-  [Settings] [Home
[Show or hide post box]

[Return] [Entire Thread] [Last 50 posts] [Bottom]
Posting mode: Reply
Subject   (Reply to 41996)
Password  (for post and file deletion)
  • First time posting? See our frontpage for site rules and FAQ
  • Further overview of board culture in this thread.
  • Supported file types are: GIF, JPG, PNG, WEBM
  • Maximum file size allowed is 4096 KB.
  • Images greater than 200x200 pixels will be thumbnailed.
  • View catalog

File 155485148885.png - (740.77KB , 817x1091 , __mononobe_no_futo_touhou_drawn_by_furorina__6f2de.png ) [iqdb]
41996 No. 41996
Wherein some resolutions are made.

Previous thread: >>41501
30 posts omitted. Last 50 shown. Expand all images
>> No. 42034
File 155621056167.png - (149.24KB , 806x892 , yamame_eeeh.png ) [iqdb]
I poured my heart and dick into that series...
>> No. 42035
(x) This was not fine.
Time for Mu to let something slip about having a youkai girlfriend. In her current frame of mind, Futo would definitely be calm and understanding about the whole thing.

Also, I liked that you brought up Minamitsu's urge to drown people earlier. It made for a nice reminder that these aren't supposed to be merely quirky chicks in funny costumes.
>> No. 42036
Same, I was a huge fan.
>> No. 42038
File 155636099060.jpg - (105.40KB , 643x598 , inb4 yamame_blush.jpg ) [iqdb]

I know you did, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. 'Strange but sexy' is one of the highest honors I can give a story. The thought-provoking novelty of "strange" combined with the energizing readability of "sexy" create an exquisite dichotomy.
>> No. 42039
File 155648560760.png - (524.07KB , 864x900 , 69965653_p2.png ) [iqdb]
(X) This was not fine.

—That, on a scale of not fine to hell yes, all of this was leaning heavy on the less fun side.

There was a palpable drop in the figurative temperature inside Mu’s chest. Futo was riveting. His tutor of thirteen long months was nimble, spirited, wise (in her own, idiosyncratic Way), and was the second… third… second most alluring woman he had met in Gensokyo. The Crown Prince, Toyosatomimi Miko, might have had her adjutant trumped in terms of sheer glamour; even she, however, hadn’t Futo’s pure, replete energy under her luminous skin. Handai Mu did love the golden goddess of the Sen-kai, and he did so from the bottom to the top of his cynical heart.

He just loved Futo with a few other parts of his body in addition.

And so, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to peel her out of her skirt and drawers, and slide his hands all over her nude thighs and rear. He wanted to see various crevices stuffed full of his fingers – and different things. And if time travel was real, and as pliable as Hollywood had tended to paint it, then Mu wanted to go back to all those occasions he’d reined himself short of admitting he’d love to screw his criminally youthful tutor, and give the past-Mu a history-changing punt in the nuts. Maybe two, if causality felt accommodating.

Above all, he wanted to make it so he had never met with and fallen for Seki first, so none of this would have had to have never happened. Which, when Mu gave it a think-over, was precisely the time-mucking line of reasoning that ended universes.

The things two wonderful women could make a man to do.

And it was, therefore, with the good of the multiverse uppermost in his mind, that Handai Mu ripped his wanton hand away from Futo’s trembling thigh. Then again. Then once more – because the previous two attempts hadn’t quite made it down his arm.

A distressed sound – and not that of tearing flesh – reached his ears from up above.

“… Mu brother?”

Futo was looking down at him with eyes glassy from betrayed hopes. Her own, dainty fingers were vised, possessively, around his wrist.

Mu crushed his thigh-deprived and upset hand into a thigh-deprived and upset fist. Then, swallowed on an instinct. It was a slow, laboured swallow, which – to an impassive observer – might have suggested that Mu had learned the whole thing from a book, rather than millions of years of picky evolution.

“… Sorry,” he rasped. “I… I can’t.”

The small master of the Tao stared him down – her expression slowly icing over into that of someone for whom the words “Handai” and “Mu” were about to become synonymous with “kill” and “Boddhist.”

“It isn’t,” Mu rushed on to explain, “that I do not… want. I want to. I’ve wanted to. But I can’t. Sorry.”

Futo’s reply was cool, measured and, if honed, could slice bamboo to ribbons. “… For cause, peradventure, of your Human Village girl?”

Mu was above surprise by now. Not least from a woman who had seen and moved in ancient court. “… Yes. Her. That’s it.”

“Whilst you in weeks out to overnight haven’t crept?” Futo shot back. “Whilst you’ve me for the self-same weeks pitiless teased?”

“Yes. Yes… I did that. I recognise my failing. I can’t tell if I’ll amend it.”

“Then you yon village girl dost yet court?” Futo wanted to know.

Mu sawed out a rusty sigh. “We’ve had a… a something. A mistake – or scare, maybe. I am in the middle of solving it out, and we aren’t seeing each other in the meanwhile. But we’ve not… uh, divorced? Split. We haven’t split. Not on the formal.”

“And lovest you her so, Mu?”

“I… think. I reckon. Yes.”

“Over your liege lord, even? Over I?”

The priest swallowed down the answer he was not prepared to give. “… We’ve been in the same cups together for longer, Futo,” he argued instead. “Since before I was in Lord Taishi’s favour. Since before I knew you. Seki was… important. Having her carried me over rough terrain. Gave me something to count the days to. I’d not planned for us to get closer, but… That’s wisdom over spilt milk. We are where we are; I do what I feel I need to do. My Way.”

Their Ways must have run over and reconfigured into an intersection with much too many red lights, because Futo squirmed with impatience above Mu’s shift stick. A last-ditch, improvised overpass loomed behind her eyes.

“I can sex from love separate,” she told him. “Canst not you?”

“I don’t…” Mu began.

And then, a memory flash-seared the first pick of reply off his tongue. A memory of the same tongue having, of late, been engaged with another tongue, which had of less late been happily employed under his mini-Mu. He could make the separation. He had, once. All but, and he might have again. Only, now that he’d stamped the brakes and looked the question over, he realised the sex and the love would have been attached to the same person. And whether he could still disconnect the two once they were in that arrangement…

… Mu, simply, had not enough experience to know.

“… I don’t know,” he voiced the conclusion up at the petite, earnest woman keeping him pinned, both physically and metaphorically, under her wonderfulness.

Futo added her eyes to the pin: a racy, sharp, quicksilver stare, now edged further with a dash of hot resentment. Handai Mu did his hardest to ignore the ninety pounds of aroused, under-clothed, wonderful girl on his hands. Handai Mu failed, because one of said hands was still beneath said clothes and clasped around said girl’s left breast. The breast heaved up and down with every one of Futo’s hungry, rustling breaths.

And it was one of those breaths which stole away Mu’s focus – once Futo gave it her petulant voice.

“… Mayeth this be,” she asked her pinned brother, “of those sooths one, which you inly ponder anent must?”

Mu’s wet omelette of a brain scrambled more of its eggs in order to encompass Futo’s meaning. “I… Yes. Belikely,” he supposed.

“Wilst you, Mu brother?” Futo asked. “On this ponder?”

“I’ll try, Futo.”


“On my neck.”

His tutor looked about to doubt his choice of mortgage – but surrender won out that contest.

Mononobe Futo, muttering under her tiny, ancient nose, shinned up from her knees to her feet. Mu’s hand flaked away from her soft, petite chest, and rolled out of the slit in her vest. Absurdly, Mu sensed a clench of jealousy inside his arm. He’d liked that breast. It had been on his top four list of favourite breasts since Futo had bared it to him on their first bath together. He’d wanted to feel it up more. A couple hours longer, at least. He’d craved to see how big its tip could swell. How hard and how quick it could rise. How it would taste.

Handai Mu ejected the thought alongside a low groan, even as he followed Futo into unenthusiastic verticality.

The priest and his lovely tutor patted themselves (and only their own selves) clean of the debris from their crash with the forest floor. Woodchips, flecks of dirt and juniper needles rained for a while onto the disturbed, frozen ground. And when they were no longer in impromptu camouflage, Futo faced her tall, shaven-headed brother with a thin, impudent smile on her well-practiced lips.

“Mu brother?” she cooed at him.

Mu gave a sigh. “Yes, sister Futo?”

“I shall you fierce for this kick.”

That, Mu had meant to say, was what I was going to do. He never did – because, half a breath in, Futo’s leg snapped out to ram its foot ankle-deep into his gut. Mu did as men did when two thousand Newtons of clog-assisted heel-power were slugged into their lower halves. He yelped. He clutched his stomach. He crumpled down onto the rough, cold ground, and went on to desperately hold his innards faithful to their name.

All done dispensing due pain, Futo crouched before her spluttering brother. The ruined skirt of her cloak climbed her thighs in a manner that would have had his eyes at full focus on any occasion that hadn’t his intestines twisted into balloon dogs. This, sadly, was not one of those.

“Heed, Mu,” Futo called him up. “Heedest you?”

“I—hrk… I heed, Futo,” groaned Mu.

“Heyday,” Futo praised him. “Methinks I done with yon Boddhist refuse am. For, leastwise,” she added, “this day. We should avaunt, home fly – ere they marshal. Thinkest not you so, Mu brother?”

“I… erk. Yeah. That… would be sound.”

“And once we our retreat reach,” Futo continued, “we shall eft our company sever. I shall to my chambers away and myself… refresh. Afterwise, I shall to yours visit. And thereon, Handai Mu,” she delivered her ultimatum, “I you to satisfy expect. Submitest you?”

“… I submit,” gave up Mu.

“Heyday,” said Futo.

And then, she stroked his shaven scalp with one compassionate hand, until Mu was out of his delicate (and not unmerited) state – and suitable to be airlifted home forgoing an unplanned bombing run.

For the next block:
( ) Futo
( ) Mu
>> No. 42040
(x) Futo
>> No. 42041
(x) Futo
>> No. 42042
(x) Futo
>> No. 42043
[X] Futo

>> No. 42044
File 155656563193.png - (66.38KB , 331x299 , the other yamame_blush.png ) [iqdb]

I’m glad someone appreciated that. Actually, I’m unusually chuffed myself about how I’ve handled Minamitsu. That is in spite of her brief appearance, not having a personal stake in her character and her turning out so obscene. So obscene…

… How in vogue are late and abrupt route switches these days? Asking for a friend.
>> No. 42045
180* route changes are my fetish.
>> No. 42046
(x) Futo
>> No. 42047
(x) Tofu
>> No. 42048
File 155667308747.jpg - (225.62KB , 1200x1064 , Really puts a spin on the drowns people thing eh.jpg ) [iqdb]

I liked the scene as well. Not enough bro-tier confidants nowadays. All our waifu choices nowadays always come with baggage or awkward romance elements.
>> No. 42057
File 155700799580.jpg - (942.12KB , 1300x859 , 155692025528.jpg ) [iqdb]
AIKO (briefly)

Greensleeve Aiko hiked up her sleeves, which were, by now, more earthy than green. Wringing with sweat, she wiped her hands dry on her apron.

Then, she launched a grimace skyward.

Lady Taishi’s replica Sun hung on above, defiant of Aiko’s glaring. It kept raining gentle, creeping murder down onto the gardener’s back.

The thirty tatami worth of ground – which Aiko had, at no small cost to her vocal chords, wrangled out of the field-tending redsleeves for her spice experiment – were, politically described, in a state of slight upset. Ginger root, cumin and turmeric had all taken kindly to the Sen-kai’s soil; her paprika, however, had altogether given up on colour. While the unending Summer of Lady Taishi’s sanctuary ought to have made for the ideal papri-conditions, nature hadn’t taken under account the simplest, human lapse. Lady Taishi’s, from a handful nights before, had seen the Sen-kai’s barriers wane and permit through a breath of the Winter outside.

Aiko’s paprika had seized on this cue to lose all juices – and embark on a seasonal nap.

Lady Taishi would, more likely than not, apologise in profusion once apprised of these results. The occurrence of some revering the Sen-kai’s creator as divine did not obscure the detail that Toyosatomimi Miko had never disunited herself from her human roots. Aiko’s (woefully swift) tutelage under the golden saint’s care had exposed to her the perfection of Lady Taishi’s humanity hadn’t comprised the removal of its innate deficiencies. No. Celestials and saints did, still, make mistakes. The separation was merely that the latter group owned up to theirs. Lady Taishi included, it was to be hoped. Aiko could use a rainy day salted away as a favour.

Someone breached the Sen-kai’s invisible border.

The fact registered in Aiko’s chest as a dull, squeezing sensation. Almost as that of trying to breathe out on flat lungs. Attunement to the Sen-kai’s boundary field was something Lady Taishi had promised would wither more the less time they spent together; so far, the feeling had changed – from a tingling, metallic sound at the edge of hearing, to this – but hadn’t disappeared. Strongly, and not without due conjecture, Aiko believed her everyday intimacy with the secret realm’s soil was somehow maintaining her bond. In her own – Aiko’s – Way. How, though? That part was what intrigued her. Another point of research on the ever-growing list.

Where would she ever find the time for them, if her plants were blasted dying?

A second breach snatched the thought away, together with Aiko’s real breath. Someone with a Wind’s blast in their humours stumbled into Lady Taishi’s demesne.

Annoyance snapped Aiko’s back upright. She screwed up her eyes and peered out – over her jury-rigged garden, through a window in the undulating grain-stalks – toward the nearby stretch of the temple’s sandō road. A few moments of her expensive, mortal time passed her by, before the two boarders wandered into Aiko’s purview.

Adviser Mononobe and mentor Mu were making their un-merry way up the temple’s approach. They were both less than tidy; although, the Mononobe had her so-called brother somewhat outpaced by having lost some articles of her uniform – and reduced the rest to shredded pieces. The ancient shikai-sen trod onward in uncharacteristic silence; even the shorn ball of Mu’s skull seemed a shine balder than usual.

Whatever it was they had gotten up to, it’d evidently been no good.

Aiko shook her sweat-drenched head. There was a pair of square pegs for you. Mononobe’s excesses were noised about wide in Aiko’s home town; before even entering her trials, she had had been warned of the “nuisance” that was Toyosatomimi Miko’s aide apparent. Aiko’s instruction had spared her all except brushes with adviser Mononobe’s company: a handful of lectures on elixir and Feng and Shui, a few group exercises in balancing the dantians. Those not so outstanding as to be discerned in Lady Taishi’s eyes were, however, foredoomed to a novitiate fraught with uncertainty, thees, thous and the occasional explosion.

It was up to speculation how most redsleeves lived to either quit or laugh the whole thing off.

Mentor Mu, meanwhile was… a nuisance also – if of a different breed all told. A foreigner – in Aiko’s town, in Gensokyo, and the island of Japan altogether – Mu wore his exoticism like a coat. When he spoke, it was seldom. Once he did, it was with exaggerated difficulty; and then, what often produced comprised of abstractions and wordplay no one but Mu understood or cared to unravel. Those peers of Aiko who did manage to establish two-way communication with the occidental man had a cautiously favourable view of his ability to teach and explain away things which even Lady Taishi laboured to break down into caveman terms. Aiko viewed these views with cautious scepticism.

Then again, that was how Aiko viewed roughly everything.

On their own, neither adviser Mononobe nor her foreign “brother” would have been any more eccentric than the mean for eccentricity around the Yatsugatake Mountain range.

Together, they had the rumour mill near flying off the axle.

And the gunpowder in the mix was their flagrant, ill-disguised love affair. More complaisant heads within Lady Taishi’s retinue claimed the two cuckoos were “courting.” Those with thinner fluff between their ears speculated outright they were screwing in the temple baths every other night. And then, a third side of the argument wondered in hushed voices whether the colours on mentor Mu’s sleeves were really a merit of his long studies… or his long fingers between his sister’s thighs.

It was, of course, nonsense and balderdash. Lady Taishi’s service involved but five ranks: red for blood – freshly consecrated to the temple grounds; green for blades of grass – freshly sprouted from the earth; yellow for the bud – with its golden wealth of experience, giving example; and blue for the petals – schooling and enticing future generations. Over all, available to but one soul, the royal purple of the Emperor-gardener.

And yet, there was but one bluesleeve in the whole Sen-kai. A mere triad of yellowsleeves chased her in rank: mentor Mu – the latest to the colour, speaker Tōhyō – who lived in Aiko’s town, where she sieved for new blood, and scrivener “Whip” Hada – who ministered to the temple’s functions as a household: keeping numbers, stocks and the like. A lion’s share of Lady Taishi’s acolytes, including Aiko, wore their greens with relish; only intermittently were they outcounted by the coming-and-going redsleeves.

It didn’t take blue at one’s wrists to see why. Greensleeves were free; they slept and ate under Lady Taishi’s roof, and had but a single obligation to their golden saint. The Inquest. A pursuit, of the acolyte’s own choosing, intended for paving their Way among the many interlacing Ways of the temple’s community. The ugly truth was, most greensleeves chose to remain at their lower rank. Why would they not? Toyosatomimi Miko was a strict, yet wise empress; no one lacked for anything within the Sen-kai, less they themselves were lacking. It was a scholar’s dream life. Why take on the added duties of rank when there was no imperative to do so?

Aiko was sure there was wisdom in only hanging authority on those who have been adequately slaved and wished to be slaved harder still, but she let it drop.

The trouble with mentor Mu’s yellow wasn’t whether he had won his sleeves with effort or from between adviser Mononobe’s legs. Or, even, if he had done a good job.

It was that they deigned to confirm neither of the theories.

Anyone who witnessed mentor Mu with the Mononobe could see, writ large, they were closer by half than what befitted a student and his tutor; anyone who asked, however, would receive a stern look and a no less stern denial. “Futo is my sister,” or “Mu my brother is.” And then, once the heads were but turned, they would skulk away, hand-in-hand, to make noise for hours in the temple baths.

There was not a soul in the Sen-kai who would have offended if the two “siblings” had admitted to an open, honest, and bald-faced affair. It would have settled bets and set a lot of cheeks aglow. Instead, the two elder Taoshi played both at being unutterable prudes, with whom you could no more raise the question of romance than you would inevitably censure them for incest. Neither did Mu, titled “mentor,” make more than a token appearance of his assigned station to support the opposite thesis.

And that coloured everyone’s wagers just a bit too vague. And cut Aiko’s patience short.

About this short.

Aiko reeled her attention away from the two dusty oddballs marching up the road, and back to her miserable garden.

The Outside World books she had acquired would have claimed the odds of one-night frost in the middle of the Japanese Summer beyond astronomical, deep into the realms of “global warming” (whatever sense that made). Gensokyo, however, was a land beloved by gods and youkai; and those were fickler and more powerful than any Outside World bugbear. Whenever Winter had visited out of season on her father’s herb garden, in town, Aiko and he had simply carried the bushes into warmer indoors. There had to be methods for larger, less mobile plants as well. A Gensokyo farmer would know.

And, as so happened, she had been of late contracted to a certain family of those.

Greensleeve Aiko undid her apron and gauged the position of Lady Taishi’s Sun against the clock-face of the sky. There were some hours left in the day.

“Guess I’ll have a walk, then,” she thought aloud – mostly to affirm her lungs hadn’t boiled away. “Ask around. Scope them out. Lady Taishi won’t mind.”

And maybe I’ll see, she added inside with less enthusiasm, what the blazes it was mentor Mu meant about them and washing the feet.

>> No. 42059
File 155729291961.jpg - (117.62KB , 493x450 , FUCK YEA.jpg ) [iqdb]

>> No. 42060
>> No. 42061
Aiko's paprikas are dying. Are you a bald enough dude to give Aiko tips on cultivating paprikas?
>> No. 42063

>bald enough dude

I enjoyed a sensible chuckle at this. Excellent wordplay anon.
>> No. 42065
File 15576243143.png - (1.08MB , 1024x1280 , 70993397_p0.png ) [iqdb]

A scant hour since their inglorious return, Futo was gliding along the temple’s sombre hallways on a pair of slippery, woollen socks.

An hour, even so, had been enough to wring a handful of soberer conclusions out of her thoughts. Futo had made a slip. Not an error; for nothing within the day had unwound contrary to what she’d have deemed expected. And yet, in the course of her long, lukewarm shower, whereuntil she had laid the blame in full on the mulish Mu, a concern had merged – between her pride and moral sense – that perhaps she had been gauche in her advances. That, in her combat furore, with her desires Winded out of balance, under the unwitnessed cover of Gensokyo’s skies, perhaps Futo had succumbed too swift to her lust. That, had she but taken faster hold of her own reins, perchance her brother might have been willing not only at first – but at second, third and fourth also. Until the precipice. Until there was no pulling out.

Spilt milk, as he sayeth, Futo had chided herself, tepid water streaming down her face. A giddy, dissatisfied tingle had still been fiddling with the inside her chest, yet Futo had kept her hands well off of her body’s trouble spots. Withal she had spoken of “refreshing” herself, she had the fullest intention of facing Mu – and their combined wants – in a fully natural state. No forestalling what she may yet win. No Winding or Damping her emotions. No chicanery or artifice.

Only two adults with an unsettled claim of adultery.

Futo skipped to a halt before the door of her brother’s room. Then, as smoothly as allowed by her loose clothing, she slipped inside.

Afternoon had not overmuch changed Mu’s chambers from Futo’s morning call. Still they were a plain, unadorned home of four walls, a bed, a table and a couple of trunks belike unopened since Mu’s ascent to greens, two seasons prior. Still Mu himself lay on his back atop his bizarrely framed bed, whereon with dispatch he studied the insides of his eyelids. Still he vouchsafed no reaction – even as Futo padded near. All but, and it would have been a perfect re-tread… save that now Mu was nowise as deficient in the trousery area.

Fie, thought Futo.

Across the barren room, and she sidled up, on her knees, onto her brother’s unmade bed. Awhile, she entertained edging up on top of him… ahead her womanhood marked the idea down as forceful. Futo resorted to scuffing a measure closer – and merely placed a hand atop her brother’s slab-like chest.

Mu deflated.

A drawn-out, rattling, burring noise rumbled out of her brother’s ajar mouth, leaving his breast at near half its previous volume once over. Still, a pleasant half. Futo graced the antics how she did as a rule: with a forbearing smile and a pat on Mu’s flattened regions.

Mu drew in a wheezing refill of air. “…. Understanding of others,” he recited, swelling up to a ponderous sit, “bespeaks intelligence. Understanding of oneself bespeaks wisdom.

“So Laozi Sage sayeth,” obliged Futo. “To what it now adverts, pray?”

Mu gave a flippant shake of his head. “Thought about everything of it.”

Futo regarded him with polite incomprehension. It seemed, at first sight, that her brother may turn his non-reply into one of those segues their conversations were wont to take. At second, his attention scaled off of her face… and tumbled down her front. Futo ill needed follow its lead to know where it was stuck. This, present, set of her uniform lacked perchance for the viewing windows the Myouren-ji devils had opened in her last – but it was all the same airy and mobile and scanter the farther below it stretched, until tapering to nothing at mid-thigh. Futo had it on good exposure that her brother had somedeal of an appreciation for women’s mobility parts. Hers, she had experienced, included in the notable group.

Futo thrust a warding hand between her bare thighs.

“Then you’ve on what I bade to you ponder pondered?” she asked.

Mu walked his eyes back upwise her body, rather by the scenic route than any highway of propriety. They caught: on her dangling pom-poms first, then on her neck, her lips, and on her own eyes lastly, where they came to a road-worn rest. Mu exhaled. He licked his own lips. Then rubbed his own neck. Then breathed back in.

At last, then, he gave up. “… If we were to have to stop pretending,” he confessed, “then yes. I want to sleep with you. I’ve wanted to since our first co-ed bath. You are a wonderful, lovely woman – and I am a wicked man with an imagination. There is a hundred hundreds filthy things I’d do to you if I could. Which was, I computed, why we were pretending to begin with.”

I never did pretend, Futo corrected inside. Outward, she tipped her head and questioned, “Then what, pray, such a conundrum is?”

“Thought I’d said already,” sighed Mu. “There is that girl, in town, that I’m… courting. That is conundrum one.”

“And I therewith said,” Futo reminded him, “that I might nay lesser care.” She rolled her eyes. “Soothly, Mu, I nay half so sentimental a creature as you am. Nigh on to twenty years of my former life I to the clans-head of the Soga wedded was. We all of five… all of four children together had. Hode, beloved Toziko, Kahakami, Kuramaro. I Umako husband’s crown jewel and fain treasured relic was. And I never did the man aught love.”

“And that,” Mu was wondering, “did not vex you, ever?”

“Vex, perchance,” admitted Futo. “Halt me? Nay once. Umako husband did to me honour do; I his trophy was, yet a symbol also. Whilst I, of the Mononobe daughter, content in our marriage remained, then so long was his rout under Shigisan in the court’s eyes vindicated. I have you the story told, have I not? I to Umako his victory faithful delivered, and he to me access to the throne through marital bond bestowed. He a worthy man was, Umako – for a Soga ape.”

Mu let the implications of her disdain fly away. “And yet,” he said, sceptical, “you loved him not.”

“And yet,” nodded Futo, “I nay did. I have but one man in my life’s millennium truly loved – and Umako was nay he.”

“… Who was?” Mu wanted to know.

Futo gave him an arch smile. “A dead man,” she dashed his hopes, “whom you nay know. And hereto your lesson pertains, Handai Mu. I can sex from love lief separate. It on you, all told, leans to the self-same do. Court you, Mu, whomever you desire. Our Taishi Lord, your of the Human Village girl, Toziko if you dare… I nary a fraction mind. I your affection want. Nay your devotion.

Mu mulled over her reply. There was something within it which caused her brother rather visible bother, even if Futo could not – nor cared to – tell which. At length, it seemed, whichever piece it had been was shelved on a backwise shelf of his mind for later mincing.

“Conundrum two, then,” he moved on, raising the supportive number of fingers. “I do love you, Futo. You know, yes?”

There was an insidious clinch of pleasure inside Futo’s chest. Yes. She had, in fact, known fain well that Mu’s heart had a special spot inside carved out to her shape. No soul un-enamoured of at least parts of her would have gone the lengths Mu had done to enable – further, encourage – Futo’s idiosyncrasies; even the Crown Prince – in His sagacity – had expressed His gentle, yet firm disapproval. Not so Mu. Her colourful brother saw what Futo desired from her second youth – and let her to reach out for it. And that took either the most temperate of hearts… or one, indeed, full of love.

To be told, still, gave her own heart a treacherous jolt of happiness. Futo swept back a wisp of her silvery hair – which she had left untied after her shower for just such an occasion.

“… Yes,” she granted. “And I do you too love, Mu.”

Mu’s eyebrows poised on his forehead. “As a brother?” he guessed.

Futo made a nod. “As a brother.”

“And there lies the dog,” said Mu, alongside a surprisingly brutal gesture meant to indicate that, if the dog did not lie there, he would gladly brain it to make his point. “See, I do not love you like that. I’ve done the survey. The results are clear. It’s far and away, categorically, positively not as a sister.

“How, therefore?” asked Futo. “Also, I have that one heard. It ‘rub’ is. Therein the rub lies. Nay ‘dog.’”

Mu squinted his opinion on idiomatic precision. “As a person,” he told her. “As a man to a woman. The normal, heavy, romance-sort of love. That is how I love you.”

And there was the thrill again. Futo fiddled with the inside of her sleeve until it had run its course. Fie, me, she thought, keeping her lips from curling up. Hath thy wits as well been smoothed in thy sleep as thy wrinkles?

“… And that,” she challenged – somewise, “whereinsoever differs, Mu?”

“That I do want to sleep with you, for a first,” pointed out Mu. “Men do not… Those normal of us do not feel this way about their sisters.”

Nay, thought Futo. I nay so suppose. “Have I you nay already told?” she asked him instead. “I nowise a monogamous creature am. If you so desire, love me. If you to another love yearn – do. To Toziko’s language borrow: I discriminate not.”

Mu made an ugly sound – and an even uglier face. “… And that,” he muttered, “is conundrum the third. Since meseems I do not discriminate, either.”

Futo cocked her head, not quite decided whether to praise her brother for this admission – or to bemoan it. Mu seized her confusion and gave a rueful smile in exchange.

“See, Futo,” he said, “I’ve already cheated on Seki. Once – so far. And all it took were three weeks of abstinence and a set of pretty legs.”

“That easy sounds,” dared Futo.

Mu nimbly ducked her sarcasm. Or, perhaps, failed to hear it altogether. “All too,” he agreed. “All too easy. And did you know the worst blasted part? Afterwards, all I felt was guilty that I did not feel guilty. Whereas I realised I should have. Then, you caught me with my faculties elsewhere earlier today, and…”

Her brother’s voice trimmed off – the mere memory apparently enough to dislodge said faculties all over again.

“And…?” Futo urged him on. “I heed you, Mu.”

Mu grunted something in his crackling, native tongue. “… And,” he went on then, “I hadn’t as much as thought, ‘Sorry, Seki,’ before my hands were all over you. To be honest, Futo, I have only the dimmest how I managed not to strip you nude right then and there. I was hard as rock the entire time.”

“Mhm,” agreed Futo. “I felt,” she lied – and watched her brother squirm on his seat. Futo’s senses had, truthfully, been Winded too high to focus on aught else except her own body… but Mu needed not to be told. “And I,” she added, “would nay have ‘no’ said.”

And this was markedly not a lie. Mononobe Futo now may not recall with any exactness the paths taken by her Winded, turned-on mind; she remembered, even so, where it was she would have made her brother stick his long, rugged fingers if he had not then spoiled her vulgar plans.

That place remembered too. Futo fidgeted on her knees. Irony of ironies, her own repartee had swung around to distract her.

Mu’s tone was pleading when again he posed the question: “Is that how a loyal man acts, Futo?”

Futo shook her silver-cloaked head left and right. “Is loyalty precious so, Mu?” she questioned him back. “Wish you, after all, to loyal be? Heed. Shouldest you to it change try,” she quoted, “you it ruin shall. Shouldest you to it hold try, you it lose shall.

“Quoth Laozi,” Mu obliged in return. “I am loyal to Lord Taishi and the temple. To the precepts. To you. Staying loyal to one girl—” he scoffed, “—should have been a cake piece in comparison.”

Futo, frowning, chased after that horse-leg of their conversation in her head… and found it tragically, secretly lame.

At least, she cheered herself, it was not one of those lost horses their conversations on occasion became. There was yet a way to come first in this race. Mu did want to have sex with her; Futo sensed she could not have had him say it any straighter unless she was atop him and riding him halfway to an orgasm. Nor did she have aught else on her mind apart from fulfilling that desire. Mu was still her tall, well-proportioned, exotic brother; she had still a “hundred hundreds” depraved, unsisterly things she wished to do to him – and half again that for him to do to her. Sex would be a satisfying start. A slippery, hot, precept-compliant start.

All which Futo had yet to saddle was a clever horse that would overtake Mu’s confused sentiments. The truth balder than her brother was, she did not care for his childish romances; she did not care that another girl in the Human Village was using of his affection as well. Her courtly life had taught her naught but that relationships were flimsy, impermanent things. Sex and marriage and adultery were but labels for a simpler, more cardinal law: that of desire. All within the palace had followed theirs; all had styled it some else a privy name. All had traced their own, intimate Ways onto the murder fields of Yamato’s court.

All except Futo’s had failed.

And this was why she hadn’t mounted her oaf of a brother and ground atop his nether parts until he begged to be let inside her. Consent. Consent was a drug more puissant than all of wicked Seiga’s concoctions pitched together. Consent plied Ways and smothered afterthoughts. Futo would come moaning her brother’s name today, but she would do it either underneath him, with his willing assistance – or back in her rooms, with her own fingers.

Swell Handai Mu’s desire – and she would have the first. Swell, instead, his boyish guilt – and the latter was sooner like.

Futo knew of few things which roused her brother more than his own, overactive imagination. She only had to nudge it onto more fertile grounds.

( ) The wench he’d cheated with. Whatever she had done, Futo could do better.
( ) The girl in town. Whoever she was, Futo had the longer legs.
>> No. 42066
(x) The girl in town. Whoever she was, Futo had the longer legs.

I highly doubt it, considering how pint-sized Futo is, but whatever, more Banki is always good.
>> No. 42067
[x] The wench he’d cheated with. Whatever she had done, Futo could do better.
>> No. 42068
[x] The wench he’d cheated with. Whatever she had done, Futo could do better.

Not feelin either of these choices. BJ is kinda old news and who heckin cares about leg length.
>> No. 42069
(x) The wench he’d cheated with. Whatever she had done, Futo could do better.
>> No. 42074
File 155839574418.jpg - (163.50KB , 1181x1718 , D6cmD0nVUAEbWjs_jpg orig.jpg ) [iqdb]
(X) The wench he’d cheated with. Whatever she had done, Futo could do better.

And little roused a man more than tales of his past conquests.

Futo sat a touch straighter atop her brother’s bed. Her long, silken hair, which had never been trained to be worn loose, had slithered free of its slot behind her ears. Futo brushed it back in place. Handai Mu stuck to her motions with a churlish, restrained stare – counting, only too evident, on her limitless charity to liberate him from his self-imposed conundrums. Futo brought to bear the bright, opaque smile she had long ago refined in the gathering halls of Yamato’s court.

Then, she stuck her brother on its spearhead.

“Tell me, then, Mu,” she commanded, “swoopstake, of this legged minx who has you into disloyalty seduced.”

Her brother’s eyes bulged. His chest imploded and exploded both at once – something that would have been impossible as a rule, less one had three Windings straining against one another. Mu’s stare stumbled down. An actual, honest-to-heavens blush was working up her brother’s robust jaw.

Futo sensed the returned stirrings of excitement crawl up the length of her back. Her smile hitched, then stiffened on her lips. Still she kept it rich and regal – so long as Mu took to fish his wits out whence her question had momentarily dropped them. He did ahead long – his fantastic, foreign eyes returning to hers in defeat.

“… This,” he groaned, “I can say you will not like, Futo.”

“Shall I the judge of that be?” asked Futo, even if her wary side did whisper its agreement. “Will you, Mu? To me tell?”

A grave surrender steeled the fore of her brother’s gaze. Mu restored on his upset breath. Then, he did so again – with more calculation.

“… Yes,” he agreed. “I feel you shall, at that. And I may, as well.” He tucked one of his long, sturdy legs up against his chest, and propped his chin on the knee. “… All of it, see,” he began, all false melancholy, “had its sorry start somewhen inside the twenty-first century.”

Futo canted her head to the side. “Might that the current century be?”

Mu made a quiet scoff. “It doesn’t feel it, does it?” he wondered aloud. “Not in here, anyway. What good is even counting?”

Futo rolled her eyes. “Would I that e’er know, Mu?”

Her brother sketched a shrug – with his brows. Then, he gave a sigh. “The pith is, Futo,” he conceded, “it was recently. Very,” he stressed, “very recently.”

“So recently,” helped Futo, “as…?”


Now her wary side was at full tilt. Mu gave her a look that might have been contrite if it wasn’t wry with cynicism.

“Today, then,” she prompted. “… Whenas I where was?”

“Afield,” said Mu, “recon… reconnoitring? Was that it? Uh. Checking the forest for sinkholes, methinks you said. You recall? Well… about then.” Mu paused, swapping his leg out for the other inside the accorded space. Futo let him to swap uninterrupted. “… Hadn’t planned for it, all in all,” Mu went on; “I’d just about meant to get one of those Buddhists you wanted distracted to walk me around the temple. We wound up talking, someway. About names, at first. Then stories. Then food. And then, someway, we swerved onto sex.”

There was a dozen things Futo wanted to know. Asking the most poignant, she said, “… Wherethrough does one onto sex ‘swerve,’ Mu?”

“Through pastimes, out it turns,” replied Mu. “Those youkai who hang out there, see – I was told they aren’t leashed as close as Hijiri wants it believed. They get a bunch of off-time, and they do… well, whatever it is they feel up to do, during. That includes the oldest time-killers in the book. Alcohol, delicacies, sex – those classics. We had ourselves a brief old bit of philosophical debate on it, my guide and I, and… ends meeting, she offered to blow me.”

“To blow…?” Futo leafed through her mental dictionary, but nothing non-Feng-related shook out. “Mean you—”

Oral sex, is what I mean,” volunteered Mu, with a tiny flinch of his wide shoulders. “A blowjob. Good old mouth-stuff. I gave her a treat – a sugarcane stick – and she traded in her mouth. How that weighed even, I do not know.” Grunting, Handai Mu released his leg, then folded it – along its paired twin – underneath his seat. All but, and Futo would have pictured him a hatless courtier, kneeling to speak before the Empress’s throne. “… We got indoors,” her brother resumed; “got our tongues to know each other; got my hands to make friends with her rear. My forebrain must have displaced by then, because I tried to strip her panties and sneak my fingers down there while she was occupied. Smartest call it wasn’t… but all I got was scolded. Then, she hauled me by my belt to an empty room, had me stood against a wall, my shirt rolled up, my pants skinned, and gave my mast a full-length spit-shine.”

A long, charged pause coalesced like Toziko in the wake of Mu’s confession, wherein Futo caught her teeth nipping anxiously on her bottom lip. A dozen of pressing questions crowded at the door of Futo’s mind; it was another dozen to receive no attention as Futo favoured the one which harder scratched her curiosity.

“… Was she leastwise good?” she asked.

Mu ventured a weak chuckle, which rounded out to a weak sigh. “… Well, if you must—” He strived to sound regretful. “… I came pretty blasted fast.”

And yet, Futo knew remorse; and not so much as a speck of it had grazed her brother’s penitent voice. Were his handsome, scrub-bottomed face not a veritable crag of mournful wrinkles, Futo may well have assumed he was lauding the skill of his purported youkai cheat.

And it was that, and nothing else, which fanned the flames of frustration under her heart.

Mononobe Futo was not the stripe of woman given to controlling others. Carved into her core, the lessons of her blood brother proscribed such interference; even whilst in conspiration with the Crown Prince, the most Futo had done had been to advise and influence. To criticise her new brother’s choice of company, thus, would have but stunted his progress; Futo may no more outrage at his tolerance of youkai than Mu may decry her very own distaste. Or, it bore adding, than she may condemn the same in Lord Taishi Himself.

Whose companionship was sought by her brother was, therefore, his own choice. As it would have been Futo’s to burn it to cinders. It was not the problem.

The insult beneath his pick – was.

Futo climbed up onto her knees. She walked on them forward – until they were locked firmly about Mu’s. Her brother, he who would sooner bed a youkai than the paragon of humanity that was Futo, threw up his arms in a hasty barricade to ward off anything rash about to destroy his perfect mourning. Futo snatched them at the wrists.

“Tell me,” she spat her demand, “if naught else, it nay that starch-back Ichirin was.”

Mu blinked. His entire acquaintance with Futo’s history with the stiff half-nyuudou scrolled behind his eyes. “Um—” he blurted at length. “No. No, no. It was… the other one.” He hesitated. “The one you fought second? The ship spectre?”

Futo sketched another roll with her eyes – if not for the answer, then to cover up her relief. “The funayurei,” she corrected. “The drowner. You alone a room with that shared? Fie, Mu. Treasure you not life?”

“Truthfully, that’s what I thought,” allowed Mu. “At least, until I was… made to think something else. Though, as far as ghosts go, she was no less polite than our dear Tojiko. Asked me if she could drown me before she did anything to that end, even. And, when I declined, she let it all pass. Very considerate.”

“And of thighs possessed which fain may rock crush between,” Futo helpfully filled in. “And of a mouth beyond discomfit capacious. Ah, I do this menfolk’s love of oral sex well wit, Mu,” she said, with a smug curl of her lips. “I nary surprised you lured in were am. Fie. I do myself the image adore.”

Mu’s brows made arches over his eyes – even if said eyes did glue to Futo’s inviting smile. “The… image?” he repeated.

Futo leaned in closer, until she could breathe her brother’s warm, masculine scent. “Consider you, Mu,” she told him, meeting his gaze dead on, “how shameless to do such a thing is. To a man’s... member into an orifice for aught else but sex meant take. To it therein coddle and cosset, and to release its seed cozen, wherein it mayen’t ever its goal achieve… There nary an excuse is, is there? It an act of indulgence and utter depravity is.”

“… And that,” theorised her brother, “is why you like it?”

“Nay.” Futo smiled wider, bringing one of his captured hands up to her face. “It the look upon the man’s mien is,” she told him, “whenas he recognises I but one minute with his member in my mouth need to him buck his hips from pleasure make.”

And then, ahead any defence might mount in Mu’s slippery mind, Futo stuck out her tongue, and dragged it – with slow deliberation – from the heel of his palm to the tip of his longest finger. A judder of shock travelled up, then down the span of Mu’s arm. Attached to its tail came an impulse which must have been bound elsewhere on Mu’s body and had only gotten swept along by mistake – for it left all five of his fingers standing up straight at attention.

Giggling softly, Futo singled out two – the ring and the middle – and pushed them up into her well-trained mouth. Their coarse, dry skin caught and hitched on her lips as she slid them in up to their third knuckles. For a delicious, selfish moment, Futo sucked on the thick roots of her brother’s fingers. Then, she pulled them out – now coated top to bottom with her warm saliva. When she pushed them in again, they slipped between her hugging lips with smooth, erotic ease.

As she kissed his knuckles and rubbed the back of her tongue on the sensitive tips of his fingers, Futo peered up to check on Handai Mu’s expression. It was one of fascinated, aroused horror – and precisely the kind Futo had described. For that, Futo added a low, indecent moan into her pretend fellatio. And then, having clamped her lips around their slickened girth, she began to pull the fingers out – sucking so hard that their skin was flushed and swelled and throbbing when at last they popped free of her vulgar hold.

Continued: >>/at/39698
>> No. 42075
OK, I guess bother my links, huh.

Continued: >>/at/39698
>> No. 42083
File 155908859721.jpg - (409.83KB , 1528x2027 , 74940361_p0.jpg ) [iqdb]
Previously: >>/at/39707


Handai Mu, yellow-ranked of Toyosatomimi Miko’s Sen-kai, a man of letters and, occasionally, deeds, did his studious best not to think.

Conveniently, Handai Mu had a long enough track record with thinking to know the act of trying not to was not, by itself, a helpful one. To resign from conscious mental processing meant invariably to give in wholesale to immediate sensory input, and, right now, the matter of Mu’s sensory input wasn’t something he wanted to focus on too hard. It was a cognitive muscle that simply wasn’t ready to be flexed. Instead, Mu allowed his thoughts to filter idly through his head, leaving them out of any concrete, subjective review until the cows came home, hunkered down at a table, cracked a couple of cold ones, and resolved to face a reality of rampant fast-food restaurants and mass dairy production.

There was a general impression of Futo – his tutor and adoptive sister – lying across from him on his bed, and doing something rather improper with her petite fingers. There was a general feeling of exhaustion, a general sense of tipsy fulfilment, and a general apprehension against the time, some hours away, when he would eventually must joust with the fact of having done something unquestionably sexual with someone who was unquestionably not his partner for an unquestionable second time within the span of a day.

For now, however, Mu let that first one idle the cognitive engine in his head. Futo, all misty smiles, caught his attention by the nose; and, extracting her fingers whence they had definitely not been practicing crocheting, she wiggled them at him to come close. Without thinking, Mu set forth to do her bidding. On all-fours, his open shirt (and other loose extremities) dangling below him, the priest crawled over his tutor’s small, half-unclothed body. Futo hadn’t to give him the satisfied little smile, which she did anyway, to make her brother lean down and take her lips.

Mononobe Futo felt wonderful. From her satiny hair to her dainty toes, Handai Mu’s ageless sister was a thing of lithe, dynamic beauty. There was little anything about Futo that failed to draw the eye some way or another. The sensation of her warm, sweat-covered skin on its own was enough to make Mu’s palms itch with longing. Her lips were pink and soft and absolutely made to be kissed. The only thorny part of the ancient woman was her quaint, indiscriminate Way with life. That was, Mu theorised, what had lost Futo most of the male attention. Someone’s physiology being magically rearranged in the middle of an intercourse could put a cramp on the nerve; and, in the townspeople’s book – which was more akin to a short, religious leaflet – anyone who dabbled in the arcane was either a youkai, a shrine maiden, or an anomaly to ward against in the best of circumstances.

Mu did not care. He had wound his brain around less conventional things in Gensokyo; and even Futo’s turning out to be a lot more… libertine than he had dared to feature her – in the darkest watches, with his hands under the blankets – couldn’t hope to diminish the joy of having her tiny lips pressed against his own. It was also, a less secure piece of him ventured, why Futo had stooped to accept him to very start. Because he tolerated who she was. Because he didn’t stifle her with unsought judgements. Because he let Futo be Futo, and shared in her satisfaction of what that entailed.

Because, for this same reason, he had been previously accepted by Seki.

The unruly thought spoiled his idle appreciation of Futo’s warm lips. Mu drew himself out of the kiss, to find his tutor atypically complaint upon his leave. Futo’s expression was, in fact, mild and happy and thoroughly content with what had happened… and what might still happen before the day was fully out. Or, Mu estimated, before his life was.

“… Mu brother?” she cooed up at him.

“… Futo?”

Futo gave him a sunny smile. “That for you good felt – did not it?”

“… Yeah,” admitted Mu.

The reply made her sigh her agreement. “Same for I. Well done.”

He did his best to keep his usual cynicism out of his voice. “… I’m glad you liked.”

“Mm. Nay. I did it above than like. It the first time on my life was – knew you this? That I from penetration alone came…”

Mu purged his mind of everything but scholarly exactitude. “… Methinks it was more than that, Futo.”

Methinks,” countered Futo, “I what me the greatest pleasure gave best know.”

“It was one of those positions, wasn’t it,” guessed Mu. “Where the… Where that spot gets poked?”

“Heyday. You have it figured.”

“The reaction was… um, telling.” He faked a deep concern. “Will I ever quit being treated as your student, Futo?”

His small tutor shaped a no bigger grin. “Whenas I to you no more may teach, Mu,” she declared, “then shall we you in your blues adorn. Afore, all beith well, the world from age grey turns.”

“I’ll apply myself.”

“Yes,” nodded Futo, “do. Fie, why nay now start? Have you aught I may myself wipe down with? I’ll ill walking to the baths with this under my clothes savour.”

Mu made it a point not to glance down to Futo’s bare, sullied navel. “… I’ll, uh, give you an old shirt. Can wash it under the showers later. Heavens know, I have.

His tutor’s wonderful eyes narrowed with naked expectation. “Then you will me to the baths accompany?”

Handai Mu, always keen to prove there was damn well no mental exercise that he would shy from, availed himself of every effort so as not to remember what Futo had promised to give him if he should aid her in their post-fun cleaning. Something else remembered in his stead – growing slightly less floppy in the Mu-land down under.

“… Yeah,” rasped the priest, feigning very convincingly a sudden sore throat. “Yeah, damn it. I will. You win, Futo.”

Futo was a cat in a tubful of cream. “Heyday,” she praised her brother’s ability to give up when cued. “And later? Afterwise mine and my Taishi Lord’s rites? Will you me also attend?”

Mu squeezed out an exasperated frown. “… Must we decide now? The evening’s still a bit off. I’ve no way of knowing if I won’t end up in Reo’s soup for tomorrow before then.”

Futo paid his fears no heed. “Whenas,” she returned, “if nay now? A maid to the fore of a man’s visit must her chambers needs prepare. And whilst I fain’d have afterwise our bath asked, Mu—” her cunning lips blossomed into a smug smile, “I suspect, somewise, my mouth shall mighty worn-out be. Thus, I you now ask. Will you, Mu?”

Mu contrived to look torn.

( ) Yes. For Futo’s comfort – he would.
( ) No. His investigation was in its last stretch.
>> No. 42084
(x) Yes. For Futo’s comfort – he would.
>> No. 42085
[x] No. His investigation was in its last stretch.
No way, plate.
>> No. 42086
(x) Yes. For Futo’s comfort – he would.
>> No. 42087
[x] No. His investigation was in its last stretch.

There is one youkai left to confirm his hypothesis with.
>> No. 42088
(x) No. His investigation was in its last stretch.

enough plate
let's move on here
>> No. 42089
[x] No. His investigation was in its last stretch.

Silly Futo. Imoutos are for cuteing, not fucking.
>> No. 42090
(x) Yes. For Futo’s comfort – he would.
>> No. 42091
File 155951740343.jpg - (1.70MB , 2000x2300 , 35487919_p0.jpg ) [iqdb]
(X) No. His investigation was in its last stretch.

Although, in the end, he found himself too wholesome yet to tear for real.

“Well said,” he admitted, “but, pass on this side. Tonight, I’ve… business elsewhere.”

Futo took up what was, or what Mu thought must have been, the most adorable little frown to ever exercise his sister’s ample brows. This, commixed with the absence of a foot shoved someplace around his appendix, evidenced to Mu that afterglow was one female dog of a spell. An additional female dog was called to heel when he realised the frown was doing his heartrate absolutely no favours.

“Fleeing, Mu?” Futo accused from under the frown.

Mu’s cynic streak overrode his enchantment. It had to ride quite hard. “… Where?” he returned. “We sleep and eat under the same roof. Well, not roof,” he supposed. “Closer a sky… dome… bag-of-holding, pocket-realm-thing. And, well, it’s where I sleep. I’ve not seen you asleep. Or eating. It is where I eat, though. So, you know…”

Miracle above miracles, Futo entertained his fumbling with a giggle. “Fain funny, Mu,” she granted. “Albeit, yes. I do your precarity wit. Marry, I’ve it myself betimes bemoaned. Yes, you a clever case indeed draw. You me nary escape may.”

Futo needn’t to add, “And, turning out elsewise, I shall have you to Gensokyo’s horizons on wings of fiery vengeance chase,” because her brows were signing that for her all by themselves. Futo’s brows were, at times, almost their own creature. They were certainly thick enough to have their own gravity well. At least, they did for Mu.

Which might reason for his next course of action; for, rather than give his cute tutor a clonk sideways on the temple and run before she woke up, Handai Mu’s orbit skewed to drag him down once more toward her lips. Futo gave in with zest, craning up her chin to intercept the kiss. Her sole, mild protest was voiced when Mu made a momentary break for the most outspoken part of her face. Only once each of her brows had been aptly smothered with affection did the priest slide down again to give the same treatment to his sister’s tiny, graceful lips.

There were no more complaints from Futo after that. A coy purr did vibrate from her mouth when Mu sought to involve their tongues in the kiss – but not a displeased one. There was a small moan – muffled, on account of their lips then forming a tight seal – when Futo sensed one of her hands being picked up, and its fingers intertwined with his. And then, a full, arduous minute of quiet gasping and sucking, while Mu struggled to keep up with his sister’s wealth of experienced desire.

At some more length, Futo managed to quit fellating his tongue long enough to mumble his name.

Mnm… Mu?”

Her brother answered into her open mouth. “… Yeah?

“If I may nay that massage this night have,” she breathed voicelessly, “then may you it to me afterwise our shower give?”

Something below Mu’s waist-level went, “Top of the evenin’, squire!” at the thought of fingering his wonderful tutor to another orgasm. He car-jacked himself up on his free arm, to stare blearily at the small, yet shamelessly forward woman, who would corrupt him thusly.

And then, one last Sisyphean effort later, he panted, “… Gods, yes. Yes, you may, Futo.”

Futo’s answering smile all but blinded him to the mental sight of his morals trundling down his mental hill. “Mm. Heyday,” she approved, squeezing her hand around his. Somewhere behind them, the hill became even steeper. “Then, Mu, let us there. Me ahead, methinks – to undue attention avoid. Avaunt, you me there may join. Albeit, now… might I be that ‘old shirt’ bestowed? Methinks I your vigour trickling down my side can feel.”

Ablush and apace, Handai Mu slithered off of his sister’s slight, half-naked body – to root under his bed for the stack of shirts and trousers demoted to rag duty upon his investment in the coloured Taoshi robes. Futo nodded her thanks, having received the much-needed tissue stand-in; and Mu stood up himself, from the overburdened bed, feeling sheepish and wolfish, somehow both at once.

It was within the brief respite of time – wherein Mu was pulling his underwear up over his distinctly uncooperative anatomy – that a pair of thoughts managed to take presidency in the court of Inner Mu. Out of the direct sight of Futo’s nudity, the yellow-ranked priest acknowledged to himself – with no Damping or old-fashioned delusions – that saying “no” to his sister’s appeals from here on out would be as difficult as, say, borrowing Myouren-ji’s main sanctum for a hen night. Futo was fantastic. Cuter than a button, more confident than a charging tank, with legs that went on for hours and a head which understood ever and always what it was she wished from life. And, when what she wished was for a young, shaven-headed man to get naked and prod her vulnerable spots from behind, then there was precious little said young man could do stave off said hour-long legs for longer than just that.

The less attractive, second thought said this. That, in the light of the above, Handai Mu should expedite his research into youkai and their undisclosed sociability. That, once tonight was a thing of the past – and he had procured one, final confirmation – he should distil the hypothesis into a full theory, then carry it on to her whom its postulates had most unnerved. That, no later than tomorrow, Mu should fly – or, anyway, hop – back to the walled, human town… and confront his first and only friend (and love) in Gensokyo.

And then, universe willing, he would set that angsty, oversensitive redhead straight.

For the next block:
( ) Tojiko
( ) Ringo
( ) Raiko
>> No. 42092
[x] Ringo
I love the drum and the dankness tempts so hard, but I cannot -- nay, will not -- resist the call of the best bun.
>> No. 42093
File 155951838723.png - (423.65KB , 830x790 , __ringo_touhou_drawn_by_chikuwa_savi__db43e5c19c17.png ) [iqdb]
(X) Ringo
Best bun, bro bun. Ringo is chill.
>> No. 42094
(x) Raiko

Drum it up!
>> No. 42096
(x) Raiko
>> No. 42097
(x) Raiko

Miss me with those impure rabbits.
>> No. 42099
(X) Raiko

As much as I enjoy bun, I cannot resist drum
>> No. 42100
(x) Raiko

The time has come and so will I.
>> No. 42101
(X) Ringo
give bun
>> No. 42103
(X) Ringo
>> No. 42104
Why must you bun lovers deny us our Raiko? We let you guys have rabbits every now and then...
>> No. 42105
>deny us our Raiko
>Raiko winning 5-4
>> No. 42107
File 155995059150.png - (346.63KB , 800x1100 , Never ever.png ) [iqdb]

Yea I panicked a bit when I saw how powerful Bunny Brigade was becoming. My bad, it looks like everything is as it should be.
>> No. 42124
File 156062986098.png - (182.22KB , 629x890 , sekibanki_facebank.png ) [iqdb]
Aaand it’s fucked.

What is? A few things. First off, Summer kicked in over where I live and, some-bloody-how, it’s even hotter than last year’s rendition. Meaning: 1) afternoons are hell, 2) nights are the only feasible time to get anything done, 3) but I’m not getting anything done, 4) since I try to keep up on my sleep, 5) because I got a major promotion at work, 6) and hence, kind of, sort of need myself on steady feet in the morning. That’s six things already, and we’re still in the first paragraph. Wowza.

Seventhly, I think I may be slightly burned out on Parade. To make a long story slightly less long, the whole thing began as a loose opportunity for me to write from multiple characters’ perspectives, exploring their private thoughts on coexisting with humans/youkai, and a thin excuse to write a lot of porn. Somewhere along the way, though, I began to feel obliged to have at least some semblance of a plot going, and… that’s where things got a little shakey. I don’t think I’ve tackled it from the right angle, nor that I did good by giving into the call of plot in the first place. Inadvertently, I’ve turned the premise of “egg-man romps around Gensokyo, diddling youkai ladies” into more of an “egg-man tiptoes around Gensokyo, desperately trying not to diddle youkai ladies, because he has a mistaken attachment to one particular youkai lady, whom he grossly misunderstood, and also his moral compass is something out of the Discworld.” Good job, me.

Anyway, I’m not saying this is dropped or scrapped (you know I don’t really do that sort of thing), but I do need to figure out a few things in the little non-murderous free time I get. If you’ve any thoughts to offer, do go ahead. The simplest thing may nudge me in the right direction.

I’ve also been hankering something fierce after a Kutaka story. It’s ridiculous how attractive that bird is. What the hell.
>> No. 42125
Bumping because it deserves to be seen.

Most thoughts I could offer have already been conveyed elsewhere. All I'll say here is that I hope this gets going again because I enjoy reading it.
>> No. 42126

If I was you facing the same writing impasse, I would have had Banki break up with Eggman, and then taken the story into a multi-perspective dating-sim/waifu war. Keeping Banki on the backburnrs in yandere stalker mode just to add some conflict and spice.
[Return] [Entire Thread] [Last 50 posts] [Top]

[Delete or report post]
Delete post []
Report post

[Switch to Mobile Page]
Thread Watcher x