prey – dimmed her wings like the Sage had magnanimously instructed – and hitched herself a covert ride to – and with luck into – the Human Village.

It was the perfect plan. No need for the Three Stumblebums of Light and their fancy-schmancy luminomancy; a pinch of the old Eighth Circle style, and Clownpiece was well underway to her goal. The bumps notwithstanding.

That was a lie. One of them definitely was withstanding and stubbornly rubbing the front of Clownpiece’s heart-print panties. Worse because, in marriage with the thick, brawny arm strapping in her waist and the recentness of her Master’s sexy prank, a slimy stain was slowly darkening the black silk. The Lampad smacked a palm over her mouth, the cart’s turbulence jogging her up and down on the driver’s bulge. That time, she felt it spread her through the thin panties.

Hoof,” chuffed the man over the wheels’ screaking. “This’s rough ridin’. Holding on fine, missy?”

Clownpiece wasn’t. In reality Clownpiece was clutching the man’s knee with but one urgent hand while sliding the other down between her thighs to move the panties out of the way. It wouldn’t do to ruin her Master’s gift; she would sooner condemn the man’s trousers and ride bareback than have to plead with the Master’s Friend to wash her underwear on the quiet. The rough, peasant fabric scratched her bared, wet fairyhood, but no longer than her juices soaking and slickening the bumpy seat. Clownpiece gritted her teeth, squishing her crotch into the protuberance, its peak snagging and rubbing her stiff clitty. The pits in the road turned their coats: swapping out annoyance for poking and grinding the Lampad’s privates on the carter’s bulge. The human, while he may have grunted amusement at her squeaked exclamations, didn’t seem to note at all his clothes growing damp with fairy juice.

Until he did. Startling Clownpiece half to Hell, the man let go of her small, aroused body to dig his long, manly fingers under her leaky privates. Tough and coarse, they knuckled the Lampad’s hairless mons in their questing beneath her wet crotch. That, however, was not their first nor even the intended aim. The man’s until now contained, fully erect cock – was. The driver scooped it out of his trousers: stiff, pungent and veinier than a forearm; without the support of his hand, which was fast returned to Clownpiece’s waist, it leaned back to rest against the Lampad’s tummy. Almost passing her bellybutton, it was even longer and lustier than the patient’s whom her Master had chosen to give the Hellish work-out. Spooning its fat, hairy base, the Lampad’s vagina squeezed in frightened, horny surprise.

The cart shuddered upon another hole in the road; so too did Clownpiece, once the motion mashed her erect clitty into the cock’s rugged shaft. Shock and pleasure at once crushed her thigh-high-wrapped legs close, confining the penis in a snug triangle of silky thighs and bare, fairy pussy. Another series of humps in the rural road, and he would enjoy an unsolicited smooch from the Lampad’s inner lips. This time around, her voice trumped her self-control. A very unhappily happy Clownpiece slumped against the human’s broad, hardened chest, mumbling.

The driver jerked the reins, and the horse clopped to a hesitant stop.

“… So,” he murmured into the Lampad’s blushed ear. “Shall we put it in, missy – for safety, ‘course?”

Clownpiece fumed, glaring at the hard, chubby cock nestled between her thighs. “… That’s not safety,” she huffed. “That’s sex.”

Safety sex,” purred the man – insofar as a man may purr. “Safer with it inside you than ridin’ precariously atop. Yeah? Third point o’ support an’ all that tosh.”

Clownpiece squelched her face. He had… some kind of right. Moreover, the Master’s Friend had been unambiguous in her instructions; this was a secret mission for a clever fairy who raised no unneeded fuss. More-moreover, that cock looked something straight out of Hell…

Gulping, the Lampad stood up on the cart’s footrest, soft-kneed from the jostling and unwilling stimulation. Giddier than a village boy glimpsing her titties, she reached between her wobbly thighs while, behind, the spry old driver tucked the back of her top into her shifted panties for, it had to be presumed, a better view of her fairy derriere. A string of thick, gooey love-juice dripped from her crotch when, emulating her Master, Clownpiece stretched out her fairyhood’s sopping entrance. It pattered on the human’s mucky shoes. He pitched in his part, notwithstanding: one paddle hand on the Lampad’s tight butt, the other rolling the foreskin down from his tip and pushing it up to Clownpiece’s volunteered opening.

“There’s a real good girl,” he praised.

Then, tantalising her with the care, his cock a stiff guide, he ushered the little Lampad’s ass back onto his lap.

Straight away, she was grateful to be facing the horse rather than the man; from the moment his glans passed between her slick labia, until it was crammed up to the mouth of her womb, Clownpiece’s belly was taut from excitement. Teeth clinched, eyes rolled up at the sky, the Lampad settled again on her bumpy seat: palms on the man’s knees, butt stuffed into his waist and her trembling pussy transfixed on his hard cock. He’d known just what to do, the old creep; by exposing his gross cock-head, he’d ensured for himself not only a full, unhindered tour of a Lampad’s wet vagina but also that his wide ridge would scrape and rub on all of Clownpiece’s most vulnerable places. The results were explicit: his engorged cock throbbed with vigour under her bellybutton while his shaggy pubes swamped with the Lampad’s gushing fairy-lube. His veiny girth nudged and crowded her G-spot simply by tensing inside her.

In her swooning, blond head, a thought fluttered up above the rest: Hell yeahhh…

Mounted up, caught up in the sensation of a hard, human penis deep inside of her, she all but missed the driver’s caution of, “Cosy there, missy? Goin’ on then,” and the smacking of reins on the horse’s rump.

Clownpiece squealed as the cart lurched onward, tiny digits clutching the man’s undone trousers, pussy hugging his already crowded hard-on from peak to base. The first pothole wrenched the cart, sharp as Hell’s own basalt crags. It didn’t bounce her up and down as either she or the driver may have hoped; rather, it jarred her butt atop the man’s lap, stirring her vagina and pushing his stiffness at her sensitive walls at lip-biting angles. A second pit thundered by; this one jolted her forward, halfway off the man’s slippery cock. Clownpiece scrambled to fix it: thrusting her hips, screwing her deprived pussy back down his sloping length, until his glans was once again kissing her cervix. No chance for trickery lost, the clever Lampad slacked her grip on the human’s knees, so that the tragic, sexy accident repeated for sure.

So too it did; and Clownpiece spooked near out of her clothes once the gruff man took it upon himself to slam his cock back up her soaked, quivering fairyhood. The jolt of pleasure from her battered G-spot curled her toes inside her thigh-highs. Too very soon for payback, another ditch in the road shook them on the bench. The driver snapped off an oath, cracking the reins, gasping as his fat tool slipped out first then topped up the Lampad’s unresisting vagina. Clownpiece moaned herself, thighs quaking, every meaty inch come inside of her a duel to the orgasm for her weak spots. Swooning, shunting the Master’s Friend’s mission aside just for now, the most loyal of the Lampads gave herself in to the stiff, human cock raising Hell under her womb.

She climaxed not three minutes later, the steady Kappathon and frantic reinsertions too much for her over-teased, overstuffed pussy.

Sensing her childish body squirm, the driver spread-eagled Clownpiece’s legs – right on cue for a spray of squirt and pee from her flushed, cumming privates. Clownpiece tinkled over the footrest’s edge, warm fairy extract splashing the horse’s hooves, while she twitched and panted and wrung around the cock still buried up to its root in her vagina and impeding her orgasm. Then again, the very idea of him sliding it out of her now vised her dainty hands on the man’s knees. Her feet pointed out, seized by the hitching throes of her orgasm.

Mmm, buuut, thought Clownpiece, recalling her Master’s keenness to fuck the bedridden local. It really was as she’d said. Sex with country humans is the bessst…

“… Aaah,” wheezed a rustic voice behind her ear. “Y’ fairies always cream youselfs so quick. Cutest thing on this dun earth, it is.”

Had she not been already emptying her bladder, Clownpiece might have now. How in Hell had he…? Were her wings shining? Cumming as she still was from the bumpy sex, it was everything she could do to give him a helpless, sidelong scowl.

“Hhai,” she slurred, “am not a faiwiee… hnnkay?”

The driver sniggered, pulling at her collar for a peek of her amazing, mass-destructive titties. They were plump on ends, swollen up by her palpitating orgasm. “An’ I,” countered the man, ogling her enlarged nipples, “am Kochiya’s Wednesday shag. Naw, missy. Children doesn’t stray so far from town, much less by their lone selves. An’ these togs? Could be you’re a youkai… ‘cept then we drat well wouldn’t be havin’ us this converse. Or, I reckon, y’ could be a nice, cute fairy after some sugar and a free pass into town. Where I’m touchin’, well… tells me a half of that story.”

The Lampad mulled, writhing, feeling the aforesaid touch deep inside where fairies made, if not sugar, then certainly their honey. “… Thennn,” she determined, words tumbling off her tongue, “I am a cute fairee…?”

There was a long chuff of homegrown machismo. It gusted down Clownpiece’s stretched-out collar, tickling her puffy nipples. “Tell you what in that then case, miss fairy,” proposed the carter. “How’s about I smuggle y’ past the gate watch? No dogs sicked, easy as you like. In return… you’ll keep this uncle’s penis from gettin’ lonely the whole ride. Good?”

What could she do? Clownpiece bobbed her fluffy head, finished peeing, shuddered out of the encroaching afterglow and prepared to be the nice, cute fairy who loved nothing more than bouncing up and down and having orgasms atop old men’s laps.

Two. That was how many she managed to have – one from said bouncing, the other from jockeying around and mashing her clitty into the driver’s groin – before he turned her about face and tugged her top over their coupled privates. The town gates were in sight and, advised the driver, if Clownpiece wished in then she would still and “zip up that moaning mouth.” Nettled, Clownpiece nonetheless did as told. A sentry in a buffed leather jerkin waved them to halt with the aid of an amulet-plastered truncheon. He eyed the flushed, sweat-sheened Lampad, but dropped the leer once the driver introduced her as “Sei-chan, my niece.” Something droned from under the sentry’s nose about checking the rear for nasties hitchhiking, and he rounded the cart to prod under the canvas pall.

Which was when, thrilling her neck to toes, the driver leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Tighten your cunt an’ don’t make a peep, missy.”

All the rubbish about smuggling and nieces proved at once paper-thin deceptions. Grasping them by the wobbly hips and drawing them off their hidden erections was not usually something uncles did with their nieces. Nor did then brusquely hilting the same erection back inside a fairy you meant to convey unseen into a town look seriously prudent. Still and all, Clownpiece bottled up her escaping voice as the man slid out then re-sheathed himself up to the swollen testicles inside the Lampad’s clamping pussy. One stroke, two strokes, three… and then, at the strike of the fourth, with an apish grunt, he came.

In broad daylight, in the middle of a thoroughfare, with her cervix pressed to the old man’s glans, Clownpiece stuck on an innocuous smile. Meanwhile, below, her fairy womb filled up with his virile, human seed. The driver’s cock pulsed like Hell’s geysers, each fervent tremor gushing more hot sperm into the Lampad’s baby-room. Well, not as such. Lampads could not make babies; her Master had taught Clownpiece that… but the thought was a heady one to have while pretending to be inseminated.

“Stowaways absent,” quipped the sentry, shuffling in beside them. “Good to go, sir.”

Clownpiece heard the old man suck in a breath. “… Gracious,” he rasped, vowels like strained gravel. “Good lad, there. Hrk. So long.”

“Ha. Too long, sir.”

Croaking non-committally, the driver snapped the reins with one unsteady hand. He was still ejaculating, doing his best to impregnate the little blond fairy, even as the cart trundled off down the street.

Several minutes had to elapse for his overly spry cock to quit throbbing, by which time Clownpiece’s smile felt frayed on her face. And then, above the band of her offensively drenched panties, she could feel the man’s voluminous load ballooning her belly. It wasn’t to stay there long. The driver, having sniffed out her weakness, would propose they scrape it out – using the obvious tool – in the hay loft of the place where he rested his horse. And Clownpiece would mistrustfully agree. There were some crates, to hear him tell it, and so they could try a technique called “missionary style.”

He did, amazingly, manage to scoop out some of the white gunk he’d pumped inside the Lampad’s wet fairyhood… right before stumbling and replenishing it with twice the amount.

Afterwards, a groggy, overfed-feeling Clownpiece left the driver to tend his fatigued beast. The Sun dangled in the cloudless sky outside, a high noon raining Hell on the trodden cobbles below. It had taken a tougher dance, but… she was where she needed to be at last. The mission resumed – side-lined, maybe, but never forgotten. A Lampad’s head was, after all, much roomier than a common fairy’s. Although hers was mostly fuzz right then, Clownpiece skulked the streets of the Human Village, purposeful.

All which she had to figure now was how get the Master’s Friend the shaved ice she wanted with no money to her name.
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There isn’t any secret to brewing English tea.

Teas of all other kinds have little touches and particular ceremony that you have to go through to get it “right”. With English tea, all you need to do is brew it in the tool – or in the bag, if you’re lower class – and that’s all. After that everything is preference. The Mistress likes type B blood added to hers, and the Younger Mistress likes that too. Lady Patchouli likes just fewer than two scoops of sugar and for a bit over a third of the cup to be warm milk. Miss Meiling doesn’t like English tea.

Miss Reimu likes...

“Hot milk... and... one scoop,” I speak to myself while preparing the cup. “Mixed at once... and a small spoon of cream.”

I set the spoon down and look into the cup. It’s an even, pale cinnamon color—it’s perfect.

... My shoulders sink, and I turn my head to look at the cabinets, and at the shining tools hanging inside them, glinting through the glass fitted in the doors. They are thin, silver rods and straight, double-ended spoons, and under those are the rounder, kind of bowl-like cups. I turn my head away, my hair sways, and I sigh, miserable. I can’t bring myself to try it on her out of nowhere. Mmm... I can’t just stand around... I take the teacup and place it on a saucer. I lift both, and walk out of the Library’s tea corner.

Miss Reimu hears me while I’m walking over; my shoes fall pretty sharply on the stone floors, not covered by red carpets. She calls, “Natsumi, thanks.”

I quicken my pace just a little bit, seeing the bow behind her hair first before she looks over the back of the couch she’s sitting on to lay her eyes on me. While tapping on the little table beside the armrest, she says, “Don’t trip.” I stop, and look into the cup. “Hahaha! Seriously?”

... I keep hurrying over.

When I get there, I set the cup down on the small table next to the armrest.

“Here you are,” I say, speaking definitely too quietly, “please take your time.”

Miss Reimu replies with a quick and firm, “Sit down next to me—come on.”

I step over and sit next to her, slouching with my hands on my knees. She looks at me flatly, then pokes me slowly against my left temple through my hair. At once I lift my hands, and my mouth wobbles.

“That...” she mutters, “way!” Pushing me full on, she’s telling me to face the other way on the couch: to face the other armrest. I get off my shoes, put my feet onto the couch where she asked, and hug my legs.

She turns to her teacup, takes it, and leans into my back. “Haaa...” she sighs. I hear – and feel – her take her first gulp. “Delicious!”

She starts finishing it quickly. I look down at my toes.

“... The Mistress sure is taking long,” I say.

“Huh? Remilia?” Miss Reimu asks, glancing over her shoulder. I feel her swallow from her cup.

“Aren’t you here for Mistress Remilia, Miss Reimu?” I ask her.

She must be shaking her head, because I can feel her ponytail swishing over my neck. The sensation warms me up, and I grip the sides of my shorts.

“... Lady Patchouli?” I guess.

Another gulp reverberates through my back.

“What?” she asks. I think she’s finished. I grab the handkerchief from my chest pocket and unfold it, turning halfway and pushing the cloth to her mouth. She frowns as I wipe tea and milk off of her face. When I finish I turn back and start folding it again. “... Do I have to remind you that you’re a kid again?” Miss Reimu says, starting to turn around. I flinch and freeze, my handkerchief now mostly stuffed into my vest. I shake my head, but she grabs my sides and starts moving her fingers over them relentlessly.

“M-Miss Reimu! You’re... You’re still very young, so...!” While I try to explain myself, she flips me over and starts tickling me full on.

“What, is that something Sakuya taught you? ‘You have to baby children’?” I nod while being forced to smile and trying not to laugh. “You’re five years younger than me, Natsumi! And don’t forget: you’re still ticklish!”

Despite myself, the smile on my face turns genuine.

I think Miss Reimu is the only person who comes to the mansion who remembers I’m a ki—


A chill fires through me, scaring up the hair over my eyes for a second.

I... I can see it...! Through her collar...!

It’s summer after all... I already knew she does this...! I saw this last week, too...!


... Miss... Miss Reimu doesn’t wear the uniform of a shrine maiden. She wears a cute and short top, with a pretty collar. Her sleeves are just sleeves, hung from her arms. Her skirt is short (but not the shortest) but anyway—!

Because it’s summer, when you look down her collar, or through the openings for her arms...

... when you do that...!

“... Natsumi?”

... Her ni—ches... I can see her nipples!

I grabbed Miss Reimu’s wrists and stopped her. Now she’s looking at me through her auburn bangs and she looks worried. I’m worried! I got aroused from that, and my crotch is swelling up...!

“... Uh, did I hurt you?” Miss Reimu asks me, obviously concerned. Now I start to panic, I shake my head rapidly, eyes fixed on her chest through her collar. Reimu’s skin is a little dark from a tan, but her.... boobs... are pale, and those are pi... pi-pi— “What are you looking at? I can’t tell because of that dumb hair of yours.”

She reaches toward me, against my hold on her (Is she that strong!? Or maybe I’m just...). She then brushes aside my bangs to reveal my eyes.

Following them, she finds their gaze’s destination... and then she says nothing.

She looks even lower, cutting off my line of sight with her head. I lower my own head, sigh, and feel relieved.

... Until I realize why Miss Reimu would be looking “lower”.

I bring my head up suddenly, just as Miss Reimu does the same. Both of our faces are glowing.

I let Miss Reimu go and cover myself with my left hand, rapidly waving my right in denial.

“Ahaha, no! No! That’s jus—! Um—! Sh-Shall I call The Mistress!? She’s awfully late!” I look over to some bookshelf while babbling. I didn’t know my voice could sound so high pitched...

I freeze again, feeling a hand on my left wrist. My hand is moved away, and another hand covers what I’d been hiding instead. Now I’m looking down. Miss Reimu is looking down. We both look at her left hand, placed over my crotch.

... I didn’t know my heart could beat this heavy.

It sounds like a bass drum is pounding inside of me, and my whole body is shaking with the sound. I thought nothing would scare me more than when they... Wait, am I even “scared”? I’m not sure.

Miss Reimu moves her hand. Not away; she moves it up, and then down, over me.

With one hand on the couch’s back and my arm rested on the cushion I’m laying on, I hunch my shoulders and watch as Reimu rubs the tent I started pitching. I can barely feel it... but I can feel it, and it feels crazy.

A tickling, warm, and stuffed kinda feeling...

My heart is fluttering. My shoulders ease.

She undoes the button and clasp within my waistband, and unzips my front slowly. My shoulders lift again, as do the hairs behind my neck. Reimu fishes inside of my briefs, through the gap I use when I go to the bathroom.

I start mumbling, “W-Wai... Miss Rei—”

Miss Reimu interrupts, saying, “Shh. We’re alone and it’s too quiet.” She’s whispering. I feel her fingers finding my penis, and I shudder. “Ah, found it,” she says, almost to herself.

And she pulls my erect penis free. Oh my god, my penis is out in the library. This is... so bad...!

Reimu looks at it with her eyebrows raised. “I-It’s... big....” she says.

“Y-Yeah...” I reply. Supposedly, that isn’t really normal for a kid but... I was told that mine is pretty big.

Reimu swallows, and eyes it up and down, from the base to the head. I grow more in her hand... In one of the hands she usually uses when feeling my hair. I swallow too, and feel like I’m fully erect. That’s when she begins to stroke me. I shudder again, and I close my eyes. I focus on the sensation of her hand, gliding kindly up and down... Miss Reimu’s cute fingers, squeezing me gently: it feels really good... It feels so, so good, my hips keep twitching forward...

Miss Reimu doing this, I... I don’t know what it means, but I know I’ve dreamed about it, and touched myself while imagining something like this, so... this is nice.

But... it’s not the first time something like this happened.

Mistress Flandre... I wish you’d’ve just...!

You know how I feel about Miss Reimu...!

Thinking about it, I grit my teeth.

Dang it...

... Three weeks back, one morning, I was cleaning the younger Mistress’s room...

Mistress Remilia said, “You actually enjoy her company, so you can tend to her.”

That day I was doing just that while accomplishing my task. I’d finished helping her wash up because she and the Mistress can’t move in or past flowing water, and she was relaxing on her bed, getting ready to sleep. We usually talk about books together; Mistress Flandre and I pick a book that has two copies in Lady Patchouli’s library, and we take it out and try to see who can read it faster. We discuss the story and themes and characters. We’ve talked about a couple of books in the Dragonlance series, about Moby Dick and Paradise Lost. I was talking about The Odyssey that morning. “I thought it was cool!” I told her, smiling while I put her skirts and shirts into a basket. “All those trials and monsters, triumphed by the human spirit!”

She repeated, “‘The human spirit!’” while lifting a fist as I’d just done. She was on her back, and turned her head to look at me with an open and teasing smile. When I fully looked her way, she stared for a while before saying, “I’m a monster, Natsu.”

I reminded her, “You’re cute, though, Mistress...”

And she reminded me, while letting her arms fall to the sheets above her head, “One of his trials was a beautiful woman.”

I raised a finger while getting back to work and noted, “You’re also beautiful, Mistress Flandre.”

“Idiot. That’s not what I was getting at. Or, what? Are you going to fall in love with me and stay with me for a year?” she asked, mocking me again.

I contested, “I’ve stayed with you for longer than that, but Mistress Flandre... y-you already know I—”

“Funny,” she interrupted me, staring at the ceiling, “Odysseus had someone already in his heart, too.”

I felt tense, then, finished putting away her outer wear and got to picking up the younger Mistress’s underwear.

Our conversation died down, but I’m not sure if I would’ve even heard anything from her for a while since my heart was beating kinda like it’s beating now, though definitely not as powerfully. I was just apprehensive and tense. I started thinking about her naked body while dropping her bloomers and panties into a new basket. I’ve been bathing her for about as long as I can remember and Sakuya has always taught me to be professional. I want to be professional, because I think she’s...

She’s someone I’m dedicated to, just as much as Mistress Remilia, and she’s...

I can’t ever tell her that when I think of “my family”, I think of Lady Flandre first.

“Natsu,” Mistress Flandre spoke up while I was wrapped up in my thoughts. I flinched and gripped the pair of panties I’d just picked up, listening intently, “you don’t care that you’re handling a lady’s underwear?” I thought at the time, Sh-She’s attacking...!

I straightened my back and raised my chin. I told Mistress Flandre, “Sakuya taught me to treat all my duties like a staid professional.” Thinking about that, I got confident. I smiled to myself, and turned her way with my eyes shut all smugly. “To treat my duties as they are duties! She said I needed to be especially care... ful as a... boy...”

When I opened my eyes, I saw that the younger Mistress had gotten onto her front side and was lifting her hips. From where I stood, I could perfectly see her cheeks underneath the pink and snug pair of panties she was wearing. Her crotch was on display too. “Mistress Flandre!” I’d shouted. “P-Put on your blanket, I—! I can see under your skirt!”

In her cropped red shirt and short red dress, the younger Mistress looked at me past her peculiar shard-fit wings (that she had laid down). I met her glinting scarlet eye, and knew that my face had become scarlet as well. She giggled, and asked me:

“What’s under there?”

I answered her nervously, and obviously bothered, “Your bottom... and your panties, Mistress.”

“If it’s bad for you to see them,” she said, “shouldn’t you look away...? Na... tsu... mi?”

She lifted her hips higher with every syllable of my name, wiggling her hips a bit each time. Even though I knew she was right, I kept looking, and I couldn’t even answer.

“Natsumi,” she said. She doesn’t use my whole name like that often, so I stiffened up. She then told me, “I was wearing the ones in your hand just an hour ago.” I looked at the white cloth I was holding, and noticed: yes, she had been. I remembered seeing her taking them off in the changing room. While the memory of her undressing started to wind me up (to my surprise) Mistress Flandre gave me a simple order:

“Sniff them.”

I opened my mouth, then, and realized I was panting.

“Well?” she said, prompting me. I felt something tickling my tongue and palate. It was almost like I was paralyzed. While I was falling apart inside, Mistress Flandre told me in no uncertain terms: “Put the crotch against your nose and smell it.”

I then swallowed my saliva, looked at where her vagina had been, and I did just as she asked.

I’ve always known though I never really admitted that: I like Mistress Flandre’s usual fragrance. I like walking into her room... and I always feel at ease once I can tell she’s nearby, because the flowery, clean smell of her always lingers behind for a little bit.

However, the smell of her end-of-the-day panties wasn’t “relaxing”... Honestly, they didn’t actually smell “good”. But, it was a kind of “bad” that I liked. I put the tip of my nose against a slight stain from—it might have been peeing. The stuffy odor was, um, heady though. I started feeling like I do when I’m drowsy, and I could feel my penis swelling in my briefs. I looked at Mistress Flandre, and I watched while she slid her middle finger up and down a small wedge in-between her legs. I was really fascinated by the shine in the fabric that came from her bedroom’s lanterns. The more her finger dug in, the more the shine spread. I wasn’t thinking about Miss Reimu at all then.
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“Come to the side of the bed and kneel down,” the younger Mistress ordered. I didn’t hesitate at all and stepped to where she asked, slowly getting on my knees before her bed. Mistress Flandre began to scoot backward, toward me. “Good, Natsumi, you can stop,” she said. I brought her panties down from my nose, feeling a pang of disappointment. She then said, “Now have the real thing.”

My blonde and lithe Mistress put her butt and crotch against my vacated face. She then pushed and pushed until she had pushed me down to the floor, gotten over me, and was sniffing and nosing likewise at my excited nethers. And like she mirrored my nosing, Mistress Flandre was certainly mirroring that excitement. I smelled her sweat and something strange in her panties. They were wet... soggy, and I could feel something squishy behind them, and something that felt like a button over my chin. I remember breathing in deeply, and thinking This smells..., but still sniffing, and feeling more and more “drowsy”.

I grabbed Mistress Flandre’s butt over the fabric, just to hold something, and I could feel her kissing my penis through my shorts, through my briefs, directly, and then with her entire mouth. My penis, full and hard, got inside the little sister’s vampire mouth as her vagina and butt rode against my face. There was a sound that reminded me almost of a drain clearing up, though it was more like... From how the younger Mistress mouth felt—suddenly tight, then slacking and drooling over me hotly, and doing that over and over again while, I felt, her tongue poked and pushed at me, pulsing intense, heavy pleasure into my thighs and guts... I knew that she was sucking me. And, she was pushing the head of my penis to her throat. It was like she was savoring a popsicle, I remember feeling like she was kissing me while still sliding up and down, and I’d held her thighs tightly while the thoughts in my head faded into a sheer white. Unable to bear it, as she kept relentless sucking my penis, I suddenly felt myself cumming over her tongue, cramming the younger Mistress’s mouth with my semen until, from how she moaned in surprise, I think her cheeks swelled with my ejaculation. I hadn’t warned her—I really hadn’t known that I was about to. After gulping my first few shots, Mistress Flandre swallowed the next straight from my penis and down into her belly, and I while I went flaccid I remember shivering and hugging her waist while she pushed her butt at my face, and I pushed forward to take more of it. Mistress Flandre slid her hips forward until her crotch was over my mouth, and while she grinded it against my tongue, I felt hers rolling over my softened penis—I think: trying to get it hardened again. She managed, and we did it again...

Actually, even a week after that, Sakuya...

“Are you doing okay?” Miss Reimu asks me, taking me out of my memories for a second, I nod. My penis has been getting toyed with so much, I’m sure it can make it through Reimu messing with it for a long time—which is a nice thing to think about. After all, remembering Sakuya almost crushing it with her thighs and letting me hump against her butt... Yeah, I’m positive I can hold out.

... I feel less mad at Sakuya than I do Mistress Flandre.

Reimu changes her technique to use more of the heel of her hand and a stronger grip (making me bend forward, and pant louder). The squeeze forces me back to two weeks ago, and what led to that squeeze between my caretaker’s legs. I had gotten aroused by just being around Sakuya—it was strange. I mean, in the first place...

“Like that.”
“Like this.”
“Very good.”
“Do you understand?”
“In that case, do it.”


Most of the time I’m with Sakuya, our interactions are like that.

Sakuya was the person I met after Mistress Remilia. After the Mistress had given me a new name and took me to her house, Sakuya was waiting and seemed really very quiet. I remember thinking that she was quiet, and almost, almost scary. I remember that there was a bead of sweat on my face.

“Mistress,” I remember her addressing the vampire who had taken me there, “was I also like a chipmunk when you first found me?”

That made me blush and lower my head.

“Raise your head,” said the maid, putting her hand to my face and lifting my chin. “If you’re to be a butler at our mansion, then you should always be calm and show the utmost composure,” she said.

I remember that Mistress Remilia nodded with her arms crossed and a proud smile on her face. When Sakuya added, “That is, being unlike our Mistress,” my new master’s wings flared out, and she looked shocked. It made me laugh, and I tried to hide it. Sakuya told me, “Well, you can break your composure to smile.” She smiled then, and I think I felt a swell of admiration.

But that day, two weeks ago... Maybe it was because of what Mistress Flandre had done the week before, or maybe it’s how I’m growing up, but I really started looking at Sakuya and I just...

I... I’m not a horn dog or anything! Sakuya was cleaning as usual, and teaching me what to do, and while I was admiring how beautiful she was as I always do, I got very aroused by her. Her hair and eyes are both cold and sharp, and her posture is cute and serious. Once more: I admire her, but admiration isn’t lust, so I was horribly surprised that, while looking over her back, her body, and her breasts, my penis erected.

Of course, I just tried to hide it. I showed off my power a little, summoning the memories of what Sakuya had used to clean seconds before to make the hallway we were in spotless. However... that had impressed her. The problem was: while she was applauding me, I got very smug. I stood with my hands on my hips, practically presenting the tent in my shorts. Sakuya noticed, and I can still hear what she asked then perfectly in my ears:

“What is that, Natsumi-kun?”

I answered her with a half-explanation, half-gibberish reply, and for what felt like hours (but was actually probably under a minute), she didn’t answer back. She stared, and eventually asked me again, differently and in a tone of assurance, “Natsumi-kun, are you at all aware of what that is?”

I nodded.

“Tell me,” she coaxed.

So, I muttered to her, “It’s a boy’s erection...” while hiding it with my hands in shame. “It happens when a boy is sexually excited.”

“So you were sexually excited by me?” she tried to clarify. Her arms were folded, but she didn’t seem to be scolding me. I remember how relaxed it kept me. She was talking to me like when she first found that I’d broken a cup—like how she always did when I asked her about Miss Reimu, and told her about things that I really thought I was bad at.

I told her, “Yeah,” and nodded again.

She replied, “Well you’re already old enough for that. I was wondering when this would happen.” I guessed, of course Sakuya would have expected anything, but I was very disappointed in myself for meeting those expectations. While I felt more embarrassment, she remarked, “I’ve been careful in raising you to avoid your embarrassment,” and hearing that I felt a little better.

I spoke up, saying, “Thank you, Sakuya,” and I felt like my blush was happening now for a different reason. I was still hiding myself, though, so seeking to properly apologize I told her, “I’m sor—”

She put her finger to my lips, then, stopping me from doing so. After a second, she moved her hand, and held my face like before—like always, when I’m looking ashamed or dark. She told me, “Don’t apologize, Natsu,” and I perked up. I’d only ever heard her call me that twice before. My caretaker then leaned toward me and whispered into my ear, “Come along. Let’s take care of it now before it distracts you too much.”

Having never heard Sakuya’s whisper before, I was surprised by how “good” it felt, like hands running their fingertips all over me. I got harder, and remember looking at her lips as they turned to a gratified smile.

In a dark storage closet, Sakuya leaned over a stool and lifted her butt in front of me. I remember her turning to look at me saying, “Lift my skirt and undo your pants yourself. That should do well for you.” I gingerly lifted her skirt while frowning, and feeling lustful. Her black panties that I’ve seen so often looked completely beautiful to me that day. I put a hand on her right cheek, looking at and feeling aroused by her garters. Before I knew it my other hand was on her other cheek, and I was squeezing very gently all that meat of hers there behind her closely fit lingerie. She’d gotten on her knees on account of how much taller she is than me, so I had to bend down quite conspicuously when I tried to inconspicuously smell what I was rubbing and toying with, and between the same—between her legs. She pushed into me a little then and just told me, “Undress,” while looking ahead at the wall.

I pulled my pants and underwear down, and pushed my penis between her thighs like she’d told me to when we’d entered the room—I really didn’t wait, it was like I needed to do it. Sakuya squeezed her powerful legs together; I shivered from the pressure and warmth. I started humping against her butt, rhythmically squeezing it as it rippled from my movements. I felt like I was having sex. I recalled Sakuya’s thick bush that I always see during baths, bent forward and, hugging her stomach, started going faster, harder.

As I remember that, Miss Reimu quickens her pace.

My memories are quite strong and intense, as a result of the powers I was born with: the powers of vivid recollection and perfect “recall”. Though, when I do it, it’s not just “remembering” like the Child of Miare...

Forget it—what I’m trying to say is: my penis is remembering while Miss Reimu is giving it something new to remember.

Sakuya’s legs were healthy and strong, and soft in-between. I remember smelling her back and smelling her body soap and gripping at her uniform while my penis let out that sticky, slippery stuff it does before I cum. It was slick and hot and I could smell something like what I smelled from the younger Mistress’s wet crotch on my face. I could feel Sakuya’s crotch getting damp too, and looking up I saw that her ears were red.

That slippery stuff is all over my penis now, and helping Miss Reimu move. I look at her eyes, looking at my erection while she moves her hand with smooth speed and a grip like you’d hold on a soaking towel. I start bucking, Remembering the soft moans Sakuya made while I poked at her stomach, just slightly, I feel shiver after shiver course through me.



I meet Miss Reimu’s eyes. I met Sakuya’s.

“I... I’m gonna...” I tell Miss Reimu.

Sakuya told me, “When you finish, hold still.”

To that instruction, I nodded once, bouncing my hair with how emphatically I did it. I started cumming on the inside of her skirt, staying still as it colored the dark navy fabric a clean white. I shook, but hugged her, and felt safe. My fingers clutched through her vest, feeling the heat and sweat of her body behind her undershirt through my fingertips. I kept cumming until a minute had passed.

I love Sakuya.

I love Mistress Flandre.

I always look forward to Miss Reimu paying her visits. I’ve always wanted her to come to the mansion just to see me and talk, even if it’s just once, instead of visiting for Lady Patchouli or the Mistress. I want to pay her compliments. I want her to hug me close. I want to show her the yin-yang latte art I’ve been practicing, and I want to impress her.

So while Miss Reimu’s eyes focus, and she pulls up my shaft slowly, cupping her free hand over the top, I think about all of that, and how special Miss Reimu is to me, and has been since she threw a needle in my forehead and went after Sakuya on that scarlet night. You know, I... I’m in love with Miss Reimu, too. It’s not just a crush like I admitted to the younger Mistress. I really love her, and want to tell her that. I don’t just want her to see me; I want to see Miss Reimu every day. I want to marry her...

And, as I realize that, and Reimu rubs at me softly on a sensitive part of my stiffy, I gasp once, lurch forward and feel my nut-sack pull up. I let out more than I ever have, faster than I ever have, and into the palm of her hand, quietly whining to myself and moaning, my mouth closed in an entirely embarrassed grimace, eyes shut.

... I can’t believe that I realized something like that while the girl I like had her hand on my penis.

... When I’m done, and her hand is completely caked, I try to sit up after having fallen down on my back. We look at each other, both breathing heavily. I’m getting mesmerized... Miss Reimu’s sweaty body is truly gorgeous...

I speak up, saying, “Mi—”

But turning her face from mine, Miss Reimu gets off of me, slips on her shoes, and runs from the library.

And just with that... I suddenly feel like I did something terrible.

I touch the handkerchief at my chest, thinking that I didn’t clean her hand off—but that’s not the terrible thing.

I think I did something I can’t undo, and thinking that, my heart beats in a scary way.

Like when the crowd formed at our doorstep, before Mistress Remilia descended from the sky.


I can recall the “memories” of a place. If I wished, I could summon the image of Miss Reimu who just ran off and check her expression. I could see if I scared her, or made her sad but... but I...

... I... I don’t want to know at all. Even if she wasn’t... what would I do if she was?

Alone in the library, I clean myself off and put my spent genitals away.

I sniffle, and see a droplet fall on the front of my shorts after I zip up.

I will see Mistress Flandre again. I will see Sakuya again.

But, if Miss Reimu never comes back... I...

I sniff again, and buckle from a jolt of anger mixed with misery, and I remember—

I remember that even if Miss Reimu wasn’t disgusted with me, I’ve already messed up twice before. That gets me shaking. That gets me sobbing there without her as I think: if I was Miss Reimu’s boyfriend, I’d be a terrible one.

I just cry quietly in the empty library as I think that, with no one seeing me, and not wanting anyone to come.

I really thought... I honestly thought that: “I’m a strong man. A good man.”

But that’s not the truth at all.

While bent over, and doubled with sadness I admit it to myself:

I really am just a stupid boy.
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I suppose I had those bloodsuckers to thank for this, as well.

We, the ragged twelve of us, were lying in the weeds, out in the hills overlooking the road between what used to be the Hashimoto fields, and the damn vampires’ fortress. I’d say we were waiting in ambush, but in the dark of night it felt more to me like we were waiting to be ambushed, no matter that they were supposed to be in the open and coming from the front and we were supposed to catch them out unawares. They could fly, I’d heard, and all I had was this old bang-stick that didn’t even have a loop for the trigger. I was a decent shot with a fowling piece, sure, but this moon-runed thing was twice as heavy and kicked thrice as hard, and it only shot single slugs.

I had no real right to complain, though. We’d gathered up what silver was in the Village, from the shops and the banks and even the women’s jewellery, and cast them into bullets, in the hope that us ordinary folk could do our bit in the fight. I probably had more money burning a hole in my pockets right then than I’d ever seen in my entire life—and the best I could hope to do with it was to have it burn a hole through some damn bloodsucker’s head instead.

“Still no sign of them,” grumbled our commander. She put away her binoculars, and laid herself prone again. That was something I felt I did have a right to complain about. Her chin dug into the top of my head, and her breasts flattened against my shoulder blades. I didn’t even know she had any breasts to flatten, and maybe in an objective sense the more prominent sensation came from her pointy knees grinding into my tailbone, but there was still an undeniable softness there that I couldn’t ignore.

Still, I held my tongue. Naz was our commander, and a youkai at that. She’d led the flying column well in fights before—though I was still new, then. Thus my role as living mattress.

The thing was, beyond just being a little soft, her chest was warm against my back, and it gave me a chill down my neck in comparison.

So … I shivered.

In retrospect, that was the mistake that led to everything else, but I’d defy you not to do the same if you ever have a mouse-girl warming your back with her tiny body, while you’re hurry-up-and-waiting for a troop of vampires just before first light.

Commander Nazrin scoffed. Her warm breath ruffled my hair a little. “Don’t tell me you’re getting nervous now,” she said, in that … mousey voice of hers. I’m not going to do an impression for you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I muttered.

Now, backtalk like that was a bad habit of mine, which, yes, came out when I was nervous—I was still an overgrown boy, honestly. And our Naz was quick to pick up on that sort of thing, but she still hadn’t picked up on exactly why it was.

“You need to relax,” she said, into the top of my head. “I’ve lost good mice to set up this kill. If you blow it, I’ll make you their double ration.”

Our Naz had a way of being straightforward with you like that, which, believe it or not, we did appreciate. You never could tell what was on that tiger’s mind, back then.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, but I suppose it wasn’t sincere enough, because she sighed into my scalp.

“What,” she demanded. Her head bobbed up and down as she spoke, while her chin kept digging into my head—and her tiny breasts kept squishing into my back. “Hey. What is it.”

“It’s nothing,” I lied. “Ow!”

“Don’t lie to me,” she said, and let go of my ears. “Damn human.”

At this point I was just about convinced that she could read my mind, and that the ear-pulling was well-deserved punishment, for the urge which I admit had brought a twitch into my fingers the first time I laid eyes on her own big mousey ears, so I figured I had nothing left to lose if I just told her the truth.

“Your b— chest,” I said, articulately.

I could feel the pause in her breathing.

“What about my chest?” she asked, and it was the first time I’d ever heard growling from a mouse.

“It’s soft,” I blurted, before I could stop myself.

“Ah,” she said, lightly again, and I thought I’d said the right thing for a moment. But then she said, “So I’m distracting you.”

“No, ma’am,” I lied again. “Ow.”

“All right, then,” she said. “We’ll take care of that.” She pushed herself up on my back. “Roll over.”

“You sure about that?” I asked. “Ow. Okay, okay.”

I had no time to think about exactly what it was she’d said before that, and just did as I was told, leaving the gun aside to massage my tortured ears. She crawled nimbly over me as I did, turning herself around in the process, so her head was over my crotch, and her ass was in my face. Her fingers showed themselves to be just as nimble—before I could get out more than a few awkward syllables, she had my belt undone, and my trousers halfway down my thighs.

If I had anything to say, it melted on my tongue as I stared into the mouse’s ass. Her tail was cocked up, lifting her skirt and revealing her panties—which were pure white, by the way, as if anything about her could be called innocent at this point. If I wasn’t saluting before, I sure as hell was now. I could almost feel prickles on my skin, from the way I knew she was staring at it.

She must have felt me tensing up, because she pinned my upper arms to either side with her knees, spreading her legs out and showing off her crotch in the process.

“Try anything,” she said, “and I’ll bite it off.”

I patted the dewy grass in submission—then grabbed it in wet handfuls, as I felt her hot breath on my dick. I had a third of a mind to glance around at the others, to see if anything like this had ever happened to them, but the other two-thirds were solidly under southerly occupation, and they told me I didn’t want to look anywhere other than the mouse’s slim thighs, and the slowly moistening imprint of her little slit.

“Mmh,” was all the warning that she gave.

All at once, she swallowed me whole. Commander Nazrin liked to work quickly, whatever it was she was working at, and this wasn’t about to prove an exception. My mouth found itself pursing tightly, as the mouse used her own to incredible effect. Her small size, which I had belatedly worried about, turned out to be no impediment at all, providing pleasant suction as she brushed her lips steadily up and down my shaft. She was relentless in her rhythm, pausing only occasionally to catch her breath, and even when she did, she kept on working the head with her short, narrow-tipped tongue.

I was half impressed, and half disappointed, at how silently she could do it all.

She continued her systematic conquest of my dick, while I continued to weed the ground beside me bare, trying to hold myself back from bursting. Whether it was because I was afraid of what would happen then, or because I wanted it to just last that little bit longer—I didn’t know, and wasn’t of any mind to care. But soon enough, I was about to reach my limit, and might’ve muttered out as much, because just as suddenly as she’d started, she stopped.

Slowly, the haze of white which clouded my mind began to recede. I felt the mouse-girl moving on top of me once more. When my vision resolved itself again, I found myself staring into her eyes, red and faintly glowing, like a wild animal’s. She lifted up her skirt, and hooked her thumbs on either side of her panties …

… something moved in the corner of my eye. Another man was waving his beret, in warning.

I glanced up the road, and threw the mouse-commander off of me. She had a few choice words to say about that, I think, but I didn’t hear exactly what.

Because they were here. And with a long train of cattle behind them. That explained the delay.

I’m proud to say I didn’t hesitate. I snatched up my gun and lined up my shot, planting one right above the lead bloodsucker’s left nostril. His brains sprayed out the back of his head, just like a deer’s—isn’t that funny, I remember thinking. I grabbed another two cartridges out of my pocket, fumbled with the knob or what-have-you, and fed the next one in. This time I missed the one I was aiming for, but blew out the knee of another one behind him. The slug after that went into her gut, and she misfired the spell she was chanting, sending herself and three of her own up in flames. Everyone else had opened fire at this point, and I don’t remember much from after that except just line-’em-up-and-pull.

When the dust had settled, the whole pack of bloodsuckers was dead, none of us were wounded, and I …

… I stood there with my rifle in my hands, my trousers around my ankles, and my gun at full salute, a goopy white rope dangling from its tip onto Commander Nazrin’s very incensed head.

Nobody really looked at me the same way again after that.
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Keiki Haniyasushin, Sculptor Goddess of Creation, was in high spirits. She swept through the smooth hi-tech passages of her new garden with a spring in her step that her aloof, regal bearing couldn't quite hide, her long azure hair bouncing girlishly as she went. Haniwa armsmen scattered at the sight of her, sketching brief bows and curtsies before skittering back into the shadows. Their goddess was a strange woman; fey and unpredictable, her mind seemingly unable to settle on any one thing for long. She treated her subjects well—very well, as those lucky enough to catch her interest could attest—, but stories of the woman's temper hung around her like a cloud. No matter how polite she acted outwardly, Keiki was above else a deity of prodigious power, and only her closest underlings viewed her without a seed of unease in their hearts.

And that, Keiki thought as a pair of diminutive clay statuettes scuttled out of her way, was as it should be. The duo had been in the process of stripping away the wild, untamed vegetation of old and replacing it with new trappings more suited to her tastes. One, wobbling at the top of a stepladder and already overburdened by the vast heap of bright tapestries in its arms, stepped back a hair too quickly and overbalanced. Keiki clicked her tongue in annoyance, the thin shriek as the haniwa fell cutting into her thoughts like a knife. She turned and snapped her fingers, catching the animated effigy with a cushion of divine wind and lowering it gently to the ground.

“Careful now,” she said. “I understand that few can control themselves when faced with my divine beauty, but perhaps next time, you might," she placed a long, calloused finger on the top of the haniwa's cap and gently pushed it down, "avert your eyes? It would be a shame if I were forced to... rebuild you.”

The little statue bowed nervously and hurriedly collected the pile of metallic sheets it had dropped. Behind it, its companion fiddled nervously with its own burden: colorful neon lights in appropriately futuristic shades of blue and red, mattresses etched with modern-looking circuitry and towers of weird artifacts to decorate them. Several weeks ago, the goddess had been in a rustic, more austere mood, but following a rash of attacks and acts of vandalism throughout the garden, she had rediscovered her taste for the futuristic. The haniwa sighed quietly. It was going to be hell trying to scrape the paint off next time she changed her mind about something.

“Very good. Carry on, then,” Keiki said, beaming a saintly smile.

She span on her heels and departed, her long, ornamented artisan robes swishing through the air in her wake, feeling rather pleased with herself. She had long ago found that the image, the flash and the persona of a stern yet fair craftswoman was far more enjoyable than the reality, which tended to involve a great deal more slaughter and carnage than she had the stomach for. That her followers thought they would be melted back into a lump of mud if they dared stare up her dress again was good. It meant they wouldn't risk falling and smashing their frail bodies of clay on the floor, and Keiki wouldn't have to go through the whole time-consuming process of rekindling her furnace and repair them again. It always disheartened her when one of her cute and servile haniwa broke under her watch. Keiki knew most of them by name, even if she pretended not to. She drew most of her followers from the downtrodden and ignored human slaves of the Beast World, those seen by their nefarious masters as too weak or cowardly to be of any use. They prayed to her for succor and emancipation, and she gave them bodies of clay to inhabit in turn. It was a point of quiet pride that they flourished under her care; her subjects were loyal, despite their goddess' eccentricities, and that loyalty put a steel in them that more than made up for their frailty and clumsiness.

It helped that she looked the part. Dress and presentation was all, and as a goddess of the crafts, Keiki was well aware of this. If everyone who looks at you sees a god and acts accordingly, then to all intents and purposes you are a god, no matter how powerful you really are. She was a tall woman, slender and willowy, with skin as smooth and tan as a bronze statue. Her face was round and soft, with bright, lively red eyes set above high cheekbones and thin lips. It was a face that could easily have been hard or cruel, but when her detached, aloof airs slipped, the goddess shone with excitement and curiosity. Keiki had a lust for the new; new ideas, new servants, new plans to conquer the world and new contraptions to tear down the yokes of the animal realm...

...and new sensations, too. She smiled to herself, a little frisson of glee running down her spine. That lust was more than just a metaphor. The power of creation could be interpreted in many ways, and the goddess had never balked at living up to the basest aspects of her reputation. Keiki turned left and descended a flight of stairs, making her way towards the dungeons. When she took possession of the garden, she had found under the burial mounds a row of well-hidden cells, with chains which rattled impressively but didn't cut off the blood to one's wrists, and piles of warm, dry hay carefully hidden under thin, rotting blankets for bedding. Keiki soon remodeled most of those dreadful gaols into barracks more suitable for her army. But a handful of those in the lowest reaches had been left to remain as they were, locking away the dusty instruments their previous owners had left behind in their hurry to escape her mighty clay army.

For all her flair and love of the superfluous, Keiki was not entirely blind to practicality. She had little patience for finance or interest in politics, and viewed diplomacy only as a sort of entertaining blend of foreplay and verbal swordplay, but she did have a finely-honed instinct for survival. She was hardly the only despot in the Beast World, and defending herself from her enemies was a constant bother. Keiki had carefully ringed her garden with wards both subtle and overt, designed to detect or trap anyone who tried to invade her domain. It was in one of the old dungeon cells that she had laid the nexus of her magical defenses, and it was there where the intruder had been forced to manifest.

Keiki found Mayumi Joutouguu waiting for her as she entered the dungeons. Her aide was another haniwa, albeit a far more developed specimen compared to the simple statues that made up the bulk of her kind. She was an odd sight, impeccably groomed and dressed in a close-fitting yellow lamellar armor. A brooch and her sword’s scabbard, both styled after her haniwa brethren, were the only nods to her species Mayumi bothered to display. She carried a thick sheath of parchment to write on, and tapped the top of it with her brush as she strode past. The general of the Sculptor God’s army stubbornly clung to her utensils of old, in stark contrast to her creator’s penchant for modernism. Her reticence to adapt to new technologies was one of her many quirks Keiki hadn’t yet managed to smooth over, but the goddess was determined to never give up. One day she would see her cute underling performing for her while clad in modern idol clothes, no matter how much she protested.

“We caught it in the south-western wing,” Mayumi explained, quickly falling into step behind her. “The beast was able to unbind the wards protecting the outer defenses, that's how it got in. Commander Hideyoshi and his squad herded it into a dead end and forced it to try fleeing over the walls. Evidently it didn't have time to undo the defenses in its haste to escape.”

“Skillful. Put Hideyoshi down for another commendation, will you? I'll have to come up with a new medal to give him.”

“Yes, Your Divinity.”

“Was there any damage?” Keiki adjusted her green apron holding her tools in place. “Any injuries among the staff?”

Mayumi checked her papers, flicking through the stack of reports. “Nothing we can't replace or that isn't already being replaced. We think it was trying to get into the armory, and vented its frustrations on whatever was at hand when the wards there proved too strong. Tapestries were burned, tables smashed… The third wing lampstand was torn down, I'm afraid to say."

“Bah. I never liked it anyway, too… twinkly.”

Mayumi grimaced. That lampstand had been a special project Keiki herself had spent no less than three months creating, the pattern of its hanging crystals modeled on the major constellations. The general haniwa had been hoping to keep it for herself once her goddess inevitably grew bored of the thing, but it had been so thoroughly trashed she doubted it was worth anything now.

“What about the soldiers?” Keiki went on.

“Three spearmen were injured corralling the beast, though none of their wounds are serious enough to warrant your assistance, Your Divinity. A few of the housekeepers were rather startled by its appearance. It was, well,” Mayumi paused for a moment, biting the end of her brush. Then she shrugged. She realized that whatever she could say would only pique the goddess's curiosity, not quash it. “It was quite horrific.”

“Indeed? A terrifying monster of the abyss, then? A warped, hideous fiend, the very form of Hell incarnate?”

“That would be accurate, Your Divinity, yes.”

“Was it a ‘he’ or a ‘she’?”

Mayumi sighed. “It looked male to me, or at least as male a beast spirit can be. I didn't exactly check its groin. Also, I should remind Your Divinity that the garden's wards are still breached in several places. Whoever sent this creature to attack us may well send another agent to-”

“Well then, the matter resolves itself, does it not?” Keiki cut her off. Her mind was alive with possibilities. How big was it? Bipedal, quadrupedal, or something even stranger? Wings, claws, or perhaps a multitude of tentacled appendages? “I will meet with the creature, bind him to my will, and draw forth the name of our assailant. It has been a while since I practiced my arts on a spirit beast, after all. It simply wouldn't do to fall out of practice.”

The dungeons took on a grimmer aspect the deeper Keiki went. Few of the garden's staff had any business here and there was no reason why invaders might see the lowest halls, so they were left bare of the ultramodern decoration that swaddled the rest of the burial mound. The walls were naked stone, the floors bare of any carpet so an escaping prisoner would be given away by their footsteps. Keiki pursed her lips, suppressing a shiver. Her dress was in truth little more than a modified priestess outfit, adjusted to be comfortable while working on ceramics. It looked suitably fitting for a creator god, which of course was the most important thing, but it did nothing to keep out the chill. Perhaps a demonic mask and the heavy robes of an occultist would have been far more apt for what she planned to do, Keiki thought. She was of half a mind to turn around, march straight back to her chamber, and refuse to allow anyone to look at her until she put on an appropriate outfit. But that would mean delaying her audience with the creature that had run roughshod through her garden, and that simply would not do. He was her guest now, and Keiki was nothing if not a gracious host.

The pair passed several heavy, iron-shod doors lining the corridors. Behind these lay rusting iron maidens, stretching racks, shelves of thumbscrews and branding irons — all terribly ugly instruments of torture that Keiki had little use for. Sometimes they were dragged out and set around the castle when she was in one of her darker moods, but for the most part they were sealed away and left to rot. One door, though, was different. An angular sigil had been carved into the wood. Normally inert, it now fizzed and cracked with energy, emitting a dull, ruddy glow that filled the stone passage in an eerie light.

“Oh, excellent! The seals still work,” Keiki exclaimed. “Not that a goddess of my might would have any concern otherwise. I merely sought to-” She glanced sideways at Mayumi, who politely averted her eyes. “-reassure my subject’s worried mind.”

“Of course, Your Divinity,” the haniwa sighed.

It would have been easy—and terribly dull—to design magical defenses that simply obliterated everything that passed through them. Thus Keiki had opted to create something much less lethal: a complex system of binding and translocation spells worked into the warding charms in such a way that any intruder, be it physical or ethereal, would be instantly transported and restrained within that cell. There was always the lingering worry that with such a delicate weave of differing spells, something would go wrong or fail to trigger. Gloating over a defeated victim was expected behavior in the Beast World, but it just wasn't any fun if the victim was nothing more than a corpse. Especially if the corpse had materialized in two different places and absolutely ruined the upholstery.

“Wait here until I finish,” Keiki ordered her aide. “Don’t let anyone interrupt my… work.”

“… As you wish, Your Divinity,” answered Mayumi, not without a hint of resignation. Nevertheless, she took an alert position at the side of the door; the very image of a model watchman.

The goddess cleared her throat and quickly stepped inside, locking the door after her. The chamber was covered from ceiling to floor with modern circuitry and arcane sigils alike, writhing across the damp stone and filling the space with flickering multicolored light and a faint warmth that tingled unnaturally —but not unpleasantly—up and down her skin. A pair of heavy manacles, similarly inscribed, hung from the ceiling, and it was within these the intruder had been forced to manifest.

It was an animal specter of some kind, Keiki knew that much, which meant it was about as low down in the animal realm’s hierarchy as it could be whilst still possessing a sense of self. She walked around the spirit in a lazy circle, inspecting it from all angles as the thick, ethereal rumble of its breathing filled the chamber. It was perhaps half a head longer than her, discounting the curved, sharp horns that manifested up from where its head ought to be, its flickering body seemingly wrought from nothing but bone and sinewy muscle and clad in nothing more than a thin patch of fur. It shuddered and twitched in the restraints, bulging black eyes rolling in their sockets as it followed her around the room.

“Do you have a name?” Keiki asked. “A given name, I mean. Obviously you possess a true name, and I'll wrangle that out of you in time, but what should I call you for now?”

The spirit slurred something. Its head looked like a bull's skull that had been partially flayed; a long, thick tongue lolled from between semi-tangible jaws held together by ghostly tendons. Keiki cupped a hand over one ear and motioned for the creature to speak again.

“Taishoshinryu,” it rasped.

“Taishoshinryu? Hmm, Taishoshinryu… No no, I think Taisho will suffice. Something nice, short and punchy,” Keiki mumbled, as much to herself as to the creature. “And do you know who I am?”

“Keiki Haniyasushin. Goddess of...” Taisho's brow furrowed, “clay and soil, crafter of… of… sculptures in isolation...”

Keiki tutted and shook her head. “Points for effort, but no. It's ‘The Sculptor Goddess Crafted by Utter Isolation’. Or at least that’s what it was last week. Does it sound too long to you? It's pleasingly grandiose, but it lacks some...” She trailed off, clicking her fingers. “Weight, you know? It isn't snappy enough.”

Taisho stared blankly at her, either unwilling to answer or unsure how to reply.

“Anyway,” Keiki clapped her hands, “Now that we’re past introductions, I would very much like to know what you thought you were doing in my garden?”

Her voice hardened as she delivered the last two words, and she saw the creature flinch in surprise at the sudden change in her mannerisms. Taisho's chains rattled, the magical etchings flaring brightly as the beast tested them. It was an old routine, one that many of Keiki's more interesting prisoners had gone through, and one which had become second nature to the goddess herself. Threats came first, veiled or otherwise, impressing both her power and the dire consequences for disobedience upon them. But they were always followed with promises and temptations; an artfully bared thigh, a touch upon the arm that lingered just enough to be suggestive, a coy bat of the eyelashes. Promises which, more often than not, she followed up upon with relish.

“You've trespassed upon my lands, attacked my soldiers, destroyed my property. There were reports you even attempted to breach the defenses around our armory! I should tear you apart, limb by limb, and use whatever noxious essence you have for a soul to repair my wards!”

Keiki paused for a moment, flaring with anger, staring down the bull spirit’s ebony eyes while letting her words sink. It was a false rage, of course—she was in fact quietly impressed with Taisho's nerve so far— but as with everything else, it was the look of things that mattered. The beast squirmed uncomfortably, its thin tail lashing across the stone floor.

“At the very least, tell me who sent you,” Keiki pressed on. “Do this and I will consider sparing your corporeal form, at least.”

The bull closed his eyes and stood in silence for a long, lasting moment, before he finally hissed an answer: “Toutetsu. Master and leader of the Gouyoku Alliance.”

Keiki let out a short laugh. “Oh! Is that so? And here I thought you were a Keiga goon. I never imagined that old taotie would accept four-legged muscleheads in her little clan too.” The goddess recalled her short encounter with the beast matriarch; a skilled warrior and strategist, but a poor leader — along with being one of the most vulgar and tasteless beings Keiki had ever encountered. Her minions were little more than slaves forced into service and suffered an astonishingly high turnover rate. “Was sending you to wreak havoc in my realm part of a greater scheme? Or was it just a poor attempt to settle the score with me?”

She paused mid-stride, studying Taisho from the rear. A pair of wiry hindlegs hung listlessly from his thin waist; ragged, useless things that reminded Keiki of damp twigs that had been trodden underfoot. In fact, she thought, Taisho's whole body looked not just malformed or malnourished, but incomplete. What skin he possessed was thin and translucent, and stretched too tight over his stringy muscles. A faint frown crossing her delicate features, Keiki ran her fingers down Taisho's back. His spine, shoulder blades, and ribs were all pushing through the ethereal ‘skin’. He looked, she reckoned with a sudden surge of curiosity, like one of the smudged pictures of minotaurs that were found in ancient western pottery. How did such a mockery of biology manage to cause so much damage?

“It makes sense. I tried to ‘steal’ her minions, and in turn she breaks my creations,” the goddess muttered to herself. “The brute probably believed it would serve as a warning, or something similarly gauche,” Keiki rolled her eyes in disgust. “She can't have thought much of you, though. You do realize you were sent as a disposable pawn, right?”

Taisho didn't reply. The sculptor goddess took another few steps, the click of her sandals echoing through the chamber.

“She didn't expect you to return alive. It would be convenient for her, after all. She wouldn't have to follow through on whatever deal she made to secure your service.”

Again, no answer. Keiki pouted in irritation. If she knew his true name, she could simply compel the creature to tell her everything, then banish him with a forbiddance from ever assailing her realm or her creations again. She had no doubt that given enough time, she could wring the spirit’s real name forth by force. But Keiki had never been a violent woman, and torture was deeply unfashionable anyway. Proper goddesses never had to resort to it, unless it was the kind that involved carefully wound ropes and skillful blows from a riding crop. Deception and seduction were the rightful tools of a goddess on a campaign of liberation, and so it was these she had to rely upon.

“What did Toutetsu offer you anyway?” Asked Keiki. She ran her hand along Taisho's back, cresting his shoulder and stroking down his arm. The spirit's body was cold to the touch — much colder than a live bull’s, and faintly slick with a thin slime that oozed from between his bare muscles. “She always preferred to browbeat and blackmail her minions into obedience. I imagine you must have ran afoul of her somehow, and she sent you on this suicidal endeavor as punishment. Am I correct?”

Taisho’s dark eyes followed the goddess’ hand warily. Long strings of saliva drooled from his flayed jaws.

“It's a little sad, really. It's not effective, it's not smart, it's just — ugh. And she wonders why her people keep defecting. In fact, when my soldiers ran you down, did you happen to see a pair of eagles with them?”

The bull spirit nodded, recognition shining in its teal eyes. Those odious clay avians were the ones who had spotted him at first, and endlessly harassed him during his attempt to escape capture.
“Exactly. Those were Toutetsu's agents, originally. Those magnificent new bodies of clay? Their keen, watchful eyes? Their majestic wings? Their fearsome talons, sharper than any blade? All gifts from me.” Keiki pressed her hand over her breast. “I can be a generous goddess, Taishoshinryu, to those who serve me well. They were most… vigorous when I asked them to show their appreciation."

Her eyes never left Taisho's, her lips twisting into a coy smile. Keiki fancied she could already see the gears turning in the beast's mind. The bull opened his mouth, considering his next words carefully.

“I was offered release. From indenture,” he said eventually, and Keiki thought she caught a plaintive note in his voice. “One last job, she told me. The slate would be wiped clean.”

Keiki felt a spark of pity for the creature. “And so you let her use her vile magic on you. She tried to turn your very soul into a wholly corporeal being, capable of harming us.”

Taishoshinryu nodded. A low, glottal rumble oozed from his throat. It took Keiki a moment before she realized he was laughing, though there was little humor in the sound. “Didn't do much good. Came out broken. Unfinished.”

“Well, I wouldn't say broken.” Keiki leaned back on her heel, cradling her chin as she examined the beast. Most of his ilk were simple blobs of ectoplasm, pure souls overflowing with feral emotion, but there was something slightly sad about Taishoshinryu. In his half-fleshed condition, most would have found him frightening and grotesque, but to Keiki, he had the air of a badly kicked puppy. It was something about the eyes, she thought, the faintly plaintive way they stared out of his gaunt skull. Like he hoped for a lot but had come to expect little. “More… abstract. Like an amateur’s work of art,” she muttered, nodding.
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Yes, that was it. He was like an artist’s impression of a crossbreed, depicting something imagined but never seen. Beautiful in its own way; the rich, deep hazel of his skin, the sleek lines of his horned skull, the powerful tension in his raw muscles. She imagined the way he might move; a tall, proud step, befitting a great, hulking mythical beast. Her thoughts drifted, other images flitting through her imagination. Hot, slick flesh and smooth bone against her skin, a thick tongue against her intimacies, the satisfaction of gently teaching him to appease her needs… Needs which were growing quite real. A familiar restlessness was settling upon her, an irresistible urge to act upon her endless curiosity. Keiki felt the first pangs of genuine arousal forming inside her, firing her imagination. She saw Taisho in her mind's eye, the body she would sculpt for him hunched over hers, her back arched and her derriere raised up as he rutted at her in a union of beauty and adoration. The goddess found herself drifting closer, caressing Taisho's jawbone, her fingers running along the tendons that bound it together. Thin strings of drool stretched from his languid tongue, pattering against her arm. She let out a long, low sigh, her skin tingling as she imagined herself sat in her throne, Taisho lying next to her like a faithful mascot, ready to trample and gore on whichever poor fool next dared to oppose her. The beast hung still in his restraints. She could feel his ebony eyes on her, running across the subtle curves of her slender body, trying to look past the apron and intricately decorated robes that hid her homely figure from his gaze. Keiki had seen that same look from her previous captives, and she knew she had Taisho right where she wanted him. When confusion and suspicion warred with desire and temptation, the latter always won out.

“Toutetsu isn't the only one who can grant you a body. I can do that and more.” Keiki's hand slid down Taisho's body, over his slick, throbbing musculature. His jaws clacked. She felt his thin fur over her fingers giving way to raw skin, and kept going lower, until her fingers came to rest on the lumpen bulge growing between his legs. Her heart skipped in excitement, and it took all her willpower not to let it show on her face. Definitely male, she thought smugly. And surprisingly virile for such a strange, skinny creature. “I can give you a home, somewhere you'll always be welcome. Always be needed. So long as you were willing to serve my needs, of course.”


“Oh, the usual,” Keiki whispered. “Protect my creations, scatter my enemies and see their slaves freed… All the things one expects a goddess to demand from her soldiers. And perhaps a little more...”

She coyly hooked one of her legs over Taisho's thigh and pulled herself closer, her foot playing idly with the demon's lashing tail. Her apron clung to his ghoulish anatomy as her robes brushed against it, growing wet and sticky with his ichor. All the while she felt him growing and stiffening under the ministrations of her skilled hands, her dexterous fingers kneading and molding the swelling, pulsing mass of his prick into a full mast. Keiki dearly wanted to look down—to see what the creature had with her own eyes, to sate the feverish curiosity that burned in her chest—but forced herself to hold Taisho's gaze. Her hand blindly wandered along the exposed rise of his erection, gliding through the coating of thin slime and caressing the fleshy whorls and ridges beneath. The minotaur-like spirit let out a strange, almost musical note of breath that whistled through his hollow nasal cavity. He shuddered under her touch and rattled his chains, clawed hands flexing and grasping air.

“Don't understand,” Taisho snarled. He certainly wasn't short of sexual urge. Keiki could feel him trembling like a leaf, as though he were fighting down the urge to thrust into her palm. “Why? Could make lovers with your power. Order followers. Create tools. All more suited than me.”

Keiki smirked and leaned in, her lips brushing the empty pit he had in place of an ear. “Because,” she whispered, "you are strange, and new, and beautiful to me. I want you, and so I will have you.”

And that was the truth of it. There was no need to boast or pretend. For once the strange pantomime of her life matched the reality of the situation. She wanted him like a child who wants a new toy, her mind seething with ideas, visions, possibilities, just as her body cried out to experience whatever new pleasures his strange anatomy offered. Taisho looked at her, glanced away, then looked back and nodded, all within the space of a second. It was if he expected some bolt of lightning to crash down through the roof and incinerate him for his betrayal. Keiki smiled demurely, hiding the heavy kick of joy that ran through her behind her mask of dignified composure. Then she pressed herself against him, feeling the uneven beat of his heart thudding in his narrow chest, and graced him with a kiss.

It was an awkward gesture, the spirit lacking both human lips and experience at kissing, and his elongated skull was entirely the wrong shape anyway. Strings of drool ran down the goddess’ chin and along her neck as his long, thick tongue lolled from between his jaws, writhing against Keiki's own. But it was the act itself, not the ease, that mattered. It was the perversity, the delicious sin, of kissing the bizarre, half-made creature that set Keiki's stomach fluttering, that sharpened the pangs of arousal running through her body into something she could not ignore. She drew back with a small gasp of reluctance, her lips glistening with the demon's slippery ichor.

“Taishoshinryu, I'm going to release your chains,” she said. “I think you know what I want, yes? What we both want.”

The beast nodded. It was hard to read any kind of expression on Taisho's face, but the burning heat of his cock told the sorceress everything she needed to know. She wrung it gently, feeling it throb in return. Precome drizzled from his tip in long strings.

“But you will not take liberties. You will follow my instructions to the letter, or be hurled back to whatever hole you crawled from, understand?” The goddess punctuated her warning with a strong squeeze, eliciting a quiet wheeze from the spirit. “Just as I have the power to create bodies for a soul to inhabit, so I have the power to destroy them, should you… exceed your remit.”

Taisho nodded again, his eyes flicking respectfully downwards. “Yes... mistress,” he said, the word sending a shiver of excitement down Keiki's spine. She allowed herself a small smile. He was a quick learner, this one, and she wanted him see how his subjugation pleased her.

Keiki concentrated for a second, her eyes growing distant as she brought the weave of spells permeating the chamber into focus. She sketched a number of symbols with her hands, delicately plucking at the strands of magic like a seamstress, until she heard the heavy metal click of Taisho's shackles opening. He collapsed forwards onto all fours, tentatively stretching out his long limbs before settling back his haunches like a colossal hound waiting for instruction. Keiki met his eyes for a moment and gave him the tiniest of nods.

And then he was on her. Taisho pounced like the beast he was at his core, bearing the goddess to the cold ground and pinning her down by the shoulders. He was deceptively strong for such a skinny monster, and Keiki let loose a high, almost girlish shriek of laughter as he landed atop her and began thrusting madly. His uncertainly had vanished as if it had never been in the first place; there was no foreplay, no gentle build-up, just a mad, lustful scramble as he struggled to bring his monstrous cock to bear. But inexperience undid his enthusiasm. Keiki felt his shaft grind against her thighs, slither over her mound covered by her panties, and for three infuriating strokes, hump the crease where her thigh met her hip. Her body was aflame with need, her anticipation swelling before each thrust only to ebb in frustration as the minotaur spirit once again missed his target. She squirmed, raising her hips and spreading her long legs invitingly while pushing her underwear aside with her hand, trying to make it as easy as possible for him. It would have been simple, of course, to simply order Taisho to stop and maneuver him into position, but that would have defeated the point. Keiki wanted to experience him, and that meant all of him, including his clumsiness.

But even so, each missed thrust was an agony. Her sex ached, her belly clenched tight, and her mind spun with the need to feel something—anything—inside her. It was almost a surprise when Taisho finally found his mark — a sudden, crushing wave of pleasure swept through Keiki’s body as the bull spirit’s gnarled dick slipped between her lips and speared her with bestial ferocity. His throaty hiss was drowned out by Keiki's own wavering cry, her hips bucking instinctively as she sought to take the throbbing and oddly cool protrusion as deep her insides could take. It was as strange and misshapen as the rest of him; thick, pulsing veins and uneven ridges of flesh tucking and teasing her sensitive spots, each rocking her with a sudden jolt of ecstasy.

“Oh! Yes!” The goddess cried, letting her head roll back and moaning passionately. “Oh, Izanami’s breath, yessss!"

Had she expected Taisho's thrusts to become smoother and more practiced once they coupled, Keiki would have been left sorely disappointed and unsatisfied. But as she grew accustomed to the beast’s clumsy movements, she came to realize his inexperience had some pleasing perks to his lovemaking. Sometimes he would thrust deep, burying himself down to the root in one forceful push and filling her with the wonderful sense of having her pussy crammed full of dick. Other times he humped her more shallowly, the strange shapes of his cock battering her most intimate places until her head span and stars exploded across her vision. Every heartbeat brought a new, erratic spike of pleasure. It left her breathless and off-balance, feeling her climax building and receding in time with Taisho's rapid, erratic movements.

He was beautiful, she thought, pleased beyond belief that their coupling was face to face. It would have been a shame not to see him, an abstract vision of a beast-man stripped down to the bare meat and bone, as he rutted her like the animal he was. Keiki wrapped her arms around Taisho, pulling him closer, feeling his weight upon her and the frenzied pulse of blood and ichor through his flayed muscles. Taisho's eyes were wide and crazed, practically glowing with the intensity of his frenzied passions.

“Clothes,” Keiki gasped. She wished she could see herself coupling with him, to see the insane contrast between their bodies as they twined around one another. “Take- take my clothes o-oh-off! And-ahn-and use your tongue!”

Mirrors, Keiki thought vaguely, the thought surfacing in her mind before being swallowed once more by the visceral thrill of the moment. The bull spirit had just enough self-control left to not simply rip the goddess’ dress and apron off her, and instead tried to pull them up with trembling hands. Keiki raised her arms and bent her back to help him along, until finally the impeding clothes were stripped off and thrown into a forgotten corner, baring her whole body to the chilly air of the cell and the burning gaze of the bull spirit. Taisho's tongue, as thick as a man's hand and as long as his forearm, lolled from his mouth and slithered over her chest, pushing her bra aside and curling around her pert breasts. It was as rough as his body was slippery, rasping over her sensitive skin and drawing forth a thousand tiny pinpricks of ecstasy. I need to have this cell lined with mirrors.

She was shaken back to reality as Taisho began to pound her harder. His thrusts became slower, deeper, more forceful, his cock swelling and throbbing inside her as the spirit approached his peak. A moment of frustration, even anger, swept through the goddess. Her climax was there, building on the edge of her consciousness, but her lover had yet to quite push her into it. Keiki was on the verge of ordering him to halt, but the thought came too late. Taisho threw his head back and let out a long, hoarse cry, thrusting into Keiki so hard he practically lifted her body up on his own, forcing her to arch her back and buck her hips sharply upwards as he came. And came, and came, and came. It seemed as if some valve inside him had broken, spewing rope after rope of hot, thick essence into her, lapping against her walls and spilling out over her aching lips in long, burning strands.

And then he kept going.

Taisho's thrusts faltered only for a moment. He made eye contact with Keiki, heavy breaths whistling through his flared nostrils, and then he began to speed his pace again. His powerful cock had lost none of its hardness, and Keiki once more felt her incomplete climax beginning to swell within her. This time, Taisho's thrusts were smoothed along by the viscous sensation of his cum against her nethers, each savage motion of his hips forcing it out of Keiki's pussy until it formed a warm, spreading pool beneath them. His stamina was staggering. Keiki was far from inexperienced when it came to cavorting with her own followers, and all but strongest specimens of the Beast World had needed at least a short break after they came, if nothing else but to boast of their prowess before adopting a new position. But Taisho fucked her like an insatiable machine, as if he were convinced this salacious act would be the last thing he’d ever do and sought desperately to make the most of what time he had. The goddess' hands caressed his throbbing musculature, her fingernails scratching along his fading ribs, finally coming to cup his wide, bony jaw and hold his head against her brow as they rutted. Her legs curled around the spirit's narrow hips, tensing her thighs to keep him held in place whenever the beast tried to pull too far back.

“Harder,” Keiki whispered, her mind swimming with pleasure. “And deeper, see? Like that, oh, mmm… exactly like that… Give me everything you’ve got… Give yourself to me…!"

It was only the slightest measure of control, and he still bucked uncontrollably as whatever instinct drove him clashed with the urge to obey his mistress' commands, but it proved to be enough. The chamber echoed with the rhythmic slap of their clashing hips, the spirit's gnarled prick stabbing fiercely into Keiki's aching body, pushing her moment by moment towards her much awaited orgasm. It built and built, the raging fever of her arousal permeating every inch of her body, sweeping away all thought and leaving nothing but an empty, desperate yearning in his wake. Taisho's eyes closed and he came a second time, the sudden, sweet rush of heat and pressure finally breaking the dam that held Keiki’s own climax back.

The Creator Goddess cried out a long, strangled wail of release as pleasure wracked her body, instinctively bucking up into her new servant’s thrusts as he jerked and heaved above her. Every pulse and flood of warmth, every juddering motion of the beast's cock in her depths dragged her orgasm out further and further. She twisted and writhed, the tension that had built flooding out of her in a great rush of ecstasy, her mind blank to everything but the sweetness and perversity of her union. And just when her orgasmic wave started to abate, Taisho proved his unnatural stamina once again by resuming his pounding at the same pace and intensity as before, turning the goddess’ peak into a plateau of bliss.

Eventually it became too much for even the experienced goddess to bear, the aftershocks of her climax starting to turn sour as Taishi continued to rut at her over-sensitive, tired body. She had stamina herself, to be sure, but the beast's mad ferocity had worn her out, physically and mentally.

“Enough!” Keiki gasped, releasing her death-grip on Taisho's thighs and pushing him off her. “Enough. You have done enough.”

Taisho scrabbled backwards, his ragged body quivering in apprehension. “Was not good? Did something wrong?”

“No! No, not at all,” Keiki said. She cleared her throat and sat up, tucking her hair back behind her ears and picking up her discarded clothes. “It was marvelous! You have proven your devotion to me. Now it is my turn to give something back in turn.”

The malformed spirit’s head tilted in confusion. As far as he was concerned, the moment they just shared was enough recompense for him. The goddess put her dress and apron back on—completely disregarding the sticky mess between her legs that pooled under her feet in long, translucent strands—and strode towards the kneeling Taisho, a haughty smile creeping on her round face.

“That’s right, Taishoshinryu. If you are to serve me, I need to create a complete, perfect new body for you,” she explained, picking up the tools in her apron between her fingers. “Oh, but for that, first I need to do away with the old. Now sit still, this won’t take long…”

Moments later, Mayumi heard the door to the cell creak open, and hurriedly straightened her posture. The her credit, the haniwa didn't even bat an eyelid at the sight of her goddess's flushed skin and wide-eyed expression, much less at the spreading pool of thick, pearly ichor cooling on the floor. Such scenes of debauchery had long since ceased to shock her.

“I see you and the creature reached an accord, then,” she said. “Shall I prepare you a bath, Your Divinity?”

“That... would be delightful, yes,” Keiki said absentmindedly, as she caressed the clump of pulsing ectoplasm she held in her hands. “Have hot water and towels ready in a moment. First I need to see about firing up the furnace.”

“The kiln?” Exclaimed Mayumi, glancing warily at the formless soul.

“He shall be my finest creation, this beast who gave of himself to me. I shall mold him in clay and forge him in the furnace of gods. He will be of iron will and steely muscle, and I shall clad him in… Mmm, perhaps a nice, deep crimson? To go with his ivory horns." Keiki stuck her tongue out as she pondered, new ideas already bubbling away inside her head. “Perhaps a cape? No no no, it'll get in the way of the… Oh, we could keep his top half bare! Like those monks from China. What do you think? Mayumi? How much clay do we have in the workshop right now anyway?”

Mayumi sighed, fiddling with her scabbard to hide his frustration. She glanced back at the mess in the cell, knowing that at some moment she would have to go back there and clean it all up. The things I do for my goddess…
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Crickets and shadow smothered the village’s evening streets. Sweat beaded on her knuckles, invited in part from the warm, muggy air. But the real reason for the moisture on her skin was, well…

It was the same one that kept her fist paralyzed, just before the humble home’s door.

Kosuzu gulped. This, this was it. Too many possibilities for her to process laid on the other side.

Possibilities hotter and wetter than the air. But also… possibilities much darker than the dimming sky.

Whatever she did here, she’d need to be back in her bookstore the next morning.

Early the next morning. Not for fear of her family’s response, nor for the health of their business.

No. If she showed up too late, her stick-in-the-mud friend would know. If her friend knew, she’d suspect. If her friend suspected her, she might not be able to come back.

And worse, she may even lose everything she’d built this all on.

Her friend-Akyuu-had to be kept in the dark, no matter what.

No. She shook her head, bells jingling. It’d be fine. The woman on the other side of this door would know and understand. That beautiful, wise, and downright intoxicating woman would help her. She’d provide all the help she could ask for.

But, but…

Before any of that mattered, Kosuzu would have to knock. Or to announce her presence. Or something.

Instead, after all the countless minutes she’d already spent, that hand remained frozen, her lips sealed shut.

She couldn’t, she just couldn’t…

This precious opportunity would be snuffed out before her eyes as the sun set and she’d-

Tap, tap.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but her knuckles struck the door. Even those quiet noises thrust the poor girl’s heart to her throat.

But as the noises faded, echoing into the night, nothing followed. Her beating heart stilled.

She breathed a sigh half of disappointment, half of relief.

Then came the footsteps. Slow and assured, as she knew this woman would be. With the gentlest rattle, the door before her slid open, revealing first the wafting, gentle scent of chestnuts. Her associate and friend-of sorts-stood before her. Wearing her familiar spectacles and that comforting grin, Mamizou cracked that ever-familiar smile. One borne of profound but subtle confidence, and a level of experience beyond any human she knew.

“Well now, didn’t ye take yer sweet time.” The woman chuckled, holding aloft a steaming teacup. “Please, come in, deary.”

“O-oh, yes. Of course!” Kosuzu’s face twitched, giddiness and nervousness battling for dominance across her lips and brow.

Mamizou stepped aside. Taking one step inside, Kosuzu kicked her shoes off and took in the sight. Dim lanternlight warmed plain paper walls, a wide kotatsu, and a wider door behind it. She found the room to be cozy but a bit plain-spartan, really. Did the lady truly live…

No. She wouldn’t ask those kinds of questions here. She was far too close for doubt.

The door shut behind her.

Picking up Kosuzu’s shoes, Mamizou turned and dropped them by the door. She let out a longsuffering sigh before settling into the kotatsu. A wry grin cracked across her face as she patted the low table.

“Please, deary. Make yerself at home.”

“Oh? Oh, yes. Of course.”

Pink and fidgeting, Kosuzu dropped into it, across from her graceful host. It was only when she heard the clack of Mamizou setting her cup on the kotatsu that Kosuzu noticed a similar cup already there. Smiling, that warm, familiar face nodded toward it.

“Go ahead, I prepared it just for ye. Careful, it’s hot.”

Kosuzu no doubt turned another shade of pink at that but still lifted the cup off the table. She took a quick gulp, then coughed as the tea scalded her tongue. She set the cup back down, hissing in discomfort. What made her wince, however, was when Mamizou shook her head, tittering.

“So, have ye told anyone else about… this?”

Kosuzu let out a quiet ‘eep’ and turned her eyes to her tea, giving it a firm, studious glare. Firmly, she shook her head.

“Well, ain’t that good to hear?” She chuckled again. “Don’t worry yer little head about a thing. I’ll take good care o’ ye.”

It was now, as Kosuzu took a slower, more careful sip, that she had a chance to savor the tea’s taste. And as she did so, she noticed just how small the table was. She felt her partner’s legs shift, one foot sliding forward.

She breathed in, sharp and anxious, as that foot slipped between her legs to nestle against her soft panties.

She flinched as those toes danced on her crotch.

She took a tentative glance up to find her partner leaning toward her.

“Say, have ye touched yerself… down there?”

Kosuzu winced, turning her head back down. Slowly, she nodded.

The foot shifted, pressing through the fabric and into her pussy. Kosuzu set the cup down, shivering.

“Good girl. Now, do tell me. What was it like?”

“It…” Kosuzu gulped. “Not… wasn’t enough.”

The foot shifted. “Oh?” Her brow softened. “Ye poor girlie. Ye really tried, though. Didn’t ye?”

“M… Mamizou. What are y-”

Kosuzu hissed as a toe slipped between the lips.

“Sh-sh-sh… Don’t ye trust me?”

Breath shaking, Kosuzu nodded.

“Then, tell little ol’ me how many times you tried, would ye?”

Kosuzu’s hands slid off the kotatsu, down her belly. “L-lots! A-and I’ve also done it with…”

The foot tapped her pussy. “Now, now. Good girls are more honest than that, right?”

Her breath hitched as she felt the heel press into her. Her head drooped. “I’ve… done it a few times. With… just myself.” She sighed, defeated, as she finished that sentence.

The foot pulled away. “Good girl.” Shaking, Kosuzu looked up to find Mamizou taking one last sip from her cup.

Smiling, she set the cup down and rose to her feet.

“Well then. Let’s not… keep ye waitin’.”

She turned and slid the inside door open, then stepped into the room beyond.

Kosuzu held still at the kotatsu, hands trembling. Even as Mamizou held the door open, even as that woman laid her sensuous, beckoning eyes on her, Kosuzu couldn’t move.

She studied that woman’s beautiful, smooth face. The full, mahogany hair framing her sharp, yet inviting grin. Finally, she found the courage to put a voice to her concerns. “A-already? Shouldn’t we, uh, take a bath first?”

“Oh, hush. Trust me, deary, that last thing that’ll bother me is your musk.”

Musk? Kosuzu’s skin burned. For a few slow, halting moments, she felt the sweat bead on her skin. She savored the aroma of the tea one last time, only now noticing the faint hint of tobacco in the air.

Then she watched Mamizou slide the door, ever so slightly, closed.

She leapt to her feet. She sprinted through the door, past her seductive associate, and into the room beyond. She stumbled to a stop, catching her breath as Mamizou strode around her. This room also laid small and mostly bare. Another lamp hung overhead. A pipe and a small stack of books to the left, a small box to the right.

“Close the door, would ye?”

Kosuzu blinked, then spun and pressed her hands to the door. As she slid it back against the frame, a sound floated to her ears. A subtle, almost silent one.

One of fabric, sliding across another, softer fabric.

Kosuzu gulped, her body locking in place even as gentle, warm shivers trailed up and down her spine.

“Aren’t ye lookin’ the wrong way? Girls don’t do these sorts o’ things just for themselves, ye know.”

Swallowing, Kosuzu nodded. Shivers running through her body, she span around and forced her eyes forward.

Mamizou dropped her checkered scarf over her books and shrugged off her comforting green jacket, discarding it atop the scarf. Kosuzu stood, transfixed, as Mamizou’s hands slid up, across the flowing, black-and-white pattern of her remaining dress. Delicately, she peeled it open, exposing a wider, fuller chest than Kosuzu could have guessed.

With a flourish and a grin, she dropped it to her ankles and kicked it aside. All that now remained was a thin, almost see-through, white underdress. This one she pulled up, over her head, and tossed away.

Twitching, still frozen, Kosuzu licked her lips. Mamizou, the woman she’d grown so close to, had seen as so wise and useful, now stood before her.


Deep brown areola rested at the peak of each breast, each topped with a fat, hard nipple. A thick bush of fluffy brown hair nestled between her legs, and a powerful, earthy scent wafted from her body. Something familiar but, oddly, unsettling.

For the first time in many minutes, Kosuzu’s tongue loosed itself.

“…No panties?”

Her question was not one of shock or offense, but disappointment.

For the first time that night, a crack had surfaced in Mamizou’s confident image. She gave a short chuckle and scratched her cheek. “Oh, you were hopin’ for a little somethin’ fancier?” She planted her hands on her naked hips. “Tell ye what, I’ll wear somethin’ nice just for you next time, okay?”

But it was here that Kosuzu’s face went from warm to scorching.

“N-n-n-next time? I-I mean, yes! Of course. Next time.”

Mamizou shook her head and pulled herself back to her feet. A quiet ‘eep’ slipped through Kosuzu’s lips as the taller, more graceful woman approached her. As those wide, curving hips swayed, the subtle movements of her fluffy, luxurious hair, the…

Mamizou’s delicate hands slipped down Kosuzu’s chest, settling on the bow of her plain apron. “Ye came in yer work clothes. Ye sure ye didn’t have a fancier thing to put on?”

Kozusu turned her eyes to the wall. “Ah, well, that…” Her eyes shifted down, to Mamizou’s hands, now undoing the bow. “It’s, well… that’s a thing people like, right?” With a voice both quivering and falling in volume, she continued. “You, you like it, right?”

Mamizou snorted as she flung the ribbon aside. “Hm. It’s a very silly idea for a first night, but… that’s very much like ye. So… sure, I do.”

Kosuzu blinked, uncertain of just how to take her answer.

Amid her uncertainty, Mamizou took another step forward, her soft breasts now hanging so close to Kosuzu’s dainty nose that she could smell the faint scent of sweat and… something else. Something wild and earthy. Her partner’s hands rose to her shoulders, gripping the straps of her apron and sliding them down.

“Now, be a good dear and let me see the rest of ye, okay?”

“I… what?”

“I want ye to strip, deary.”

“O-oh! Of course!” Kosuzu took a step back, still half-intoxicated by her lover’s scent.

Lover? Is she that? Are we really, are we already there?

Hands shaking, Kosuzu pulled her apron loose and dropped it at her feet. With another step back, she unbuttoned the familiar, checkered shirt she wore. Tossing that aside, she loosed her skirt and dropped it. Next came her undershirt, then her…

Then she slowed down. She’d discarded everything but her plain pink bra and similarly simple, matching panties. She was really going to…

“Now, who whined about boring undergarments, eh?”

Kosuzu opened her mouth, but Mamizou simply snorted. “Oh, don’t mind me. Please, do continue.”

She gulped, her hands sliding to her shoulders, where Mamizou had…

Her partner stepped toward her again. A thumb and forefinger touched her chin. Then, with the help of their brethren, they lifted her face upward, to stare into her partner’s eyes as they approached. A pair of full, soft lips pressed themselves to hers as another hand joined one of her own on her shoulder.

Kosuzu’s heart pounded in her chest as she hummed into this woman’s lips. As that hand wandered to her back and in one smooth motion, unclasped her bra. As a tongue poked at her lips.

Kosuzu squeaked. In a confused response, she poked at the tongue with her own. Her partner giggled, then shoved that tongue inside.

Kosuzu squealed, startled. She flinched, but as that warm, wet tongue swept through her, she went from stiff to nearly limp, melting into Mamizou’s embrace. Those hands slid down her back, settling over her ass. Her heart nearly returned to her throat as she felt a soft, sensuous squeeze.

Then the thumbs slipped beneath her waistband and, slowly, she felt her panties slide down, baring her ass and pussy as they descended to her knees.

That tongue slowed as those hands slid back up. A leg slipped underneath Kosuzu’s crotch. She mewled as she felt the knee press itself into her bare pussy. But when the tongue left her mouth, she whined.

“There, there…” Mamizou pulled back, licking her lips. Kosuzu gulped, then felt the knee slide back as that leg shifted, planting its foot over Kosuzu’s panties before shoving them to the floor. “Now, step out of those and turn around, would you?”

Breathless, Kosuzu nodded. Slipping the panties off her feet, she turned and faced the wall. Those delicate hands returned to her shoulders, gently guiding the straps of her bra off, down her arms. As they reached her wrists, they let go. As they did, she simply let it fall off.

The hands shifted, sliding down to her gut. She shivered, hot and flushed as she wondered what this woman would-

Two arms wrapped around her and squeezed, pressing her tight into Mamizou’s heavy but cozy breasts. Then, she-


Mamizou dropped to her ass, carrying Kosuzu with her. As they hit the ground, Kosuzu’s crotch landed on something, long and hard, beneath her. Gulping, Kosuzu looked down to find a small, red, bell-shaped head peaking out from between her legs, just barely visible past her-

The hands slid down to her hips and nudged Kosuzu’s crotch forward. The dick-for that’s all she could call it-twiched at the motion. This time, it was Mamizou shuddered.

That, in turn, sent a rolling quake up Kosuzu’s spine. She, she had made this lovely, mysterious woman squirm. She would definitely leave her impressed by the time they finished.

Mamizou hummed, her hands slipping under Kosuzu’s arms to grasp her humble breasts. Kosuzu leaned back into her soft, pillowy body as those hips rocked, rubbing the cock up and down her crotch. Her slender chest heaved as her partner’s dexterous hands rolled her breasts, as the already thick, hard cock grew just that little bit more rigid.

As her own moisture trickled down the cock, slicking the shaft.

Mamizou giggled, leaning into Kosuzu’s ear. “Are ye ready, girl?”

Without even thinking, Kosuzu nodded. With one last gulp, she shut her eyes.

Finally. She was about to…

Her partner’s hands pressed her tight to those gentle, heavy breasts and pushed upward. As Kosuzu slid up, she felt the cock shift, rising as her weight left it. The moment Mamizou slowed, a single, timid sentence slipped through Kosuzu’s lips.

“Be… gentle, okay?”

“Sorry, Kosuzu. Just… brace yerself, okay?”

Kosuzu’s eyes flew open, her heart pounding as-

She screeched as her delicate pussy slammed onto the head of Mamizou’s cock. It pressed up, grinding through her as she descended.

“Wai-ghrk!” Kosuzu hissed, her muscles clenching as her body struggled to endure the fat shaft shoving itself through her.

Her weight carried her a little further down, hissing all the way. Then Mamizou sighed.

“Welp. This ain’t workin’.”

“O-oh, so y…”

Mamizou leaned forward, pressing Kosuzu with her. With a heavy, overbearing bust behind, and a pair of surprisingly strong hands on her own breasts, she found herself forced to fold inward as Mamizou shifted.

Then, as she leaned too far forward, her hands and knees hit the floor to support herself.

As she did, she felt her partner’s hips shift. As they did, the hands on her breasts squeezed, pressing her tighter to the heavy tits above.

A heavy shudder rolled through the soft, curvaceous body atop her, the cock still wedged inside her.

“O…kay.” Mamizou breathed heavy, her chest pressing into Kosuzu as she did. The cock shifted.

Then it surged forward, jerking Kosuzu with it.

She bit her lip, struggling to hold back the groan. It…


She jerked forward again, impaled on the fat cock inside her. It… hurt a lot less, this time. “O-okay, M…Mamizou. Let’s j-”


That woman laid down on her, locking her body down as she pounded her.

Thump, thump!

Kosuzu squealed, gasping and jerking with each thrust.

Thump, thump!

She moaned, long and loud. A hot, wet need filled her body as she jerked and gasped, her lungs heaving.

Thump, thump, thump!

Breaths came in fast and shallow, interrupted by each hit. She wiggled her hips now, thrusting back each time that cock pressed forward. She moaned each time she felt the slap of her partner’s thighs.

Thump, thump, thump!

She gasped, thrusting back in rhythm. The cock stuffed her, rubbing just right at every little contour, filling her in ways she never dared to…

Thump, thump!

That fat cock, the one that threatened to tear her apart before, now fit perfectly inside her.

Thump, thump!

She felt her partner speed up, pounding her harder and faster. She squealed in delight. She felt as if Mamizou had been created just for this moment. To fill her, to ride her, to…

She screamed, ecstasy bursting from the very depths of her being, into her lungs, and out through her quivering throat. At last, she…

Thump, thump!

Mamizou moaned, shaking, but kept pounding her. Kosuzu squirmed, pulling aw-

The hands moved from her breasts to her shoulders, shoving her to the ground as those hips kept thrusting, as that cock kept pumping her soaked pussy.

Cheek pressed to the earthy tatami below, Kosuzu could only squirm as her partner railed her, bouncing off her ass. Mamizou kept going until, finally, a low, hungry moan blasted out from her throat and a mess of something wet and warm poured out from her cock, pouring deep inside Kosuzu.

Then, slowly, the cock pulled away and her partner pulled herself up.

Dazed but finally free, Kosuzu rolled onto her back, idly noting the milky fluid that trickled from her pussy as she stared at the slowly softening cock that swung from Mamizou’s hips.

With no balls.

Mamizou gave her an almost leering grin from above those overbearing breasts. “What do ye say? This time tomorrow?”

Her head still swimming in the afterglow, Kosuzu nodded.

A slight edge creeped into that woman’s smile. “Say, why don’t we make this more exciting?”

Kosuzu blinked, tilting her head.

“Be a dear and leave your cute little bra and panties at home, okay?”

What? No, she couldn’t… she shook her head. That would be impossible. Akyuu would find out, for certain.

“Oh, ye sure? Well, if ye ain’t up to it, maybe we can wait until yer ready. Perhaps next month?”

Again, she shook her head, this time quite frantic.

She chuckled. “Good, good. Remember, no undergarments, okay?”

Tired, she nodded. Somehow, she felt she’d been tricked. But she could barely bring herself to care. If it meant another night with this enchanting-if overbearing-woman so soon, it would be worth it.

And yet, as she dozed off, an odd thought struck her. She wasn’t… forgetting anything, was she? Something important?

It didn’t matter. She’d remember in the morning.
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