View Full Version : White Day Lemon Contest (2017) Entries

March 14th, 2017, 01:14 PM
Herein lies all the submitted fics. Voting will begin in a day or two. Each fic will have the prompt at the end, in a quote. Both the prompts and fics will remain anonymous, and it's up to the submitter's discretion to reveal themselves if they wish.

And now the main event, the Wall of Shame:
Mooncake: 1/3
naschyamamoto: 0/1
R.Lock: 0/1

If you finish your fics and turn them in later, you can get your name off this wall. It is highly encouraged that you do so.


Cerulean Ride (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626613&viewfull=1#post2626613)
The Wise Men (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626615&viewfull=1#post2626615)
Fighting Words (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626618&viewfull=1#post2626618)
Valkyrie's Pearly Tears (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626621&viewfull=1#post2626621)
Chivalry before the Fumble (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626628&viewfull=1#post2626628)
Crisis of Faith (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626630&viewfull=1#post2626630)
The Resurrection (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626634&viewfull=1#post2626634)
Passion Acknowledged (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626644&viewfull=1#post2626644)
(http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626647&viewfull=1#post2626647)Dedication: Love
(http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626649&viewfull=1#post2626649)A Bumpy Ride (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626652&viewfull=1#post2626652)
Black Onslaught III (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626656&viewfull=1#post2626656)
A Week With A Hungry Lioness And A Two-Faced Rich Girl (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626660&viewfull=1#post2626660)
To Create Happiness (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626665&viewfull=1#post2626665)
Boundary of Loneliness (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626668&viewfull=1#post2626668)
One Night at Fuyuki (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626673&viewfull=1#post2626673)
Side B (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626680&viewfull=1#post2626680)
Fairytale for King Cruel (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626684&viewfull=1#post2626684)
CROSS-PATH DOMINATION (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626689&viewfull=1#post2626689)
Indoors Squirt Duel: a ‘Cerulean Ride’ Alternative (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2626691&viewfull=1#post2626691)

Late fics:

Promises Kept (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7521-Promises-Kept-Lemon-Tsukihime)
Untitled (http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread.php/7428-White-Day-Lemon-Contest-%282017%29-Entries?p=2902753&viewfull=1#post2902753)

March 14th, 2017, 01:17 PM
Cerulean Ride

The curious singularity had been converted from a tropical prison to a pleasant paradise of island escapades. Trapped here on this uncharted island located somewhere deep in the fabled Land of Shadows at first, the solo Master of Chaldea and his Servants made the most of their time there, and turned the place from a harsh wilderness into a lovely timeshare. From building bungalows and giant statues that honor the most audaciously outspoken of the island-flippers, to even travelling to the very future of the lost land and restoring civilization to that island, even for those who sought to save the world from its fated destruction at the hands of the king of magic this has undeniably been a summer to remember.

Now, all the work is done. Both islands, present and future, are respectively developed and restored enough to be fantastic holiday getaways in their own right.

Now, one day left remains of summer.

No one can say for sure why exactly they know in their hearts that this day will be their last on either island. Not that pair of famed pirates, forever inseparable by the bond they formed in the gunsmoke on the high seas. Not the iron-fisted saint, whose divine grace was enough to tame even a dragon. Not the queen who was so admired as an idol by her countrymen. Not the two ladies of the Eastern courts, who were as lovely as much as they beloved their Master, in their own peculiar madness; nor the two knightly royal women of the British Isles, who had traded in their holy swords for more seasonal toys appropriate for that busy summertime.

…Perhaps the witch, doomed to never pass the gates of the underworld yet who met her end as all of human civilization met its in the billowing flames that used human history itself as kindling. If anyone can prophesy when exactly this not-unwelcome but utterly impromptu summer vacation shall end, using the most profound of arcane arts, she’s the most likely candidate.

Perhaps that explains her high strung, go-getter attitude during this whole adventure!

No matter. No matter who knows, or does not know, or how any of them do, it still feels like that day will be their last day, that the coming next morning that the fine men and women of Chaldea will get their act together, triangulate the positions of the lost Master and his veritable army of Servants, and leyshift the vanguard force of humanity’s only hope back into the familiar, colder halls of their home base.

TL;DR everyone is doing whatever the heck they want, making last minute summer memories. I am no exception. Feeling bushwhacked, I feel the siren’s call of the swaying hammock, the pearl nestled within the oyster that was the verdant island’s bungalow. For me, a very well deserved catnap is what my immediate future holds, and I don’t need divination magic of any type to sort that out.

I scratch my head and yawn into my palm as I enter the cozy little beach house.

I can’t ignore the letter left on my hammock so.


Hey! You! This is an invitation!
You’d better come down to the beach later. Don’t be late! Or else, I’ll–
I mean, I’ll be waiting! It’s gonna be radical!


How can I be late? There isn’t a time here.

I do not recognize the hand-writing. To be fair, I’ve not THAT familiar with the handwriting of all of my Servants. There were a few striking examples I couldn’t possibly forget, even if I wanted to. Thank you, Kiyohime, that love letter that you wrote in the sand will haunt him my nightmares.

That said, the sender of this letter is painfully obvious. Let’s go say hi to her.

The change of heart leads to a change of plans, and with message in tow I leave my seaside pad as nearly as soon as I enter it.

The grit on the stone path crunches beneath my sandals as I make my way to the vegetation line, where the island’s flora stops growing and gives way to the wide, sandy shore that serves as boundary to the sapphire sea beyond. I look left. I look right. I look at the paper again, just to check, and my lonesomeness makes me compulsively breathe out a sigh of gentle exasperation.

Are you hiding, Mordred?

“Who the hell says I’m hiding?! I’m hunting boars to kill time!” she calls from the brush.

Don’t let the tyranny get to your head just because I let you build a wrought-iron tower of doom and one of those aforementioned giant statues of yourself, respectively, on the west and east bluffs. Just because I felt sorry for you because your father chewed you out because you tried to set us up in a metal deathtrap of a would-be beach bungalow. Rightfully so, we would have been roasted in the day and been chilled to the bone come nightfall.

“I’m not terrorizing those cute, little boars! I’m just on patrol for those big nasty brohimes!” So she says, but are there any of those boar monsters still left on this island in the first place? “Just doing it while I wait for, um, you know…

With a lively hop and a skip she bounces out of the vegetation and alights upon the sandy ground, before me, Prydwen in tow. She stammers with a mite nervous grin “A-Anyway! Glad you came!” Same. I like to throw you a bone every now and now. “How did you know it was me?”

I show her the note. Who else could ‘M’ be?

“It could have been Marie! Or Mary. Or Martha. Or Tamamo – ‘Mamo!’”

The handwriting was total slapdash. Definitely Mordred handiwork.

“Ouch! Way to harsh my mellows, dude!”

Now Mordred’s talking like a surfer. Still, we’re walking on the beach together. With that bright red bikini, her sunkissed skin, and the way she balances that (artefact she’s repurposed into a) surfboard under her arm and on her hip as if it came naturally, it’s a good fit for her. It’s a good vibe, and like those white-capped waves just offshore of us it’s one definitely worth rolling with.

“Roll with it, huh?” she says as we continue to walk, erring on a pensive side that echoes of Mordred’s typical moodier self.

“Roll with it, huh?” Mordred repeats again as she comes across some empty sunbeds in the shade of some tall, swaying palm trees, plants that have drifted to the island years ago and washed onshore their new home back when they were mere coconuts. She jabs Prydwen into the sand, sits down on the beachside furniture, and pats the white-sheeted mattress beneath her. “Come on, Master! Sit with me!” Mordred catches something out of the corner of her eye and starts at the sight of the other sunbeds. In a flash of tan, crimson, and black and violet highlights she runs over to the other sunbeds, kicks them away, making them crash into the thick brush or splashdown into the water, too distant from the shore to retrieve and then bolts back as a whiplash onto the sole sunbed. “Ah man, that’s weak! It’s the only place you can sit. Bummer! Looks like we’ll have to share!” Mordred again pats the spot next to her, a little more energetically this time.

That’s…technically correct.

I play the good sport. I sit next to her. All in all, it’s a fine spot. I mean, there’s nice shade, the view of the beach and ocean from here is good, and, well, you’re not bad company either, Mordred.

“You know what would be tubular?”


“Going for one last surf!”

The waves are pretty light right now. Would that even be fun?

“I-I mean w-we could go out together!” Quickly, she further appends her request with a flustered “For a ride! On the waves!! I mean the waves!!”

I’ve never gone surfing before. I wouldn’t want to hold Mordred back or anything, just in case we get some fat swells later on. But, it’s the last day. Probably. We all might as well get spontaneous while we can.

“Spontaneous, ya say.” Pensive Mordred is back, and distant and choppy as the waves on the horizon, imperceptible from shore except to those who look. “Hey. Master. Know what I, ehhh, ain’t gone and done on the island yet, or, erm, well, ever?”

I’m all ears.

“I, um, I uh, huhhh…”

Go on.

As if she’s straining every muscle in her body, shaking under the crushing weight of reality’s brutality, with a poignantly pained determination Mordred forces out every single word like she’s torturing herself, pulling out her own guts through the act of speaking this crucial phrase. “I’ve—never had a summer romance before…”

How funny… Neither have I…

“AUGHH! CRAP! Nonono, I mean, I like you, too! Really, really, like you! AHA! Hahaha! I said it! I finally got to say it! After a summer of waiting I finally got to say it! WAHOO!!” Mordred, relieved of her tension, pumps her fists in the air over and over, like she’s trying to punch it into a bloody pulp, and lets out a war cry of primal triumph that echoes down the beach.

I can’t help myself. I clap a little bit.

“Damn, son, I feel so relieved. Hahah.

“So. Uh. Would you? And—me?”

The summer must be getting to me, too.

I stand up with her, take her hand.

Say no more.

With a sturdy tug that takes her off-balance, I pull Mordred down into my lap. The surfer-knight girl lets out a surprised squeak that I quickly muffle with a press of my lips to hers. Confusion flits about Mordred’s eyes. “Master?” her words breathlessly escape her mouth in between kisses and feel warm on my cheeks even compared to this summertime weather. “Isn’t this going fast?”

It IS the last day of summer.

Her voice – nervous but wanting. “There’s h-hella stuff to catch up on—” Mordred agrees.

And no time to do it. The way I see it we’ve done enough to get into the third date. “A-Already?! So soon?” she again asks, unbearably shy yet wanting something, anything, all the same. Well, summer romances DO by fast ANYWAY – probably so that babies conceived during those passionate dog days can be birthed in time for the bounties of spring.

“B-B-B-B-BABIES??!?? I-It’s way, way, way, way, way too soon to talk about that—!!! We’re still only on the the-third daaayte!!” Mordred’s voice breaks an octave on that climactic, crucial word as I neck her slender throat.

You’re right. It’s way too soon. Also, you’re wrong. Now we’re on the fifth or so date. Probably. Who cares? I just want you now.

I feel her pulse racing like a rabbit’s. A gentle nibble, teeth lightly scrapes the soft skin of the most vulnerable part of her body. Mordred mewls out as I do that, holding onto my shoulders for dear life. I feel like a predator, and she the prey, small and cowering and in my grasp. But, though I could devour her here and now, there is trust. There is trust between us as I mouth at my crooning erstwhile Saber, my Rider-for-the-Summer. I want to tear into her like she shreds on those waves, and I want her to feel how good I imagine it will feel to share such summer memories with someone special.

I roll the zipper of her surf jacket down, fully exposing her striking, crimson bikini top, her nipples hard and full and noticeably poking against the material, betraying her lust. “Ahh! Don’t take it off!” As I pull at the jacket Mordred desperately begs me. I start in my tracks, worried, my head suddenly clear. Have I gone too far? “Don’t take it off. N-Not all the way. Y-You gave me this jacket, so I—I want to keep it on during this.”

I pet Mordred’s head and tell her how adorable she is. I can’t help myself and again kiss her, Mordred again groaning into my mouth as I then go from patting her head to massaging one of her perfectly palm-sized breasts over a red cup of her swimsuit. My fingers quickly yearn for more, and I reach under the fabric and feel the stiffness of her tips for myself. That really makes Mordred squeal, and the trichotomy of the softness of her breasts, the firmness of her tips, and the slick sweat on her skin makes me massage her in earnest, pushing her off my lap and seating her next to me.

“Ahh… Ahhhh…” Mordred breathes hard as she lets me take the lead, feeling around on her. Then, something catches my eye. Something about the way her legs squirm as she wiggles in place, something about the way her golden thighs rubbing together lights a proper fire in me.

—Mordred. I stand up from the sunbed and call her name.

“Y-YEAUH?!?” Mordred replies in an outdoor voice, as if she’s been snapped out a hypnotic daze yet is still in a waking dream of hazelust.

Please spread your legs for a second. I want to check you for something.

“R-Right on…” As if she’s already gotten weak in the knees, Mordred puts her hands on her thighs and pries them apart, for my viewing pleasure. My knees are perfectly fine, and I get to mine, and—like some kind of rascal—put myself at eye level with the second most vulnerable part of her body.

Yep. Her swimsuit’s working as intended: being worn while wet.

Alright. That’s enough dates. We don’t even need to get to third base to make this work.

“Dude?! Wh-What???”

I feel like right about now is when we’d do IT.

“Oh. OH! Oh. Yeah, that. P-Pretty b-bogus if we stopped now.”

If you actually AREN’T ready, then—

“No! I mean, yeah! I mean, j-just fuck me, already, Master!!”

My shorts drop and hit the sand, revealing my excitement for her to see. Once again, Mordred looks surprised, but she quickly steels herself, spreads her legs wider, and pushes her swimsuit to the side, acting boldly even as a hot blush red enough to rival her swimsuit burns across her cheeks and ears. “C’mon… M-M-Make me feel it, Master. Make me f-feel what a summer romance is like.”

With hand around myself I angle into Mordred, and with the other I touch her shoulder. I kiss her as I make my entrance, and Mordred clenches my forearm as I do so. Her mouth gasps into mine, but she accommodates just fine and I slip in nicely. You really are soaked, Mordred.

“What’s the problem with that?”

Nothing. I push her down, Mordred lets me push her down, and she’s on her side as I roll into her. I move in closer, push her leg up, and her sandaled foot rests on my shoulder. Mordred clings to me tighter than a damp wetsuit as her body is rocked back and forth with mine, atop the mattress, every inch of her body stroking every inch of mine.

“More-! More, but deeper-!” Mordred tells me what she wants, loudly. I comply. Mordred gets rolled onto her belly and has her hips lifted up to mine. Her taut butt bounces briefly every time I take her from behind, every reverse thrust coming out wetter than before. Mordred buries her face into the mattress, unleashing muffled screams of embarrassment and pleasure. She shivers from delight, and in an act of no-fucks-given (even as I’m giving her as many fucks as I can) Mordred turns her head to the side and lets out a good, proper wail, making all the others from before seem like just practice. “N-NO! No more holding back, Me!! I want this! I want this! I want you!! Master! Make me feel good-!”

Mordred cutting loose has me cutting loose, too. This is so hot, in all meanings of the phrase. The island heat. The cute, sexy girl I’m with. The sweat beads on my forehead and I start to pant and the next thing I know why thoughts are as white as the sand. As the gnarliest of feels awashes my body my whitewater breaks through my tube crashes on the shore of Mordred’s secret cove. Still firmly lodged inside of Mordred, I lean over and on top of her, pressing my weight against the spunky Servant. Was it good for you too, Mordred?

“P-Pretty rad,” she says. “But I’m still excited. You’re on top of me and I just want more. Once isn’t enough once I’ve gotten a taste of summer romance, I guess…”

Want me to ride you again?

“…better idea. How about a ride instead?” Mordred asks. “With me?”

Alright, then—

“Not here! There.” Mordred points to the calm littoral waters.


“On Prydwen.” She emphasizes with nearly tangible excitement.

That’s adventurous.

“That’s SUMMER,” Mordred replies with a cheeky grin. “Alright! Come on, Master!” She pushes me off, as easily as she was always able to, reaffirming the proper dynamic of the Master/Servant relationship in terms of the physical aspect of the power dynamic. A white rope of lust connects me with her before it silently snaps in the middle, becoming just another stain on the mattress, the remnants clinging to my length and her bottom. But before my body can wax nostalgia and ache over not being in Mordred’s burning hot, tight, wet body she takes me in her hand and slowly strokes me even as she begins to walk to the shore with Prydwen under her arm. “THIS is MINE.” Mordred tells me as she does the job and we walk together. “It’s mine, for the summer.”

This must be the part of the whole summer romance thing where we get more bold and exploratory with each other. Seems as if the student has bested the teacher. We approach the light waves, and the situation makes Mordred give out a giddy giggle.

The water reaches our toes, covers our feet. Soon it’s up to our calves, and thighs. It’s warm enough that I don’t go limp, though the credit also goes to Mordred’s strokes keeping it at attention, vigilant for a round two out on the water. Once we’re far out enough Mordred mischievously splashes Prydwen into the water, getting my face wet, and she lets go of me to mount it. She scooches forward, allowing me to sit on the very back, right behind her. The waves make us bob up and down on the surfboard, and the island seems smaller and distant from here. Mordred turns her head, looks to me, and I know. I kiss her again, push her swimsuit top up with my hands, expose her breasts. I push her down onto the board, on her back, and push my hips against her in a needful manner, our lips locked and our arms wrapped around each other.

“Hold up. Hold up!” Mordred urges me. “Before it gets too crazy in here, first—Prydwen: Engage, Roll Out.” Azure circuits flash over the surface of the board for a second, and then it rotates forty-five degrees portside and begins to glide gently across the water. “My buddy’s on autopilot now. Won’t have to worry about getting frisky now.”

That’s great. You’re great, Mordred. Her grin says pride. Her eyes say “fuck me already.” In that case, how about something ELSE for adventure’s sake?

Mordred’s expression is full of enthused curiosity. “Whatcha got planned?”

I push her legs up, angling her hips to the sky, and pull her red bikini bottom down and up to hang from the middle of her thighs. I spit on my index finger and rub the loogie all over it to coating by using my thumbpad, and then stick it into her tight butthole. Let’s do this and see where this ride take us.

“H-Hey! Th-That’s my butt!”

It can also feel pretty good, here. We won’t know until we try. For the sake of the spirit of adventure. For the sake of summer thrills and spills.

“O-Okay. Fine! I-I’d never know otherwise. G-Go!” Mordred sounds like she’s pushing herself, but she also doesn’t want to give up. She wants to burn the candle on both ends and live to the fullest, at least until this summer is over.

So, the finger goes in and out her pooper. It clings to me even tighter than before. She clings to my forearm as Prydwen bobs us up and down and it makes to complete a circuit of the whole island. “A-Ahh—” lets a moan slip as I curl my finger inside her gut. I do it again. “Ahh!” Nice response. I could barely hear that one over the splashing water all around us. As such, I do her like that again, teasing her from inside her gut. “Ehh!! M-Masterr!!”

Time passes. A minute, or so of me having my way with Mordred underneath me. I pull my finger out. “Oh,” she goes. You sound lonely, Mordred. “Do I?” Yes. Have another friend. My middle finger joins with my index finger and spreads her butthole more, and the options to further tease her present themselves. One-two. One-two. Two-one. My pair of fingers roll around within her as my legs are gently dragged by the water and the wake of the board, and all the while Mordred makes noise. Nearly as much as when we had our first time on the sunbed together. What if someone on shore hears you like this, Mordred?

“D-Don’t say that, Master! I’d d-die of embarrassment!”

Don’t you worry your blonde little head over it. If I see anyone, I’ll help us keep quiet.

—Here’s a secret. My eyesight isn’t THAT good.

Two fingers become three, and three becomes four. Eventually, Mordred’s dark seacave holds its open shape, and my perennially hard rod plumbs those depths for buried treasure.

“Maaassster, that’s more than a f-few f-fingers, f-fuck!” Mordred groans out, her voice rolling on a sine, just like the gentle waves beneath the board we’re on. “I, I might go insane…” Here’s something to keep all of our fingers occupied. I lean into her, pushing her hips up into mine, letting me take her butt deeper, and interweave my fingers with hers, all of mine, with hers. Mordred’s mouth opens, and her tongue rolls out, desperate for me. Mine meets with hers, and her neck cranes to reciprocate with a deep, deep kiss. “Nn, nnn, nnnn…!” As I press into her she groans into me, as if every thrust of me in her treasurebox is converted by her slim, lewd, willing body into pleasure. Harder? “G-Good enough! J-Just like that!!” she assures me, and I remain at pace for minutes. Until I can no longer bear it.

My pace increases, wanting to bust this status quo and bust a nut. I move harder, faster, better, stronger, pushing Mordred, but she doesn’t complain. She relishes in it. “Master! Master!! MASTERRR!!!” She lets out a proper shriek as I do it, and I nearly fear-nut then and there as I reflexively look over my shoulder quick enough to give myself whiplash because I was convinced I saw flames of jealousy burn from within the island jungle. It was only paranoia, serving nothing but tricking myself and making the encounter with Mordred all the steamier.

Prydwen responds to her lust. It moves faster the harder we go. It quickly spirits us to the shore. “Master!! Masterrrr!! It’s bitchin’! More! Give me more!” As the board pulls over to the shallows I pull out of Mordred’s ass. Up, Mordred! Sit up, sit up and open up! She does so, and I stroke as hard and as fast as I can. My seed splashes on her face, coats her lips and tongue, falls onto her breasts and swimsuit. “M-Master…” Mordred goes, breathing a sigh of relief and her face aglow. “W-Way to butter my gnar…”

I guess that’s a good thing.

I take her by her hand and help her off Prydwen. She pushes it onto the shore, and washes her face with saltwater straight from the crashing waves. So? Was it good for you now, Mordred?

“Uh, y-yeah! Definitely…” Mordred replies, looking a little embarrassed but nevertheless quite happy.

Thanks for the ride.

“F-Fuck you??? I mean, y-yeah, it was fun. All of it. Definitely.” She shrugs, still smiling a dopey smile. “S-Sorry, still new to this, this THING.”

A summer romance?

“Exactly!” Mordred walks some up the path, to the seaside cottage. “H-Hey?” she asks.

Hey, what?

“Does a… does a summer romance gotta end… when summer ends?”

Well, if it doesn’t, it’s not a summer romance.

“Huhhh. I guess…”

Summer is more than a season. It’s a state of mind, and Mordred certainly radiates it like a sun. With her, it might as well never stop.

Worse things have happened.

Its the end of the FGO Beach Event, and after running themselves ragged managing the thing and making sure everything worked out, Gudao/Gudako (whichever the writer prefers) decides to spend the final day of the singularity relaxing and unwinding from all the stress when they get an invitation for a sunset beach date by one of the Event Servants [Mordred/Kiyohime/Tamamo/Scathach/Mary&Anne/Artoria/Antoinette] (Pick 1) that has all the ingredients for an unforgettable summer memory.

March 14th, 2017, 01:20 PM
"A rare stone stands out in a limestone quarry.
Tracing a ritual circle across land and ocean.
Cross it again, leave behind the Americas.
Your next Master waits along the Ganges."

It's delightful!

The letter shakes in my hands. I have perused this paper more times than I dare to mention, yet each glimpse of this handful of words is enough to make me shiver. How can I not, knowing that with each passing moment I come closer to the truth? Is there truly nothing more pure than the bliss of self-betterment?

"Oh, my apologies," I murmur.

The older man turns away and buries his frown into a newspaper. He must have disapproved of my audible giddiness. Trains are convenient transport through the civilized parts of Indian subcontinent, but they necessitate too-close proximity to the common folk for those unwilling to pay for outrageously expensive private cabins. To that idea I give no quarter: instincts of aristocracy are merely earthly chains meant to lead me astray! My inexplicable shortage of funds is in fact a stroke of luck. This man and those surrounding him may be dirty, yes, smelly, of course, and most certainly ill and uneducated, but so too am I compared to the great Masters. When I look at this man, I see perspective.

He seems much like Morya, too. A deep-sloped forehead, with sunken dark eyes and a beard that has a life of its own. They say appearances can be deceiving. Is he perhaps a wise man wearing the guise of a lowborn worker?

He glances back after a minute, and upon meeting my eyes his mouth cracks open into a toothless grin. His eyes don't linger; much like my journey they travel down, pause, and drag their gaze back up until we lock once more. In his gaze there is no wisdom. Only lust and laughter.

I drag back the flimsy curtain separating us. Even a Magus can err. He's no more than a regular lecher.

But I push aside those thoughts. The trip is long, noise, and over all too quickly thanks to a handful of meditation techniques I learned from the Sioux.

When the train stops and leaves me with nothing but my suitcase and the clothes on my back, I am greeted by heat and sun and the all-too-distinctive smell of an Indian city trapped between rural squalor and forced urbanization. Shacks sit next to European architecture. Wandering cows share space with horse-drawn carriages. Streets are littered with everything that could conceivably be abandoned. The people are even smellier and dirtier than the man aboard the train. They stumble past shiny new buildings and fixtures, bewildered at the progress being shoved into their lives.

Donning a nose clip, I venture forth into that mess.

The search is a blur. This place is big – too big – and I barely speak the language. Nonetheless, I secure myself a meagre lodging at a local inn. It will have to do until I make contact with the Master and learn from him my next destination. No one ever said enlightenment was easy.

The summer heat beats down on me as I continue to search. The sun rises, proclaiming it to be mid-day, and it is then that I know I cannot bear the heat. I cast off the flimsy coat I normally wear to hide my distinguished appearance from the world, and continue with my shoulders and upper back bare. It does enough against heat stroke to justify itself, if only barely. But the stares begin soon after.

As I trudge through the muddy streets, I feel them on me. A gang of dark-skinned children, hooting and jumping like monkeys. A tanned old man on every street corner. Moslem women covered in heavy cloth, casting disapproving glares my way. Their gazes trace their way across my too-pale skin, carving invisible patterns into me.

Ignore it. Ignore it! There are more important things. The river – where is it?

No choice. Have to ask a local.

I stop where I stand and accost the nearest man: a tall, turbaned fellow whose strong back and intact clothes speak of a middle-class life style at worst.

“Ganges?” I ask, emphasizing the question with a cute smile.

He frowns, shows teeth as he draws back his lips. Muttering some sort of prayer or obscenity, he jabs a finger past my shoulder. I've been walking away from it this whole time.

The walk back would be enough to put blisters on my feet, were I not a fledgeling Magus. But it does expose me to the now-setting sun. If I'm not careful, I'll burn. The path goes from paved road to mud to flattened earth, and finally stone as I near the busier part of town. The sound of water splashing is unmistakeable, as is the fresh air that sprays the muggy heat away. It is evening now, and cooler for it. Pushing through a crowd of rag-wearing beggars, I come face to face with a strip of water that brings to mind the Everglades.

This lazy green line snakes through the centre of this country, or so I am told. The locals view it as both a practical boon – they bathe and wash their clothes in it – and some sort of religious or cultural symbol. I don't much care for the thing. More pressing is my contact. The Masters work in mysterious ways, but they've been consistent in their communiques. One should be nearby.

That knowledge, however, does nothing to alleviate the problem of “nearby” including several miles of riverbank and thousands of people parked on said bank. Old, young, but above all numerous. How am I to find a specific someone in this mess? Is this a test meant to ascertain my skill, or have I been duped?

It must be the former. If I am expected to perform, then I shall oblige!

Finding a clear spot on the riverbank beside a family of ten and a pair of bickering old ladies, I close my eyes, bend down, and touch the tip of my finger to the surface of the water. The resulting ripple spreads slowly outwards, forming outlines of people in my mind's eye. They are all pale and washed out, mere stirrings in the darkness, until-.

There. A faint cluster of lights in the darkness, further along the bank. Two, five, nearly a dozen magi. It's a start. Let's scan a bit further.

Something suddenly shoves against my butt and I'm pushed forward. The spell is lost and for a moment I flail, undignified, as I attempt to maintain balance and not careen into the river. Too close, too far, I won't make it!

But a pair of strong arms grab my hips and pull me back. I fall backwards against a rail-thin chest, breathing heavily.

“Zinda?” A voice creaks. I know not the language. He holds me stead against him as I catch my breath.

“Oh, my thanks...” My attempt to turn and offer gratitude is halted by the firm grip he holds on my hips. From the corner of my eyes I see another old man, this one shirtless and lacking any traces of a beard, with only a few wispy hairs atop his head. “You can let go now.”

He doesn't. In fact, he laughs and grinds his hips against mine, making me aware of the rigid protrusion poking at my buttocks.


A noblewoman is defenceless alone. A Magus is never in danger. A subtle spell shocks the senile savage away from me, and he runs off screeching, blowing at his flaming fingers. Disgusting. My excitement for this country has already been tempered. What sort of Mahatma could be found among these savages? They chatter as I stomp through their ranks, laughing at my plight.

Swallow your pride, Helena. A rare stone stands out in a limestone quarry. I won't be led astray by just this much.

The group of mages is nearby, so I hurry to their location. They look no different from the rest of the populace, save for the old book that's being passed around their number as they sit cross-legged in a semicircle by the shore. Literacy, at least, is a step up from nothing.

“Excuse me,” I venture as I step towards the circle. “Is the Master here?”

As one they turn their gazes to me. Their eyes are sharp; I see no trace of senility or buffoonery.

A younger one, mid-forties I'll assume, speaks up, resting one flabby arm on his knee. “No Master here,” he says in halting English. “All are equal.”

What? Was I mistaken, or-?

An older one laughs. “Girl. Name. You are raised well, yes?”

“Ah, um. Madame Helena Blavatsky, pleased to make your acquaintance!”

“So you're that girl?” The oldest among them rubs his bare chin and peers at me through cataract-filled eyes. His English is nearly as good as mine. He looks a bit familiar, but... no, that's not possible. It had to have been someone else. “We waited. Our Master said you would come-.”

“So there's really one here? A Mahatma!?”

The circle goes silent. The men exchange glances. Was I improper? I can't hold back my anxiety. I'm so close!

But the oldest grins and beckons me into the circle. “We know how to reach him. The location is in twelve words, split amongst us and hidden here.” He brandishes the book. “Those words are yours.”

I step inside. “Thank you!”

“...for a price.”

The world stops turning for a moment. I got ahead of myself. This was to be expected. “A test, then? Individual, or a collective one? Shall I demonstrate my abilities? My knowledge of Theosophy?” A flourish is in order. We do not speak with our mouths, but with our bodies.

“Twelve nights,” he explains. “Twelve tests. Tonight, accompany Ojas.” The youngest, baring his muscle-bound chest, grins and waves.

Oh. So at least two weeks, assuming each test is over in one night. I wouldn't like to stay in this country for that long, but at least these Magi seem decent enough.

“Pleased to meet you!” A twirl and a bow, just as I was taught.

The man nods and mumbles a greeting in accented but still clear English. Unkempt and clad in rags like all the rest he may be, but he's an easier sight on the eyes than Niki ever was. Perhaps I'll ask this Ojas fellow about a cleaner district.

“Meet us here again tomorrow evening,” is the old man's parting message. Ojas leads me away from the circle. The gazes of eleven wise men continue to prod at my back for minutes afterwards.

“A price,” he says suddenly, and stops. The sun is an off-putting orange now, sinking into the ramshackle huts that have surrounded us. “Can you pay it?” The man folds his arms and looks me over with what I must assume is a critical eye.

“Much like yours, my appearance is a veil,” I assure him. “My mastery of magics may be incomplete, but I'll give it my all.”

He chuckles at that. “So you are penniless.”


“My home is here. The test will be one of character.”

The hut has a floor. A floor of reed mats that might've been imported from Japan, but it's better than mud. It also has a door that could be knocked over by a stiff breeze, and more gaps in the walls than I can count. And past the floor, not much else. The sole remaining light comes from the setting sun and a weak candle he lights off to one side. After that he beckons me to take off my shoes and sit before him.

We cross our legs, sit, and he closes his eyes.

“Do not move until I allow it.”

And then, nothing more. I follow his lead, and soon enter one of the basic trances.

I am empty. But, that emptiness is full. Full of insubstantial things. Insubstantial things that make up myself. Myself that exists as memories. Memories coloured by perception. Perception influenced by thought. Thought that creates I.



I... feel something, tickling the tip of my nose. A fly? A feather? But I sensed no such thing.

Then again, it touches my chin. My neck. Right shoulder. Left. Light presses, lasting only moments. Is this his test? To see if I can maintain my thoughts in the face of outside stimulus? It's a shame, Ojas, that you picked something so basic, but your wish is my command!

I remain myself. Myself remains I, in the face of a slowly building series of distractions. The difficulty level ramps up quickly as he moves along my arms and even flicks one of my bare toes. After a minute a hand grabs at my hair, caresses the back of my neck for a moment, and then pulls sharply back.

Had I not been prepared, my neck might've broken. But my body is loose, pliable. This trance is one that lets the user endure everything. I fall like a cadaver to the floor, arms and legs splayed out.

With eyes shut, the other senses sharpen. I hear the mats creaking as he stands, paces around, and kneels beside my head. He pinches my cheek, and then slightly slaps it. The sting to my pride is only slight, however; Morya did much the same.

Then his hand goes to my neck and presses down, shutting off air flow. This one's new. For a brief moment the semi-enlightened existence that I have become considers panic, but dismisses the notion. My body does not shudder even as its cells cry out for air. After Ojas sees that I won't break from a little threat like that, he moves even further down, brushing over bare shoulders until he reaches my corset. He hooks several fingers under and pulls it right down, baring my bosom to the world.

Okay. Forget enlightenment. This is the worst. It's embarrassing. It's so embarrassing! Stop, please! I've never even-!

Oops. Nearly slipped there. Hopefully he'll think this blush is a physical reaction and not fail me for it. I underestimated you, Ojas. Here I thought you were going easy on me, but this is certainly an interesting test. Very well, then! I'll surpass my shame as well! Stare as much as you'd like!

He certainly does. Even before his hands close around my breasts he is motionless for a full minute, either out of kindness or to test my composure. But when he touches, he touches me in a way no man ever has. At first hesitant, like a child, and then firm as he should be, flicking at my nipples to see them swell. And then he is an old man – that dirty beggar from before – closing his mouth around one and biting gently, caressing with tongue and teeth as I fight against myself to be still.

It takes everything I have, but he does back off. I've often been told that my body lacks volume, and never have I been gladder for it. My breasts remain bared as he moves still further down. Don't tell me... that place will be next? The secret place that I, Helena Blavatsky, have not even shown to the man I nearly married?

It is. He unbuckles my belt, pulls the dress down the rest of the way, and slides it down my legs, revealing not only my belly but my drawers as well. The frilly ones. There is a muffled thump at the opposite corner of the room: my clothes landing, no doubt. I am nearly naked on this itchy, uncomfortable mat floor, before a total stranger.

I know what will come next, and nearly every fibre of my being implores me to open my eyes right this second, to stop this madman and recover my dignity.

And yet the moral fibre, the one that has dragged my along this far in a quest for true wisdom, denies that selfishness with impunity. I am a prodigy. A cut above the rest. I'll bare my body before I bare my soul!

He bares it, then. The secret place. That man I've known for all of an hour pulls down my panties and leaves them hanging from one foot. He shuffles about in some way and pulls me forward and up by the hips, as if to get a better look. One hand caresses a thigh and the other...

The other goes low, lower, and I feel a thick and rough finger dragging itself through the space between my buttocks, travelling north. It touches my backside and I almost break there, but it ghosts past and slides further up, up, reaching my folds, inching between them, spreading me apart-!

“Hm.” He grunts. A noise, after so much silence. The finger retreats, slick with what I hope is merely sweat from the heat of the night.

Thank goodness... if he'd gone further, my resolve might have broken.

“Oh.” With a sound of triumph he shifts, hooking his hands below my knees and lifting up my hips. It's rather uncomfortable, more-so as he spreads my legs apart, but what does he plan on doing with this-?


What is – this?

It burns. Something slices past skin, burrowing into my guts. A heated knife? Has he betrayed me?

I abandon the trance and open my eyes, only to wish I'd kept them closed. The sun has set and only candle-light illustrates the scene. He sits there, on his knees, holding me close to where our bodies have become one. As he meets my gaze, he offers the same grin he gave me on the bank so long ago.

A heartbeat later the pain quarters itself and I can choke out a croak of disbelief. “What-!?”

He bucks his hips and that thing shifts inside me, tearing me apart from the inside. It hurts. It hurts even more now that I've abandoned my composure. It's hot and dry and it hurts so much!

“You fail,” he says calmly. “But this cunt passes.”

“Ow-ow-ow-!” He punctuates his words with thrusts. Each one drives deeper and burns harder. Stop this, Helena! Compose yourself!

But there is no composure to be found. It's a mess. My mind's – “Ah!” – as messed up as that river. There's no strength in my limbs. The trance – I broke it too abruptly.

He shifts back and pulls it out. It hurts almost as much as it did entering. I can just barely catch a shiny glint of red on his thing before he tightens his hands and pulls me forward, slamming us together and relighting the dying flames.

The mat isn't just uncomfortable anymore; it tears into me. Straw comes loose and burrows into skin that hasn't known a day of hard work as he pushes and pulls and I try and fail to do anything about it.

Words are the first to return. A primal screech vomits forth from my throat, but is silenced when he dives forward, bottoming out as he thrusts his sweaty hand into my mouth, choking me from both sides.

“Shut your mouth, woman,” he spits, finally irritated. “This is the price and you will pay it. There is no backing out on the road to knowledge.”

I refuse! Unhand me, you abhorrent creature! I'm a lady! A scholar, a Magus! Not some dilettante you can string around!

“Grck,” is the closest I can come to proper speech. There is strength in my limbs now, but only enough to flail without focus.

His weight is on me. One of his hands is in my mouth, the other bracing against the mat, and his hips and knees do the rest of the work. He drags out my insides and pushes them back in, tearing me just a bit more each time. Only now do I realize that it's too big, and I too small and dainty. That thing doesn't fit, you fool! You'll break me in half!

He doesn't. The brute saws back and forth, sliding me across the ground with the weight of his body, bleeding me inside and out. His hand retreats from my throat but keeps hold of my jaw, welding it shut so I cannot so much as plead for mercy. He's rough and quick and desperate, but I don't break. I'm not going to break from this, and I'll keep repeating it for as long as it takes.

A bit more. Just a bit more. It's getting easier now. Each thrust is a bit smoother. My fingers are moving. In a minute I'll be able to Project a dagger and shove it in his throat.

But it doesn't even take a minute. He abruptly stops in in the middle of a thrust, and I can feel him shudder through our skin-ship. He lets out a low, satisfied groan, and a different sort of warmth invades me.

No. No, no, no, nonononono no!

He rises. Leans back. Pulls out and clambers to his feet, slipping out like a captured fish jumping through a gap in a child's fingers. Grabs his thing with and shakes it as I struggle to stand. Drops of something land on my stomach, marring it with white.

“See? When you shut up, it goes by faster.” The aggression from before has faded. He speaks as if we just had lunch rather than whatever that was. “You're a pretty worthless Magus, not even knowing something as simple as a prana exchange ritual. But I haven't had someone that small and tight in a while, so I'll just say you made it.”

Erm, what? It takes all I have just to get to my feet, but he must've seen the bewilderment on my face, for he laughs heartily. “Yeah, I'm a simple guy. That's all of it. Here's your prize.” He shuffles over to the corner, comes back, and presses my discarded clothes into my arms. Then he shoves himself into my chest, catches my chin, and kisses me, hard and wet and with more tongue than I'd like. While our mouths are linked he sneaks a hand down and I'm reminded of pain as he pierces me with his fingers, dipping into my abused honeypot for one last taste.

He breaks the kiss. “Now get the fuck out. I'll see you again tomorrow.”

I'm pushed along, still unable to collect myself, and in no time at all I find myself standing naked outside his house, feeling the cool mud squishing between my bare feet and the something oozing from my crotch. The moon is out, illuminating the surrounding huts and my dirtied body in white.

They're staring at me. I can neither prove nor perceive it, but I know as certainly as I knew my destiny back then, that I'm being observed. They're watching, laughing, using my body as masturbatory fuel.

Go home, Helena. Go, or stay here and feed yourself to the wolves.

The mud-soaked underwear comes on, and then the strangely ill-fitting corset I now despise. My shoes disappeared somewhere, but it doesn't matter. I feel strange. Disconnected, as if he broke more than my hymen. When I shift my legs I swear I can hear something crackling and crunching down there. Broken bones grinding against each other. Broken promises. Broken pride.

I walk to the room I rented. It takes hours, and I cannot recall how I safely navigated these strange streets. Nobody bothers me at the front desk. I trudge up to my room, open the door, fumbling with the key all the while, and drop dead in bed.

Darkness comes quickly and goes much the same way.

The next day I wake to pain across my back, but mostly concentrated in my crotch. The thin mattress is covered in sweat and mud, as am I. Shower. No shower. This is a poor country. Then, a bucket of water and some privacy.

I make do, somehow. A whispered word of hypnosis here and there and I make it to a walled-in courtyard with a well and a bucket and some privacy, and it is there that I do my best to wash myself off with trembling fingers.

It does not take long. I am a lady, after all. More than that, I seek the secrets of the cosmos. This event will surely make sense when I examine it from a fresh perspective. It must.

That perspective comes as I move to clean my privates, having saved them for last. As I feel around, I hear the crunching once more, accompanied by a razor-sharp pain. Did he truly do damage, as I fear?

No. It's actually much simpler. He left me a message, and instead of handing it over like a sane human being this Ojas decided I had a spare pocket to use. It comes out slowly and painfully, and I am left to behold a crumpled piece of paper caked in blood and semen, displaying proudly... a few squiggly lines.

Is it wrong? That in this instant, my confusion and anxiety are swept away by joy? That I suddenly don't much mind last night's ordeal, now that I've gotten my hands on this? That I know in my heart this knowledge was worth every last tear?

I'll ponder that question another time. For now, the books! These lines are familiar. They are the words of the Lemurians! So that bastard told the truth!

I've no choice. I have to go back. No matter what they do to me, it will have been worth it if I can get more of this. A night of agony is a small price to pay for wisdom.

These wounds on my back? In my womb and my heart? Easily healed! A moment of concentration and magecraft washes it all away. I am returned, and I won't be chased away!

“I didn't think you'd come,” admits the old man as we meet under the blazing sun once more. His companions apprehend me with a mixture of respect and curiosity, and Ojas with irritation. He doesn't even dare to meet my eyes, the snake. The book from yesterday is gone; now they pass around a canteen of some strange liquid and take turns sipping from it.

“It was an easy test,” I tell him. “Even a mundane without an ounce of self-respect could have passed.”

The old man chuckles. “Self-respect, eh? Fine. I see you dislike this country. Then, we'll speed things up. Surely you can handle three at once?”

He holds out the canteen.


Three men stand. One is short and fat, one is tall and skinny, and the last reminds me a bit of my father. None seem as mean-spirited as the rotten Ojas, but if their tests are similar to his, I should back out.

No. I can't do that. He's still here, watching, waiting for me to slip. Last night I merely needed to lay down and spread my legs. This can't be much more difficult. If anything it'll just take longer. I can go into the trance again, let them do as they wish, and clean myself off after.

I grab the offered drink and take a gulp. It tastes much like alchemical alcohol, and I very nearly cough it back up. The heat sits in my stomach as I pass it back and wipe my lips.

“Not a problem.”

He nods. “Don't regret it now.”

I don't regret it.

This hut is nearly identical (or is it actually the same) as the last. The walls couldn't be thinner without being made of sheet metal and prayers. I can hear children playing and yelling outside, and with the air circulation as poor as it is, I can smell that at least one of these three has not washed for some time despite spending his free time near a riverbank.

I... don't... regret it...

The fat one steps forward. “I am Major,” he proclaims in broken English.

“President,” says the tall one.

The last steps forward and rubs his beard. “Pope.”

“Whatever you say...”

They start disrobing without a word. Of course. This is what I half-expected. Now that I'm free to move around it takes effort not to avert my eyes from their crotches. They seem to be unashamed of displaying their indecent arousal so casually, both to me and each other.

I can't help it. I cover my eyes with my fingers and peek out as much as I dare.

They laugh and my cheeks burn. It's so wrong... I'm supposed to be a lady, a philosopher and mystic, and yet in this moment I'm nothing more than a woman alone with three men, about to ply the oldest trade in history.

This tall one... President steps forward and thrusts his hips in my general direction. When my eyes inevitably look at it, they find... a rather average thing. Or at least, what I'd think average is. It doesn't look as big as the other one I've seen, and there aren't any strange growths on it, so...

He points to his wide open, toothless mouth, then to me, and then down. What is he saying? He can speak, can't he? Sign language is one of the few I don't speak, and I make it abundantly clear to him.

He frowns and then beckons me to come forward. With trepidation, I do. Is he going to ask me to take my clothes off?

He doesn't. He just puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down, onto my knees. I come face to face with his... willy. It's actually quite disgusting, now that I look at it. Like some strange brown mole rat, with hair only at the back and a droopy face.

He bucks his hips and brings his hand forward. In an instant the loose skin is pulled back and I see a shiny head slick with shiny fluid and... oh dear. I can't. It's – the smell.

The gag gets pushed down. It smells like bad cheese, and I can see said cheese caked on the back of that engorged organ. Does he never wash? Did he let this mess sit there and ferment for weeks? Where did it even come from!?

“Clean,” says his voice, cackling with glee. I look up. He's pointing at his stuck-out tongue. Surely he doesn't mean...?

He makes a lewd slurping noise. That's exactly what he means.

I... I can't do this. No way. It's one thing to shut myself off and rent out my body, but this would be like drinking sewage. Even de Sade wouldn't have gone this far!

Two strong of arms grab my elbows, and one presses on the small of my back, pushing me forward. “Taste,” says one voice to my left. “Swallow,” says another.

Before I can say a word in response, fingers close around my chin and yank my jaw open, leaving my tongue to flop out with nowhere else to go. The meat approaches.

“Don't bite.”

It doesn't go in all at once. He guides it with his hand at first, and when the my tip touches his I taste salt and sweat and something indescribably sour, enough-so that the instinctive recoil it brings nearly frees me from my shackles. But they double down, tightening their grip as President rears back and thrusts forward.

This time it hits and slides along my tongue, and I feel it every step of the way. The taste is indescribably awful and I do gag this time, mostly because he comes to a stop at the back of my throat, hitting against that strange spot that always provokes retching.


I... I, Helena Blavatsky, Magus and Theosopher... have a penis in my mouth. A smelly, old Indian man's unwashed dick.

I want to die. Instead, I get to experience another version of hell. The hand at my back is replaced by a knee, and numerous fingers hook open my cheeks and chin for their friend to use as he sees fit. And he most certainly does, guiding his organ around the cavity that is my mouth, rubbing it against anything and everything and leaving his slime trail there like an overgrown slug. It oozes stink, stink that travels up through the back of my mouth and impregnates my nose, overpowering everything else.

But that's not all. He pokes and prods and marks his territory as I sit there and whimper, but he's not satisfied with just that. “Lick,” commands the President, and as his citizen, I have no choice but to obey.

It's not difficult to move my tongue. What's difficult is running it over that too-smooth surface and feeling a fresh wave of nausea radiate from my stomach. What's difficult is forcing myself to investigate every surface, even after running into patches of gooey something that I dare not push. What's truly difficult is realizing that there's nothing left and he won't let me go until I've cleaned his member with my tongue.

I recall a day when I was but a child, when I asked for a bottle of cooled milk from a maid. It was a hot day, too hot in fact, and I needed to cool down. She brought me a bottle and I left it on my desk in the sunlight, intending on getting to it after I'd finished a passage in a book I'd been reading at the time. I finally closed its covers hours later and realized the milk was still there on the desk, untouched, so I decided to down it all in one go.

It wasn't the foul, wrong taste that got me. It was how my body instinctively rejected it faster than I could think. I ended up evacuating my stomach over the desk and ruining the dress mother had bought for my birthday. I was sick for the next three days, and for each of those days the taste stayed in my mouth, despite me washing it out a hundred times and rubbing my tongue raw. In the end I purposefully drank boiling water to fry my taste buds, because fire was preferable to death.

This reminds me of that time, except it is slower, and I'm not drinking that milk. I'm digging it out of crevices, rolling it around, letting it dissolve on my tongue like a drug. I'm licking clean the places from which I excavated it and scooping up any left-over traces like an overeager maid. I'm savouring it because I think I want to die, and this is the fastest way to end my suffering.

The smell is in my mind. My brain is turning into blue cheese.

Ears are ringing. Some people are talking far above me, but I can't understand them. Not gods, but creatures not of this world. They're coming to an agreement. I can do better, they say. They want me to succeed.

The hands leave my lips, letting them snap into place around the world's most rancid sausage. I exhale, blowing hot air onto it, and as I take a breath full of evaporated sweat a hand grabs the back of my head by the hair and pushes me forward, impaling me on it like Arthur slaying Mordred at Camlann.

The good news is his pubic hair cushions my fall forward. The bad news is my throat wasn't made to take dick. It's like choking in reverse and I don't understand how to deal with it. Something is stuck but I can't get it in or out. My tongue tastes the beginnings of a hairy sack. The wordless protests I could voice come out as “Glurk” and “Argh” and as I suffocate on man meat the President sighs and releases something down my esophagus.

Stop. Stop. Let me go, you idiots. Let me... go... need to... trance...

Whatever released comes back up and explodes, dousing everything in stomach acid. He swears. I choke. It comes back down the wrong hole and then I really choke, coughing and sputtering as I fall backwards. The voices are yelling again and I'm inhaling fire and after an eternity I open wide and take a deep, cool breath that goes all the way to my brain and dissolves reality into fragmented fractals.

Ah, they're still talking. Just wait, ascended ones. I'll be there... in a minute...

They notice me. They reach and I try to raise my hand and it doesn't move properly. So they reach further. One takes my legs and the other hooks under my arms. They lift and the floor falls.

Someone unzips my restricting corset. I can breathe, and do so. They slip off every article of clothing one by one, leaving only my stockings. I'm damn near naked. The breeze flows through me, whispering of arcane secrets from ten thousand years ago.

They try to reorient me, to put me on my feet, but I feel sick and my stomach explodes again. It comes up and the short one sees the future quickly enough to clamp my mouth shut. It doesn't fly out; some drips from my nose but the rest stays and burns and after a few seconds I swallow it down with some difficulty.

I can't see them. Everything is shades of white: pearl and alabaster and ivory and marble. But the one holding up my elbows lifts me from the unsteady ground again, and the other embraces me fully, warmth blowing away the darkness.

Then the one holding me lets go and I drop, and something slick and wet slides into me.

It fits perfectly. Lock and key. Like a poem and a rose. Like-!

There's a sharp crack and a sudden sting on my cheek. I blink and the cacophony of light fades away, bringing reality into relief. President glares at me past the brown shoulder on which my chin rests, and he spits on the ground as he realizes I'm up. “Gross,” he growls. “But pass. For me.”

“Ah-oh. Tha-a-a-!”

My ride bucks, his hands squeeze, and the penis I'd completely forgotten about shifts inside me. I can feel it in clear detail as it rubs against my walls, marking its presence much like the other sprayed inside my mouth. Except I can only taste it in sparks and lights that make themselves known as a wave shooting from head to toe.

“Good!” crows the short, fat man holding me up. “Good pussy!” He squeezes my ass and bounces me like a sick baby, and I can't find the strength to push myself off.

Our chests are pressed together, swapping sweat as his seed slips into my slit. He may be short but I am even smaller, not even half his size, and with his hands wrapped around me it's as if I'm sinking into his folds. The thought is abhorrent, of course, but after having to eat a dick I can't say it's topping the list.

“Move!” he whispers into my ear. “Squeeze!”

Squeeze? I can do that?

I try. I can feel some unused muscles pulling tight on something, and the sensation of fullness doubles. It doesn't hurt. It just feels... right. Each time he pulls me up and drops me on his dick it's as if something clicks into place for just a moment, and I become something else.

“She likes it!” The last one, the quiet one, yells it for all the neighbourhood to hear.

I... like it? Is that what this feeling is? Is this unbearable friction, this strange electricity, the tickling feeling of something sensitive being stimulated... pleasure?

He says something I don't understand. A name? And then: “Now.”

“Yes,” says the fat one, the pig making me want to oink. “Now.”

He shifts me back, pulling me away from him. The face of the man making me feel this way is the kind only a mother could love, if drunk. But he grins and passes me off to the thin man, shifting his hands to my legs. He grabs my burning thighs and lifts, and something nestles into the furrow of my rear end.

“What... are you...?”

There's nothing back there, silly. I've only got one usable hole. Don't worry, just wait your turn. I'll get to you after mister pig god over here is done with his meal...

He doesn't hear me. He's not an ancient, after all. He's just a man with a hard-on, desperate to stick it in some hole.

Even if that hole is exit only.

It was strangely pleasant for a bit. No longer. The pure white lightning is washed away by a feeling that can only be described as “beginning to relieve myself and then deciding to go back halfway”. It forces its way up to where it doesn't belong like a bludgeon and I can only groan as it spreads me wide. Entrance doesn't come easily. I feel his thumbs on either side, spreading my back door apart to allow easier entrance. This isn't like the first night; rather than pain, there's an uncomfortable bloating that makes it impossible to enjoy myself – not that I was enjoying anything at all!

Alone it would've been a pain. But this, with both at once, is just a mess. I can't think straight.

They pass me back and forth like an object, lifting and dropping and thrusting with no rhythm between them except for that of the universe itself. There's no rhyme or reason, and trying to keep up with the sensations sends my head swirling. Is this good? Is it bad? Am I being pulled in two directions? Are these swords duelling in the arena that is my body? Will they break me apart?

“A-ah, please, sto-o-o-!”

“Squeeze!” roars the fat man into my ear from the left, and jams one free thumb against my clitoris, momentarily drowning out the pain with bliss.

“Tighter!” yells the tall one from the right, and shoves to the left and right, rearranging my guts with his fuck-stick. Back there, he has none of the natural lubricant of my front. I don't feel that intoxicating sensation of skin on skin, just an uncomfortable intrusion. He makes up for it with effort, pulling to and fro, shaking his hips and mine and the world in tandem.

I try again. I can't feel if it works – everything's numb down south – but they grunt in tandem so it must be good. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and the heated breaths surrounding me are undeniable proof.

“Again!” one says, and I try once more.

He gives me a groan of approval and I know victory is mine. This is it. This is me passing. I have them now. Just a home stretch. Let them carry me, let them use me, let me use them in turn. If winning feels this good, I can't be doing something wrong.

The one in my backside is the first to stiffen, stopping like a broken machine. His grip tightens and he digs fingernails into flesh as he groans and releases into my ass. I can't very well feel it, but it must have happened.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into my ear. “You are a good hole.”

A hole. I'm nothing but a hole to these people. Not a Magus, not a devotee or a seeker of truth, but a hole too sink their dicks into. Any girl would do, but they desire someone foreign and foolish to plant their filthy seed in.

The one in front, as if triggered by that thought, stiffens as well, thrusting all the way up inside me. He pulls back a bit and I see the twitches in his fat face as he gives himself up to orgasm. I want to give into the nausea and puke all over him, but I don't. I can't.

As quickly as it began it stops. We stand there for a moment, or rather they stand and I dangle like a puppet with no strings, listening to their quickened breaths. I expect they'll soften soon, and my job will be complete.

My expectations are denied.

“Switch,” says someone off to the side. I tilt my head and see President stroking himself again, eyes on my ass.

The one in front grunts in the affirmative and steps back, sliding out of me along with a stream of white. Looking down, I can see that I'm a raw red after this abuse, but I can't feel any pain at all. Only an emptiness that needs to be filled.

Was that drink drugged? Is that why when President switches places with his friend, aligns himself, and sheathes into a pussy that can offer no resistance, I only feel a slight stirring of shame and pleasure? Is that why I do nothing to protest, why I remain a ragdoll and surrender myself to their whims? Is that why, when my wandering eyes spot a dozen more peeking in through the holes in the thin walls, I say nothing and instead offer them a wan smile?

That must be it.

I don't know how long it lasts. I know that I feel each member in every hole, and that I come to recognize them by touch. One is short and fat and energetic, and it's my favourite, scraping against my walls in such a way that I'm very nearly – but not quite – brought to a climax of my own. But they don't go the distance to bring me over that edge. Any pleasure I feel must be incidental, for they care only about themselves. I'd speak up to ask for better treatment, but I forgot how to speak after the first few rounds.

At some point, when the candle has melted nearly to its base and the room houses more shadows than light, I find myself one the ground again, my thighs sticky with cum and my muscles stiff. I barely did any work, but my hips ache from exertion of muscles that have never been properly exercised. All three of the men stand in a semicircle around me, keeping themselves hard with some sanguine stroking.

“Pass,” breathes the short one.

“Pass.” The fat one agrees.

“Pass.” President has made his decision.

In unison they take aim and fire. I could have lifted my arms to block the shots directed at me, but there is no point to it. I close my eyes and feel the streaks appear. Most land around my mouth, lips, and nose, making known the strange odour I've come to recognize. Is my face worth the most points?

“Go,” they say, as I'm pulled to my feet and given some cloth with which to wipe myself. “Tomorrow, the rest.”

“...very well.” The rag does the job of getting most of it off, so that I can at least open my eyes. When I do, I'm face to face with my now cum-stained panties.

This is fine. I pull them on. They don't add much to my sore, leaking crotch, but at least abate the flood. The clothes are next, and will surely stain from having to cover up my defiled body. That too, is fine. Each of the three men gives me a sloppy kiss and presses a paper into my hand. I can still taste acid and ejaculate, but my stomach has given up its fight and meekly accepts the circumstances.

When I am thrown outside, I am brought face to face with a gaggle of young boys that scatter as soon as they are spotted. Some are curious children and others are very nearly men, but all gaze at me as if I'm a saint. Some of the less skittish ones stay near, and those who are surely courageous knights in training bravely brandish their sticks at me, yelling obscenities I can't hope to understand.

After everything that's happened, this situation is more hilarious than embarrassing, and I can't help but laugh as they let loose their loads in my direction. Most fall short, but a few stain my stockings white, eliciting whoops and cheers as they realize I won't be chasing them off.

This is... fine. Let them have their fun. I don't mind. Boys will be boys. The young ones of this country, at least, are more honest and fearless than their European contemporaries.

Some follow as I trudge home, furiously stimulating themselves to the sight of my my back and shoulders, though I can't imagine what is erotic about a fully-clothed girl. But eventually the crowd thins and dies out, and I arrive at the hotel alone. The innkeeper stares at me with clear disapproval, but says nothing as I walk upstairs and claim my rest again.

Three new words. Tonight's haul is three times greater, and the pleasure is three times sweeter.

How wonderful will tomorrow be? I can't wait to find out.

The next morning's wash feels unnecessary. I'll be dirty again before dawn. But they'll want me to be clean, I am sure. A healing spell reverses the damage and fatigue, but does nothing about the strange tingling I now feel. So much as brushing against that area is thrice as stimulating as it should be, but I detect no magics influencing me.

A mystery for another time. Wouldn't want to keep the wise men waiting.

Walking through the streets makes me once more aware of the stares from every corner. I am pale and small and so different that it cannot be helped. In a way it's admirable. The overpowering heat I felt upon arriving in this land is now a gentle warmth.

There, upon the banks of the river, I find them again. This time they have cleared out a wider area for themselves, and sit cross-legged around a circular table with a red tablecloth that spills over the sides, bearing bowls of fruit and drink. The old leader stands and greets me with a nod, and I return a bow. Those of higher station should be respected; I've yet to reach the same level as them, so it's only natural.

“I've been told of yesterday night,” he muses as his eyes inspect my body. “It won't be enough to pass these next eight tests, I am afraid.”

“Oh? Was I deficient?”

He shrugs. “Your body was fine, but you were lacking. Do you still not grasp your role here?”

“I am to... pay the price. With my body. Right? Did I not freely hand it over?” It would be embarrassing to admit such a thing in broad daylight, had English not been a rarity here.

He explains, patiently. “If we wanted a lifeless doll, Madame Blavatsky, we could have picked any girl off the street. We are not paying you to sit there and let yourself be used. We want a performance. The men won't do your work for you.”

So that's it. I was too lazy. They need initiative. A real go-getter.

“I'll do better!” I promise. “A chance is all I need!”

He chortles a bit. Is my youthful enthusiasm so amusing to one that has seen all? “Very well, then. Under the table you go.”

Under the – oh. Each man shuffles closer, draping the edge of the tablecloth over their laps. Four tents are already visible, with more appearing each second.

“Um... out here? In broad daylight? But it's dreadfully hot...”

“True. Have a drink, then. Ojas.” Ojas grins and nods. He grabs a metal cup of water from the table and adds some strange green liquid from the familiar-looking canteen hanging at his side. Then he lifts up the tablecloth and brings both his hands and the cup underneath it. He purses his lips and squeezes his eyes shut, and grunts lightly.

Nobody says anything. During the next minute my ears filter out the surroundings, the flowing river, and the cries of birds. The now-familiar noise of skin rubbing against skin is too loud for comfort. Thankfully it ends with a contented sigh, and Ojas brings the cup out again. He passes it around and soon it is being held out to me, the intended recipient.

The old man smiles kindly. “Wouldn't want you dehydrated.”

It is a pale green, with a cloudy white streak floating about the center.

You're keeping them waiting, Helena. Don't be rude.

I plug my nose with one hand and down it all at once. It goes down smoothly, a cocktail of sour and sweet with some strange lumpiness in the middle. When it all sits in my stomach the old man lifts a corner of the tablecloth, revealing the darkness underneath.

I have to crawl on my knees to fit, small as I am, but it's surprisingly roomy once I'm in. The air is hot and heavy and soaked with all the smells men produce, and I'm left in near-complete darkness with only the faintest bit of light passing through the heavy red tablecloth as illumination. The table is supported on the outside by short legs, and rests atop a depression that deepens in the middle, allowing me enough head space to bob up and down once I reach for the nearest available loincloth.

I can't waste time; the lack of ventilation makes suffocation near inevitable if I'm not quick, so I get to work immediately.

This must be the old man. His penis is wrinkled and hairless and yet surges forth with the vitality of the wise. I'm not much familiar with how to actively please a man, but they seemed to favour my tongue last time, so...

I take it into my mouth and thrust my tongue into the foreskin. It's slick and slimy but the taste is merely salty rather than unpleasant. As I flick the tip back and forth he shifts, feeling my tentative touch, and uncrosses his legs, spreading them apart.

I can do this.

I have no idea of knowing what is pleasurable and what isn't, so I'm left to improvise and pay attention to the minute signs he gives me. The men start up their conversation as if I'm not there, but the one I'm servicing speaks haltingly, occasionally stopping or stuttering whenever I do something notable. When I slip my tongue under his foreskin and tickle the broad head of his dick he can't hold back a small moan, and when I accidentally bite down his hiss is enough to warn me away from repeating myself. I eventually draw back his foreskin and take the whole head into my mouth, breathing on it and licking back and forth along the sensitive spots, and he seems to like that the most.

I can't take it into my throat and don't need to. This penis is small enough to fit into one cheek like a squirrel storing food for later, and it is there that he shudders and stiffens and blows his sticky, slimy, salty load after a few minutes of ministration.

“Swallow,” I hear as I withdraw, and I pause. I don't have to. The ground is dirt. I could dig a hole, spit it in and bury it, and he wouldn't know. But I do, swirling it around my mouth at first to get a proper taste for the stuff – for acclimatization purposes only of course – and then swallow. It sticks like phlegm but goes down easily enough. And then, because a lady doesn't skimp on her duties, I clean off the ropes of cum from his softening dick and leave it sparkling in the dark.

A job well done! Only eleven more.

The others go by much like the first did. Turns out dicks are stimulated in the same spot every time. Next was the tall man, then President, and then the fat one, whose penis is more difficult to get into my mouth owing to its rather impressive girth. But they all blow within minutes, because Helena Blavatsky is a prodigy at memorization! Be it ancient formulas or pleasure spots, I'll have them all!

The next one is bigger and fatter than the rest. Ojas. The one that tore me open. I want to skip him, but...

The head is enough to fill my mouth, and I can only get halfway in before I run out of room. But that's fine. Most of the pleasure spots are near the front, so I only need to stimulate there. He's cleaner than the rest, and harder, but a dick is a dick.

...is it?

“Swallow,” I hear, but he does not cum. “Swallow,” he repeats after a moment, and it is then that I realize he wants me to take it into my throat.

I can't do that. The first time it happened I nearly ruined everything. It had to be forced in, and even then didn't stay for long.

He doesn't seem to understand impossibilities though. His spread open legs fold suddenly, closing around my head that's bobbing in his lap. I can't get away in time and am caught like a worm in a crab's pincers.

“Mmmph!” My well-articulated protest is ignored. His hands appear beneath the mattress, grab my hear at the back, and pull, forcing it deeper than nature intended. Ojas speaks louder to muffle the noise I make, and after a moment I feel something give and it pops into my throat, stopping only when my nose is buried in his crotch and his balls dangle against my chin. His folded legs ensure I can't retreat from this predicament.

It still hurts, obviously! Plus I can't breath. But I don't vomit, because I promised to see it through!

I can't do much in this situation, but he should be close to done. I bob my head as best I can, ignoring the pain in my neck as he stretches membranes that should've remained closed. Frantic licking and sucking does the trick, and just as the edge of my vision starts to go black he locks me in and my stomach is force-fed the day's dose of protein.

...Ojas is not my favourite. Not that I have favourites at all!

The next ones don't reach his size or ferocity. Apparently these men are important. They chat with dozens of visitors as I work in silence so as not to reveal their secret. One man is even dirtier than the first I swallowed, but he too erupts and admits defeat after a few minutes of honest work. Up above, from the few snatches of conversation I understand, they discuss feeding the poor and distributing funds and all sorts of important things. The next penis fills me with pride as well as semen. I'm sucking the dick of respected pillars of the community! Wise men, the sort that deserve a bit of head now and then.

I'm also getting used to this. Dick doesn't taste so bad, really. As the twelfth erupts in my mouth and I swallow it down without being told, I taste not only cum but victory!

For a time, that is.

“You can come out now.”

I'm grateful for their generosity. It was getting stifling down there. My crotch is a waterfall. Who knew that place could get so sweaty? Normally it comes out everywhere else, but this time it seems to have concentrated itself down below.

“Decent enough work,” says the old man as I finally come up and taste cool air.

“Do I pass?” I reach for a glass of water and rinse out my mouth. The taste may be bearable now, but I'd rather not have it stuck on me.

He chuckles. “Your bad record has been wiped. You'll get your chance to pass in an hour or so, when we return.”


“You didn't think this was enough to satisfy us, did you?”

I did. But I bow my head and acquiesce. They are wise. If the wise man judges the disciple has yet to attain wisdom, it is not the disciple's job to argue, but to prove him wrong.

“For now, eat. You'll need strength.”

He gestures to the rich buffet of fruit and my heart soars. Eating delicious food by the riverbank with fellow seekers of knowledge... this day hasn't been too bad. The sun sets and the sounds of the city become music to my ears. How could I have ever hated a place filled with so much life and energy? The me of two days ago must have been mad!

An hour later I'm doing something the me of two days ago wouldn't have understood. Instead of a hut the magi bring me to a wood and stone mansion, through the back door, and into a well-furnished basement room with carpeted floors, firm walls, and a bed sized for royalty, a perfect fit for a lady such as myself.

At the moment I'm bent over the side of that wonderful bed, on my stomach and doing my best to hold still as Ojas grasps my head and pulls it onto his dick. He wasn't satisfied earlier, and makes that dissatisfaction well known by how violently he drives it into my throat. It's all I can do to take half-breaths between plunges, each of which brings up spittle and saliva and threatens to send me into a coughing fit.

“You are spoiled,” he says as he pulls me in tight and holds me there. He bends down and whispers into my ears. “I wanted to break you that first night, but the wise one told me you would return. He saw the lust in you. And now I see it too, bitch.”

Air. Air! Some air, please! I'd push you away but you tied my hands behind my back, so please, good sir, give me air!

He grants it thirty seconds too late and as I gasp for breath the President pushes into me from the other side. They simply could not wait, and so while Ojas commandeered the front the others decided to make do with my back. It's not nearly as distracting, except when someone hits a sensitive spot and my self-control collapses for a moment. With how forcefully he's fucking it, my neck might break if I'm not careful.

Oh... I'm sorry, Ojas. You could feel my disrespect earlier, couldn't you? I'll make it up to you now! Please use my throat as you'd like!

He does. He's been using it for so long that I've lost count of how many have taken their turn behind me. At least four in the front, one in the back... oh, make that two. This position is very economical. I can service two people at once with minimal fuss. If only I could do three at once, but alas, I'm nowhere near that flexible. Perhaps I should read the Kama Sutra and try some new positions next time... not that there will be one! I'm only doing this for the information, after all!

Something pinches me. One of them is licking at my folds and playing with my button as if it's some sort of toy as President grinds against a certain spot. I'd protest, but...


Earlier I was sensitive enough that every thrust was like a bolt of lightning through the nerves. But now it comes to a head and takes over everything. The explorer in my depths has found the magic spot and scrapes away at it with carefully crafted technique, pushing and pushing and each time increasing the magnitude until there's no other choice but to explode. For a single blissful moment everything lights up at once and I cease to exist, before the feeling retreats like the tides. Shameful though it may be to admit it...

“Oho?” The old man's voice makes itself known. “She came, friends! We haven't lost our touch after all.”

I... was that an orgasm?

“Don't get distracted, bitch.”

Something swings at my temple and I'm suddenly seeing stars. Of course. My apologies. I was getting distracted. This isn't about me feeling good, it's about your pleasure first and foremost. My head is throbbing, but that drink they gave me earlier is doing its job. Pain is but a faint mirage compared to this wonderful salty treat. I need more of it or I'll surely starve. Please, Good Sir Dick, won't you give up your treasure?

I kiss it softly, and then slip it the tongue, and then it slips me itself, unloading a delivery of delight into my mouth.

“Swallow it down.”

Of course! I was going to do that either way.

“Now show me.”

I do. “Aaaah...”

He nods. “Alright, I'm done. Pucker up.”

Are you going to kiss me again? I don't much deserve it, but if you were satisfied-!


His fist crashes into my nose and my world snaps back. Why would you do that, Mister Ojas? Did I mess up again? I'll make it up to you, I promise. Please don't fail me.

I let my head rest on the sheets as it's given a moment of free time. A bit of blood seems to be running down my lip, but it only adds to the flavour. I can close my eyes like this and let that fat man rock me back and forth. It's his turn now. I can't really feel anything back there, but I can tell by the way he moves. He's a bit of a quick shot, but he always starts off nice and slow...

Someone yells at him, and suddenly I'm empty again. Is it break time? Do I get to rest? It's only been an hour or three, hasn't it? I'm still usable...

I feel a faint prick in my bum, the sort you'd get from sitting on a needle, and something cool and revitalizing rushes into me. Is this magecraft? Some sort of tonic?

“Too worn out,” says the old man from earlier. “Well, you did hold out for a decent time. Ojas just got too eager. He's young, you see. Not yet wise.”

That's okay. He's certainly smarter than me. I'm a right fool, aren't I?

Something plays at my slit. I can feel again. The numbness recedes and in its wake comes an indescribable itch. He puts in a finger, two, then three, and I offer no resistance. The old man feels around, scratching and relieving that itch with his flexible fingers, and I use what little leverage I have to push back onto him.

“...deeper...” Please, sir. It's really bad in there. Can't you do something?

“In time. I prefer not to swap fluids with other men. Try to push some out.”

I'll try, sir. I push and push and the itch pushes back, but I only feel a small trickle flowing out.

“No choice. I'll have to clean you. Hold still.” One more fingers is added to the mix, and now it's tight again. I've not taken something this wide before, and I'm not much sure I can.

The old man is wise, though. He clearly thinks I'm underestimating myself. A wordless groan wells out from within me as he folds his fingers and pushes in deeper, deeper, and his thumb joins the party, and he goes even further until someone's knocking on Heaven's door and that damnable itch is on the verge of defeat! He probes and scratches and pulls and it feels divine.

He pulls back and for a moment I truly believe he'll pull out my insides with his hand. But my walls are slick and it comes out none the worse for the wear. He reaches forward, hooks two dripping fingers into my cheek, and lifts my up by the head just as he slams into me.

This is different. The itch was just a prelude. I can feel every inch, every fold, every point of contact between us. I can taste the mixed juices of every man in this room and I can feel the heat within me growing again.

“Squeeze,” he says gently, but I'm already squeezing. I know what he'll say before he says it. Is this it? Is this the wisdom of the body that he's showing me?

I strain and lift my upper body from the bed. I'm in no position to stand but I can at least push back against him, to close the space between us. I don't know this man, but I truly respect him.

I respect his dick even more, of course. It's perfect. The instrument of divine relief. Oh, thank you for this. Thank you for everything.

He laughs and brings his arms around, cupping my breasts and pulling me closer as he digs into me. Our audience is either watching or masturbating or both and I don't care in the least because I and this man are communing on a level beyond all others. Higher, higher we go and higher he thrusts and the voices in my ears become louder, clearer. What is he saying? What do they mean?

Talk to me, dick. Tell me your secrets.

It does. Right into my womb.

I, in turn, thank it the only way I know.

I'm on the floor again. Not sure how or when I got here, but I'm clothed, and cold. The basement is empty and dark and everything's gone. The bed, the carpet, and the magic.

Not the heat, though. The itch is still there and it burns. I need to do something, fast!

It doesn't help. I try to pull aside my panties and stuff my fingers inside, but they're too small, and the angle is bad. I can't get deep enough. Someone... please...

Home. I need to get home. An antidote, I'll brew something...

The stairs up. The back door. The streets, back in the streets...

It's hot. So hot. Can't breathe. Can't think. I need shade.

An alley. I came all the way from America and this is my Ganges. Let me bathe in the shadows.

Oh, it doesn't help. It doesn't help! I'll die. I'll die for sure!

Someone. Anyone.


He stops. Turns. Sees me. Blinks. Recoils, but does not run.

“You. Come here.” I reach out to him. He hesitates. I pull down my corset, baring a nipple.

“Come here, boy. Help me. I've no coin, but I can teach you some wonderful things.”

Hesitating, he abandons his toy and comes to me.

Oh, thank you. Thank you, wise one. Thank you, India.

I was wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

This country is – “Oh!” – amazing! Its people are poor, but kind. They are united by love and culture.

“Ah, right there. Push forward, there you go...”

There are so many papers in my pocket, and the itch is being beaten back by a child's sword. Look at this situation! Can you call it anything but a victory for I, Helena Blavatsky? My destination is in my grasp! The Master within reach! The Hierarchy, at my door!

But not yet. You've more wisdom to share, don't you? I'll be back tomorrow, wise ones. For the rest.

Blavatsky was interested in the information they had on Mahatma, and the price wasn't too bad. It was just that, for some reason or another, she couldn't stop. But that was fine, right? She needed the information... (FGO Caster, prostitution, drugs, abuse, escalation, f-f-fisto?, etc.)

March 14th, 2017, 01:28 PM
Fighting Words

‘Hmm...oh! I know, it’s green apple.’

Ayako held up the jewel triumphantly to the light of the bedside lamp, marveling at the motes it made on the wall. Rin groaned in mock frustration and plucked the emerald from her friend’s grasp, returning it to the small candy tin. Rain was relentlessly pouring outside, started around seven and ruined their evening plans. The city surely lived up to its reputation this time.

So somehow, they ended up in Ayako’s hotel room together, all dressed up for the open air play they were supposed to attend, with nowhere to go.
Sprawled over the double bed, a bottle of cheap whiskey going between them, the hours went by them, unnoticed.

It was currently eleven, and they were both… pleasantly tipsy.

‘If they’re the real thing like you say, it’s not like I can break them or anything.’

‘It's an emerald. And Mitsuzuri,’ Rin started, ‘I think it’s too stupid. Just because they’re in a candy tin doesn’t mean you can treat them like candy. They’re proud, and expensive.’

‘I won’t ask about your job again, but carrying a tin of jewels around at all times never struck you as odd? What if you get mugged?’

‘I can defend myself! I’m not as fragile as I look.’

‘You’re a funny one. Look at your weed arms, you can barely push a pencil, pencilpusher.’

‘I hate you, Mitsuzuri.’

‘I love you too, Tohsaka.’

They both broke into laughter at that. A few moments passed in silence, as the bottle made another few rounds. After that they settled back into their spots on the bed, slightly more disheveled now. Ayako was laying face down, the hem of her black dress got piled up above her buttocks, underwear on clear, careless display. Rin untied the halter straps of her dress, the uncomfortable knot unfurling and allowing her to lie down on her back fully. She was shaking the tin of jewels lightly in her hands, the rattling sound of it barely audible over the relentless lashing of rain against the wide windowpanes. The downpour was getting stronger.

‘So,’ Ayako mumbled, half into the bed, ‘we’re both old now.’


‘It’s weird. I don’t feel thirty at all.’ She flipped on her back, her copper wire bundle of hair tangling around her neck and sticking over her face, but she seemed to not mind.

‘I feel fine. When we were teenagers, the moon seemed closer than being thirty. ’

‘You probably thought you’d be married by now didn’t you, Ayako?’ Rin chirped, teasing.

‘I think we both did. Remember that boyfriend deal we had back then?’

‘I do. You had your eyes on Emiya at the time.’

‘And so did you, I’m quite sure. What was so special about that guy anyway? I can’t see it now, at all.’ Ayako mused, staring at the blank, featureless hotel room ceiling.

‘He wasn’t bad. But I think I’m more selective nowadays.’

‘You are?’

‘Yes!’ Rin laughed, ‘You think I wouldn’t be married to one of the twenty suitors constantly pestering me since I was of age, If I weren’t very selective about what kind of man I grant my attention to?’.

‘Married, and with an army of brats scurrying about too. I can almost see it, your butt would be huge, like, this big!’ Ayako raised her arms in a badly coordinated gesture to illustrate her point, lining out the proportions of Housewife Tohsaka’s imaginary backside.

‘Hey, shut up!’ Rin jumped up to her knees, aiming to grab Ayako’s arms. She managed to, but lost her balance midway through the motion, and fell face first with a yelp, which ended up muffled by the other woman’s chest. When she took in the scene, Ayako’s entire body started shaking with unrestrained laughter, her chest vibrating with it.

‘You better get your fill now, cheeky girl!’ she squeezed out between bursts, ‘Wow, Tohsaka, I had no idea you were so deprived of it. You even resort to molesting your innocent friend!’. That vibrating laughter was contagious, and now Rin’s shoulders were shaking with it as well.

‘Say, Rin, serious question now. When was the last time you did it?’

‘Wpff,’ the muffling continued before Rin remembered to move, twisting around to lay on her back. Her head still on Ayako’s bosom, ‘ I told you I was selective with this stuff.’

‘You are selective about marriage, dating as well I presume. I’m asking about fucking.’

‘That’s when you have to be the most selective, actually.’ Rin answered, dryly.

‘Please explain to me how finding a dick for a night involves any selection process other than the quality of said dick and the body attached to it?’

‘Gladly.’ Rin’s hand went to her forehead to adjust the bridge of the glasses that weren’t there, but she stopped herself.

‘Most people I could pick up at the workplace would probably try to kill me in my sleep. So that’s not an option. And say I go out to a bar, which I’d never do because it’s trashy, but just imagine. Picking up someone you find attractive, taking them home into your bed, doing them. And then, in the middle of it, or before, or after, they say something stupid. And believe me, they always say something stupid.’



‘You care so much about their conversational skills, no wonder you’re not getting laid.’ Ayako kept staring off into the ceiling, her tone dumbfounded.

‘I don’t care so much in general. People I actually like are allowed to say all sorts of stupid things, and I’ll still like them. It’s my number one flaw, and why I’m still friends with you, Mitsuzuri.’

‘Aww, you like me?’ Ayako finally let her eyes down to meet Rin’s.

She was teasing, but not completely. Sometimes even she wondered what still kept them so close, but something did, and they were both thankful for it.

‘Yes, you are my ideal man, Mitsuzuri. I have been blind for so long.’ Rin said sarcastically ‘You’re muscular, and have an insufferable temperament. Just get a bit taller and we’re getting hitched.’

‘To think I would get proposed to, in London…'

‘When was your last time, Ayako?’

‘Two months ago.’ the redhead returned her eyes to the ceiling. Her right hand moved absentmindedly to brush Rin’s hair, and at a corner of her mind she marvelled at how soft it was. She could’ve sworn she heard something like a faint, satisfied purr, but decided not to dwell on it.

‘A guy from the club.’ she continued, ‘Hit like a freight train. Stamina, but no finesse. Wanted to do it in front of a mirror so he could stare at himself. Didn’t do it for me though, not even once. Shame.’

‘Wait, he didn’t make you…?’ Rin asked, in a tone of genuine shock.

‘Nope. But I don’t ask for much, and I got what I wanted out of it. Something to distract me in between tournaments.’ Ayako said. Her hand still brushing through Rin’s hair.

‘That’s not asking for much, Ayako! That’s like settling for a car without wheels.’

‘Are you saying I should be more selective?’

‘I’m not saying anything.’ Rin shrugged, ‘Far be it from me to tell you who to sleep with. But, for example, if it were me, I wouldn’t give up without doing it at least once for someone. Not doing that much is just...bad manners.’

‘Was it ever you, though? I mean, you ever been with a girl?’ Ayako asked. The fingers threaded into Rin’s hair went still for a moment.

‘Yes.’ Rin answered.

‘How is it?’

‘It’s good. I don’t have a lot of experiences, but the ones I’ve had were quite enjoyable. And let me just say that I was quite well received. Never left anyone wanting while I was too busy checking myself out in a mirror, or anything.’ Rin said, cockily.

‘Oh, you are saying I should be more selective!’

‘Hm, maybe I am.’ There was something odd about Rin’s tone. It sounded almost like a challenge.

And Ayako couldn’t say no to one of those.

It was impossible to tell who made the first move. When they took reins back from the pleasant haze of alcohol and the curious impulse spurring them on, they found themselves both kneeling on the bed, hands pulling at clothes, moist lips moving to take in air and separating from a frenzied, careless coupling.

Rin spoke first.

‘Are...are we serious about this, Ayako?’

‘I, look.’ Ayako started, and her hands jumped to her face, heated cheeks ruining the cool and casual impression she wanted to make ‘I won’t lie, I’m curious. But if you think we can’t keep it at this, or that things couldn’t go back to how they were before, I...’

‘We won’t be able to take it back, no. But, If we’re both okay with it being just this, I’m in if you are.’

Shakily, but determined, Ayako’s hands reached up to pull at the already undone straps of Rin’s dress. She wore nothing under, it was that kind of dress. When Ayako pulled down sufficiently, her breasts spilled out, pale and perfect. They seemed to softly glow in the muted ambient lighting of the hotel room. Ayako’s hands were at them instantly, weighing them in her palms with an expression of awe on her face that made Rin both blush and smirk.

‘They’ve gotten bigger!’ Ayako murmured, enchanted.

‘Well, naturally, I got older. And put on some weight. And you don’t have to rush into this, Mitsuzuri, I’m not going anywhere.’ Rin said, finishing with a soft, amused tease.

Ayako answered it by pressing her lips to Rin’s neck. It was about the same for everyone she had so far; pressure barely there, drag them down the column of the neck, between the collarbones. She followed the straight path down, feeling Rin’s breath speed up as she kissed down between her breasts. She let her face linger there for a moment, kissing the side of each, before she remembered she was not completely sure what to do next. Then, in a sudden stroke of genius, she touched the other woman’s skin with her tongue, and swiped it back up between her breasts, along the path she followed down. Rin shivered under it. She repeated the motion, and something that was undoubtedly a satisfied purr broke out from the other woman, and her hands jolted up to tangle into Ayako’s hair, keeping her face close.

Feeling bolder, Ayako dragged her tongue to the right breast, and let it swirl around the swollen pink bud, before sucking it into her mouth eagerly. It felt interesting, the contrast between the smooth texture of the surrounding skin and the slightly rough, hardened nipple making her run her tongue over again and again in her mouth. Rin’s breath was getting heavier with each swipe, and her fingers played with the handfuls of copper hair between them.

‘A-Ayako, a moment?’

Ayako’s mouth stopped, moving away from the now glistening, swollen flesh.

‘It wasn’t good?’

‘No, but we should undress. It’ll be more comfortable that way, don’t you agree?’

Ayako answered by grabbing the hem of her dress and pulling it up over her head in a swift motion. Beneath was, clad in simple black undergarments, a body in all aspects worthy of a professional athlete. Rin couldn’t help but stare for a moment.

‘That’s no fun, Ayako!’ She squeaked ‘I was supposed to do that for you!’

‘Stop complaining and get naked, Tohsaka, the mood isn’t gonna last forever.’ Ayako said with a wink. Her prior hesitance was all but gone now, replaced with the easy confidence of someone who was used to being watched. She was proud of her body, so nudity made her bold.

Seeing Ayako’s cocky smirk had always made Rin want to get it off her face somehow, but she knew that, at this point, it was deployed only to mess with her. She wouldn’t lose this time.

She let her hands brush over her own bare chest before slipping lower, sliding her dress down to her hips and then shimmying out of it as seductively and slowly as she could. Only her lacy, almost transparent red panties remained, and she was determined to keep them on for a while longer.Ayako raised her eyebrows appreciatively, but that was the extent of her reactions. Playing hard to get but, Rin thought, her own determination is nothing to scoff at. She had no idea what they were doing, but she was going to make damn sure she does it well.
She moved on her knees, and slipped behind Ayako. Before the taller woman could react, Rin’s hands were all over her. She gasped when she felt hands moving over her front, enough pressure to tease, but not enough to be fully satisfying yet. She felt Rin’s breath against her ear, hot.

‘You know me better than this, Mitsuzuri.’ Rin whispered ‘You know I prefer to lead.’

The firm sound of her last name without any honorifics attached made Ayako’s insides clench against her will, and the hot tongue that was now tracing the shell of her ear languidly almost made her moan. Almost. She was getting outplayed, but couldn’t find it within her to fight it. She was needing this kind of attention more than she realized.
So she decided to shiver through Rin’s hands removing her bra and roving over her breasts roughly. Unlike Tohsaka, she knew how to admit defeat gracefully, she told herself. The other woman was silent, but the deep breaths in Ayako’s ear told her that her comparatively smaller chest was appreciated. When Rin bit her shoulder and pinched both her nipples simultaneously, enough to hurt just a little delicious bit, she cried out. She could almost feel Rin smirking behind her at that.

‘Oh, but this is nice.’ Rin purred, and her hands left Ayako’s chest to splay over the firm muscles of her stomach.

‘Like what you see?’ Ayako asked, failing to sound casual about it.

‘Very much, but we’ll focus on that some other time. I’m more interested in other things right now.’ Rin was whispering again, moving her fingers in a way that made Ayako acutely aware of them playing along her pantyline, frustratingly slow.

She half expected to be teased a lot more before she’d get what she wanted, but Rin was impatient too. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the undergarment for just another moment, before slipping down and pressing lightly, right between her legs. Ayako hissed at the sensation, the featherlight teasing touch of Rin’s fingers and the rub of the soaked fabric against her skin driving home how aroused she was.
Rin seemed pleased by the reaction. She glided her fingers over the wet fabric one more time, and then hooked her fingers on either side and pulled up. It made the middle ride up into Ayako’s sensitive slit, rubbing her in just the right way. This time, she moaned without holding back.

‘Did your club guy tease you like this, Ayako? I doubt he took the time.’

Rin’s tongue was dancing over Ayako’s ears when she wasn’t speaking. She released Ayako’s panties as soon as she pulled them, but the feeling lingered, and made Ayako want to squirm, to rub her legs together. She decided to be patient instead, maybe have some fun herself.

‘What, are you jealous of not having a go at me earlier, Tohsaka?’ She taunted.

She shouldn’t have done that. The next thing she felt, rather acutely, were Rin’s fingers sneaking into her underwear. A single, slender finger circled her entrance once, twice, before pushing its way inside. Rin kept her attentions shallow, stretching before she inserted another. Her left hand went to Ayako’s breast, not as forceful as before, and Ayako was thankful for it. It would’ve been a distraction from the other things Rin was doing to her right now. Her fingers went in deeper, grazing against a spot that made Ayako’s thighs spasm and her back arch against Rin’s warm chest. The woman behind her hummed appreciatively, and moved her hand to press her thumb against Ayako’s clit.

Her fingers kept thrusting within relentlessly, in and out, grazing that spot constantly. The rain had stopped a while ago. The air of the room was filled with nothing but their deep, heated breaths, an occasional broken moan that would tear its way out of Ayako’s mouth, and the slick, wet sound of Rin’s fingers fucking her. There was no pause or rest in the merciless assault, those slender fingers filling her up and stretching her so perfectly, the pressure on her sensitive clit just enough to keep her on the edge, closer and closer to falling over.

Then, Rin stopped without warning. Her fingers slid out of Ayako with a wet, squelching sound, and the redhead whimpered at the sudden feeling of emptiness before she could stop herself. Rin chuckled at that, the demon, and placed a wet kiss just between her shoulder blades. She then pressed her palm to the spot she kissed, gentle but firm, and pushed Ayako forward. With a bit of repositioning, she soon had her on all fours, panties slid down to her knees, the wet mess she made between her legs on clear, shameless display. Fortunately, Ayako was too far gone to be embarrassed about the position. She was aware only of the frustrating ache between her legs, and how badly she needed it gone.

‘Oi, Tohsaka!’ She protested, her voice surprisingly steely for the situation. ‘You sure are taking your sweet time looking at my ass. I know it’s amazing but, c’mon already.’ She swayed her backside a few times to illustrate her point, and got rewarded by Rin’s hands grabbing her buttocks, slapping down with perhaps a bit more force than was absolutely necessary. Ayako didn’t mind.

‘I’d hate to waste my time, and I suppose yours as well.’ Rin said, her face hovering somewhere above Ayako’s back, if the feel of soft curls trailing along her skin was anything to go by. A finger trailed up her inner thigh, following a trail of slick back to the wanting center. After she made sure Ayako was still more than wet enough to take it, she pushed the two fingers back inside at once.
The strong woman beneath her keened at the new angle, which delighted Rin to no end. She let herself enjoy the sight of the defined back below, muscles twitching and pulsing. Ayako’s firm, shapely backside was just within her reach, and Rin amused herself with thoughts of what she could do to it while Ayako desperately pushed herself back against the invading fingers, desperate for any kind of friction.

Rin started moving her fingers again, leaned down, took a mouthful of firm flesh between her teeth, and bit down. Hard. Ayako buried her face in the sheets to muffle a whine. Her entire back arched, muscles rippling, and Rin picked the pace up, thrusting as deep and fast as she could manage. A few moments, and one more well-timed bite to her other buttock later, Ayako was coming with a slew of curses, muffled by the sheets. Rin kept her fingers inside for a few more pumps, and then withdrew to lean back against the pillows and admire her handiwork.

And it was quite a sight. Mitsuzuri, the confident sportswoman, on all-fours before her, panties around her knees, thighs drenched with her release. It took Ayako a while to shiver through the aftermath.

‘I take that you liked it, Mitsuzuri?’ She asked, more to say something than out of actual curiosity. The results of her efforts were, after all, readily apparent.

Ayako raised her head, using the little strength she still had in her aching muscles to flip herself over limply onto her back.

‘Tohsaka, you’re an animal.’ She said, voice hoarse, fingers moving to push her sweat-matted bangs off her forehead.

‘See, if I didn’t like you as much as I do, you’d get thrown out for that.’

‘I love you too, Tohsaka.’

‘Careful with the post-coital love confessions, now.’ Rin teased, crawling down the bed to lie beside Ayako on her stomach, head in her hands.

‘Where’s that booze?’ Ayako asked, body too limp to sit up and go looking for it herself.

‘I think you should wash up first.’ Rin teased, head nodding towards Ayako’s soaked thighs, panties still tangled around her knees.

‘Dumb and boring. I want to sleep. And then fuck you up at least as much as you fucked me up. But first sleep.’ Ayako said in a whiny voice, sounding like she’s asking for ten more minutes before having to get up for school. It was oddly cute, Rin thought.

‘Suit yourself. While you’re snoring, I could use your nice bathroom myself. Huge mirror in there too, though. It’s such a shame…’

‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Tohsaka, just wait ten minutes, and I’ll do something about your stupid
mirror fantasy.’

‘I’m game if you are!’ Rin chirped.

‘When was I ever not game, Rin?’ Ayako asked, rhetorically, and flipped back onto her stomach for a quick shuteye.

It was just a game to be played, nothing with any seriousness behind it. One of them was just going to get a boyfriend before the other, that's all. Neither thought that the one they'd be falling for was each other. Rin/Ayako, some fluff, the rest is up to you.

March 14th, 2017, 01:29 PM

It was a shrill voice, on the cusp of hoarseness, that deafened the surrounding inferno.

“Die already, Sigurd! Die for our love, ahahahahahahahahahhaha!”

The shrill woman with draping sea-colored hair and soot-marred skin, and the tall man desperately trying to fend her off, were the only ones left in this hell on earth that had once been a battleground of gallant warriors. But in the carnage that had ensued, she and the man had easily dispatched everyone else in the former’s attempts to murder the latter, and though they’d both spent themselves in the long and bloody battle, the battle was not yet over.

To the man’s annoyance, his opponent had only gotten more desperate, the woman’s love-crazed eyes driving her spear forward at a rate his greatsword could only narrowly keep up with, and each time the weapons of god-metals clashed, the impact sung awfully through his sword into his palms.


He’d long given up reasoning with her, telling her that he was not her beloved, as she seemed to not even register such words anymore. All there was left for him to do was either hope she tired out or otherwise lost interest, or somehow break through her impeccable offense. It certainly wasn’t impossible for him to, though not without great risk to himself, but something about the spearwoman made him feel like he had butterflies in his stomach, like he was experiencing his young love with Kriemhild all over again. Faced with such earnest love and overwhelming emotion himself, he felt unable to try and bring this woman harm in any form.

He would swiftly come to regret his indecisiveness. A wrong step brought him back onto a rune that the woman had thrown down hours ago in her flurry of initial spellcasting, and it instantly dispersed into a thin mist that hardened as he moved into the space above the run. His hair and the entire back half of his body was as if fit into a mold, and the surprise over the clever spell, even if he wasn’t sure if the woman had goaded him into it deliberately, lasted just long enough for the woman to whip up the butt of her spear and fling his greatsword out of his hands.

“Finally, finally, you’ll diediedieDIE!” Madness encroaching on her voice as the rune did more of its magic, freezing the back of his arms so that they were stuck mid-air, the woman plunged her spear towards his heart--

-- And gasped in surprise as it bounced off his pectorals with a sound like metal on metal. The man was as surprised as her despite his knowledge of his own immortality, thinking her easily strong enough to pierce him, but such was not in fate’s cards, clearly.

“No, nononono! Sigurd, you’re supposed to die! DIE FOR OUR LOVE ALREADY!” Screaming madly, loudly enough that she soon grew hoarse, the woman stabbed at his chest dozens, then scores and finally hundreds of times, each ending with the same result; not a scratch, the man’s breast refusing to be pierced.

“NO! This can’t be right! CANNOT BE RIGHT! You were supposed to… supposed to DIE at my hands, beloved! WHY WON’T YOU JUST DIEEEE!” Just as the man was about to speak, the woman screeched once more and, throwing her spear aside, clutched her hands tightly around his throat, thumbs pressing down on his Adam’s apple, single tears running down her cheeks as she groaned with effort from using as much of her monstrous strength as possible to choke the life out of him.

‘I’ll die.’

The man quickly began having dark spots in his blurring vision, the woman’s love-sick eyes and beautiful, sooty face the only thing still clear to him.

‘I’ll die and that’s fine, but…’

But the man was a selfless, even foolish sort. He never thought of his own good, even as a woman who had him mistaken for someone, who he nearly mistook for his own lover in spirit, was choking the life from his body. His thoughts were entirely on the woman, his to-be killer, and the love in her eyes.

‘But if I die here, this woman… Someone so much like my love… will never, ever be happy again… I can’t, no, I won’t let such earnest, pure love be spurned!’

As the last of his air began leaving him and the shield-roofs of Valhalla began entering the dark spots of his vision, the man, a hero of Herculean strength, pushed all the strength he had left into his limbs and, with a choking sputter, shattered the ice covering his back. In the briefest moment of shock, the woman’s killer grip loosened as the man collapsed forward, his arms slumping over the woman’s strong shoulders, almost like the hug he had intended for, sooty hands barely grabbing onto her lower back through her azure hair.

“But… but…” The woman’s murderous intent was instantly shattered. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Sigurd had discarded her feelings, there’d been nothing left for her but love through killing him and then dying with him. So… what was this? Why would he show her this kind of genuine affection now, even as she had him in the throes of death?

As she was left to stammer, the man coughed and heaved for breath, before he quietly spoke by her ear, head resting on her shoulder.

“I am not… the one you love… but if it should make you happy… I will gladly take his role…” He could barely manage that much before devolving into another coughing fit, through which he put strength into his knees, and hugged the woman tighter, pushing her further into his embrace by her lower back.

“Ahhhh, Sigurd, Sigurd…” She whispered, slowly at first, her voice gentle and loving. “Sigurd, Sigurd, Sigurd, Sigurd…” She returned the hug, before pushing the man onto the ground, his back against the everlasting layer of ice created by the rune, sending shivers through him. “I haven’t been yours for so, so long…” The woman’s blush stood out on her pale skin even through the soot and ash on it.

The man gulped. He’d thought it might come to that, and looking at the woman, examining her in a different light now, he didn’t at all mind. She was nothing short of a crystallisation of beauty, something all mortal men were not worthy of touching, now that he could observe her with a man’s eye, rather than a warrior’s. He couldn’t help but stare and grow hard as he saw the woman reach under her skirt, only for her black, lacy underthings to slide down one leg to hang off of one of her armored thighhighs’ feather-like spikes moments later.

With a wave of her hand, the armor on top of her clothes vanished into thin air, and with the other she almost violently planted the man’s own greatsword through his short cape to ensure he wouldn’t move. He could feel the sweat form on his forehead from both that and the fact that her doing that gave him a perfectly clear view up her already short skirt.

“Sigurd… we are far past such things as shame, are we not?” The woman said, her words almost boiling from the love-loaded heat they contained, as she undid the ribbon by the bottom of her neck and let her shirt fall open, exposing the delicate, pale skin of the sides of her breasts as the thing split down the middle. “Strip.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, kicking off his sabatons and undoing his belt just fast enough for his pants to not be ripped in half as the woman pushed them down and straddled him in a single motion, his length instantly hidden beneath her miniskirt. He felt her wet pussy grind against it, making both of them stir and groan beneath their breath, as she adjusted on top of him, running her manicured fingernails along the green, glowing mark on his chest that signified the blood of the dragon’s presence.

“Ah-h-h, Sigurd, my love…” Her voice was lower now, almost a whisper, but the depths of love in it resonated so loudly in his ears that the sounds of the inferno around them was completely deafened. “Touch me, like you did that first night…”

Acting upon memories that weren’t his, as if Sigurd guided him as how to handle his lover, he pulled her closer with a hand on her lower back, their tongues meeting before their lips did, her delicate ones on his coarse ones, her pert but full rear against his length as they shared kisses that both felt like the first between them, and ones of reunion. Her lips were sweet, not unlike blueberries, even with the stain of soot at the corner of her mouth. It was something he couldn’t get enough of.

His hands roamed along her back as he felt her nails roughly run over his chest, and had it not been him they would’ve certainly drawn blood. One palm found her ass and squeezed, finding that it yielded just a tiny bit, while his other hand ran fingers through her pearly hair, so soft and silky that he would’ve felt bad for caressing it if he wasn’t amidst throes of passion not greatly inferior to the woman’s own. She looked into his eyes as they broke the kiss and breathed hard against his lower face and neck, almost a long moan in its intensity, and gently bit his neck, failing to leave a mark as she raked the mark on his chest and ground against his rock-hard length, leaving stains of her liquid arousal along its length with every move. Both from that and his previous glance up her skirt could the man deduct that the woman was impossibly wet, and possibly had been since they were still fighting.

The surface of ice below the man’s back drew a shiver from his lips, and as they parted, the woman’s fingers took a hold of the inside of his cheek, holding his mouth open against his will so that she could force her tongue inside his mouth again, spitting on his tongue as she perpetuated the faux-french kiss. This part of her, the one that that was so earnest in her love but so murderously aggressive and uncaring of what he wanted, was the one that stoked his fire the most, and in response, he thrust up against the curve of her ass as best possible, his only way of saying he approved of her actions with his mouth occupied.

The gesture was clearly appreciated by the woman, however, as she grinded further back against his cock, drawing away from the forced tongue kiss with a giggle after spitting on the man’s tongue one last time. With one hand she pushed herself off and above him, body raised up enough to hover above the tip of his length, and with the other she raked his abdomen with her nails as she sunk down on his cock, unable to prevent herself from letting out a long, sensuous moan when her wet insides were speared by his cock.

“Aaaaaaanh, Sigurd…. Oh-h-h-h, Sigurd!” She exclaimed, keeping her balance with her arms as she began slowly but intently riding him, each downwards thrust producing a wet, squelching sound as she passionately began to fuck herself on his cock, all of which except the hilt of his length was titillatingly hidden beneath the rim of her skirt. He didn’t mind. The lack of sight only added to the excitement of the woman riding him, and to show his approval, he reaffirmed his grasp on her ass as it bounced on his lap, unable to resist groaning himself. Her insides were just too perfect, too unlike anything before in his life, so absurdly pleasurable that he’d be driven mad if not for his great, but slowly waning willpower. Even for him, this woman’s body was simply too great a temptation.

“Sigurd… Sigurd… Nnhhhh, Sigurd!” Her overwhelming wetness made the entry as easy as thrusting into thin air, and the man’s inhibitions melted away under bottomless pleasure in no time at all underneath her. His hands squeezed hard on her ass, feeling firm yet slightly plump flesh yield beneath his fingers, and raised one hand up high only to bring it down hard on one of her asscheeks with a loud smack as he began driving his hips upwards to meet her halfway, intensifying each intense yet sloppy thrust for the both of them.

The smack made the woman’s spine crackle with fire, and she couldn’t help a long, exasperated moan as she came, still forcing her hips downward again and again as her squirting orgasm flooded her and the man’s crotch alike, staining her pristine skirt. “Siguuuuuurdh!” She managed, tongue spasming in her mouth as every muscle in her body rebelled against itself in sheer pleasure.

Once more memories that didn’t belong to the man flooded into him, and his hands roamed her abdomen and hips as he, in the throes of pleasure, uttered a name he’d never known before. “Brynhildr…” It was a name that had the warm nostalgia about it only a loved one’s name could have. Merely uttering it pushed him closer to the orgasm he knew wasn’t far off.
“Sigurd… Please, please, pleaaase, Sigurd!” Hardly had she recovered from her first orgasm before more strikes on her pale-and-red ass and downwards thrusts drove her into a pleasure state of insanity, causing her gushing cunt to repeat its previous wet sputtering. Screaming in pleasure, Brynhildr kept riding on and on, making it last for as long as possible until her lover joined her in it not far behind her.

With a shudder and her body spasming at random, Brynhildr experienced her orgasm all over again as the man emptied herself into her, his seed almost washed away by her nearly unnatural sputter of pussy juice that simply didn’t seem to stop gushing forth. Just as neither of the two seemed able to stop thrusting into the other until Brynhildr, raking her nails along his entire upper body as she slowly fell forward until they went past his shoulders and recoiled at the touch of the far-below-zero degrees patch of ice beneath them, before settling with folding them besides her on the man’s wide chest.

“Sigurd…” She whispered questioningly, pondering if he was even awake as he laid on the cold ground, breathing slowly but heavily with his eyes closed.

“Yes, Brynhildr?” He wasn’t gonna correct her this late. If he was Sigurd to her, then that would be fine too.

“What… should we name it?”

His breath nearly caught in his throat, before he resigned himself to silence for a moment. Right now, he just wanted to lie in this paradoxically hot and cold hell with her, and not think of anything but her warmth. He didn’t want to think of how they’d get out of here, how long they had to live, about anything really. He just wanted to savor this moment. Then, another flash of enlightenment struck him, memories from a life he never lived obliged him with a final answer.

“How about Sigmund?”

[COLOR=#000000][FONT=Arial]Brynhildr faces Siegfried on the field of battle, her fragile psyche too far gone to care about glasses on or off. While Siegfried is no Sigurd, he remains a Hero of Justice - and what hero would leave a girl in need?

March 14th, 2017, 01:39 PM
Chivalry before the Fumble

“Will your runes really change me to the opposite sex?”

“That is correct, Master. Would you like you to see?” The Queen of the Land of Shadows held her hand out.

Even though Summer had already passed, Scathach struts about in her swimsuit from time to time. Of course, wherever she went, the majority of male eyes locked on to her. Her Master included. To her surprise though, he didn't come to her seeking company.

“Senpai, I don't think this is a good idea.” Mashu interjects.

Gudao raises his eyebrows, “Is there a problem?”

Before she can respond, Scathach pats her head, “Well, if anything goes wrong, I will take full responsibility for it. Even so, I have not made too many a grave mistake before in use of my abilities.”

Mashu slumps forward, “I see.”

“And should he be unable to change back, I do have a rune that can fix his lack thereof below the waist.” Scathach turns away to an open space, not noticing the red hue spread across Mashu’s face. The pair follows after the bikini-clad warrior. Unaware of the fated collision bound to occur near them.

Lord El-Melloi II strides down the hallway with a book in each hand. One of which, he becomes too absorbed in reading. Coming his way, the older iteration of Arturia comes riding down the hall in a hurry. Voices matching her own call out to her to ‘come back’. What comes next is the epitome of a train crash in slow motion.

El-Melloi steadily tilts his head up. Arturia turns forward in time to see soon-to-be roadkill. His books fall to the ground in a loud thud. She pulls on her Stallion to turn around at the last second. And he employs a spell to nullify the impact as much as possible. While he felt almost no pain, the horse’s muscular thigh knocks him a meter away.

At the same time, Scathach activates her rune on Gudao with Mashu at her side, out of range. A magical inscription appears on the floor beneath her Master’s feet. In a flash of light, Gudao closed his eyes instinctively. Opening them, he felt up his body to identify the changes. His physique became more lean and slim. The clothes somewhat baggy on himself. Scathach and Mashu came over for a closer look.

“Well?” Gudao’s higher-pitched voice leaks out.

“Well,” Scathach hums, “Anything out of place?”

Gudao turned around and checked the most important place. With a sigh, he- well she now- turned back and nods. “I’ve completely transformed into a woman.”

“Then, everything worked as intended. I have to say, you look good as the opposite sex.” Scathach folds her arms under her breasts.

“Senpai…” Mashu pulls on her Master’s arm. She draws from her a pocket a portable mirror. Handing it over, Gudao takes it and checks his face.

She frowns, “Why is my hair and eyes orange?”

“Are you alright!?” Finally cutting through their attention, they spin to the side. On the floor, the Caster-class tactician was lying on his stomach. The older variant of Arturia left her mount and ran over to his side. About to reach to him, El-Melloi grunts and starts to support himself. Alas, his day wasn’t about to get better.

To everyone present, a combined gasp escaped their mouths. Grumbling and patting the dirt off himself, El-Melloi didn’t fail to catch their silence. Looking up, he saw their faces and then felt something was off. Much like Gudao had done himself, he checked himself over. Feeling things that were and weren’t there, he remarks, “What is—?” Hearing his deep voice go a few pitches high, he- well she, like her Master now- froze.

“Well then,” Scathach hums, breaking the ice, “It appears the range was far greater than I predicted.”

* * * * *

Right after, El-Melloi was not pleased with the turn of events. Her Master took her outrage in stride. Scathach remarked that it shouldn’t last long enough anyways. At this, the lord settled down somewhat. The problem was what he would do in that time waiting. Arturia profusely apologized for not looking her way. She went so far as to go on one knee in front of her. She even swore she would look after her until he reverted back.

In the face of her sincere reproach to her fault, El-Melloi couldn't help but give in to her demand.

Her Master however, had a mischievous look in her eye. “Well, until you recover, I have a suggestion.”

What led next would be El-Melloi’s ultimate humiliation. She was forced to wear a maid uniform and work in Gillies bar until such time has passed. It appeared the timing couldn’t be more perfect, since the deranged mage was expanding his stock to coffee beans. With a cry of ‘COOOOOOOOOL!’ he accepted the troubled lord to his work force.

Strangely, she fit the uniform quite well with her long hair in a ponytail. Her features had become more feminine, her piercing eyes giving off a siren allure. Sadly for her, she didn’t revert back the same day or after and even the day after tomorrow. In her time of hardship, she did find solace in the older Arturia to help ease through her dilemma as she swore she would. They eventually clicked together and enjoyed each other’s company. Unlike before, she could approach him more easily. And he found peace-of-mind in her care.

After a quiet day, her Master decided to drop in and check on her. She wore her Black Suit in lieu of her usual Chaldea Uniform. She did take in joy in El-Melloi squirming in his presence. Mashu joined them, and unlike Arturia, she was instead making sure her Master didn’t do anything crazy. Needing a break, El-Melloi went to the restroom to get away. After having her fun, Gudao ordered a drink and chatted with Mashu.

Arturia took in the scene delightfully while sipping her hot coffee. She hoped that even after this, she could still maintain the new relationship she had with El-Melloi. They were even on a more intimate name basis.

“Ah!” A cry draws Arturia’s attention. Turning her head, she chokes on her drink in surprise. Sitting at the corner table, her Master reverted to his original gender. To both Arturia and Mashu’s shock, Gudao took the sudden change in stride. Patting himself all over, he sighs, “On the bright side, it's a good thing I chose this Mystic Code today.”

With that said, Arturia gasps, “It couldn't have…!”

Picking up her bag and coffee, she rushes over behind the bar counter. The wooden floor creaks beneath her sabatons. With drink and bag in each hand, she stops at the end of the corridor. Raising her left hand, she knocks on the door. No sound from within. Using the same hand, Arturia opens the door, “Waver?”

The order of disastrous moments transpire as follows. First, the occupant raises their head with mouth agape. Second, Arturia’s eyes go wide. Third, she is treated to the sight of Lord El-Melloi (back to his original form) in uniform. Fourth, unable to react properly, Arturia’s right hand goes lax and drops the still hot coffee above his crotch. And finally, the poor man in drag does all he can to withhold his outcry of severe pain.

* * * * *

“I am so sorry,” Arturia says while cleaning up the mess, “I did not intend for that to happen…”

El-Melloi sighs, “It was only a matter of when, that I would revert back. Even so, I shouldn't have kept quiet when you knocked.”

“Even so-!” Arturia starts, but stops from the hand placed on her shoulder.

The Pseudo-Servant looks down, “It's alright, it couldn't be helped.”

The two become silent in recollection. El-Melloi realizes the position he's in. Alone with a woman on her knees in the bathroom with him half-naked. Finding himself in a scandalous situation, he attempts to appear calm and uninterested but his lower half slowly rises at attention. Arturia notices the bulge in his undergarments. Rather than turning away, she gives pause to the scenario before her. Coming to a conclusion, she reaches out to his hips.

Feeling his underwear pulling away, El-Melloi catches her wrists, “What are you…!?”

“Please, allow me to make amends for my mistakes.” Arturia reveals his rising phallus. “You ended up becoming a woman by my mishap, and soon after you turned back, I wounded you where you're weakest.”

As she grasps his penis, El-Melloi exhales at her cool fingers touching him, “I already said...”

“I ask of you—!” Arturia causes him to recoil at her rise in tone. She looks up at him, and pleads, “Let me make up for my folly.”

Looking back down, she wraps her right hand around the shaft. The vein along the side pulses with life. Tracing it upwards, Arturia slowly unravels the head of its cover. Hearing his uneven breathing, she hesitates but sucks in her saliva and lets it drip down. Rolling the skin back up, the head takes on a wet shine.

From the top, she pulls down his foreskin revealing the pinkish bulb. Sliding her grip to the middle, she starts a rhythm from the base to beneath the head. El-Melloi catches his breath and relaxes. At that motion, Arturia begins speeding up her ministrations. Pumping the length enough causes pre-cum to coat and run down the bulb. Sliding from the ridge, the liquid mixes with her grip and works over the entire shaft.

“Sabe- Arturia…” El-Melloi catches her attention, “I have a favor to ask.”

Without loosening her hold, she stares back at him, “What is it, Waver?”

“If you don't mind…” lowering his gaze further down, he coughs into his hand, “Could you use your breasts?”

Instead of discomfort he was expecting, Arturia raises one of her eyebrows, “My breasts…?”

He nods. Arturia takes a moment to take in his request. Clarity spreads across her face. Letting go of his dick, she pulls down the top of her outfit. Cupping her own chest, she shuffles closer to his crotch. She envelops his cock between the valley of her great rack, the head barely peeking out.

“Like this?” She says.

He closes his eyes at the sensation, “Yes.”

Like she did before by hand, Arturia lifts her breasts along the length of his penis. She sighs at the intense warmth from his phallus. The air is a little chilly in the restroom. She squeezes herself closer to El-Melloi. The pressure of her chest makes the tension in his shoulders go slack.

Unconsciously, he starts to raise his hips in tune with Arturia’s massage. The precum from before spills out into the crevice of her considerable chest. It serves as lubricant, speeding up the pace of her rubbing. While the smell is weird, she doesn't mind it. In fact, it makes her a bit dizzy and hot below. Without El-Melloi noticing, she snakes her right hand between her legs.

Arturia feels a damp spot as she shifts her clothing aside. Feeling the edges of her labia, she starts to pleasure herself. Waking from his stupor, El-Melloi looks down at the heavenly sight. Seeing her other hand missing, he faintly hears faint squelching sounds below. Realizing that she’s pleasuring herself as she does to him, it sends him in a frenzy.

“Ah…!” Arturia yelps at her bosom fondled. Her partner took it upon himself to help. Placing his hand over her own hand still cupping her breast, he squeezes the flesh while encouraging her pace. The wet smacking of flesh below and above for them has them panting like dogs in heat. She digs her finger into the right spot that sends sparks to her mind. And he ramps up the friction of her titfuck sending him on the edge.

To the surprise of no one, they achieve simultaneous orgasms. Arturia’s knees give out on her. El-Melloi shoots his seed atop her chest. Out of breath, the two gaze at each other. Without word, he leans forward to give her a kiss. She takes it then pulls away a bit when he goes for another. He pulls on her arm, locking lips with her. This time, she holds onto his arm as she reciprocates the kiss.

As they slowly come down from their sexual high, Arturia wipes his seed off her chest. Still smothered in between, she feels his cock still hard and hot. She remarks, “Was I not sufficient enough?”

He replies, “You performed admirably, I’m just still wanting…”

Arturia smiles at him, still in in a daze. She stands up and settles down onto his lap. His erection crushed beneath her moist nether regions. She then lifts herself, taking his penis in hand. Stroking it all the while, she points it upward and presses the head of it against her lower lips. She moans, “Then, I’m in your care.”

She drops all the way down with relative ease. His dick slowly penetrates her as she grunts from the intrusion. Not to hurt her or himself, he prods an inch at a time and waits. When his erection is all the way inside, Arturia finally sits back down on his lap. The two hold each other to adjust to their new union. Her insides hold him in a vice as his phallus stretches out hers. Taking it slow, they hump their crotches in unison. Her grip tightens on his shoulders as she starts moving on her own.

“Hah ahh…” Arturia moans into his ear. Glad that she is finding pleasure in this, he slides his hands down her sides. He grabs onto her rear and holds her for easier thrusting. Not to slouch in her own efforts, she bounces atop his lap. Gripping his shoulders, she moves her waist in a way that buries his dick in that same spot that sent sparks earlier to her head. In front of him, her great rack bounces with a hypnotizing movement. Unable to resist he latches onto one of her nipples, sucking in the tip.

“Ahh…! Not too-!” Unable to contain her rising moans, Arturia squirms in his lap. Her shifting in place just emboldens him to continue. She clutches his head to her bosom. He licks and swirls his tongue around the aureole, while fondling the other breast. She twitches in the embrace and can’t help her slight drool at the corner of her mouth.

“Waver…” She says, breathlessly. He knows what’s coming; he’s on the edge himself. He relentlessly stabs himself into her. Her moaning devolves to almost squealing. Despite the limited space, and their cohabitation taking place on a toilet of all things, she wrap her legs around his waist as best she can. Suddenly, El-Melloi with all the vigor he has stands up with her in his arms. The two clutch each other, nearly crushing their bodies under the strain. Letting go of her tit, he grunts as she can’t contain her voice.

Feeling her insides nearly squeeze him dry, he spills his seed deep inside. They spasm in their embrace, unable to let go. Soon, the strength in their limbs leaves them and he slumps back down on the seat. She leans into his shoulder, completely spent. Their sweat running down their craniums and their necks give them a nice afterglow shine.

After cleaning themselves up, Arturia gives him the bag of clothes, she leaves. Feeling relief at her foresight, he opens the bag and looks inside. He couldn’t react. She had brought him the wrong set of clothes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs.

Well, at least she tried.

Turning into a girl and being forced to work at a cafe wasn't Waver's idea of a good time, but the day just might get better when a buxom Artoria comes in for coffee. (Waitress, Genderbend)

March 14th, 2017, 01:43 PM
“Aren’t I supposed to go in the other end? I d-don’t think this is how this is supposed to work, Martha.”

She shot her Master a frown as she shoved him into the confessional, past the thick, black curtain where no one could see them.

His first thought upon stumbling inside was that it was cramped. To call it cramped, though, would be an understatement: there was barely enough room in the tight booth for the two, but that was no one’s fault but Martha’s. They couldn’t help but let their bodies brush together, and out of sheer politeness her Master did his best to cram his body into a corner.

That didn’t help much.

Martha seemed to have some specific reason for bringing him here of all places, knowing the church was empty but not seeming to know the purpose of a confessional.

In his defense, it was hard to ignore the lavender scent of her purple hair - hair so perfectly silky smooth, he noted, when it tossed against his bare arm - and it wasn’t long before he was very aware that he was here, alone, pressed forcibly up against a beautiful young woman. Most notably of all in this situation was simply that Martha herself didn’t appear to mind. Maybe she was just adept at hiding her inner thoughts, but from all her Master could tell she was as calm as could be.

“You’re not a Christian,” she retorted, staring up at him as though he’d insulted her. “How would you know the proper use of… these facilities? You wouldn’t!”

He shrugged, taking in a deep breath - a mistake, he soon learned, as a heady rush of lavender overcame his senses and he found his thoughts wandering towards sinful licentiousness. His eyes, too, did some wandering of their own down the sheer neck of Martha’s outfit. She was a saint, yes, but he began to wonder if he could really be blamed for feeling certain things that he did.

Shaking his head, he tried to brush away those thoughts. Anything but that, right here and now.

“Still, you came here because you had something to confess, didn’t you? I’m your Master, remember, you can tell me anything.”

Her mouth opened up to give an answer, but then suddenly she clammed up, a flush of red visible on her cheeks even in the dim light of the booth. He could barely notice it, but for what he thought was the first time she wore makeup - nothing heavy, but for her, even a little eyeliner and lipstick stood out. She never was the type for that, as far as he’d known her.

How long had it been since they first met? Neither of them had ever kept track, but it felt like the days - months? - had flown by. It was like yesterday they met, and found that something clicked between them. It was something more than a Master and his Servant, and he found himself particularly fond of her more than any other Servant in Chaldea. He couldn’t place it on any one quality they shared, just a feeling he had that he’d rather spend time with her than with anyone else.

Their first real conversation arose out of a coincidence: he had been sent to the small but functioning church on some errand or other, and when he was there he ran into Martha. They made small talk, nothing important, then out of curiosity he asked her about her past and who she was. Before either of them knew it, two hours had passed. He was on the receiving end of a stern talking-to when Dr. Roman eventually tracked him down, but he couldn’t help but dumbly smile, remembering a joke that Martha had made.

It had made him realize that he never thought that saints liked jokes, but then he supposed that they didn’t have any vows against comedy.

Vows, now that was where he hit a wall. As much as he liked her, it was a pipe dream to want anything more than that. She had her religious obligations, and he respected that those meant more to her than anything else, even her duty as a Servant. What was he supposed to expect, then?

Martha straightened herself out, standing as tall as she could. With her chest puffed out like a bird, she stared up into her Master’s eyes.

“What I wanted to confess was… what I wanted to confess…” The words were clearly difficult for her, but she swallowed her pride.

Her Master waited, his eyes urging to say her piece.

“I… I love you!”

It took a while for those words to register in his mind. For some time he didn’t think that Martha was even saying them. Maybe he’d overheard someone outside making an impassioned confession? The church was a nice, private place after all, everyone knew that. Or, maybe Martha had said something else, but her words came out slurred for her own reasons, or he had a lapse in hearing.

Yes, that was it: a momentary lapse in hearing. Nothing more. He sighed in relief, glad to have figured it out.

That moment of clear understanding was shattered as soon as Martha, up on the tips of her toes, pressed her lips against his. She lost her balance, almost bringing them both tumbling down, but he caught himself against the wall of the booth - and found his hands on his Servant’s waist. Inadvertently, he was sure, that brought her closer, and her clumsy kiss became much less so. So much less that it just happened that her Master leaned into it, pulling her against him. It didn’t matter, right then and there, if he was helping her break her sacred vows in the heat of the moment.

In his defense, she started it.

He pulled away from her, a smile on his faintly red-stained lips. His hands rested on the small of her back and he held her tight, her face buried in his loose, white shirt.

This tender embrace was something neither of them wanted to end. A warm feeling flushed through Martha when her Master placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head; then the sensation of his lips falling almost carelessly by her ear nearly made her shiver. She had no words for this feeling, but it felt right, like… acceptance.

Up until that point she’d been a bit stiff and awkward, but then she let her Master take all her weight into his arms, something he was more than willing to bear.

“I love you, too,” he said so serenely as he tucked a stray few locks of hair behind her ear; she didn’t need to know that saying those few words had been just as difficult for him as it had been for her.

She pressed her face deeper into his chest, and he let her stay there a while, listening to his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry… I know, I have my vows, but I thought-”

He laughed, betraying his nervousness, stroking her hair to calm himself. “It’s okay, I’m fine just having you like this, we don’t have to do anything more.”

He wanted more, he wouldn’t and couldn’t lie to himself, but this woman’s love was worth more than that. If this had to be a chaste romance, then so be it. Never before know did he know that he could love her, and this was something he wouldn’t let himself betray.

Upon hearing his words, though, she took a full step back, wriggling her way out from his embrace, and shot him a sharp glare.

“I thought of a way we can express our love without needing to worry about chastity. After all, as long as I’m a virgin, I haven’t broken my word, have I?”

Very tentatively, watching his smallest reactions, Martha tiptoed forward, her glare softening into affection, a coy smile on her lips. When her Master tried to grasp her shoulders and pull her back in, she brushed his hands off, dismissively - then brought her own hands to her shoulders and began to undress herself. Her delicate fingers undid button after golden button, her elaborate costume peeling away from her slim figure; when her dress finally fell around her feet, its myriad crosses made a stark contrast with her nude form.

He was entranced by her. Now, despite the light, he could see her in a way he’d only shamefully imagined before, and it was hard to reconcile with reality. Was he really seeing this? Was it a dream, or was she pulling a prank on him? He hesitated, his hand twitching, wanting to reach out and grasp at her full breasts - but he thought that, if he did that, this supposed illusion might shatter.

“Not following suit?” she asked him, a hint of put-on disappointment in her voice.

His trousers were very swift in joining her dress on the floor.

He wore a quizzical look still, as if he continued to wonder exactly what was on her mind - not that he minded what she was getting up to, if it was what she wanted. He smiled down at her, happy to go with her flow.

“So, are you expecting me to…?” he started, expecting her to finish the sentence.

With a little wink she brought one hand down her flat stomach to rest between her legs, covering up a patch of dark hair. “I can’t let you touch this, I’m afraid.”

His expression stayed the same, but then Martha broke her deep gaze into his eyes to glance down - and saw his cock, standing stiff and ready. She blinked a few times, shocked herself that she was doing this, that she was seeing this, and that she was going forward with it all. It didn’t take long for her to steel her resolve and continue on with her plan.

Reaching behind her back, she rubbed her hands together as if she was plotting some cunning plan, then pressed her warm, naked body against her Master’s bare legs and open shirt.

He placed a small kiss on her forehead, breathing deeply with his nose in her soft hair expecting to return to their prior embrace, but as he soon found Martha had other ideas. He felt a cool, slimy sensation between his legs, and immediately looked down. Martha was doing something with her fingers, but…

An icy shiver rippled down his body when he realized what she was doing.

Her hands, small and precise, lathered up and down his length, getting him slippery with something wet and oily. When her job was done, she placed her hands on his bare stomach, wiping off the rest of the slick fluid across his skin. Then, she moved in to take control of the situation, blowing a quick kiss up at him as she pressed herself tight against him, forcing him against the wall of the confessional. He wasn’t taking the bait yet - but he could be persuaded, she knew.

“There are plenty of ways for us to enjoy ourselves, Master,” she said, drawing his glistening cock straight between her thighs - but not where he expected. “Not just the ‘natural’ way.”

To make him understand what she was trying to get at, she rocked her hips lightly forward; he slid easily between her thighs, a surprisingly tight sensation that sent a light shock of pleasure through him. It didn’t take long before his strong hands were on Martha’s waist and he was the one thrusting, pushing into her but not inside her. It was something wholly unique; he’d never imagined doing anything like this, let alone with a beautiful woman like Martha, the woman he could now openly say he loved.

“You thought about this a lot, didn’t you?” he teased, drawing a hand through her hair, playing her white ribbons between his fingers.

She tried to laugh it off between breaths, but to no avail. “W-well, not too much…”

Her Master wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against him as he pressed his hips forward, his thighs smacking against hers; she could feel his hot, heavy breaths on her shoulder, feeling his exertion in every thrust. Letting him take control, she did little more than kiss his neck, urging him with her lightest of gestures.

“I’m sure plenty of Christians wouldn’t approve of even this, you know. Are you really sure that you aren’t going to go to Hell for being such a debauched temptress?”

“I wouldn’t say thaaa-t, after all… you’re still my first and only, aren’t you?”

“Hah, well,” he said, panting, “as far as I know. You could be saying that to every guy around here, there’s no way to prove anything.”

She quietly huffed, a noncommittal blush on her cheeks. He could have sworn he heard her mutter something as well, her eyes turned to the side, but those words were imperceptible at best.

Without saying anything beforehand, he suddenly spun her around by her waist like in a dance, his hands firmly on her hips, and turned the tables: he held her against the other wall, her chest pushed up against the smooth, cool wood that seemed so rigid and inflexible compared to the softness of his body.

“Ready?” was what he asked her, but before she could respond he began pressing the tip of his cock into her ass, guiding his way in with care.

She let out a long sigh, and he showered her with sweet kisses along her shoulder blades, plying her romantically as he eased himself deeper and deeper inside her; by most standards they’d well and truly thrown away her chastity by now, but on a technicality she could still say that she was pure by dated, Biblical standards.

“You know,” she began, her breathing getting heavier and more staccato just as her Master’s thrusts did the same, “there may be sacred rules against sodomy, but they were written for men. Maybe no one anticipated that women might like it this way.”

Her Master just shrugged. He was deep in her now, the slippery lubrication Martha had provided him working wonders.

His eyes drew slowly up her back, seeing warm rivulets of sweat dripping down her spine, giving her gorgeous body a light sheen; her hair, too, was getting wet and matted, and then he had an idea: he curled her ribbons around his fingers, then clutched them in a fist along with her hair, holding it tight. Then, as he was bucking his hips particularly roughly, enough to jolt her back against the wall, he jerked his hand back.

“Oh my God,” she cried, visibly shivering on the spot, the tight sensation in her backside combining with the sharp pain to create a sensation she was entirely unused to - and she wanted more.

Then, as if to follow up, he slapped her ass hard, leaving a bright mark on her soft skin.

Leaning in close, he said to her in a low voice, enunciating every word: “don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Saint Martha.”

Her mind felt light and hazy, her body weak but her sense of pleasure still strong. This was exploratory for her, even revelatory, and this encounter with her lover was an experience she knew she would be happy to repeat. Now, letting herself be overtaken by the passion of the act, she stopped caring about what she did or said, eagerly pushing her hips back against him, revelling in the noise of their wet thighs slapping together.

“Harder, damn it, harder,” she demanded as he pulled back on her hair, her eyes forced up to the ceiling. “Fuck me.”

Words, language, none of that mattered - and she found herself willingly crying out the Lord’s name very much in vain many more times, until her ass was a deep, unfading red.

She could tell from his erratic breaths and the way his fingers dug into her ass with an almost pins-and-needles feeling that it was almost over for him - not something disappointing to her. It was welcomed, actually: she was exhausted almost to the point of collapsing once this was done. So, when his hand slipped down from her thoroughly mussed hair to her breast, grabbing it and kneading it as he wished, she took this opportunity to turn her head and whisper.

“Master, remember: as the Bible says, it’s a sin to spill your seed.”

By now his thoughts were perfectly in line with hers, and he knew what her little aside was getting at.

He quickened his pace, ignoring the part of him that wanted to prolong this tender, electric feeling as long as possible. His thrusts were heavy, hard, and fast, and in moments he was grunting and struggling on his feet, trying to keep steady.

They both felt him pour out wave after wave of his apparently sacred seed inside her, his breaths just as heavy as the heartbeat-rhythm of his orgasm.

Riding it out as long as it would go on - which felt, to him, like forever - he pressed his hips against her ass, bringing them tight together, his arms around her in a hug from behind; it was a gesture of tenderness, strangely coupled with the lasciviousness of the act they’d just finished. She let her hands fall to her stomach, where her fingers entwined with his, and they enjoyed the drawn-out fall from their shared high; their breaths so very gradually slowed to a careful pace, and their racing heartbeats, too, faded into the same relaxation.

“I really do love you,” she said, and she felt him nodding against her hair, kissing her again; like offered appetizers at a dinner, it felt like just one little kiss wasn’t enough, and that he needed one more, then one more, as if to prove that this was real.

Their love, if nothing else, no longer needed any proving.

“I love you too, Martha. I really do.”

They stayed as they were, nude and half-nude, like statues carved together from the same marble, sweat giving their skin a glistening, polished sheen, and for them that was enough to be contented by. Martha took in a deep breath, and her Master followed suit, and neither saw any reason to get up and leave just yet.

Until, in the echoing chambers of the church, they heard a familiar man’s light, airy voice.

“I know you’re here - you’re always here, so don’t think you can escape from the all-knowing Doctor Roman! Show yourself now, and I’ll ensure Miss da Vinci doesn’t hear of this!”

When they both stepped out after a few minutes of his verbal beckoning, loosely clothed and still wet with sweat, they were silently grateful that he asked no questions about their sorry state. He gestured for them to follow him out, ushering the two out from the church and back into Chaldea’s metal hallways, a bright contrast to the natural stone and wood - artificial as they were - of their favourite place.

Little did they know, a bright blush lit his face as he marched ahead of them, his suspicions unmentioned but very much at the forefront of his mind.

A certain Servant, rather devout (Martha or Jeanne), has, unfortunately, fallen in love with their Master - and it's unfortunate because she has certain vows pertaining to her chastity. But she wants to be closer to him/her nontheless. (Tags: WAFF anal religious dirty talk)

March 14th, 2017, 01:46 PM
The Resurrection

1998, November

Mikiya should have been here, Shiki groused - he knew what to do after a fatal car crash. All the damn things about being a fake relative, he’d be better at: dealing with Daisuke’s stoic, yet broken face while filling out the accident report (she left him alone), identifying the mutilated body lying on a slab by the amber teardrop necklace that had been wrapped around its neck. She wasn’t a convincing niece, but nobody seemed to care. Shiki gave them the papers: they allowed her to condemn the body for cremation and take away the remaining belongings salvaged from the car in a small bag.

Shiki dropped it on Touko’s desk and threw herself down on the couch, passing her sheathed knife from one hand to the other, while Touko reached into the bag and found a scorched but intact cigarette, lighting it with a flame out of her palm and taking a long drag. “It’s a shame,” she said, after a long while when both women had become bored with what they were doing with their hands - Shiki had thrown the knife on the table, Touko’s cigarette ground out in the ashtray. “That was a lovely car, you know. At least it was insured - they’ll be sending the forms to you.”

“Damn forms. Have Mikiya do them when he gets back, he loves boring shit like that. What about the guy that hit you? He’s fine, and we know who he is.”

“What’s the point, Shiki?” She leaned back, rolling her shoulderblades into the chair, and Shiki rolled her eyes - she thought she was so invincible. “He’ll punish himself, thinking that he killed me because he stayed out drinking instead of coming to account with his life. It’s cute that you want to take revenge for me, but -” she put her feet up on the desk “- do I seem like I mind?”

She sighed, rolled off the couch, and grabbed her knife again to spin in her hand.

Shiki spent the next few days between Touko’s office and the streets, wandering and sleeping, finding nothing of interest outside and nothing novel inside. Her and Touko alone, all day, stuck with this woman without Mikiya who was gone for a whole month for a reason as crappy as wanting a license to drive the machines that had just gotten Touko killed, and he didn’t have an extra body, but what was the point anyway, the damn weirdo. She reached behind her back, flicking her wrist and throwing her knife dead center in Touko’s couch; she took it by the handle, pulled it out, and after a moment thrust it right back in, hacking it to pieces until rivers of white stuffing flowed onto the seat and she was panting with anger building on itself, angry at herself for being so angry over such a stupid person when Touko came out of her room.

“Shiki, if you’re bored…” Reluctantly, she slipped the knife back into her kimono, Touko coming up to wrap an arm around her shoulder. An odd ripple went down Shiki’s spine, vaguely electric and cold, and she realized that, aside from the prosthetic arm, this was the only time she remembered Touko touching her. “You can help me with something, instead. I still need to do some tests on this body, and it’s significantly easier if I have help.”

As far as Shiki was concerned, anything was better than being angry about Mikiya.

Touko’s bedroom? Shiki never had bothered to wonder about it - she barely even thought of Touko as someone who needed to sleep. Mikya must have wondered, she thought as Touko lead her in, and it was a good thing she hadn’t, because she would have been terribly disappointed. Touko’s soul was out in the office, displaying all its collected eccentricities, so many of them that there wasn’t anything left to put in here. Bare concrete floor with a rug thrown over it, a few dressers, a large, metal-framed bed with grey silk sheets. No other furniture, decoration, or points of interest, save for the three tall windows, like in her office, that the bed laid under. A bedroom in its ideal function, for sleep and nothing else. It seemed to Shiki that the puppet bodies were disappointing if Touko still had to deal with all her humanity.

She’d brought a clipboard in with her, and handed it to Shiki, leaving her to study it while Touko made for the bed. “The procedure’s there,” she said, putting her glasses on the nightstand. “Nothing complicated, but it’s like a tickle: the reaction doesn’t work properly if I do it to myself.” Then how did you do it the first time, Shiki wondered, looked up from the clipboard to the bed, and blinked.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Nothing but white underwear, top and bottom, simple, but with an attractive snug cut, and subtle vine patterns that Shiki noticed were only apparent at a close look. The effect was greater than its parts - Touko, pale skin, wearing white, propped up in dark grey silk by a few pillows with a splash of scarlet hair. “You’ve seen underwear before, Shiki, I’d hope,” she replied, matter-of-fact. “It’s not anything new, just get started.”

Fine then, Shiki thought, she’d get damn started and get it over with, since it barely seemed to require her help. Like a tickle? Nonsense; Touko could check herself if she had feeling in her extremities, she didn’t need Shiki to pinch her toes and fingers, though she did it anyway. A reflex test on the knee, pupil dilation, boring, boring. Two-point discrimination: there weren’t any tools around, so Shiki decided to use her fingernails, lightly checking the response on Touko’s shoulder, arm, hands, thigh. “Stay still.”

“Mmm, sorry, I didn’t even realize.” Touko lowered her leg, looking at where Shiki’s fingers had just been. “I wish I could do my skin like yours, it’s always so perfect.”

“If you want to turn me into a cosmetic product you’ll need a good reason,” Shiki grumbled, moving on, opening a bottle of water and dripping some on Touko’s stomach to confirm she could feel cool. And maybe there was something wrong, because Touko reacted like it was ice water, with a sharp breath and a slight arch of her back. Shiki grabbed the corner of the sheet, drying her off, and felt Touko almost vibrate under the touch, even though it’d been mediated by silk. “Is that bad?”

“No, it’s alright,” Touko said as she brushed over Shiki’s hand with her fingers. “I’ll figure it out later, just keep going.”

And the next test was pain reception, that called for just a small prick. So she asked Touko to give her her hand, took her knife from behind her back, and with a flick put a two-inch cut along the base of Touko’s thumb. Touko jerked her hand away with a hiss, looking at Shiki like she was a cat that’d bit unexpectedly. Of course Shiki didn’t need to do it; but if Touko was going to offer herself instead of Mikiya, she was asking for it.

Again, Touko put out her hand, shoving it towards Shiki. It’d been a shallow, precise cut - little more than a faint red line on Touko’s hand with a few drops of blood weeping out. “Ah, that was mean, Shiki,” she said, sounding hurt mostly because she wanted to. “At least give it a kiss to make it up to me…”

Knife still in one hand, Shiki reached out with the other, taking Touko’s hand, leaning over slightly, looking her right in the eyes. She never broke eye contact: not when she raised Touko’s hand to her, not when she pressed her lips to the cut, nor when her tongue swept over it, picking up a rusty touch of blood and laughing to herself that Touko’s red eyes were wide in surprise, that she hadn’t expected Shiki to call her on the bluff that was her constant flirting. That one of her toys could fight back.

But the surprise in Touko’s eyes softened to something else, and she reached out with her free hand to hold Shiki’s cheek, relaxed, just resting there. Shiki pulled away just an inch, dropping Touko’s hand, noticing her own breathing seemed hard all of a sudden, and Touko grabbed the front of her kimono to pull her down.

Shiki’s eyes were still open when their lips met, Touko’s pressing against hers softly, moving slowly, mumbling some unidentifiable word, but Shiki jerked back after a long few seconds. Touko’s eyes blinked open, asking the question for her so she didn’t have to ruin the moment to speak. Shiki had never liked Touko especially, all the jerking about, the games she played, the way she could never shake the suspicion that Touko still thought of her as an experiment, a girl lying on a hospital bed to pick over and investigate: she was only a means to an end. Anger at Mikiya flashed through her again, for leaving her alone - alone, such that she had to do this, that she couldn’t sate herself by any kind of closeness with him that made her let Touko kiss her, and when Touko gave her kimono a single light tug, she decided it was fine if she just made Touko the means to more than one end.

She had the presence of mind to drop the knife to the floor before swinging herself up onto the bed, kneeling over Touko’s thighs and sinking her hands into the pillows behind Touko’s head, letting the older woman guide her in. Though she did more than that, opening her lips, urging Shiki to do the same, both of them breathing heavily whenever they broke off. All the while, Touko’s hands slid over Shiki’s back, making their way to her obi and pulling it apart slowly like a child picking petals off a dandelion, letting Shiki slowly stop kissing her when she realized her kimono was slipping apart.

Eyes met again, Touko’s now gleaming with interest - Shiki’s, less certain, the brush of air low on her neck and shoulderblades real in a way it wasn’t now. “Go on, it’s ok,” Touko murmured, her voice catching. Like hell she needed Touko’s permission, so instead of slipping out of it, timidly like Touko wanted, she sat up, resting on Touko’s thighs as she drew the kimono open, and Touko couldn’t resist a chuckle. “It’s cute, Shiki, I never thought you’d wear such a thing.”

“J-just what happened.” The peach underwear, lightly embroidered with flowers, was something her mother had sent her, like all her undergarments, and up until today it’d never occurred to her how any of it actually looked. No mirror in her apartment, and, realistically, Mikiya never about to look at them - and even if he had, she doubted he would think anything of one style or the other. Touko did - of course, Touko would think about it for herself, but even then, Touko had just admitted she thought about what Shiki wore, lazily undressing her on a summer afternoon, perhaps…

Sitting there, Shiki didn’t feel like giving Touko all the satisfaction of living out her dreams and leaned back down over Touko, instinctively kissing her shoulderblade before biting, just a nip that grew firmer as Touko gasped, arching up into her, perhaps as encouragement because her chest brushed against Shiki for a moment. Just a moment, before she controlled herself again, relaxing into the bed, bringing her hands up to Shiki’s hips; they rested there, holding only gently while Shiki returned to kissing Touko with somewhat more enthusiasm. For just a moment, Shiki stopped, and Touko managed to get a word in; “Just relax,” which Shiki only had to wonder about for a second before Touko’s hands slipped her underwear onto her thighs. One finger slipped inside her without much resistance - she’d tried it before, she wasn’t inhuman, but it’d been unsatisfying. Yet Touko doing it had a particular electric uncertainty, leaving Shiki hanging, leaving the finger inside her for a few moments, letting her get used to the idea before Touko reached her thumb up and pushed just exactly right to;

Groaning, she collapsed on top of Touko, pinning her arm between them. She shouldn’t have had to react like that, Shiki thought absently: it wasn’t physical, it was just the surprise of something completely new happening to her, and, the sudden satisfaction of Touko doing what she had wanted Mikiya to do and that he was too stupid to realize, or even approach, and that she couldn’t have come close to doing to herself because it really did need to be someone. Just like a damn tickle. Touko put a hand on her back again, rubbing gently, and whispering close to her ear “I do bodies for a living… there’s a few tricks that you learn.” And then, with just a small fierce touch in her voice - “Now, get back up, that’s not enough for you.”

Trembling, but only a little, she got back up, raising herself to give Touko just enough room to work; and there she realized she wanted to do something more than end up moaning on Touko’s hand and reached down in return, propping herself up while her free hand clumsily worked open the front clasp on Touko’s bra. She shoved half of it aside, managing to get an appreciative hum out of Touko when she grasped, adding a pinch at the end.

And then Touko got to work, finger inside Shiki moving slowly, and thumb working her over, gently, but insistently, lighting her up with each new movement. The shock, the vibration, ran up her spine and trickled back down, slowly gathering down in her pelvis. She felt hot, hot enough to shrug off her kimono momentarily, ‘what Touko might be looking at’ rapidly becoming less important, but closed her eyes, not wanting to see how Touko appeared to feel because then it didn’t have to matter. “You can feel it, Shiki, it’s alright,” the woman below her purred; Shiki bit her lip, suppressing a moan that’d been coming.

Touko added another finger, twisted, and Shiki could barely help it, groaning staccato, core gradually weakening; she leaned down on one hand more, still trying to grasp at Touko with the other but it was too much to think and feel at the same time, moving less, letting Touko play her body out. Turning her fingers, squeezing, apart and together, Touko did… whatever she was doing, Shiki could barely tell in detail - it may as well have been magic to her, but it worked, felt natural, just as much as her false arm did the same. And everything crept up on her faster than she expected; all of a sudden, that ball of heat inside her started throbbing, with her tightening around Touko, slowly losing her poise and sinking down to lie over her, propping herself up on her elbows while Touko just kept going, going, until Shiki felt her entire body contract all at once, squeezing in on itself, vibrating and shaking and rolling in unison, and she saw stars.

She blinked, trying to regain feeling in, well, everything, and found out she was lying on top of Touko, feeling soft and comfortable, and close. It was a while before she felt like moving again, with Touko content to indulge her: she didn’t say a word, didn’t make a sound, just let Shiki lie there, arms draped around her, and speaking only when Shiki had started to stir.

“Now, you do me.” Shiki groaned - it would be much nicer to just stay here, forget about everything else; not have to get up, let Touko make her embarrass herself. Yet Touko seemed insistent, gently poking at her, pushing a leg between hers, and when she finally said “Shiki, don’t leave a girl hanging,” there was just enough of a pleading touch in her voice that Shiki figured it was fair. Rolling off the other woman, it was only a moment for her to dispose of the rest of her clothes; Touko had done the same when she turned, having also gotten up to kneel on the bed, back to Shiki, and was about to face her when Shiki stopped that, kneeling behind her in the same way. She wrapped her arms around Touko’s stomach, letting one linger, moving the other up to squeeze Touko’s chest from below. Perfectly, Touko arched back into her, which is where Shiki struck, kissing and nipping at her shoulder, neck, even jaw as Touko rolled her head more, loose red hair brushing on Shiki’s face. Ear, last, a long kiss, lick, and bite lightly on the lobe, which made her shiver, with a gasp. Maybe, Shiki realized, it wasn’t just Touko playing a game with her, maybe something that she wanted herself, maybe even for the same reason. And it was when Touko was finally ready to admit it, grabbing Shiki’s free hand and insistently pushing it between her thighs. “Fine then,” she told Touko, a centimetre outside of her ear, and just like Touko had with her, started with a single finger.

Touko groaned, leaning into Shiki’s hands, using one of her own to egg Shiki on at her chest as well. If it was what she wanted, that was more than fine by Shiki - she slowly pinched down on Touko’s nipple and then, added a twist. That’s right, maybe you had fun with me and want this, but you can’t puppet my own hands, Shiki thought, adding another finger and drinking up Touko’s reactions, more emotion coming out of her in just this afternoon than she’d shown Shiki in half a year. That was fun: so was Touko twitching around her fingers, yielding when she moved, groaning, wet and warm inside, and so was the idea that something was going on inside Touko besides goddamn plans.

Shiki felt Touko twitching, and slipped her fingers out. Her chin rested on Touko’s shoulder, heads leaning against each other, listening and feeling to Touko breathe heavily as they both watched Shiki trail her shiny fingers along Touko’s stomach, all the way up to her belly button, drawing circles around it for just long enough for Touko to catch her breath and for Shiki to twist three fingers into a bundle get Touko to groan right beside her when they got back inside her.

By now, it didn’t take long for Touko to get back into it, biting her lip, just like Shiki had been, to keep herself under control; still, Shiki could feel every movement of her body now - the trembling thighs, mouth moving with and without noise, shallow breathing, everything about Touko being incredibly horny under Shiki’s hands, which she would have let go on forever until Touko opened her mouth and managed to gasp out “Touch my fucking clit” - oh, that, Shiki thought, moving her other hand down to do just that, and Touko melted in her arms, moaning and shaking.

Funnily enough, when she could move again, Touko just pulled the sheets over the two of them, and Shiki didn’t mind.

Mikiya stopped by her place when he came back with dinner and ice cream. It was ok - she doubted he noticed anything different. But she was somewhat more relaxed, now, eating her dinner without needing to keep her eyes on him the whole time. As usual, they didn’t talk, but as he turned to leave, he told her, “I stopped by Miss Touko’s office before I came over, and she said you’d forgot something,” taking out a small, flat box with a ribbon on it before turning to leave. “Good night, Shiki.”

She’d forgotten her goddamn underwear.

KnK: Touko decides to test her new body's reactions and sensitivity by seducing Mikiya (and/or Shiki).

March 14th, 2017, 01:50 PM

Shirou Emiya brought the cup closer to his nose and breathed in the faintly sweet scent of the tea. It was rare for him to be alone in the student council room, especially when the sun was about to set, but after doing a variety of chores around the school as a favour to Issei, he felt he deserved a treat before going back home. He drank the tea slowly, taking care not to miss any of its warm, slightly bitter taste even for a moment. He sighed as he set the half-empty cup down again, perfectly content.

Shinji Matou stood in the doorway.

Shirou blinked a few times. No, his eyes weren’t playing a trick on him: there was Shinji, standing tall with his arms crossed, a familiar smirk on his face, and looking better than he had in some time, with his skin displaying a healthy, rosy glow – it seemed he had fully recovered from being forcibly turned into the Grail’s vessel. He even looked more energetic than he did the one time Shirou visited him with Sakura.

“Heh. What’s the matter, Emiya? What’s with that silly look?”

Shirou smiled warmly. “Shinji. It’s good to see you out of the hospital.”

“Tcheh! It’s good to be out of there!” He stepped into the room and, without any ceremony, pulled out the chair beside Shirou and sat. “I was tired of staying in bed all day. It was so boring, you know? Well, of course you don’t know – you wouldn’t know what to do with a lazy day if it hit you with a bat, right?” Shirou’s smile grew even wider. Any fears he had of Shinji reverting to his usual self were just put to rest: he was still the blunt, but honest guy he used to be – back when they were still friends. He had missed that Shinji.

“So, what brings you here?” he asked, genuinely curious – he didn’t think Shinji had ever been even near the student council room. To his surprise, Shinji’s smirk turned into a friendlier smile.

“Heh. Why else, fool? I came to talk to you.”

He was still smiling when he said that, but Shirou could see the way his body tensed up, how he brought his hands together in front of him. Whatever it was he wanted to talk about, Shirou could see it was something which bothered him, try as he might to act casual. Brows furrowing in concern, Shirou simply nodded and replied: “Then let’s talk.”


And talk they did. The cup sat forgotten on the table, the tea long gone cold as Shinji poured out his heart. His foolish, futile ambitions of carrying on the Matou family’s magical tradition, his hurt pride and wounded sense of self at seeing that Sakura would be the one to do it instead, his impotent rage at having been denied what he wanted the most for something completely beyond his control... All the pettiness, the jealousy, the things which twisted and churned inside him until he felt he could nothing but lash out at the world, especially those nearest to him.

“Like Sakura.”


“And Rin.”

“...Yes, her too.”

They stayed silent for a while, with Shinji looking everywhere except at the person beside him, and Shirou just... ...thinking.

He thought back to Shinji hitting Sakura for the first time – but not the last, he was sure of it; thought of what Shinji had tried to do in this very school, how he only failed because Caster usurped his plan; thought of how he had watched happily as the golden hero killed the white-haired winter maiden.

He had told Rin that as long as she had only been unsuccessful – as long as she hadn’t made a mistake –, she could still be proud of herself. Shinji had made many mistakes, however, mistakes which weren’t in Shirou’s power to forgive (could even the gods forgive such mistakes?).

And yet...

“Shinji” he commanded. The blue-haired young man turned to him, trying vainly to keep up a façade of confidence.

Shirou smiled. He could see it in Shinji’s eyes: he was fighting against himself. Shirou would always acknowledge such a fight.

As Shinji saw Shirou’s open, inviting expression, he felt the tension drain away from him in the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Thank you... ...Shirou.”

Something welled up from deep inside him and gently carried his consciousness away in the whispers of a dream. Outside of himself, he could see his body acting on its own, a puppet with invisible strings, to lean into Shirou and kiss him. It was only a gentle kiss, a mere contact of the lips, but both men nearly jumped out of their skins as if lightning had struck them.

Shinji moved back, the first one to recover from the shock. The truth is that he had known for years how he felt about Shirou, even as he hated himself for that; now that those feelings were out in the open, he felt rather comfortable, like they were an old friend sitting in companionable silence beside him. Shirou, however, was still reeling from how much unacknowledged passion there was in the kiss – and not from Shinji.

Both just stared at each other for a while, neither willing to look away, but neither able to say or do anything. Finally, Shinji just smiled affectionately, no hint of his usual smirk.

“I’ll see you around, Emiya.”

He stood up and started moving toward the door.

“Shinji, wait!”


Their lips met once more as Shirou firmly held Shinji’s face in both hands, lightning coursing through their veins.


Their tongues danced. They drank madly, deeply of each other in an embrace driven by long-denied feelings which had finally been released. Those were sloppy kisses, with both lost in passion and neither being much experienced, but they didn’t care.

Shirou broke off from Shinji’s lips only to dip and start kissing his neck and sucking on it, eliciting small shivers of pleasure. His hands tenderly moved downward his partner’s body, until one of them went under Shinji’s shirt and rested on his back, caressing it, while the other went inside Shinji’s pants and started massaging his hardening dick. Shinji yelped in pleasure.

“Damn it, Emiya” he said, holding Shirou off, “stop teasing me and just fuck me.”


“What? Don’t pussy out on me now!”

Shirou just nodded in response. He would have preferred to continue with the foreplay, but he understood Shinji’s burning too well – it mirrored his own. He silently took a condom from his wallet, and Shinji hungrily eyed as he covered his member with it. The latter couldn’t help but smirk as he noticed the wrapping, though.

“ ‘Extra lubrication’, Emiya? How did you know?”

“No, it’s just that... Rin still gets embarrassed when I try to go down on her, so she needs...”

No. Shinji would not let Tohsaka steal this moment from him. He had no illusions that when it was over, Shirou would still be hers, but for right now, he was his – finally his – and he wouldn’t let him go.

He kissed Shirou again, this time much more softly, but for what seemed a longer time than their earlier make-out session. Then he wordlessly pulled down his trousers, fully exposing his hard cock, turned around and got on all fours.

Once again, Shirou just nodded in understanding.

“Are you sure you want this?” Maybe it was a stupid question to ask someone with their naked ass up in the air, but it had to be asked.

“Yes. Take me, Shirou.”

And Shirou did.


The friction between his insides and Emiya’s rubber-covered prick was painful, but there was also pleasure mixed with it. No – the feeling of pleasure was the greater, as the gnawing ache which still lingered in his soul seemed to subside, the constant craving finally satisfied. Jealousy, anger, worthlessness, all the mud stains on his heart had been washed away by that passionate tide; never had he felt as uplifted as now, when he had Emiya dick-deep in his ass.

For his part, Shirou’s mind was completely blank, all thoughts and feelings – even those for his red devil – completely pushed aside by his determination – no, his need to lose himself inside Shinji, to tease him and please him and fuck him until both could no longer move. His body was moving almost of its own accord, each thrust slightly quicker than the last, a crescendo of sex which finally culminated in him pounding away like a machine, gripping Shinji’s ass tightly with one hand while aggressively caressing it with the other.

Shinji kept on uttering wordless grunts in time with Emiya’s hips, slowly – try as he might to control himself – rising in volume, until finally he had to bite his sleeves to muffle his loud moaning. Shirou wasn’t as successful in stifling his pleasure, though, and kept on softly calling Shinji’s name in between breaths.

“Shut up, Emiya” Shinji tersely replied, his voice almost breaking with the effort of controlling his passion. He failed to control his body, however: his own cock, already hardened from Shirou’s passionate kisses earlier, proudly sported a raging hard-on already oozing with pre-cum. He could feel something building up within him, taking him close to the brink of madness.

Shirou was the one who crossed the threshold first, however: with a final, wordless grunt, he lost himself as his dick spurted hot cum inside the condom. Both stayed still for a moment, quaking slightly as the remaining sexual energy drained away, until finally Shirou pulled his cock out and moved to the trash can.

“Shit. Emiya, you asshole!” Shinji said as he rose from the floor, holding a chair for support.

“Huh?” Shirou looked back in confusion as he threw out the condom and covered it with the rest of the trash. “What, Shinji? Did I hurt you?”

“No, but you didn’t let me finish first! Fuck, I was so close! Now I’m gonna have to jerk off, and it’s just not the same!”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Huh?” Now it was time for Shinji to feel confused. It was a feeling which lasted little more than a second, though: his face turned a bright crimson shade as he saw Shirou, dick still hanging out of his pants, kneeling in front of him.

“W-wait, you don’t have to...”

“It’s ok, Shinji. I want to.”

And there was the dumb, but friendly smile which always made Shinji’s heart skip a beat. God, did he love that smile! He felt as if it set the world right just by – Anything else he would have thought was lost to time as he felt Shirou’s breath on his still-sensitive, still-erect cock. He looked on in anticipation, his prick eager for Shirou’s sweet lips.

Shirou could smell the musky scent of Shinji’s dick as he tentatively wrapped his lips on the head and tasted the salty, somewhat bitter pre-cum. He slowly took Shinji’s full length into his mouth – Shinji moaned –, passing his tongue over it as he did so – the moaning intensified, Shinji started quivering. Satisfied he was doing it right, he carried on, his head bobbing up and down as he alternated between sucking and licking his lover’s member, never letting it out of his mouth. He was more enthusiastic than skilled, but it didn’t matter, Shinji was so close to the edge he moved his hips in unison with Shirou’s head, wordlessly begging for release.


The redhead’s mouth was busy, so he just grabbed Shinji’s naked ass with both hands – hard – as a means of reply. Shinji’s mind flew away on wings of desire, and his cock erupted in Shirou’s mouth in three quick successive bursts even as he, too, let out a wordless grunt. For his part, Shirou only swallowed the thick, salty cream. It was over.

No. Not yet.

Both young men stared at each other for a moment, trying to catch their breath as their orgasms subsided. Then, acting in greater harmony than even before when they were in the throes of passion, they moved closer together and kissed, one last kiss – mouth to mouth, cock to cock – as they held each other.

There were no delusions: both knew this had been a one-time occurrence. But for a single moment in eternity, they were happy to have acknowledged what had gone ignored for too long.

Just Shinji and Shirou doing it on the student council room floor. Pls no abusive.

March 14th, 2017, 01:53 PM
Deep night. An encirclement of mountains. Dense clusters of trees giving a healthy image of nature, laden with snow. White field. A light dance of snowflakes in the clear air. Outlines of traditional-style roofs and the faint lights of civilisation in the distance. A winding road covered in sleet and ice. A mechanical beast, four wheels still and engine silent, spotlights lit to illuminate said road. A sorry-looking black dog skulking about and digging at the frozen earth. A shivering youth, so miserable that he can’t even muster the will to scowl at his predicament, instead adopting the pained expression of the long-suffering that can do absolutely nothing to change their fate.

The scene goes from “something out of a fairy tale” to “flat tire in the middle of nowhere” as one perceives more details, but my day has been consistently crappy from start to pending finish. Forget wandering into Ihatov, I’ll sooner get chomped by a youkai like an ice pop.

Thrusting my hand deeper into its pocket, I will my teeth to stop clattering.The coat I’m wearing is too light to properly hold off the chill of the night, never mind that it’s also the dead of winter. It’s not Tōhoku, but Prefecture C can be fairly considered the boonies, and it’s naturally colder out here than in the urban centre of Shikura, where the encroaching frost breaks against the walls of buildings and the protective cocoons projected by heat-regulating thermostats. The reason I don’t own a heavier coat despite often visiting such locales is that I make a point to be safely back in the air-conditioned cradle of civilisation by the time the sun sets. Dipping into my ever-limited funds for a situation that can very well be avoided would be massively wasteful.

That, of course, goes to show that I’m not standing here slowly turning into a Classical one-armed ice sculpture by choice. Oh no sir-- Ishizue Arika was kicked out of bed first thing in the morning, given two minutes to prepare, and then physically dragged out of his apartment and thrown into the passenger’s seat of the expensive European roadster that he is currently standing next to. Smash and grab, a proper kidnapping; and what’s worse, I’m legally obligated to not resist. What followed was a load of nonsense unworthy of comment, a casual brush with death, then a more serious contemplation on the mortality of man; and now, an intense nostalgia for the warm and sterile halls of Origa Memorial Hospital, which I, in the folly of youth, had abandoned for such a trite thing as “freedom”.

In short, a massive waste of time, effort, and overall well-being. What’s that? ’This is what it means to be an adult and part of the workforce’? Do not misconceive this as a mutual agreement for the exchange of labour for wage: it is neither voluntary nor paid. Spurred on by threats of violence and a leash around my neck, this is a textbook example of slave labour.

...Well, in truth it’s not that bad, and much of it will become just a scribble in my notebook in a few hours, but grumbling about the injustice of it all makes my present condition a bit more bearable. Blaming other people is the prerogative of a weakling, after all.

Hatred-chan shuffles up to me. It sniffs my trousers as if to see whether I’m hiding any food in my pockets. Detecting none, it sits on its back legs and gives a low whine that seems somehow accusing. Am I imagining it, or is it acting more like an actual dog than before? It’s rather suspicious that what by all accounts is a manifestation of emotion can acquire the behavioural patterns of an animal. It’s entirely possible that its dog-loving master made it this way, but really, equating this thing with dogs gives dogs a bad name. I should ask Kaie about it next time I see him.

“Shoo. Go find a squirrel or something,” I wave the blind dog away. It stays where it is. Tch.

Despite being as thin as a rail, it doesn’t seem to be affected by the temperature, as it keeps company to a fellow dog that has no choice but to sit here with eyes glued to the road illuminated by the car’s headlights, faithfully awaiting the return of its master. As to why it isn’t waiting inside the car, that is because said master had taken the car keys with her as she went, not out of some concern for locking her pet in, but because she would be “back soon”, or some such nonsense.

Hyuu. Resignation condenses into vapour. The wind has died down, and without it the dance of snow slows even further to a gentle, almost unnoticeable sway. Hatred-chan plops on its side as if tired of existing. A silence as heavy as the blanket of the surrounding snow.

It’s actually quite nice. I still long for my shabby one-room apartment, but leaning on the driver’s side of the car and taking in the wintry scenery, my agitation ebbs away and I relax somewhat, even though I’d planned to keep up my front of righteous indignation as a final defiance.

It’s been a long day. I’m probably much more tired than what I feel right now - which is mostly numbness with pangs of hunger gnawing at it. Returning to Shikura before either sets in would be ideal, so it probably won’t happen. Thinking about it this way, the ‘me’ in the here and now has it pretty good. Isn’t that nice? You feel good about the present, thinking about how the future will be even worse. That’s positive thinking right there.

I try whistling a merry tune, but my lips are dry and cracked, so I settle for humming instead. I don’t know the lyrics, but it’s a seasonal song that’s been fairly popular throughout the winter holidays, which has been engraved in my memory from listening to it being played over and over while eating at Nebula. Thinking about it, it’s not just songs, but actually a great number of things that imprint themselves onto us by sheer repetition until we accept them as normal occurrences, but the less one thinks about such things, the better. There’s no point in asking myself whether I actually like this song, just as there’s no point in wondering whether I’m fine with being dragged around and, frankly, being used like this.

Rather, I know the answer already, but there’s no point in stating it out loud.

Because, that person is--

“Christmas was a week ago.”


While I was distracted, something terrifying has snuck up to me.

“These songs are valid for the entirety of the holiday season. Everyone knows that.”

“Uh huh,” she doesn’t seem convinced. “Move off the door, Shozai.”

I hurry to comply. Retrieving the keys from her pocket, she unlocks the Mercedes SL55 AMG and reaches inside, first turning off the headlights, then rummaging for something. Dress pants are drawn rather fetchingly taut against firm legs, a sight I turn away from tactfully, because at this point I’ve grown attached to my continued well-being.

“Mato-san, the road is still frozen over. Not that I wouldn’t place my life in your hands without hesitation, but is it really okay to drive in these conditions?”

I don’t see any tire chains that she might’ve brought with her, and honestly the idea of being in the passenger seat while this speed demon drifts on sleet with little traction at 60 miles per hour is making me a little ill. Thankfully, she would never do something like that; not out of respect for the law or, I don’t know, basic self-preservation, but simply because she wouldn’t tolerate so much as a speeding ticket on her record.

“Moron. Of course it’s not okay. We’re not going anywhere until road conditions improve, and that’s not happening until daytime.”

Having apparently found whatever she was looking for, the woman straightens herself and stares me down like I’m a particularly bothersome leaflet distributor.

Touma Mato. Assistant Inspector, erstwhile Dr., also known by a number of nicknames: most of them colourful, few of them charitable. The manner of her formal dress betrays her as a careerist, but although she dearly wishes to join the bureaucratic circles that match her disdain for the socially inferior, she’s no paper pusher. Simply put, this cool and stylish lady had applied for a Public Security field job thinking it would be a quick stint and an easy step towards further career advancement. Unfortunately for her, few things are simple where A-Syndrome is involved, and so she’s now on her third year of rounding up and documenting the cases of Agonist Disorder in this prefecture, a task compounded by the hoaxes that are labelled “demon possessions” that also need to be sorted out. I can commiserate with getting more trouble than you bargained for, but then again this frustrated sadist is also my supervisor - in other words, my parole officer - so I also take a peculiar joy from her consternation.

She has been trying to clear her backlog of cases in order to finally facilitate a transfer, and so her shiny imported roadster has made the rounds from one end of the prefecture to the other, a furious mechanical steed for the harbinger of forced entry, detention, and property damage. Much like a hurricane, and in quite the same hurry.

Then, what am I doing with her? As it turns out, I apparently “owe her” for helping me “become a functioning member of society”, and that entitles her to “enlist my services” - a meaninglessly tactful way to reaffirm that I live at her sufferance, which is something that I’ve known since the day I was released from Origa, when it was plainly spelled out for me. In fact, I did actually sign a contract in order to be eventually released, so I may have already signed away my freedom without noticing. Whoops.

Well, that much is fine. I genuinely enjoy being useful to Mato-san, and being a glutton for punishment that is surprisingly resilient like a taffy ball makes for good compatibility, so I fare a lot better than a regular person, like her poor underling Atsushi-kun. What really stings is the way that my employer at the time took the news.

The conversation went like so.

“I’m going to be borrowing this piece of trash for a while.”

“As long as you don’t burn it when you’re done and return it in good shape, that’s fine. Ah, but then no one will be here to tend for poor old me…”

“How much for one month?”

“About this much. Also, send a replacement here once a week.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

“Alright then, Mato-san. Take good care of him. Oh, Arika, you can take the arm with you. Remember to feed it once in a while!”

And then I was led away by my new owner, while the shitty brat that had just rented me out like I was his property waved me goodbye with a smile. Just like that, Ishizue Arika’s ownership exchanged hands. Human rights? This one doesn’t believe in them, and that one isn’t even human to begin with.

That was the beginning of a weeks-long buddy cop routine starring The Terminator, a man that just wants to live quietly, and his demonic K-9. They had a romp all over the place, ticking names off the hit list one after the other, until the very last one brought them here; “here” being east of Shikura City, in a land scenic enough to host a temple where a self-proclaimed bodhisattva resides, as well as, more pertinently, a hot springs district. This seems like an agreeable locale, but as it happened, that last name turned out to be the real deal, and let’s just say that the heart-throbbing adventure which ensued left no time for relaxing at the onsen.

Bottom line is, I was very much hoping to return to my apartment, leave all this behind, and ease myself back into the wage slavery of that perennially twilit underground chamber, the spoiled demon-child in satin, and the most comfortable couch in the world - all things that I have gained a new appreciation of. However, maintaining an air of deference and gratitude towards my captor until the moment she tosses me out in front of my doorstep and drives off is essential for the fragile everyday life I have cobbled together to not crumble under this evil Tomato’s boot.

Also, I’m somewhat proud of the way things turned out, so if I made it end on a sour note I wouldn’t be able to deal with myself afterwards. Since I took this job one way or the other, there’s no point in not seeing it through properly. The fact that I hate leaving things I’ve started unfinished or impartially done is something I’d never let Mato-san find out, for what she does not know she cannot use. Being thought of as reliable is nice, but only if you retain the right to say “no”.

I put on my best guileless expression and ask an equally innocent question.

“Er, so will we stay here until then?” It must be close to four in the morning, so the sun won’t rise for another two hours at least. Granted, it’d be much better to wait inside the car, but…

Mato-san just stares at her wristwatch, a severe formal design, and ignores me. Then she reaches to her waist and unclips the waistband bearing her gun holsters, twin Berettas sheathed in them, and throws it on the driver’s seat. Then she replaces it with a smaller, more compact chest holster, which is probably the item she was previously looking for in the car. The grip of a monstrous IMI Desert Eagle pokes out from under her armpit briefly before she buttons up her overcoat - cutting as smart a figure as the rest of her attire - and hides it from view. As far as concealed carry goes, it’s the equivalent of hiding a sawed-off shotgun in a trench coat, but she has that jurisdiction as a special agent. Probably. I don’t see a reason to ask anyhow.

The look I’m receiving is implicitly calling me an idiot, but that’s the idea in the first place, so it doesn’t faze me.

“I made arrangements for food and a place to rest in the district, but by all means, I can lock you in the car if you prefer it. You won’t die, so it’s fine.”

A perfect, bone-chilling response. It almost warms my heart.

“No, please and thank you. I just cannot bear that long without you.”

“You’re an imbecile. Leave the arm here.”

I turn to look at the black dog, which has been playing dead ever since Mato-san came back. Usually I cut off its connection to the stump of my left arm and it turns back into a black-tinged appendage soon after, but this time it’s stuck around in mutt-form long after being called into use. Another oddity, but this leaves me stumped - more than usual, ohoho - on how to force the transformation, so I can only scratch my head and stare at it all contemplatively.

I hear a sigh that conveys the precise nuance of disgust at being forced to do something that is, by all accounts, extremely simple. Then footsteps make a half-round of the car and stop by the passenger’s door. The handle is pulled; click, the door opens.

“Get in here, mongrel.”

A voice so cold I think I see ice crystals form in the air. The emaciated dog springs to its feet in the blink of an eye, and with a yelp as if kicked it dashes to the Mercedes and leaps into the car like a hunting dog into a rabbit hole - only in this case it’s cowering from a vastly superior predator. When I take a look inside, it has already turned back to the rigid form of a jet-black prosthetic left arm.

“Hmm, just like its owner.” With that remark, she locks the car, turns her back to it and me, and starts walking back in the direction of the faintly lit district.

That was probably derogatory, but I think Hatred-chan acted exactly how someone should when faced with a monster that preys on monsters. Smart doggie. Nothing likes its owner, though.

And to prove that point, I hurriedly follow after Mato-san.


So, here are some more details about Case File, uhm… well, he doesn’t get to have a questionable codename like the shut-ins at Origa’s deeper Wards, being quite deceased after a forceful infusion of several lead pills. Maybe “Geyser Blazer” or “Vaporapizer” could work, but then again I have neither a sense for nicknames not any business giving such retro ones to those unable to raise any objection to them, so in the spirit of anonymity “Subject” will have to do.

Anyhow, the Subject was a male approaching middle-age, living in X town in Prefecture C, married to Ms. Yamada, and father to little Tarou. He was known to his neighbours and fellow residents as a hot-tempered man, quick to anger and quicker to follow up on it. That temper was expressed in all aspects of his life, but as he was also skilled at his work and highly valued as a result, a shouting match or a brief brawl would be soon forgiven and forgotten. He had made trouble since youth, but the man managed to live in this manner for so long with the tolerance of the society that valued that particular skill. It was an equivalent exchange where people would accept an evil as necessary, as long as it was balanced out in another beneficial way.

It was miraculous that such a precarious balance endured as long as it did, but eventually the side of benefit began to be outweighed. The Subject’s inner fire flared a bit too violently, and a man was seriously injured. That man wielded a certain amount of influence within that society which was enough to ensure that he would get his comeuppance. The Subject was fired from his job - quite the ironic phrase. He was reported to have fumed about it but to have surprisingly left without an issue. Another report has him returning to his house, and the sounds of arguments and agitation following soon after. The report notes that these sounds seemed “more violent than usual” - and let us take a moment here to consider what it is that the witnesses considered “usual”. Suddenly, what were described as “bursts of flame” shattered the house’s windows and door, shooting through the gaps and out into the street; this was altogether decidedly unusual, and thus it motivated the witnesses to inform the authorities. Said authorities entered the house to find it remarkably undamaged from the reported conflagration which resembled the description of a gas explosion. With the Subject nowhere to be seen, there was really only one remarkable thing immediately obvious: that being the two fire-blackened skeletons, one bigger than the other, lying side by side on the slightly singed carpet.

That was the point where the Agonist Busters (trademark pending) swooped in to take over the case. Using a web of informants with zeal to put secret agencies to shame, which Touma Mato commanded - rather, commandeered - he was tracked down to this quaint vacation spot. He seemed to have sensed his own status as prey and so laid an ill-conceived ambush for us on the way there, which failed to thin our numbers or deplete our resources beyond the water used to clean all the soot and hot ash from the windshield, but in return netted us the proof of a genuine case of A-Syndrome, as well as the all-important knowledge when it comes to dealing with them.

Affected site: the right arm. His dominant, punching arm, if you were wondering.
New function: meteoric rise of temperature upon physical contact.
Cause: Irrelevant; but as a guess, “uncontrollably hot temper”.

Armed with this information, the experienced hunter Mato-san created a battle strategy, and Shozai the simple-minded hunting dog nodded along in agreement. In a stroke of fortune, the usually bustling hot springs district closed during winter holidays for the necessary cleanup and repairs, which made what would have been a delicate situation with a huge risk of collateral damage into a simple matter of calling the proprietors of the local establishments, informing them that it would in their best interests to not got out tonight, and simply lying in wait.

Now, it didn’t quite go all according to the plan, but that isn’t to say that Mato-san’s strategy was flawed so much as that my own deficiencies exceeded expectations and created a flaw where there should have been none.

Though honestly, there was no way I could have known that this seaweed-thin dog can’t swim. I only had one other point of comparison, and the shark seemed to handle water just fine!

It was a complete blindside that no one could have seen coming, but one which gave the Subject, whom I was dramatically confronting in an onsen pool, the freedom of his right arm and ample time on top of that to stick it in the hot spring and raise against me a geyser of superheated water that would have melted skin, meat, and organs off my body so cleanly my skeleton could be used as an anatomical model at an exhibition. One-armed man, East Asia, ca. 2006. So pearly white you’d need sunglasses to observe it directly. To be used even after death, that was the kind of fate I was facing, but the bath-hating Hatred-chan redeemed itself by grabbing me from my shirt’s hanging left sleeve and dragging me out of the way of the intensely pressurised, immensely hot pillar of water, turning the encounter between pet owner and human geyser into a deadly game of whack-a-dog. It was terrifying even for me, a person incapable of feeling terror. I don’t think I can look at a hot tub the same way again; it’s cold showers for Ishizue Arika from now on. If any of this sounds exhilarating, you should seriously seek help.

The target practice ended favourably, as should be immediately obvious. With Plan A: “Shozai pulls his own damn weight” failing miserably, Plan B: ”Shozai puts his worthless life to good use as a distraction” automatically went into action. Evading the attention of the man, Mato-san snuck up on the blind spot of the danmaku for cornering a trapped dog, and aimed to incapacitate the Subject with a stun grenade.

It seemed like a perfect throw, but I have no choice but to believe that it was actually a miscalculation. She had said so herself, and to cast doubt on that and think otherwise would inevitably paint an image of Touma Mato as a vindictive, sadistic person that prioritises personal satisfaction over duty, which clashes horribly with the rule-abiding consummate professional that I know her to be. Such is the case that I simply have to accept this as the truth, and put it down as such, without letting my own thoughts colour the account overmuch.

The objective truth of the matter is that the flash grenade that should have detonated non-lethally in the near vicinity of the Subject, depriving him of his senses and creating an opportunity for incapacitation and arrest, was instead overthrown so that it came into contact with the affected area of the right arm, thus instantaneously skyrocketing in temperature, and exploding with such force that mangled his right arm in a manner that reminded me of the octopus-shaped sausages that my mother used to put in my bento. I remembered that detail of my pre-Origa life simply because they were my favourites. Another thing I used to love is now ruined forever.

Beyond that, simply the nature of the injury made me involuntarily winch, but having sustained such a wound his assault on me instantly ceased, and the Subject lay insensate and heavily bleeding on the small island in the middle of the onsen pool from which he was mounting his assault. Dr. Mato - and I must stress that she is a medical professional with years of practical experience - approached him, and after a rather brief cursory examination she determined that what this man was in dire need of was not gauzes or a tourniquet, but a mercy killing that would shorten the slow and painful experience of bleeding his way to an inescapable death. Having completed her diagnosis, she pulled out her Berettas, and bang! bang! bang! -- we’ve done all we could. Time of death: etc etc. While I am skeptical about Dr. Mato’s methods, I’m not the one with the medical license, and as long as there’s a plausible explanation for everything, no one - not even the dead - can complain too much.

After working around the black dog’s hydrophobia, the only thing left behind to mark the proceedings were some deep gouges in the structures of the inn and a pool of blood on the islet that Hatred-chan couldn’t reach to lap at. Mato-san set off to find the owner of the establishment to inform him that some cleanup on pool #2 was in order, as well the phone number which he should call to arrange for the repairs. Then we walked all the way back to the car which had been left a ways off from the district. When we reached it, Mato-san took a long look at the frozen-over road, got in the car, and tested the traction of the tires before getting out again, locking it, and turning back the way we came, instructing me to stay put where I was until she was back.

That about covers our activities leading up to the present. What had happened on Mato-san’s end for the past 30 or so minutes can be briefly summed up as follows:

Mato-san returned to the establishment where the fight had taken place. She was received as an unwelcome surprise, kind of like something that one had gone to great pains to get rid off only to find it at their doorstep again almost immediately afterwards. She put forth our current predicament and need for food and shelter. The answer was that there were no tire chains available, and that the district was closed for business, not to even mention the unfathomable hour. Mato-san then posited that the heroes that had saved the populace from a homicidal maniac’s rampage deserved at least a special accommodation, not to mention that said maniac could have used his power to detonate the water reserves feeding into the onsen of the district and turning the whole place into a failed business model. The riposte was that the homicidal maniac that happened to have wandered here wasn’t any of the proprietors’ concern, nor had they asked for our services against him, and that was without even getting into the fact that the people who had trespassed into his property and inflicted material damage on it were in no position to make demands. Mato-san commented to me that this argument was easily refutable on account of all the damage being paid for from the Investigative Bureau’s budget, but having at that point ran out of patience, a very hungry Touma Mato made it abundantly clear to the proprietor that she was an absolutely invincible authority not to be denied by anyone within the borders of the prefecture. This seems to have convinced the man to arrange a brief, private reopening of his facilities. Sticking around long enough to see that preparations were indeed being made, Mato-san then returned to the car to retrieve her belongings (sic).

All in all, the path that lies behind us has been retraced completely. I will endeavour to no longer think of the past, and simply anticipate the future which has been foretold.

Still, the impression that places which were designed to host large groups of people give when they are completely devoid of them is remarkably akin to an alien landscape. Not too alien, like standing on the cloud layer of a gas giant, but something like the red mountains of Mars, familiar yet fundamentally different. It’s an absence of something fundamental, a concept I despise on principle, but on the other hand one is alone where he would never be alone, which is a marvel for a natural-born social outcast like myself. The two feelings balance out, and as I don’t dwell on my surroundings too deeply while following Mato-san, the onsen resort seems to have a traditional charm to it that is compounded by the loneliness of a winter night.

Mato-san knows where we are going, so I just turn off my brain and follow her. Eventually she stops at a specific facade, out of which faint lights and the hurried sounds of preparation emanate. She pushes the door open without hesitation,and a tiny bell announces her entry. I linger at the doorstep for a moment before following her. The feeling of breaking and entering came unbidden, but we are practically guests of honour here, though we have practically invited ourselves. Sorry for intruding, honestly!

The interior is not sparse so much as cleared out, which in these circumstances makes sense. Regardless, the design is fairly utilitarian, though the unified aesthetic made apparent by its remaining furnishings suggests a hospitable space where one can relax and fill his stomach in peace. A few tables have been pushed to the side, chairs stacked upside down on the sides. The walls are a grainy hue of wood that probably matches them well. Hm, yeah, okay, this is a good enough establishment. Vaguely familiar, too. It seems highly improbable for a young man struggling to make ends meet, who subsists on junk food and can only make it as far as the corner of his apartment block and the Café Marion before blowing his paycheck on a proper meal, but can it be that I have made my way out here before and eaten at this place during the day?

That seems like something that I’d definitely note down, and the more I prod at this feeling, the more nagging my suspicion grows. If I lose my appetite because I started overthinking things I don’t even know whether I’ve forgotten, that would seriously make me cry. Forget that, that’s nothing! I don’t even remember the last time I ate!

A base beast with base desires has no time for deep thoughts. I’m sure Mato-san agrees with me.

Speaking of whom, she’s moving into a corridor that lies in the back of the room, which is actually the origin of the current illumination. She turns into the wall to the right and vanishes, so those must be private booths. Curious, I move to join her. Private booth, and this soft light… For an invasion in the middle of the night during the off-season, I honestly expected some sandwiches at best.

The booth is fairly spacious. Inviting plush sofas are on either side of a large round table that takes up most of the room, and Mato-san has already made herself comfortable in one. There’s a couple of spots on the ceiling turned to half-light, plus a lamp nestled on a crook on the far wall.. But the most peculiar light is cast by…


I bring a hand to my face just to confirm. Yeah, I’m actually smiling.

“Good grief, I’m embarrassed just being in the same room as you.”

Mato-san flatly states her mortification and turns her head away from me to resolutely stare at the wall. Not a trace of such a cute emotion as embarrassment can be seen on her face.

You will never understand, Tomato-san. Forcefully deprived of a job with an actual salary, Ishizue Arika has spent the past month pinching pennies harder than ever before. Ready-to-eat meals at a bargain or bumming off of Kirisu, neither taste nor pride were a factor anymore. I once reached the point of desperation where taking up Tsuranui on her offer to split a “Lovey-Dovey Couple Giga Omelet Rice” seemed like a viable option. And all that while being hauled to investigations lasting from morning to night every other day? Forgive me for feeling like my suffering has finally been rewarded - and I don’t even believe in miracles.
I school my expression back to neutral and speak with the most gravity that a person who has just actually cracked a wide smile over the prospect of food can muster.

“Mato-san, just answer me this one thing. Is there any sort of catch to this?”

Her glare is an encapsulation of supreme contempt. My back shivers involuntarily in response, the result of two and a half years of conditioning.

“Shozai. Sit down and shut up.”

I think I’ve just managed to break new ground in how low Touma Mato can possibly think of me. I’m actually genuinely happy right now, but she also seems genuinely angry, which is more than enough incentive for me to drop the act of the fool and slide onto the sofa opposite of her. It really is as comfortable as it looks.

Hmm, I guess we really are having yakiniku at a little before 5 in the morning. The power that this lady commands is awe-inspiring, indeed.

I’d very much like to sing her praises right now, but I’ve been given an order that I feel I can’t get away with disobeying. While I sit mute and perfectly obedient, Mato-san looks as if she is unusually preoccupied with something. I’m guessing it isn’t thoughts like ‘when will the meat arrive’ that inspire such complicated expressions, though either way I can do nothing but watch the dance of two perfectly sculpted line-thin eyebrows while her face shifted slightly from one facial expression to the other. Staring at her face might be a bit rude even though she doesn’t pay it any mind, but there’s little else for one to rest their gaze on during the wait. If I fix my eyes on the dimmed light spots or the light glow burning under the steel griddle, I’ll fall asleep in no time at all.

I am transfixed to the point that it takes me two full seconds to realise that she has spoken, and another two to parse the words.

“Is this the natural colour... of my hair?”

“Yes,” Mato-san nods. “The patient file at Origa did not include this information, and it’s a recorded phenomenon that hair can turn white almost overnight after immense psychological shock. I was wondering whether this was the case with you.”

That’s a mixed personal-medical interest question, but I wonder what prompted Mato-san to ask this.

“It’s always been white. Used to be made fun of for it - Kirisu and others called me “gramps”, among other things. But didn’t you have a clear look at it that night, Mato-san?”

A perfect shrug.

“I see. I didn’t pay much attention, but you were pretty much covered with blood anyway.”

Ah. That’d probably make a stronger impression. Something that stays with you, just like the heroic image of a dashing Agent Touma barging into the scene of the crime with twin pistols drawn, or the nightmarish visage of Dr. Mato as she brandished a running chainsaw with bloodstains on her doctor’s robes. It makes me want to ask whether she remembers me back then as a brutalised victim lying on a blood-drenched bed, or holding a baseball bat just after I had tried bashing my little sister’s skull in. But neither cut a flattering figure, so it’s better not to ask.

No other overture to conversation is likely forthcoming any time soon. Thankfully, just as the intensely awkward silence between two people trapped in a small space with nothing to do and no will to talk settles in, an angel makes its appearance to dispel it.

“...hey, do you need any help?”

“How many times do I have to say this: I’ve got this.”

A rather atypical angel in an all-black attire, including an apron tied backwards and impressive dark circles as the centerpiece of a tired-looking face, comes into the booth while balancing a truly huge covered rectangular tray over her head. The girl - altogether too petite to be called a woman - sways a bit precariously as she tries to maneuver the tray towards and onto the table. I try to hold it from one side to at least ease it on the surface, but the girl scowls at my proffered help and instead pulls the tray away from my hand, nearly dropping it in the process. Is she some kind of waitress here? Or just a kid that was woken up in the middle of the night to do the work of adults? Interrupting the precious sleep cycle of children, which is the cornerstone of proper growth, for something like work - society has clearly taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Somehow she gets the tray to rest safely on the table with a thump rather than a clang. What the hell is actually loaded on that thing? I had been essentially watching a weight-lifting routine being performed by a little girl.

“Er… ah, thank y—”

“Are we done here?”

The irate server interrupts me without even addressing me. Her eyes are fixed on Mato-san, who meets the challenging gaze with stunning indifference.

“We will require refil—”

“—then ring the bell.”

“I see. That will be all, for now.”

The girl couldn’t turn the corner soon enough, leaving me to throw a confused look at Mato-san. She’s leisurely taking off her coat, not even looking at me. Something felt off about that exchange, but then again, I’m about to have a very late dinner in a romantically lit private booth with my part-time slavedriver/full-time handler, which is a very convincing argument for taking things as they come without agonising too much about where they’ve come from, or where they’ll go from here.

Coat now removed, Mato-san rolls up the sleeves of her dress shirt to the elbow, and I have the strange realisation that this is the first time I’ve her take off any article of clothing from attire. Thinking back, she has always taken care so that her appearance fit the proper image of her profession, which of course translated into authority. Either with the white robe of the doctor or the formal wear of a bona-fide special agent, one knew with a single look that this person was a no-nonsense professional. Being privy to the sight of Mato-san letting her hair down - metaphorically, her actual hair was still gathered in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, with two long bangs framing her exotic-looking face on either side. - is a strange feeling. Like I’ve obliviously wandered into a place where I shouldn’t be - which I do very often - seeing something I’m not supposed to see - which also happens in the sense that there are things I would rather have never laid eyes on - yet my presence there is tolerated as long as I do not acknowledge the fact that ‘I shouldn’t be here’.

I think that translates in simple terms to “playing it cool”, and I’m by no means pretending that Mato-san’s company is unpleasant. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, though it may have been lost among her many descriptions as a monster, a killing machine, or some other incarnation of destruction, but Touma Mato is objectively hot. The issue, if it can be called that, lies in that I’m one of Pavlov’s dogs that’s been trained to react to stimuli based around “the authority figure Touma Mato”. Come, sit, follow, roll over, play dead, I know all the moves by heart. But in a casual setting like this where she shrugs off her symbol of authority, all the patterns that have been carved into my subconscious are thrown out of the window - kind of. I’m not relearning human interaction from scratch, but it’s disorienting. Given that I deal with half of my life being wiped clear every day just fine, that much is really nothing to worry about.

Ultimately, it’s not a problem, because I have no desire to change it. I made my choice to live the rest of my life easily and I intend to see it through for as long as I can. There is nothing inherently wrong with living vaguely, half-assedly. Knowing your own self is a bother - seeing half of myself as if it was a stranger’s life has helped me realise that knowing “all” of anything is simply too much, and what’s more, it’s completely unnecessary. If I can get by knowing only half of my own self, is there a reason why I should strive to learn all there is to know about someone else?

That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. Without acknowledging the answer that I already know, I will stop here. Deep thoughts, empty stomach. Throw this Pavlov’s dog some meat to chew on instead.

Mato-san duly obliges, uncapping the tray, and revealing something so ridiculous that I have to go over it again carefully just to be sure I’ve understood correctly.

Let’s see. Beef, lots of it, intricately marbled, probably Japanese. I don’t know much about cuts, or expensive food for that matter, but it seems to my untrained eye that every way that one could think of to slice up a cow is being represented on this plate. Thick and thin, boned and boneless, chunks and steaks, even slabs of meat that were merely cut down to a manageable size rather than a recognisable shape. And then there’s the liver, the heart, a skinned tongue, ears, as well as a pile of other, unrecognisable offal that must have been collectively designated as horumon. The only item on the tray that wasn’t a beef product were, bafflingly, a few cherry tomatoes set off to the side.

All in all, there’s enough meat here to imagine that some kind of small-sized cattle - perhaps a calf - which had been slaughtered and taken apart, has found itself unexpectedly brought back together for the most part on our table, at least for a short while. Mato-san has already selected a few pieces and places them on the heated steel plate in the middle of the table, where they sizzle violently.

In ancient times, the return of a hero from a triumph was celebrated with the sacrifice of an animal and a subsequent feast. In a similar manner, a prized animal, like a beautiful bull or cow, was ritually slaughtered and then burned in a pyre to honour the gods, who would feast on the burning fat. A feast to honour a hero and a sacrifice to appease a violent god - both fit Mato-san perfectly. Since I’ve been graciously invited to partake as well, I need only say my thanks to her and to the unlucky bovine, but I am at heart a responsible person, so I could not properly enjoy this meal of a lifetime without knowing at least this much.

“Mato-san, is this delicious-looking meat going to turn into ash in my mouth as punishment for abusing taxpayer money?”


Please swallow first, you greedy carnivore.

“Ngh. You’re very straight-laced about things that don’t concern you, Shozai. If you put half as much care in your own affairs, you’d save me a lot of work,”

The accusation pings off her harmlessly. Nom, another piece of meat disappears.

“I’m only watching out for you, Mato-san. Important people are accused of corruption every day, and it’s apparently quite a sticky label even if it’s untrue.”

“Your concern is noted. But if you’re going to keep bothering me about it, you should know that I’ve had a budget authorised by the Bureau for these investigations. This was the last case, so I have no more use for it. Or are you saying this isn’t money well spent?”

She doesn’t expect me to reply, and goes back to eating. Well, not that I’m going to raise any further objections. It’s a certainty that the tyrannical Assistant Inspector had essentially authorised an allocation of spending money to herself, through procedures that properly turned embezzlement into bureaucracy. Questionable ethics, airtight legality, not my problem. I’m more peeved that while I was subsisting on the fast food equivalent of emergency rations, she was probably enjoying short rib sandwiches out in Tokyo Bay or something.

There’s no way that she will leave anything for me now, either. I quickly load up my side of the griddle with whatever piece looks good; then I add a couple of tomatoes as an afterthought. While waiting for them to cook, I observe Mato-san work her way through preposterous amounts of beef without rest. There’s something both pleasing and intimidating in the way she eats. She doesn’t chop up her food into portions, preferring to chomp at the whole until nothing remains, yet this action is completed with such speed, precision, and perfect manners that you’d think she’s a machine designed by God for the maximum eating efficiency, and then let loose on Earth to devour everything that stand before it. Simply sublime.

The matter of my own meal cooking diverts my attention from this microcosmic display of reckless consumption before long. Sure enough, I’ve never eaten beef of this quality in my life. I feel the emotional scars I’ve accumulated in the past month heal with every bite. And what makes these moments of sitting in this booth and stuffing my face with high-quality meat all the more precious is that it isn’t day yet.

I, the chronic junk food consumer living in perennial financial duress, will never forget the memory this feast for the rest of my life. Damn it, I think I actually just shed a tear.

As if to drink to that, Mato-san reaches for the sake.


When Touma Mato drinks, she doesn’t get drunk per se. That is to say, she doesn’t exhibit a loss of inhibitions or an impairment of her mental faculties. Incredibly - impossibly - she becomes even more straightforward and brutally honest than her usual self.

Sometime during the second round of eating, my stomach betrays me. Modest eating habits have decreased my capacity for food, and so I am forced to drop off early, cursing the cruel fate that has conspired to minimise my enjoyment of this unique occasion. Mato-san, wholly unfazed, keeps eating in a way that makes me wonder if she’s actually replenishing some sort of health or stamina bar instead of sating her hunger. A number of empty sake bottles are placed off to the side of the table, new ones being brought into the room by the haggard, glaring girl who was definitely losing precious sleep to the ringing of the summoning bell. I sympathise, but right now I am on the side of the strong, and that feeling overrides my compassion for my weakling brethren.

So, while the demonic Tomato works her way towards an incredible feat, I start hitting the sake, which I don’t really favour, but at least it makes me feel less like a bystander at some competitive eating event - or rather, a World Record attempt. Working a pleasant buzz was a nice bonus.

At some point, Tomato-san takes an unexpected break from her eating. Claiming a bottle as her own, she keeps it close to her lips and takes frequent small sips of sake as if gathering her strength and determination to continue her task. Meanwhile, I’m making a tentative enquiry to my stomach by nibbling on a thin strip of beef and trying to tease my appetite back into action.

“Shozai. I am concerned for you.”

Never mind then, that’s not happening. I put the half-eaten strip back on the flat metal surface, and immediately reach for the sake.

“These past few weeks have dashed beyond all doubt any hope that you can develop a sense of self-preservation. I’ve told you before that it’s dangerous for you to simply live, but you’re actually so hopeless that I won’t even get any satisfaction from a weakling being crushed when you get killed. It’s amazing, really.”

Forget the cup, just chug straight from the bottle. I’m not being told anything I don’t already know, but I don’t really trust myself to open my mouth for anything other than drinking right now.

“It’s not only that you run straight into danger, you also attract it just as much. If it was up to me I would’ve kept you in Origa, but since that isn’t an option anymore, having this responsibility is that much more of a burden. That’s the worst thing with you social underdogs: you’re the ones that are supposed to wear the collars, and yet you become burdens for those that hold your chains.”

Okay, that I actually can’t let go without an answer.

“Mato-san, considering that you’ve been calling me a helpless weakling that’s one step away from death for years now, maybe the case actually is that someone as strong as you has a skewed perception of what it means to be weak.”

To my surprise, she nods as though taking my words into consideration.

“That is quite possible, yes. All the more reason why your own lack of self-preservation is a burden to others. I told you before: people like you who do not know themselves must strive through endless effort and mindless repetition to engrave this instinct of self-preservation that the mind cannot learn onto the body instead. That is the only way you can exist in society on your own.”

Mato-san looks perturbed after speaking these words. As for me… well, I can’t very well tell her that the ingrained reactions cultivated through repeated conditioning that she describes are in the case of Ishizue Arika centered around the concept of obedience to the figure of authority called Touma Mato. No amount of alcohol is going to force these words out of me. Instead, I will play the familiar role of the fool. The clownish weakling to the abusive top dog. Two very distinct roles which force this relationship to familiar territories and conversations; familiar, and easier.

“It’s alright, Mato-san. You’ll be returning this social underdog to its previous owner very soon, chain and all.”

I, the fool, speak words with no regard for their meaning. The look that she gives me in return is not part of Agent Mato’s cruel repertoire. How could it be? I had been talking to an image from the past, while looking at the real Touma Mato sitting opposite me in this booth.

She doesn’t reply immediately, preferring instead checking the time in her watch. I realise that I have absolutely no idea what time it is. It might be day and I wouldn’t even know.

“Well, one of the thoughts I’ve had was, if you can’t be made to understand the value of your life in relation to yourself, maybe you could understand it through the value it has for other people. But if you only associate with demon children, gang members and demon possessed, nobody decent is going to grab a hold of your chain.”

So she says, and picks up a piece of sirloin skirt with her chopsticks.

“Basically, Shozai, have you tried getting a girlfriend?”

Touma Mato chomps down on the meat. I press the summoning bell under the table like my life depends on the sullen drink-bearer’s arrival; and that was the theme for the rest of the private dinner. By the time Mato-san clears the tray of everything except the untouched tomatoes contemptuously pushed to a corner, I’m well and properly smashed.

For someone that has just eaten a small cow on her own, she looks the part just about as much the black dog would. There’s always talk of people with unfair metabolisms, but this is moving straight into the sphere of the superhuman. If she was serious about it, I believe Mato-san could have given that compulsively eating demon possessed from a couple of years back a run for her money.

Right now, she looks the closest to content that I’ve even seen her, leisurely nursing a final cup of sake, brought by the girl that had gradually lost even her will to glare at the special agent from Hell due to her tiredness. Mato-san told her that she should go and rest; after all, it’s already morning.

I’m just about done myself. What preexisting tiredness had been temporarily chased away by the promise of food has long settled back in, now bolstered by reinforcements - the lethargy following a satisfying meal, and the influence of alcohol in my system.

If I should guess, it must be between seven and eight in the morning. That’s as good a time as any for this private banquet to end. Or so I think, but I have no idea what Mato-san intends to do. Tonight had been just another piece of proof that this woman isn’t bound by the rules of humans, so I can’t discount the possibility that she can just walk back to her car and drive back to Shikura without any rest at all. I could pass out in the passenger seat. But then again she hasn’t shown any indication to leaving, and I don’t have a clue what arrangements she had made for rooms here, so I could also very well pass out right here, on this comfortable couch.

My voice comes out mumbled, and it takes a few tries to speak clearly.

“Wasn’t there something about… accommodations?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her stretched out on the couch with her back at the far wall. The ponytail has nearly come undone, spilling long tresses of hair on her shoulder. Damn, even through blurry drunken vision, she’s really beautiful.

A ceramic bottle is raised to the lips from which a command is issued.

“Don’t worry about it.”

So I won’t.


I awake to a faint, unidentifiable sound, and familiarly unfamiliar ceiling

That is to say, that even though I know not where I am, I know that I’ve not known where I am while looking at this ceiling before.

Having had bad experiences with both waking up abruptly to mysterious sounds and finding myself in familiar places that I don’t remember going to, my first instinct is to close my eyes again and go back to sleep. Not so much closing one’s eyes to reality, but placing yourself in the hands of the unknown. ’I don’t care anyhow, so don’t bother me.’

As it happens, there are two things that stop me from doing so. One, my right arm is stretched over my head in a very awkward sleeping position. I try to move it, and find that its range of movement has been severely limited. Nothing myoskeletal, I’ve just been handcuffed to the bedhead.

Now, a lucky schmuck with two arms can’t quite appreciate how discomforting it is to only have one arm, and to have even the use of that taken away from you. It really gives you a fresh taste of helplessness when you thought you’ve grown used to it all.

Of course, one good thing is that I can at least move my body, unlike that other time. I confirm this by trying to move my legs - good, everything responds just as it should. It’s not my legs’ fault that they are currently being held down by some vice-like grip that neutralises all my attempts to lift them and pins them firmly to the bed. Most worrisome. That’s number two, right there.

With some effort, I lift my upper body so that I can take a look at what’s holding down the lower parts. There’s no blanket or sheet, so the only thing in the way is my own dim vision. The room is lit by a faint light of imperceptible origin to which my eyes haven’t fully acclimated, so it takes a while to focus. Good, no profuse bleeding as far as I can tell, which sets me a bit at rest. That dark shape though… I squint slightly, and--

Then, feeling bleeds away from all my limbs, and the totality of Ishizue Arika becomes condensed in one intense point. The illusion of all the sensations of my body vanishing except for one place is a dreadfully familiar one, but where the left arm that isn’t a left arm thrums with the perverse pain of eating and being eaten, this feeling is like brand new nerves were being created in this instant just so that they could experience this sensation of stroking, moist pleasure.

In the midst of the almost overwhelming rush of sensory information, I must admit that this is one of the better things that I have woken up to.

Look, I’m a man. Just because I have one arm and some loose parts inside my head doesn’t change the base model’s natural features.

Then, from the whirlpool of pleasure, a voice like a sharpened knife tears apart the reverie.

“When I raided your house and broke down your door, the first thing that came to mind when I saw your sister eating you was actually this sort of thing. Funny, no?”

Between my legs, Touma Mato holds my penis in one hand, the other brought to her chin in contemplation.

Ah… my brain’s turned to ice. So that’s it. I will be mercifully slaughtered now. Ishizue Arika will get his last wish over and done with, and then move down the death row. Somehow, that doesn’t seem too bad.

My current feelings aren’t something that can be put into words, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind without even noticing.

“Please don’t bring up my sister now, Tomato-chan. It’s a total buzzkill. I don’t want to be thinking about her in my final moments.”

Eek, now I’ve done it. Not only have I acknowledged this mix of dream and nightmare as something that’s actually happening, but I also babbled without thinking the one adorable nickname that will turn this pleasant execution into a grisly murder scene. Even now, I am my worst enemy.

Right on cue, a vice-like grip tightens, making me whimper like a beaten dog. I’m half-expecting the sensation of a gun’s cold barrel pressing against me. This level 100 sadist has me at her complete mercy, so getting my dick shot off might be a mercy compared to what a mad doctor who once tried to operate of a flu patient could do. The image of a tomato being crushed by an iron fist flashes in my mind, and my stomach almost does a backflip.

But miraculously, the grip relaxes, and my executioner shakes her head and sighs.

“This is what I mean when I say you have no sense of self-preservation, you idiot. But still, that’s not one of your worst points.”

Having said that, she once again takes hold of my penis, and like so much meat, takes it in her mouth.

OKAY. Okay. It seems I’ve avoided certain death for now, but the sensation of the cool and abrasive Mato-san’s warm and inviting mouth and the image of her bobbing her head up and down while she alternates between taking me in and coating me with her saliva is threatening to erase any other thought from even attempting to form in my head, so I frantically rifle through my shot memory for some logical explanations for this highly illogical situation.

Hmmm, ah, I see. Really? It’s that well-trodden, commonplace scenario of eating and drinking too much and fooling around afterwards? That seems too banal, and more than that, completely out of character for Mato-san. I can’t speak for myself as I’m clearly capable of things - mostly stupid - that I had thought to be impossible, but the iron lady of Shikura has no place in these pedestrian, everyday plots. I can only picture her having a drink at the high-rise bar of a hotel, and then checking into a room so classy I’d be ashamed to step on the carpet. The only problem with this hypothetical scenario is that there’s no way in hell I could somehow partake in a date like that, but then again, if you’d asked me yesterday, or the day before that, or literally at any point in time but now, I’d have said the same about the possibility of Mato-san handcuffing me to a bed and giving me a blowjob.

Life is stranger than fiction. And I can say that literally, because when I imagine such a scene while in a daydreaming (read: frisky) mood back in my apartment, I envision something entirely more violent. Mato-san’s ministrations are firm but tender, to the point where I’m mixing the signals with the idealised version of her that’s beating me up and calling me a glorified sex toy. Of course, this feels way too good, so the imaginary version is blown away like smoke with a deeper bob of the head and a tongue that swirls around the base of my dick - a stark reminder that I’ve spent the past few minutes of having sex with Mato-san by critically analysing the background setting and narrative of this arrangement. Seriously, brain, fuck off.

I turn my focus solely on Mato-san. Her hair isn’t tied in her usual business-like ponytail, instead cascading down the sides of her sculpted cheeks and past her shoulders, giving her a totally different, more sensual look. Since her eyes still hold the same unwavering and direct gaze, which she directs to me every now and then as though to see my reactions, the contrast between that softness and the ever-present dangerous glint in her eye is a massive turn-on. I wish my arm wasn’t restrained so I could place it on her head.

With a plop, she takes me out of her mouth leaving a connecting trail of saliva between her lips and the shaft, which she turns into lubrication to work me with her hand instead, making eye contact while doing so.

“Too gentle? You’re a masochist through and through, Shozai.”

A dangerous smile. She knows me too well - obviously, since it’s because of her training that I turned out like that. Manicured nails are added into the mix, and the alternation of kneading and scraping has my legs stretched taut and sends the chain of the handcuffs rattling. Then, a carnivore’s teeth start nibbling at me, starting at the top and progressing lower and lower, until the sensation of an actual half-bite sends an urgent message of pain, pleasure, and worry piercing through the haze of instinct. Pardon me, I simply must voice my concern.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t bite that off. It would make my life very difficult.”

“Then get a new one. Plastic surgery aside, maybe that kid can help. Who knows, he might have more than four limbs that he give out to people.”

The image of the doll-like Kaie making a sinister come-hither face is annihilated without a trace of mercy.

At the same time, the unrelenting assault on my penis brings me all the way into Mato-san’s mouth as she places her hands on my inner thighs and takes me to the hilt, and with a deep grunt I come right down her throat.

Did I manage to purge the demon brat’s face from my mind in time? I will endeavour not to think on this too deeply.

Mato-san brings a hand to her mouth, and tilts her head back slightly. I see her throat move in a swallowing movement, and suddenly the full realisation of the preceding act sets in, along with an intense awkwardness. She turns to me and I fumble mentally, searching for something to say and coming up only with nonsense. Why is Mato-san having her way with me? If I ask something like that, the nature of an impossible situation will be acknowledged, and it will end right there. I don’t want that, so I keep my mouth shut and leave myself at the mercy of Touma Mato - at least that’s a familiar situation I’m at ease with.

I trust Mato-san to restore my karmic balance. Instead she starts to unbutton her shirt. However much I wish to burn this into my memory, a rational part of me hopes it’s day right now, because there’s no way I’ll be able to interact with her from now on if I remember any of this.

Black underwear and a supermodel’s body. Mato-san’s beauty, which would be apparent even if she was dressed in a baggy tracksuit, is in full display as she undresses in front of my eyes. Unfortunately her movements are swift and efficient as always, so it doesn’t quite cut it as a sensuous sight, but for me who has only seen her in severe business suits it’s a true wonder, and the way that her now-unbound hair sways when she moves captivates me. I want to tell her she’s beautiful but I’m too embarrassed, never mind that I’m still chained to a bed with my dick proudly saluting her. Also, she’d kill me.

Having removed the last of her clothing, Mato-san straightens her back and looms imperiously over me. Balanced figure, toned limbs, taut stomach with a fairly defined outline of her abdominal muscles, firm breasts of medium size - probably a comfortable handful, not that I can confirm - smooth skin all over but for a dark, trimmed coppice down south. An athletic build, though not nearly athletic enough to explain some of her more superhuman feats, lean but with softness in the right places. Wearing no uniform and bearing no badge, she stands there solely as a woman, and easily knocks all competition off the park, as usual. I’m probably blushing. I dearly hope the light is low enough to hide it.

Bearing an indecipherable expression despite the fact that she’s naked and was wringing me dry just a few moments ago, Mato-san climbs onto the bed, and without a shred of romanticism she grabs hold of my penis with her long fingers to keep it steady, positions herself, and heave-ho! - lowers herself on it.

It’s like when the black dog awakens, only many times more intense, and infinitely more pleasant. All my senses have fixated on the same point, all of myself is concentrated in a single place. In this moment, I exist only through the sensation of being inside Mato-san. Warmth from all sides, pressure and friction in equal measures. My body which I no longer control jerks with a suddenness that makes the wood I’m bound to creak. My captor examines the chain binding me critically.

“Being low maintenance is one of your good points, Shozai. You complain a lot but require half of what a regular person does, so I only needed one pair of handcuffs.”

Praising my deprived lifestyle and physical impairment, she starts moving her hips. I can’t seem to find any fitting words at the moment, so let’s just say that it feels pretty good. Her breasts sway to the movement, and she flips the hair that falls on them over her shoulder, then brings up one hand to tuck an errant strand behind her ear. Her other hand is pressed against my stomach for balance, legs folded to the sides. It’s all very erotic and unfathomable, and I try to take it in stride and move my hips a bit to match her rhythm. My legs aren’t tied but I’m having some trouble with motor functions, so my thrusts barely lift from the bed, but at least I’m not being useless.

Mato-san’s expression doesn’t let much show. She’s closed her eyes without stopping her movement, but with no outward display of emotion I don’t know if she’s enjoying this or is just thinking about something right now. A thought emerges - and not just from the part of me that’s a trained lapdog - that I would hate to be disappointing her.


Unconsciously, I call out to her. Her eyes snap open, and hard eyes regard me with no particular alteration, as if this was just another everyday situation. I know she doesn’t emote that vibrantly, but still, that kinda hurts.

“I just remembered. I have been given a message to relay to you.”

“...can it wait?”

“It’s from your sister.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Seriously, is she trying to kill my mood on purpose? Talking about that monster and maintaining an erection are directly opposed tasks.

“She came for me last week, looking for a ‘rematch’. As expected, she’s become a monster, so it was very close. In the end I had to drop her in a vat of molten steel to put her down.”

Bracing herself on my propped-up legs and leaning her body back, she gives a suspiciously familiar account.

“Anyway, the message was: “I’ll come for you after I beat this old lady, my stupid brother.””

I’m not exactly surprised. It’s not the first time that my unhinged little sister has expressed her intent to see me again. It’s more annoying that she’s managing to ruin my sex life too.

“Well, I’ll be counting on you not to lose, Mato-san.”

“That’s the point, you moron. You can’t keep relying on me forever, because I won’t be around for that long, and it’s not my responsibility to keep you alive. It’s natural behaviour for your kind, but do you realise what a bother it is for you to saddle me with that?”

Agitated for entirely the wrong reasons, she picks up the pace and intensity, putting her hands on either side of my head to lean forward. This way her face is closer to mine. Her nipples brush against my chest. It’s almost as if we are lovers.

She is, of course, completely right. One need not to look further than yesterday for a corroboration of that fact. And as the special investigation on demon possessed finally concluded with it, it’s only a matter of time before Touma Mato climbs the next step of the bureaucratic ladder, to a fatter salary, more authority to bully underlings with, and a careerist’s dream: an office with her name on the door. That pretty much means I’ll finally see the end of this three-year long enslavement, but losing the ability to call upon a force of crisis resolution through irresistible violence removes the safety net from all my possession-related activities. Or if I fall in the clutches of Nanase group, my best hope is Tsuranui paying my ransom. Horrible, just keep me instead.

“Is this what you meant by ‘getting a girlfriend, Mato-san? I’ll have to keep getting in dangerous situations to earn Kaie’s paychecks, and there’s no way I can find someone to help me out like you do.”

She’s quite certainly one of a kind. If there was another like her, they would hate each other with such intensity that a city block would be destroyed every time they met.

She’s the greatest. I try to convey my appreciation of her by putting more effort in my movements, and I’m rewarded with a break in her composure when her mouth rounds briefly, a hitched breath escaping, in response to a powerful thrust.

“Ngh. Not exactly. It’s a bother if all the work that went into making you an acceptable member of society goes to waste, but you’re content with being a bottom-feeder. Since you get more motivated for the sake of others than yourself, someone that cares for you and your self-improvement would make you care for these things too.”

I recall something that Kaie had once told me. “Living easily” and “enjoying life” are different things. By thinking that “things are fine as they are right now” and not moving on, you are deluding yourself into thinking that stagnation is comfort.

In my case, it’s not that I’m still clinging to the wish of living the easy life; I have accepted that from the moment I stepped into that underground, moonlit room, nothing would be easy. What I have yet to accept, and what I deny by casting myself as a weakling to be used by others despite his will, is that if there is such a thing as an easy life, I wouldn’t want to live it.

“Or, you can wallow in being human garbage. Once you’re not my problem, do whatever you want.”

Usually her insults are a delicacy, but being dismissed like that when my penis is slickly sheathed inside her just rubs me the wrong way, and also lights a fire of motivation in me. Our rhythm has so far been dominated by her own movements, so I give all I’ve got into frantically pushing up and against her. The bed we’re on probably wasn’t made with this activity in mind, and it creaks out its protest. Eventually, my hips win out, and Mato-san becomes the one who passively holds her body in place as my dick forcefully pistons in and out of her.

She can’t help but to show that she’s feeling it now. Her lips are parted, smooth cheeks flushed, and her almond-shaped eyes are scrunched up tight. Either by the force of my hips as they slap onto hers or in trying to find better balance, her body is almost pressed flush against mine. Her face is closer than ever, close enough that I can smell the fragrance of shampoo from her curtaining hair and feel the hotness of her breath as it leaves her mouth in sharp, near-silent gasps. She’s so close that if I lift my head a bit, I could kiss her. It takes all of myself not to.

By the time a pressure builds up inside me, my thrusts have become desperate. My bound arm must be terribly bruised by now. Release in sight, I channel all my remaining energy into burying myself deeper and deeper. Mato-san shudders and braces herself with both hands on my chest. Then, the barely-held back torrent inside me is released. I close my eyes, and for a moment all I can feel is the entirety of Ishizue Arika exiting his body.

Afterwards, I’m numb all over. Feeling is returning to my limbs, released from the singular task it had been enlisted to, and the feedback I’m getting is that I’m utterly dog-tired. I hear shuffling, then a faint click, and my captive arm is suddenly free to fall on the bed. Predictably, it throbs with muted pain.

I crack my eyes open. Mato-san is sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to me, putting her clothes back on. I check my own body and yep, sure enough, semen has spattered onto my stomach and stained the bed sheets. She’d pulled herself off before I came.

Tilting my head back and to the side, I take a look at the bedhead to which I was tied. It’s a design with a number of vertical joists set lengthways, and the wood has been marked all over by the metal cuffs, scratched and even etched into in some places. Strangely, not just the beam to which I was anchored, but others too. The gears in my head fall in place, and I turn back to Mato-san, who has already put her pants back on and is now fastening the clasp of her brassiere.

“How many times have we come here?”

“In this room, a couple.” Mato-san replies without looking at me. “In the district, fairly often, usually for lunch during day-long jobs. You’re useless if you starve so there’s no other choice, but I won’t have you develop the habit of expecting to be fed, which is why your condition is convenient. It’s the responsible thing to do.”

I see. So while I was whining about being forced to survive on an empty wallet, Mato-san had been taking care of me. While Ishizue Arika was bemoaning his maltreatment, Touma Mato was trying to teach him how to live when she’s no longer here.

Since I came to terms with the abnormality of my memory, I’ve felt nothing for the things that I forget when twelve hours of my life are erased the moment the sun sets. As far as I was concerned, my tangible life merely happened to have half the length compared to other people. But right now, for the first time, the knowledge that I will soon forget the kindness of Mato-san’s true intentions fills me with deep and bitter regret.

“Get some sleep. I’ll come back later.”

Fully dressed, jacket included, she takes one last look at my pathetic form, turns her back, and walks to the door. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest to go with her, and words that I’ve promised myself I’d never speak well up in my throat, but I force them back down. For me, the world will turn back twelve hours soon, slate wiped clean, words dissolving in the air, actions made meaningless. But what I tell her, she will not forget. It won’t be conveniently forgotten as if it never existed, but instead become a burden that will weigh on her even after we go our separate ways. I’m fine with whatever happens to me, but I will never be fine with that.

A conviction means nothing if it doesn’t remain in heart. But since I reach the same conclusion every time, I can uphold this one.

Decoration Disorder Disconnection. Mato decides that Arika 'owes' her for her 'help' in the time they've known each other and one night calls that debt in. The two get dinner, and then go back to her place where she tells him how exactly he can repay her. BDSM, go wild.

March 14th, 2017, 01:58 PM
Dedication: Love

The Moon was a familiar sight when your business was vampire hunting. Of course, the phase was important, and when it was full it gave Ciel a good excuse to go back to her hotel and put a bottle of wine on the Church’s dime. But color mattered, as did attitude, it’s relation to the zodiac, and a number of minor factors that told you how many Keys you might need to bring.

So, Ciel laid on her back on a cool stone floor, looking up through a glass ceiling that was terribly anachronistic for the castle it was in, and was bloody concerned that the moon was larger in the sky than both her hands put together.

“I think it's rather beautiful. Do you not?”

And the Moon had its princess, otherwise known as a royal pain in the ass, sitting in a titanic Art Deco throne at the end of the hall they were in. She was like the vampire whose body she borrowed in one very important way - the total self-assurance. Except where Arcueid was confident from a complete lack of self awareness, her apparent archetype seemed smug in the knowledge that she had the world in the palm of her hand.

And that was far too literal for her taste, since Archetype was levitating a crystal globe above her palm, maybe the size of a grapefruit with the continents, oceans, clouds etched across it.

“It's not the world. But it could be.” That smug, fucking confident smirk. “You're already going to be kept safe for our princess, so, you can just relax. Start by picking the continent that should go first.”

Ciel’s response as she climbed to her feet was an impassioned rant on the value of life, Earth, proper ethics, the arrogance of vampires, and so forth. All in all, a remarkable display of bravery for someone facing down the queen of the world that occurred to Archetype as one of the most adorable acts of impassioned resistance in history.

“Despite that, you people still are parasites on my surface. But you're remarkably convincing, and interesting, for a human. Here is a counter-offer. Entertain me, in some other way, prove that you love your people, and I'll consider myself satisfied, and give the princess back her body.”

Archetype’s expression left little doubt as to her meaning. As a result, Ciel had a particularly complicated emotion, feeling at the same time a revulsion at the crudity of the whole thing, unfortunately mixed with a worryingly strong desire to accept - since, in truth, Arcueid had always been beautiful and this form, with its flowing hair and dress, didn't hurt matters. Ah, yes, and underlying it, relief that she was being asked to fuck a vampire, because, really… that was it?

Not that she was, you know, casual about it, but, if it was the planet on one side of the scale, and her personal integrity on the other...

“Is it a small price? Or are you more valuable than you think?”

Well, Ciel had to blush at that, though with some wonder as to whether the desire was mainly from the body or the personality. Whatever; take one for the team, she thought, walking up to Archetype. Funnily enough, her dress was almost exactly the same color as Archetype’s - the parts that weren’t white and gold. She noticed this, because Archetype had spread her legs, though still concealed under the long curtain of silk of her dress. And she’d taken the crystal planet, and brought it up to her mouth, kissing it so it started to change -

Oh, come on, that was… well, both more and less creative than she’d imagined.

“You weren’t going to prove that you loved them with me, now were you?”

Yes, but a dildo made out of the planet - that, when she looked closely, was still patterned with the globe, just distorted in a different way - that was far too on the nose. Of course, she was serious, motioning down between her spread legs and holding the rod at the fork between them to stick out like a faux prosthetic.

At least Ciel’s high boots were enough padding for her knees on the stone floor, she thought, as she knelt in front of the blue silk waterfall of Archetype’s dress, staring up at the tip of Africa. Well, here went nothing. She felt blessed that it was only crystal, since she knew what she should do far more than what to actually do, and she already felt immensely ridiculous as she opened her mouth and slipped it inside.

As soon as her lips closed around it, working along clumsily with her tongue, she was just as blessed, because she knew she’d be a disappointment if Archetype was going to feel anything. Effort was the goal here though, not anything practical, so she put her hand near Archetype’s, holding the shaft as she twisted her head around it, making a ridiculous sucking sound which she did not mean to. Archetype’s only reaction was to reach down and ruffle her hair.

It was completely awful. Ciel knew she was blushing horrifically but couldn’t stop - the blushing, or anything else, because she had to prove her dedication, right. And Archetype didn’t feel like lifting her hand. Without it, well, it was just her lips and tongue and mouth rubbing on warming crystal held on top of a dress, but hand on head made the whole thing much more personal than it needed to be. Deeply embarrassing, as was everything else about it. An image came to mind of herself from behind: blue dress blending into blue dress, her bare arms and the warpaint on them marking her as unsuited for the act, which the viewer wouldn’t be able to see but would be clearly obvious. That was what saving the world looked like. And Archetype would be looking like… She didn’t know what Archetype looked like at the moment, and risked a glance upward.

In a way, it didn’t pay off, because Archetype had been looking right back down at her, and the image of what she would have looked like looking up with the thing in her mouth would stick with her for a while. But then again, the smile on Archetype’s face wasn’t smug, superior, cruel, reveling, it was… Well, the glint in her eyes and the small upwards turn of the lips made Ciel figure that Archetype could only find what was happening cute. Could find her cute. That fact passed through Ciel’s mind and lodged there without a proper reckoning, but it did its work as she went on and on, leaving her far too interested in transactional inanimate fellatio.

She’d lost track of time enough to settle into a rhythm when Archetype took her gently by the hair and pulled her off the wet shaft. “You’re very convincing.” Ciel wiped off her mouth and tried to glare, though she suspected Archetype was even less intimidated by her than normal. “I suppose the bargain holds. That will be all, Ciel. The princess will be back to you within a day.” To which Ciel could only stare, realizing that this was the ending she would have asked for but not the ending she wanted now. She was too interested, and rubbed her thighs together as subtly as she could do it under the short skirt…

Too interested. So she almost regretted it when she opened her mouth, but she’d have regretted not doing it more. “Y-you can’t just leave me like this!”

“You’re very needy.” Archetype held the Earth toy up, examining it in the moonlight. “But not unreasonable.” She tossed it toward Ciel where it landed, base first, right in front of her, and grew both down and up, lengthening and fusing into the floor. “So, you may entertain yourself.”

Emotions beat logic for Ciel at that moment, even though it’d be another order of embarrassment beyond what she’d already had. She’d deal with that later, because right now she had something else to deal with by getting up on her knees, scooting forward a few inches, pulling her panties aside and lowering herself onto it, gasping just a little.

Slowly, she sank onto the rod, taking it bit by bit until she was crouching on her heels, and just sat there for a moment, feeling it inside her. The texture, so strange, but absorbing enough that she could sit there, moving just a bit, feeling the changes. But she felt vaguely disappointed until she realized that, for some reason, she expected it to start moving on its own. Silly. Ciel figured it out herself: while the shaft was hard, the attachment to the ground was somehow flexible, so she could roll forward and sideways on it, slowly grinding it into her with the entire spectacle barely concealed under her skirt. She got up a bit, pushed herself back down, and then again with a twist of her hips that started really doing something to her inside, enough that she couldn’t help leaning forward and slipping a hand under her skirt as well, even then doing her best to try and keep it concealed. It was there to get at the parts of her that the dildo didn’t, working together with it, and she discovered that she was coming on quick, rubbing and grinding quicker to keep up until she was just on the edge, about to give herself the last touch.

Then Archetype stopped simply looking at her and reached down to grab Ciel’s jaw, tilting her head up; Ciel’s eyes snapped open and she looked straight into the swirling layers of red that Archetype used to look at the world and felt her body tighten right as she did so, so that those eyes were the last thing she saw as she lost herself.

She woke up in a park in Mifune, night falling around her, and slowly limped to her feet, heading home to take a shower, noticing as she did so that the moon was as it should be.

Though, she couldn’t look Arcueid in the eyes for a month.

Archetype Earth has annihilated the Dust of Osiris and decides to to weight the options of mankind's future. Now a single agent of the Church will have the chance to influence her choice on whether humanity will be bathed in the planet's favour, or be annihlated. Ciel/Archetype Earth, ??futa??

March 14th, 2017, 01:58 PM
Rin Tohsaka was known for many things. She was the idol of her school, famed for her striking looks and her sterling grades. She was the Second Owner of Fuyuki, and a talented mage in her own right. And currently, she was fighting in the most arduous battle of her life.

The Holy Grail War: a battle between seven summoned legendary figures of mystery and myth for the sake of the Holy Grail, which could grant any wish. Countless magi had lost their lives thus far in pursuit of the miracle. Rin’s own father had been such a victim, and she was keenly aware that her life could be forfeit at any moment.

The Holy Grail War, however, was not her current concern. No, that honor went to the pink-haired youth carelessly sprawled on Rin’s sofa - her criminally cute Servant, Rider.

“Master, whatcha’ thinking about?” Astolfo wriggled on the sofa, sending a gartered leg dangling over its back. “Ah, is it about that Archer? He’s definitely annoying, but I can get him next time! A single toot from my horn’ll bring him right down!”

Rin sighed, one hand kneading at aching temples. “No no, I’m not thinking about Archer. Even if he is annoying with that smug smirk of his, or how he ruined that nice mood I had earlier with-” She flushed a bit and coughed. “A-Anyways, how’s your Hippogriff doing? It took a direct hit from that arrow, didn’t it?” Rin moved her hand to stare at Astolfo, who’d managed to partially loll off the cushions, sending pink strands splaying across them.

“Mmm, well, Hippo’ll be alright. Probably. In a while.” Astolfo’s elfin face scrunched in annoyance. “Just what kind of Archer has a space-warping arrow! The homing ones I could deal with, but that last one even punched through the Other Side! Seriously, it’d be cool if it wasn’t so unfair.” Rider kvetched, arms thrashing, and then paused to eye Rin. “Master, you alright? Your face is kind of red. Ah, are you sick? Should I make you something?”

What on earth was Rider doing! Rin thought. Doesn’t she notice that she’s flashing me!? And why is she wearing pink-and-white stripes anyways? It goes with her hair, but it clashes so badly with that armor. Black would be better anyways, since it would highlight those creamy smooth thighs- Wait, what am I thinking about!?

“Maybe tea? No, Master said not to touch the kitchen under any circumstances. What do you give someone who’s sick?” The black tunic hiked up further as Astolfo wriggled, exposing more of those tantalizing thighs. “Ah, I’ve got it! When Roland was sick, I went to the moon, so I’ll just do that again!”

“Wait, what are you-?”



To the relief of the Tohsaka finances, Astolfo heeded Rin’s cry.

“Don’t you remember what I said about that last time! Honestly, do I need to use a Command Seal? ‘Rider, I order you not to summon your Hippogriff inside the house.’ Do I?”

“Sorry; really, I am!” Astolfo chuckled weakly. “I guess I forgot about that.”

She’d forgotten!? How did you forget about your own summoning?

“Well then, Rider.” Rider shivered at the iciness in Rin’s voice. “Let me remind you.”

:astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo:

Rin Tohsaka was known for many things. She was the idol of her school, famed for her striking looks and her sterling grades. She was the Second Owner of Fuyuki, and a talented mage in her own right. And currently, she was about to summon a Servant, her strongest ally in the Holy Grail War.

She’d prepared as well as she could, given the circumstances. Her finest jewels were used to stabilize the ritual. The time was 2 a.m., the ideal hour for her to cast thaumaturgy. The catalyst she’d received from her father - a tiny bottle bearing drops of an odd, clear liquid - was centered in the summoning circle.

That was the catalyst, right? I expected something more impressive, but Father did lose after all. Rin blushed a bit. And it definitely wasn’t that other thing! Why would Father even have such a thing!?

Rin shook away those untoward thoughts and outstretched her hand. Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. Magical energy pulsed outward from her body into the ritual circle, and then into the abyss as Rin began to chant. Her circuits burned. Her blood burned. Yet, she did not falter. She offered up her power, her hopes, and her dreams to entreat a hero. With a final call, the summoning commenced with a final pulse of power, and the circle shone with a flash of blinding light.

Rin winced, waiting for her eyes to clear. Just what kind of Heroic Spirit did Father leave for me? It definitely had to be a mighty Saber, like the unrivaled Greek hero Herakles, or the world-famous knight King Arthur. Just what kind of powerful hero had she summoned? How far would they tower above her?

The light cleared, revealing a short pink-haired knight.

“Hi there! My name’s Astolfo, and my Class is Rider! Let’s see, what else do you say... Anyways, let’s get along!”

Rin blinked, once and slowly.

“Ah, you must be my Master then! Yup, I can feel the contract line between us. You look like a pretty good Master, so here’s to us getting along!” Rider skipped forward and began vigorously shaking Rin’s hands. “So what’s your name, anyways? Or your wish, you can tell me that too if you want? What kind of magecraft you use would be cool too! Actually, even better idea! What’s your favorite kind of animal? For me it would have to be rabbits, they’re so fluffy and bouncy and cute! Say Master, how come you haven’t said anything yet? Are you tired? How come you’re shaking?” Astolfo peered into Rin’s eyes.


Astolfo blinked, puzzled.

“This isn’t right at all!” Rin tore her hands free from Astolfo’s grasp. “I was supposed to summon Saber, the strongest Servant! I was supposed to summon a great and powerful hero like Father did, and win where he couldn’t! But you’re super-weak! I can tell just by looking at you, even if you dress things up with those sparkles and scribbles! How did you even do that anyways?” Rin stomped a foot. “How did I get a Rider? And didn’t you say you were Astolfo? As in one of the Twelve Paladins of Charlemagne Astolfo?”

“That’s me!”

“Then why are you-” Rin clutched her head in her hands. “Ahhhh, none of this is right!”

Astolfo stepped forward, and Rin raised her head.

“I’ll admit that I’m far from the strongest of Servants. But don’t count me out so quickly, Master. I’ve got plenty of great Noble Phantasms, after all! Here, let me show you my best one!”

It’s true that Noble Phantasms are the essence of a battle between Servants. There’s quite a few circumstances where rather than the strength of a Heroic Spirit, it’s the compatibility between their legends that matters, but it’s still a little worrying that- Wait, what did she just say?

“Come, my Otherworldly Phantasmal Horse!”

The Hippogriff - a mythical beast that Astolfo tamed and befriended in life. An impossible union between griffin and mare, predator and prey. As Astolfo’s mount and the justification behind his namesake as Rider, it possessed his strongest attack, and even held the ability to warp to the Other Side of the World, the residence of many Phantasmal Species abandoned by the current age. However, the Hippogriff possessed another characteristic, one far more relevant to the situation at hand.

Namely, that it was too large for Rin’s basement.

The Hippogriff appeared at its Master’s call, wings proudly outstretched and eyes aglint with valor - and crashed into the basement ceiling with an ungainly squawk. It fell to the ground, slamming into the proudly beaming Astolfo, who slammed into the horrified Rin, who slammed into the cold, unforgiving stone floor. Rin groaned as the back of her head throbbed in protest. Just what had Astolfo been thinking?

New! Evaporation of Sanity
Grade: Fluorite

The Skill’s possessor lacks common sense and tact to the extent that secret-keeping is impossible. The possessor’s True Name and even the names and weaknesses of allies are destined to slip out. However, such carelessness acts almost as a form of Instinct in battle.

Well, that answered that question. Still groaning, Rin opened her eyes, and her breath hitched. Directly in front of her was Astolfo, body pressed against her and face held close by many, many pounds of Hippogriff. Rin gazed up at Rider’s sparkling pink eyes. They’re like polished rose quartz, and they match her hair too. And what’s up with her face! It’s way too cute; this is unfair! No wonder Roland chased her around if she looked like that. Seriously, with a cute face like that and those forward boyish mannerisms, it’s no wonder that Rider’s legends talked about her beauty. I can feel her body pushing into mine through her tunic; she’s so slender! How is she on such a completely different level!?

“Ehehe, I guess I messed up there huh, Master?” Astolfo giggled. “Well anyways, my Hippogriff’s super-amazing, so I’ll definitely show him off again sometime soon alright? Master? Are you okay? Master?”

At this point Rin’s face matched her trademark sweater.

“Ah, she’s overheating! Return for now, Hippogriff!” As the poor creature returned to the sweet, sweet freedom of the Other Side, Astolfo shook Rin in a panic.

“Master, wake up! Master!”

:astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo:

“I’m sorry about that, I am!”

“Then next time, Rider,” Rin held hands on hips and leaned toward her Servant. “Don’t use Noble Phantasms in the house.”

Astolfo pouted, head bowed. “Yes, Master.”

Rin sighed, and then smiled at Astolfo. “Now you stay here while I get some things.”

“It’s alright Master, I’ll come too!” Astolfo pushed off of the sofa, and then fell to the floor in an ungainly sprawl.

“Like I said, Rider, you need to stay here. You’re still drained from the fight against Archer.” Rin bent down to help Astolfo climb back onto the sofa, who flopped onto the cushions as Rin lifted stocking-covered legs into position.

“Thanks, Master. I’m alright now.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you passing out before I get back.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Oh, and Master?”


“Can you stop rubbing my legs please? It tickles.”

Rin’s hands flew upwards. “Right, sorry about that! I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable; I’ll be right back!” She practically dashed from the room, nearly knocking the paintings from the hallway walls. What am I doing! I need to focus on helping Rider recover for the next battle in the Holy Grail War, not on her adorable alabaster face, stained red with exhaustion, panting as she gazed up at you with those captivating eyes shining with anticipation-

“What am I even thinking about!?”

Several rapid footsteps and a stubbed toe later, Rin slumped against her bathroom sink. She gazed into the mirror, and a flushed, frazzled, and flustered girl looked back. Really now, this isn’t being elegant at all. Hold it together, Rin Tohsaka! Rin twisted the crystal knobs of the faucet, and breathed deeply as the water began to flow. She splashed her face, feeling the cool water wash away the embarrassment and tension that she’d felt ever since summoning Rider. As Rin turned off the water and dabbed at her face with a washcloth, she felt her heartbeat return to normal. Satisfied, Rin stepped away from the sink, her heart centered, her poise restored, and her manner - as befitting a Tohsaka - elegant.

And then she saw the bathtub, and the memories all came flooding back.

:astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo:

It had been a longer day than usual for Rin. Construction workers nearby had woken her up a solid hour before her alarm, that dense idiot Shirou was still walking around without a Servant, Caster had attacked the school with of all things, tentacle monsters, and worst of all, Rider had managed to set her toaster on fire while trying to make breakfast, attempted to cool it down by placing in the refrigerator, and burned everything inside to a smoking crisp. So it was after a long shopping trip and an even longer lecture for Rider that Rin had finally retired to the bath for a spot of relaxation. She leaned back in the tub and sighed.

My debt’s gone up again...

Rin reached for an opal embedded within the side of the tub and sent a ripple of magical energy into it, triggering the spell within. Bubbles foamed along the water, and a gentle brush to a nearby garnet filled the air with the scent of cinnamon. The tub was one of the numerous patented Tohsaka TechnologiesTM, and was one of their most popular items, especially among the noblewomen of the Clock Tower. It featured multiple gems with stored single-action spells for adding various minerals to the water and other comfortable improvements, and even passively maintained the water temperature so that it would never grow cold.

This really isn’t going to go over well with the bank. What’ll I do? At this rate... The mocking laughter of a certain woman echoed through Rin’s head, causing her to scowl. Absolutely not! I’ll figure something else out.

She sighed again, and sank deeper into the pleasant warmth of the tub. Now that I have the time to think about it, I feel like there’s something that I’m forgetting. Was there a ritual that I needed to do? No, I’ve already done my blood-drawing. Maybe an appointment of some sort? Did it have to do with-

Whatever Rin’s next thought was cut off with the loud clatter of the bathroom door slamming open.

“Master, I gotta tell you something!” Astolfo strode into the bathroom, braid waving.

Rin screamed and shot upward. “What are you doing, Rider! This is the bathroom!”

Astolfo blinked, puzzled, and then slammed fist onto palm in understanding.

“Yes, yes, now that you get it, can you please lea-” Rin gaped for a moment as her mouth waited for her brain to reengage. “Why are you stripping!?”

“Hmm?” Rider continued pulling off the black tunic, exposing a smooth pale chest and pert pink nipples. “You said this was the bathroom, and you’re not supposed to wear clothes in the bathroom.”

Rin sputtered incoherently as Rider revealed more and more skin. What kind of logic was that! Rider was supposed to leave the bathroom, not take off her clothes, exposing that sleek stomach with just a hint of muscle and that cute little belly button just waiting to catch her fingers as she slid them down her chest. And then that chest! Rider was certainly the gamine type, practically flat as a board even, but she carried herself so naturally and energetically it was adorable all the same. Just what kind of moans would Rider make if she teased those peachy peaks and stained that smooth pale skin red? How would she feel to the touch? What reactions would she make? What ‘le secrets’ did she hold? Rin swallowed, slowly and audibly.

Astolfo’s next words shattered Rin’s reverie.

“Besides, you’re not wearing anything either, Master.”

Slowly, as if her neck had rusted from eons of disuse, Rin looked down at the view she’d been giving Rider the entire time.

“Put on your clothes and get out.”

“Eh?” Astolfo paused, thumbs hooked into panties. “But wasn’t I supposed to-”

“Out!” Rin brandished her right hand, Command Seals aglow.

Astolfo dressed and fled the bathroom, grumbling all the while. The door shut with a clatter, leaving Rin alone in a cloud of cinnamon-scented steam and desire. Beads of water rolled off of of her body and dripped into the tub, wobbling the iridescent bubbles drifting on the water’s surface.

Rin shrieked. She slumped into the tub, dousing the floor tiles with bubbly water, and thrashed about before slamming her foot into the faucet, eliciting a rather inelegant stream of curses.

“Oh right, Master! I just remembered!” Astolfo’s voice sounded through the closed door. “Is it okay if-”

“I don’t care!”

Rin sulked in the tub, her grumbles bubbling the surface of the water as she slouched. Really, didn’t Rider know how to the read the mood? Just leave me alone already, would you! I just want to relax for now before night falls.

“She said it was fine, you two! Alright Saber’s Master, in you go!”


The bathroom door slid open, revealing the Servant Saber and her Master, Shirou Emiya.

“Ah, thanks Rider. Though a bathroom’s a pretty weird place to hold a meeting, isn’t it Tohsa... ka...” Shirou’s mouth dropped open as he saw his crush naked in the bath.

Once again, Rin’s screams resounded through the mansion.

:astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo:

Rin forced herself up from her slump on the sink and staggered out of the bathroom, panting as she moved. Really, that troublesome Rider. She needs someone to discipline her so that she stops doing such foolish things... Wait no, that wasn’t it at all! Rider was low on magical energy, so I need to find that so I can help her restore some! That’s all!

She reached the bedroom and slammed and locked the door behind her. Rin crawled under the bed, legs and butt twitching as she strained to reach the box sequestered deep under the furnishing. With a final wriggle and a bang of her head, Rin grabbed the box and scooched out from under the bed.

No, this has nothing to do with how Astolfo keeps crawling into my bed in the middle of the night, falling asleep, and then invariably wriggling halfway out of her pajamas and into my arms! And definitely nothing to do about the weird dreams I’ve had!

With box in hand, Rin returned to the living room where Astolfo was waiting.

“Rider! What are you doing on the floor? Are you okay?”

Astolfo gazed upward at Rin as she ran forward. “Don’t worry Master, I’m fine. Healing Hippo’s just taking... a bit more energy than I thought.”

“Your cheeks are so flushed, Rider, and you’re all sweaty! You’re definitely not fine.” Rin knelt by Astolfo and began unbuckling the white cape and armor. “Let me help you out of this.”

Without her armor, you can really tell how frail and light Rider is. And her tunic makes her seems so slender, especially how it’s clinging to her hips and chest, damp with sweat. I bet she’d feel more comfortable if I just ripped it off of her... Wait, focus, I need to focus! Don’t think about stroking your hand along her legs, tracing the garters up her perfect thighs, or how you can just see those raised points on her chest, focus on her face! See, she needs your help so badly she’s panting! Rider’s panting, like... like a...

“Itchy heat? Master, did you say something just now?”

“Nothing! I said nothing! I certainly didn’t think anything either!” With a click, the final buckle of Rider’s cape came loose, sending it crumpling to the floor. “A-Anyways, I’ll help you up.” Rin slid Astolfo’s arm over her back, and the two walked toward the dining table. Every so often, Astolfo would stumble, sliding against Rin before regaining balance and eliciting moans from the both of them.

Rider looked toward Rin and frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay, Master? You’re all red, even more red than usual, and you keep making weird noises. It’s a little creepy.”

“What? No, no, I’m fine. You’re the one in trouble here, Rider. But don’t worry.” She followed up her soothings with what was meant to be a comforting pat on the chest, but came out as more of a grope. “I’ll take good care of you.”

The two reached the dining table, and Astolfo practically slid off Rin’s shoulders to grasp its edge. Rin backed away from the table slightly, box still in hand.

“Now, Rider. I want you to listen very carefully.”

“Okay, what is it?” Astolfo began to look back toward Rin-


-And halted, before facing forward again. “Sheesh, what’s the problem?” Rider listened curiously to the rustling behind him, which oddly enough sounded like a skirt being removed.

“You can’t look back! It’s like Orpheus and Eurydice; if you look back it’s all over!”

“A-All right then, Master. But what are you doing?”

More fabric shifted, and a sharp click pierced the air.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” The rustling had changed rhythm, and Rider recognized it as strips of fabric rubbing together, much like when tightening armor. “I’m just strapping myself in.”

Astolfo gulped. “S-So this is going to restore my magical energy, then?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Rider.” Rin stepped forward, footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor. “I’ll fill you right up.”

And without further ado, Rin flipped up Rider’s tunic, pushed down the striped panties to reveal perfectly molded peach-like cheeks, and plunged her Tohsaka TechnologiesTM strap-on into Astolfo’s ass.

“Hyaauuuuuu!” Astolfo yelped and slumped onto the table. “What are you doing, Master!?”

Rin drove in harder, eliciting fresh moans. “Isn’t... it obvious? I’m giving you more magical energy!” She leaned over Rider and slid her arms under the tunic, and Astolfo squealed as her cold hands snaked up hot pale skin, her fingers tracing each delicate rib as they slid upward.

“My butt, you’re breaking it---!” Rin pinched, and Astolfo shuddered. “That’s, those are, not my nipples-” Rider slurred. With each thrust and tweak, Astolfo moaned louder and panted harder, and Rin felt Rider’s pale behind rise to meet her. “Master, slow down, you’re going too hard...!”

Rin smirked as she reached for the tiny diamond embedded in the strap-on. “You’re my Servant, Rider, so show me what you’ve got!”

Astolfo yelped anew, back arching and fingers scraping furrows into the table from the sudden shock. “W-Why ish it vibrating!”

With the next thrust, Rin leaned atop Rider, pushing the Servant against the table. One hand returned underneath the scrunched-up tunic to bully Astolfo’s chest while the other reached up to cradle Rider’s face. Still smiling, Rin whispered into a single ear. “This is punishment, Rider.”

“Punishment...?” Rider panted.

“Yes, punishment.” Rin moaned as Astolfo spasmed under her, sending shocks throughout her body. “Punishment for the naughty Servant who caused me so much trouble and tempted me with that lewd body of hers.”

“Eh? What do you mean by-” Another thrust replaced whatever Rider would’ve said with a long gasp.

“Don’t play dumb, Rider!” Rin nibbled at Astolfo’s ear, triggering short, sweet gasps. “Pressing your body against me all the time, showing off your panties and stripping in the bath, crawling into my bed - what else could you have been doing besides tempting me? Tell the truth!” She pulled at Astolfo’s tongue, teasing the soft flesh with her fingers as drool spilled out.

“Yesh, I admit it Master, I wash teasing youuuuuuuuu!” Astolfo thrummed with pleasure under Rin’s touch, and Rin shook as she rubbed her body against her Servant. “I’ve been a bad Servant, so punish me mooooore!” Astolfo was practically lying on the table now, and lifted gartered legs to wrap around Rin’s waist. She grabbed Rider’s delectable derriere and drilled it all the harder, and their moans began to reach the inevitable crescendo.

“Master, I’m about to... I’m---!”

“Take it all, Astolfo---!”

Rin slammed the strap-on into Astolfo’s ass one last time, and slumped onto the Servant as Astolfo screamed in ecstasy. Still panting from the climax, Rin pushed up from the table, pulling the strap-on out of Astolfo’s battered behind.

“Well, that should be enough magical energy to stabilize you, right Rider?” Rin unbuckled the strap-on, shivering a bit as it slid out of and away from her. I don’t know why Father left that for me, but it certainly came in handy. Anyways, let’s put this away for now and-

A gauntleted hand grasped Rin’s arm.

“Eh? Rider, what are you doing?”

Rin turned back to see Astolfo sitting on the table, legs splayed and panties on full display. Her eyes caught on something that seemed out of place, something that she’d managed to miss while they’d lived together. Astolfo slid off the table, causing something to shift and the underwear to begin to fall.

Rin Tohsaka was known for many things. She was the idol of her school, famed for her striking looks and her sterling grades. She was the Second Owner of Fuyuki, and a talented mage in her own right. And most of all, she was prone to making fatal mistakes.

The stained panties slid down farther, and Rin gasped in shock. Despite her best efforts to draw out Rider’s full potential, Rin had failed to realize one very important thing.

Namely, that Astolfo was a man.

Astolfo’s sword shuddered, sending its striped sheath sliding down his sticky stockings. At the sight of the 73rd Demon Pillar, Rin gaped.

“Um... That’s... Rider, what’s...?”

“Hm?” Astolfo tilted his head quizzically. “Master, you don’t know what a penis is?”

“O-Of course I know what a penis is!” Rin sputtered. “B-But why do you have one!”

Astolfo gave her a look that could put Archer to shame. “Because I’m a guy, silly! Didn’t you know, Master?”

“But... But...” Rin flushed as Astolfo shook off the ruined pair of underwear with a leg. “Weren’t you a girl!?”

He paused in the middle of pulling off his wrinkled tunic. “When did I ever say that?”

Rin’s mouth opened and closed like a bug-eyed goldfish’s at a restaurant aquarium. Every so often she raised a finger, only to lower it again.

“Anyways, you really didn’t go easy on me, did you, Master?” Astolfo rubbed his ass and winced. “You were just like Roland, but with less leather and whips!”

Rin did her best to push the image of a dominatrix paladin out of her head. “At any rate, can you let go of my arm, Astolfo? I’d like to turn in for the night.”

“What are you talking about? Isn’t it my turn now?”

Rin blinked. “Eh?”

Astolfo held her at the waist and stared straight at her. “You said to show you what I’ve got, right?”

“W-Well yes, but-”

He spun like a ballroom dancer, sweeping Rin off her feet and toward the table. Astolfo bent her onto its surface and pulled off his black underclothes, leaving him only in stockings and garters.

“Besides, you’re not satisfied yet either, are you?”

Rin looked up to see Astolfo wearing a mischievous grin as he leaned downward. He traced whorls around her belly button with his tongue, and Rin gasped as he flicked at her navel before sliding downward. His tongue swirled within her until all too soon Rin was drenched in her own lust. Astolfo stood straight, and then spoke.

“What did you say before, when you were getting ready?” He looked down at the disheveled body of his Master, and then snapped in remembrance. “Now I remember!”

Rider lifted Astolfo Lily into position and grinned.

“Strap yourself in, Rin. We’re going for a ride.”

New! Riding
Grade: Diamond

The ability to control and utilize a mount to its fullest potential. At this grade, Astolfo can freely control all beasts and vehicles, as well as Phantasmal and Divine Beasts. However, he cannot ride members of the Dragonkind.

New! Monstrous Strength
Grade: Zirconium

The ability to temporarily increase one’s Strength by drawing upon monstrous aspects of their legend. In Astolfo’s case, he gains strength by ignoring his body’s protective limits.

And without further ado, Astolfo plunged into Rin up to his hips. Her loud moan became two and then three and then many as he continued to move.

“Now let’s see; where should I start? Do I go with your tummy? Or maybe your arms?” As Astolfo pondered, he slid his hands along her, pushing off her sweater and undoing her bra. Rin shivered in pleasure and anticipation, savoring the warmth of his hands and each pulse of blood she could feel, carrying heat and pleasure from him to her and then back again. “Well, let’s just start from where you did for now!”

“Where was tha- Wait, let me prepare firs-!” Astolfo cupped at Rin’s breasts, and her breath hitched as he moulded the modest mounds. He bent down to tease a tip with his tongue, pushing it downward before slipping off only to circle his way up again. Rin tensed up on him, and it was Rider’s time to release a bestial moan.

“Rider,” Rin moaned, “Kiss me,” and she grabbed his head and pulled it to hers without waiting for an answer. Astolfo responded without hesitation, and the two pulled at and twisted against each other, sweat and saliva mingling in trails down flushed cheeks. Rin squeezed red lines into his back, and Astolfo carved new grooves into the table, and the two gripped at each other like magnets made of springs until finally breaking apart to gasp for hot air that still tasted of the other. They met each other's gaze and leaned in again, Astolfo’s thrusts intensifying as Rin reinforced her hips to take in more of him, to press against him harder, to receive more pleasure. She bounced up into him, gasping at the electric shock of her nipples against his, before falling down to the table - and splitting it in half.

Rin gasped in shock, unable to react to the sudden shift in the situation. Astolfo, however, was both an accomplished Heroic Spirit and an experienced lover, and there was no way that broken furniture would get in the way of fun times with a fine lady. With a single smooth motion, he slid his arms under Rin, running his fingers down each vertebrae as he settled them under her perfectly toned ass and lifted her to him. Rin gasped, both in shock and arousal, and then just in arousal as she grabbed onto him and he continued to move. She kissed Astolfo again, losing herself to the fire as she pressed against him. His heartbeat resounded on hers, his tongue clung to hers, his hips pushed into hers, and the two were a single being of heat and primal passion.

Inside her, Astolfo began to quiver, and Rin shook in his arms. The two clung tighter, breaths spewed out as heavy pants as they rested heads on each other’s shoulders. Rin gasped in anticipation, feeling her pleasure build to the climactic crescendo she so desperately craved. There was one pump, and then two, and then another, and as Rin prepared herself for the rush of bliss, Astolfo lifted her off of him entirely, holding her in midair.

“Eh? Rider, what are you doing?”

Astolfo smiled, and yet Rin wasn’t reassured by it at all.

“I’m finishing this the way you did.”

And without further ado, Astolfo thrusted straight into Rin’s ass.

:astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo: :astolfo:

Rin Tohsaka was known for many things. She was the idol of her school, famed for her striking looks and her sterling grades. She was the Second Owner of Fuyuki, and a talented mage in her own right. And currently, she was in a great deal of emotional turmoil.

“That table was older than I was! What am I going to do!?” Rin paced with a slight wobble, wincing every so often.

Astolfo sat on the couch, methodically undoing his braid. “Can’t you just fix it with magecraft?”

“Well yes, but that’s only the wood that’s fixed! There were all sorts of runes and other enchantments in that table, spells that I’d need a specialist to reproduce! And those sorts of specialists cost money, and lots of it!” She spun to glare at Astolfo and winced, sinking to her knees.

“Are you okay, Master? You don’t look too good.”

Rin rubbed her temples in a fruitless attempt to relieve her irritation. “Of course I’m not okay! I can barely walk straight after that finisher of yours! What were you thinking!?”

Rider laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, Master; I really am! I just wasn’t expecting you to be so defenseless, you know?”

Rin flushed. “A-Anyways, be more considerate next time!”

Astolfo’s hands paused briefly. “So there’s going to be a next time? Should I bring something special, or will you? Ah, are you going to invite Saber and her Master too?”

“Stop stop stop! I’m not going to... I don’t think I’m going to...” Rin paused in thought, face bright red. “A-At any rate, I’m going to bed! Good night, Rider!”

As Rin limped away to the comfort of her bed, Astolfo smiled. “Good night, Master.”


Next time on A Bumpy Ride!

“OHOHOHO! It seems you are so pathetic of a commoner that you can’t even satisfy your own Servant, Rin Tohsaka! I’ll be taking Astolfo as a maid in my mansion!”

“Well, you see... Rider, was it? Your friend Miss Tohsaka has quite a bit of debt; far too much to pay off normally. But if you were willing to give yourself as collateral, so to speak, I think we could reach an agreement, hm?”

”Oh, if it isn’t Rin Tohsaka. Come to separate Onii-chan from his loving little sister, have you? In that case, there’s someone that you should meet. He’s my cousin from Romania; I believe your Rider is acquainted with him, no?”

It's time for the Fifth Grail War, and Rin's summons Astolfo as her Servant. Problem is he's so gosh darned cute that he awakened her dom side, and she spends many amusing days trying to come to terms with her intense desire to pump that rump with the biggest strap-on she's got. Eventually she loses control and jumps him, only for him to eventually reveal that a paladin's sword is no dagger. As a knight of Charlemagne he likes three things: killing muslims, plundering treasure, and fucking everything on two legs. No muslims here, and Rin's all out of treasure. A classic top-bottom bottom-top switcheroo, should be easy if you're not afraid of a little butt stuff.

March 14th, 2017, 02:00 PM
Black Onslaught III

“Eh?! You got a boyfriend?!”

Yukika’s startled shout turned the heads of the track club, and her mouth was quickly covered by her friend, the Black Panther of Fuyuki, Makidera Kaede.

“No! No, no, you got it all wrong!” She barked at the timid, surprised girl. “That’s not what I meant at all! I just, well, mean…!”

She was interrupted mid-shout by the third member of their trio, Himuro Kane. In her sports uniform, the girl was lacking the glasses she usually wears.

“Perhaps you’ll want to continue this later,” she said, pointing to the surroundings. All the other girls in the locker room were listening in, with varying degrees of subtlety.

“Ah,” the other two both intoned at the same time. They looked at each-other, and quickly got back to changing out of their sport uniforms. The process was not a long one, but it was staggered by Kaede shooting whispers around of misunderstandings and the single life.

It wasn’t long until the three girls exited the schoolyard, and the discussion continued.

“All I was asking was, how would you feel if I had a boyfriend?” Kaede started again, and immediately Yukika looked flustered again.

“I don’t see the problem. We’d still be friends,” Kane said calmly. “Rather, what brought this on?”

The target shifted, suddenly Kaede eyes shifted to the side and started looking dodgy.

“Well, that’s, you know… I heard that Tohsaka went and got herself someone, so I just thought, maybe I ought to… keep up?”

“Ah, but that’s just a rumor!” Yukika chimed in, sounding oddly determined. “Tohsaka-sempai hasn’t said anything about it herself!”

“Geez, I know! It’s embarrassing if you say it like that! But I mean, we’re all healthy young ladies, what’s wrong with us thinking about boys?!” She said loudly, almost pulling her hair out. “Even if she doesn’t have a boyfriend, that doesn’t mean I should wait for her to do so before I get one of my own!”

“Kaede… you sound like desperate salary woman,” Kane remarked, before sighing. “Let’s say the rumor is true, and you need to… keep up. Who would you even consider?”

The entire group paused, in the middle of the road. A heavy question was asked, and it seemed even the person asking was lost in thought.

“Ah… Ryuudou-kun seems like he’d be an attentive boyfriend,” Kaede suddenly spoke up.

“Ah… so, that’s the kind of person you like…?” A meek sound came from Yukika’s general direction.

“Hm? Ah, no no no, that sounded wrong, Ryuudou himself is a little too straight-laced and stubborn, but he does seem the attentive type, right? I feel like he’d always plan everything out right,” Kaede mused out loud. “Never forget a date, or an anniversary, that kind of thing.”

“Not a bad choice,” Kane mumbled. “But if we’re thinking of an attentive boyfriend, what about Emiya? He’s always helpful to everyone and dedicated to whatever he’s doing. I feel like having that directed towards you might be nice.”

“Ah, being pampered…” Yukika looked up, her face betraying a form of daydream. “That does sound like it’d be nice.”

“Emiya? Well, he does have a nice attitude, but he’s got a bit of a baby-face. And, well… I don’t know, I feel like even though he’s always working hard, he’s never really spirited.” Kaede also looked up her face a thoughtful grimace.

“Hm,” Kane grunted, and followed suit, looking up. “It’s true there aren’t many good men around here. Shinji… well, looks aren’t worth everything.”

The three took a moment looking up, all in their own thoughts, before Kaede violently shook her head and looked straight again.

“Ah! There’s no use thinking about this so hard! Let’s forget about this and go grab a bite… to… eat?”

The hesitation in her words coincided with her eyes locking into with the red eyes of what looked like a somewhat familiar ten-year old.

“Domo!” She said energetically, clapping her hands and bowing at Kaede, keeping her eyes locked.

“Ah, Domo…” Kaede hesitantly did the same, ransacking her mind as to where she’d seen this girl before. “Ah! You’re the girl I saw talking to Emiya-kun and Tohsaka!”

“If I remember… Ilyasviel, correct?” Kane chimed in.

“Eh? Himuro, you know this girl?” Yukika said from the back.

“Yes, I saw her waiting in front of the school gate once, waiting for Emiya. I talked to her to make sure she was alright, until Tiger came by.” Kane walked a bit forward, side to side with Kaede. “Domo.”

Another pair of bows was exchanged, and again when Yukika followed suit, incredibly flustered.

“Wait, hold on, what’s this domo stuff?!” Kaede cried out.

“Ah! It’s from a novel that Kane-chan lent me!” Ilya said, all chipper. “She said it was to introduce me to Japanese culture!”

Kaede gave huge eyes to her friend, who only barely showed a smile.

“It was super cool and funny! I hope I get to meet a ninja soon too!” Ilya said, making a strange hand gesture.

“Well, what are you doing in town today, Ilyasviel-san?” Kane asked, ignoring her slightly affected friends.

“Ah, well, I was just taking a walk, and I heard your little conversation. Are you three looking for boys?”

“W-well, not really, we were just… talking about it,” Yukika said, an embarrassed blush showing on her face. “Ah, I’m Saegusa Yukika, by the way.”

“Ah, and I’m Makidera Kaede,” the panther joined in, and Ilyasviel gave them both a short curtsy.

“A pleasure. But, but, if you’re looking for boys, I know a really good one!” She said, like a child eager to show off a dog. “He’s big, and strong, and super kind and gentle! Whenever I want to do anything, he’s always there for me, and he’ll even pick me up and bring me places!”

If glasses ever shone with interest, this would have been the time, as Kane let out an interested “oh.”

“Hm? Does he work at your house?” Kaede asked, clearly interested.

“Yep! He’s super helpful! No matter what it is, he’ll do it!”

“He sounds like quite a capable one,” Kane pushed her glasses up.

“Yep, yep! He’s super great! Though, well…” Ilya’s mood lost a bit of shine. “He’s been a little down lately, I think. He works super hard, but it’s been a long time since his wife passed away. I can see him getting lonely sometimes.”

Wife. The word resounded with all three track girls.

For a moment, their minds entered synchronization, and telepathy ensued. A wife must mean he was an older man. Attentive, caring, devoted, big and strong, great with kids, by the sounds of it. An image formed of an old, dandy yet grizzled butler, always carrying a dignified air.

In simpler terms, the kind of man you could only find once in a lifetime. In a moment of pure synchronicity, all three girls decided to at least meet this man.

“I’m sure he can’t get that lonely with you around, Ilyasviel,” Kaede said gingerly. “Still, he sounds like something, that’s for sure! I’d love to meet him.’

“M-me too.”

Ilya’s eyes positively sparkled.

“It’s been so long since we had visit! I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to meet new people! Ah, Kane, Kane, are you coming too?” She tugged on the spectacled girl’s arm.

“Of course, I’d love to come meet your friend. And, this’ll let me get back the books I borrowed.”

“Yay! Then let’s go, let’s go!” Ilyasviel said loudly, pulling at Kane’s arm in a manner all three girls found endearing.

Yet what they’d missed is that as soon as Ilyasviel took the lead, facing away from them all, she showed a devilish grin beyond all the childish smiles she’d shown so far.

“This is… quite a road.” Glasses were adjusted. “Do you walk this every time you come to town?”

“Sometimes! Sometimes, my friend carries me across the forest.”

Ilya jumped over another stone on the small, dirt path, making a pose as she landed. Completely different to that of Fuyuki, the scenery now was all trees, dirt roads and assorted flora.

“Wow, and he doesn’t get tired?” Yukika asked, following the energetic little girl’s antics, making a jump of her own over large stone. She landed with an awkward, embarrassed pose, and Ilyasviel let out a bell-like giggle.

“Nope! Sometimes, even, he likes to run the entire forest while carrying me!”

“Wow, the entire forest!? He must be incredibly fit!” Yukika put a hand to her mouth in shock.

Yet through all of this, one person was slightly behind, thinking to herself. The esteemed panther of Fuyuki had something on her mind, other than Ilyasviel’s incredible “friend,” at least.

The conversation had entirely passed her by, as she was lost in thought, until she noticed a moment of silence. She decided to take advantage of it.

“Ilyasviel, are there any animals in this forest?”

“Hm?” Ilya turned to face her, stopping dead in her tracks, and for an instant, Kaede felt like her entire atmosphere changed. And then, in an instant, it softened again.

“Um… I don’t know, why?”

“Ah, ha, well… It’s just, since entering the forest, I feel like I haven’t heard a bird or seen an animal of any kind… might just be my imagination.”

“Well… I don’t know, sometimes I think there are animals around? Ah, I really don’t look for them.”

“R-right, sorry about the really weird question,” Kaede’s unease grew, but she decided to try to shake it off. “By the way, how far are we?”

“Not too far! We’ll be there before an hour goes by!” Ilya turned around and headed back on the path, and Yukika stumbled after her. Kane gave Kaede a pensive look, answered by a shrug. Both girls followed Ilyasviel once again.

“Oh, by the way,” Ilya started, not even turning around. “You were talking boys earlier, have any of you three ever been with a boy before?”

Kaede felt a shiver down her spine at the way the little girl said the words, but seemingly, the two others didn’t notice.

“No, I’ve never been in a relationship,” Kane said, all calm.

“Me neither! Honestly, I sometimes get too flustered to talk when boys come around…” Yukika explained, jittery yet honest.

“Ah, no, I’ve never been with a man,” Kaede said, feeling cold sweat.

“Ah, ah, is that so?” Ilyasviel said, arms outstretched. For just a moment, her head looked back at Kaede. “Is that so…”

Kaede’s discomfort intensified.

Indeed, before an hour had passed, stood four girls in front of what could be best described as a castle.

“You… you live here?” Kane said, her composure shaken.


“How many people live with you? At least, like, fifty, right?” Kaede added.

“Nope, it’s just me, Sella, Leys and my friend!”

“Awa, ah, it’s so huge!” Yukika said to no one in particular. Meanwhile, Ilyasviel seemed extremely content with herself.

“Well, it’s only a modest estate,” Ilya said, her nose practically extending. “But it’s nicer inside! Come on in!”

She took a running start and waved to the three girls.

Crossing huge, open doors the three looked at a hall that seemed even fancier than the castle did on the outside. Red carpets, exquisite furniture, a large, imposing staircase flanked by passageways into what seemed like endless hallways.

All three shared a jump when the doors slammed shut behind them. They turned around to see the two maids having shut the door. They looked fairly similar, although one had eyes blanker, and chest larger than the other.

“Sella, Leys, go lay out the supper for our guests,” Ilyasviel said in a commanding tone. Both maids bowed, ignoring the looks from their guests, and walked off.

“It’s my first time seeing real-life maids…” Yukika mumbled, and the two others shared a hum of agreement.

“Sella and Leys are good at their jobs, but Sella’s always too stiff,” Ilyasviel held a pouting face as she said so. “She was against me bringing you to the castle, at first.”

“She was against visitors, then?” Kane asked. “She must be worried about letting just anyone in. But then, with a mansion like this, I imagine all sorts of things can be sold. I can’t say she’s wrong to be careful.”

“I know! But it’s not like I’m bringing anyone in like they were stray cats! I’ll have you know I’m quite picky about who I like and who I don’t.”

Yukika chuckled lightly at that, and both Kane and Ilyasviel looked at her in surprise, and both with looks that asked the question for them.

“Well, I mean, you just admitted you like us, so I’m a bit happy, Ilyasviel,” Yukika said with a very happy look on her face.

Ilyasviel looked at her and showed an innocent smile.

“Well, of course I like you three, since I brought you all the way here,” she said, as she seemed to realise something. “Well, we shouldn’t stand around here, let’s go eat.”

She led all three through the castle, into a dining room with a table far too large for the four inhabitants of the castle. On it was a massive spread of meats, salads, soups and all sorts of fanciful foods that would be out of place in any other environment.

“Wow…! There’s so much!” Yukika breathed out, barely loud enough to be heard.

“This was made solely by the two maids, right?” Kane inquired.

“Yep! Like I said, they’re really good at what they do!”

“Very impressive.” She adjusted her glasses again, masking the gluttony on her face.

Even Kaede, who was on edge ever since entering the forest, had relaxed and started drooling at the spread before her.

All three stood there a moment, looking at the food, before Ilyasviel once again donned a pouty expression.

“Well, the food isn’t made to be looked at, dig in!”

The track club took that as a sign to get on their marks, ready, set, go.

As the diner went on, Kaede concentrating on the meat, Yukika more on the salads and Kane having more of the spread of bourgeois hors d’oeuvres, Ilyasviel couldn’t help but smile.

Her dining room was so full of energy, after all.

As time went on, topics of discussion went from anything to everything. Books were brought to the table, three novels centered on a man in red, wearing a mask. Questions to Ilyasviel were made, concerning her relation to Emiya and Tohsaka, or her reasons in town, all dodged somehow or other.

Supper was finishing as the most important topic was brought up, something all four were waiting for.

“Ah! My friend should be home now, would you like to go meet him?” Ilyasviel gave an angelic smile after looking at the clock.

The three, all with a similar image of this super-butler, dandy and aged, strong yet kind, all gave their approval and the party moved through the mansion once again.

“Ah, one thing about my friend. He’s a little scary to look at, but he’s really gentle as a lamb. Don’t be afraid of him, alright?” Ilya had stopped to declare this, looking at all three girls square in the eyes.

All three once again synchronized, adding frightening scars to the mix, somehow, this made him more appealing.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be as polite as we can,” Kane stated confidently, to which Yukika nodded, and Kaede hesitantly smiled.

Ilyasviel showed an energetic smile, and eagerly continued, until they all got to one room, its door not only larger than the rest, but also wide open. Ilya gestured inside, and all three girls went in, Kaede last, giving Ilyasviel a worried look, reciprocated with a devilish smile.

Inside was a large room with surprisingly little. A small table rested in the center, a cabinet in the corner, three comfortable armchairs spread around but most importantly, a bed so massive you could fit the entire track team on it with minimal squeezing.

The three walked in, looking around for a fifth person in the room, until suddenly Ilya spoke.

“Well, I hope the three of you have fun,” she said, completely unlike anything she’d said before. Suddenly, Kaede’s uneasy feeling returned, with a vengeance. “Berserker, let me be clear: No virgins leave this room tomorrow morning!”

With a declaration so loud none of the three could misinterpret it, the door slammed shut by itself, followed by various clicking noises.

Kaede immediately ran to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. She turned around to say something to Kane or Yukika, yet what was behind them left her speechless.

A massive, black giant stood behind them. He was clothed in nothing but what looked like an armored skirt, one of his eyes red and the other yellow, a mane of savage dark hair spreading behind him. He stood like a colossus amongst children, and as if it was the easiest thing in the world, picked up Yukika in one hand and Kane in the other, and threw them both on the bed.

One of them made a note, through all the surprise and fear: The bed was very soft.

Finally, the beast turned to Kaede, now inarticulately yelling, grabbed her struggling self with both hands remarkably softly, and once again tossed her onto the bed in the least aggressive way one could toss.

The giant then, as if it were the simplest, most logical action to take, removed his belt and dropped his armored skirt, displaying his member, large despite its flaccid state. He then sat down, looking at the girls on the bed.

At this point all three were in shock, Kaede still making inarticulate noises, and Yukika close to being passed out from shock. Kane kept a look of fear and wariness to her.

She didn’t understand the situation. From Ilyasviel’s words, to this being’s actions. No virgins were allowed to leave the room the next morning. Berserker, a title or a name? Whichever it was, he tossed them on the bed, undressed, then did nothing.

And yet, looking at the man, if he could be called such, there was no intent whatsoever of forcing himself onto them. At least, no more than tossing them on the bed. Why do that, Kane thought to herself.

Kane sat herself straight on the bed, knees folded, facing the newcomer.

“Are you… Berserker?” Kane asked, after what felt like hours of a stalemate. She mentally slapped herself, he looked far too foreign. He may not speak Japanese. “Do you understand me?”

The demigod bobbed his head, a nod and yet not.

“Can you talk?”

The giant let out a low growl. Kane was unsure how to react. She decided to press further.

“Can we leave?”

The man-being gave a snarl, clear denial.

“Are you… going to rape us?”

Berserker gave her a look, silent, yet unaggressive. This whole time, he’d remained entirely still, sitting his huge frame in front of the bed, answering her questions best he could, or perhaps answering best he understood, or maybe even just responding to noise with noise and silence. She had no way of knowing, yet somehow his expression, his actions and lack thereof helped speak for him.

“Can we leave this room eventually without having sex with you?” She asked, straight to the point. Yukika and Kaede, regaining their senses, both looked at Himuro as if she’d lost hers.

If Kane were asked, she’d admit she was not as calm as she sounded. She was very afraid, but she was trying to make sense of the situation. Things that are understood, to her, are far less frightening than things that are not. It was a simple conclusion.

The beast stayed completely silent, looking straight at her.

“Himuro, what are you doing?” Kaede hissed at her, pulling the girl away from her eye contact with Berserker.

“I’m just getting a few answers, Makidera,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Whether we like it or not, it looks like this is where we are right now.”

“Are you kidding me? He looks like he’d snap us in half if that thing of his got hard!”

Kane gave her friend a look, then looked back at Berserker.

“Berserker, can you truly have sex with us without hurting us?”

He answered by straightening his back and putting a fist to his chest, firmly.

Kane stayed silent for a long time. Makidera looked between her friends while stealing glances at the giant, while Yukika was furiously red and unsure where to look, though sure to look at Berserker and parts of him.

“Is there a shower I could use?” Kane finally said.

Before anything else, Kaede shouted out.

“Eh?! What do you mean, is there a shower you can use? You can’t be going along with this, right?!”

Yukika behind her also nodded her head strongly with every question.

“Kaede, Yukika,” Kane said, entirely seriously. “It looks like I’ll be going first.”

She left the two speechless and looked at Berserker. The colossus looked over to his left, and surely enough a door had escaped the trio’s line of sight. Kane got up, walked over to the door and opened it, feeling all eyes on her as she did. It came as a huge relief when she closed the door behind her.

The bathroom was large, and western in design. The bathtub was large enough to hold many people, and had three showerheads looming over it. Towels hung off of hooks on the walls, and various soaps and shampoos were aligned neatly on the rim of the bathtub.

“I feel like this was a little too prepared…” Kane mumbled, rubbing her head. While their encounter in town felt like a surprise, other things didn’t add up since then. How did she get the maids to prepare enough food for guests if she was with them the whole time? How did she prepare this? If anything, Kane felt stupid for not thinking about it sooner.

Kane let out a resigned sigh. There was no more use thinking about it.

She undressed herself, made a neat pile of it on a vacant shelf and went into the tub. She set her glasses on the tub’s rim, next to the wall, and turned the water on.

Hot water rushed all over her naked body, and the warmth seemed to soothe her both physically and mentally. She simply stood there, letting the shower spray her for at least a minute, before she finally felt like she had to move. She picked up a soapbox, took out its charge and started cleaning herself.

She started with her arms, but paused once she got to her torso. She was always aware of it, but only now was she truly feeling that amongst the trio, her breasts were the largest. Not huge by any stretch of the imagination, but above average. Yet, for the first time, she considered the thought of being able to please a man with them.

A man, she thought as she felt a tingle a little lower in her body. She was about to have her first time with a man. She thought of his member, large even when not erect. She put the thoughts together.

A shiver went across her entire body, yet despite herself, a hand found itself between her legs. Fondling, feeling, pinching, a hand made its work around the area as Kane found herself more and more red in the face. It had become wet, somewhere in her crotch, but not from the water. It was a stickier sensation, once she needed to investigate, and a finger found its way inside.

Her other arm, hand still clutching the soap, reached up and awkward pushed at her breast with her wrist. Her body writhed with pleasure, her breathing became heavy and the running water was all that was stopping her from hearing her low moans.

A loud sound erupted from the tub. She looked at the source, and realised there was a bar of soap there. Drowsily, she looked at her hand and realised it was no longer there. She shook her head strongly, picked the soap back up and continued cleaning herself, lending no more time to self-indulgence.

After all, she reasoned, the real thing was about to come.

She finished her shower quickly, rapidly toweled herself off, threw a brush through her hair and almost opened the door completely naked, reasoning she’d lose her clothing anyway, until she got a look at the bathroom’s mirror.

It was her body, naked. Her body wasn’t fat, far from it, toned and lean through exercise. It still glistened slightly, due to the water. Her hair was wet and clung to her body, messy and yet, even to her somehow erotic. Her face was red, a transformation that happened during her shower.

Once again, the thought of what was about to happen to that body crossed her mind, and her lower body tingled once more. She stared at herself in the mirror for another short instance, then quickly wrapped a towel around herself before reaching for the door.

She held the doorknob in a hand, gave a deep, complicated breath, and opened it.

As if no time had passed at all, Kaede and Yukika were on the bed looking various amounts of uncomfortable, while berserker sat cross-legged next to the bed. All three turned their attention to her as she came out, Kaede and Yukika with surprise and shock in their eyes, while berserker maintained a silent, level stare.

She gave her friends a quick look, then moved to face the colossus. She looked at him, almost as tall as her while just sitting, then sat down in front of him, on her knees. She looked straight at his face, then down to his chest, then forced her head upwards, closing her eyes.

Anticipation filled the room for a moment, until his hands moved to take the towel off of her. The instant his massive hands touched her, she let out a sound, not unlike a yelp, or a surprised moan. Just as it was heard, both of her hands grabbed his.

“Wait, just,” Kane said, catching herself stumbling. “May I request one last thing?”

Silence filled the room, as if the entire space held its breath.

“IF we ask you to stop, or slow down… could you, please?” She asked, looking up at him, something indescribable in her face.

He reacted by staying completely still, until her hands took themselves off of his, and he removed the towel gently. He put it aside gently and put a hand on Kane’s chest. The girl closed her eyes, as two of his fingers massaged a breast all on their own. His other hand found the other breast and did the same.

At first, she’d squirm from time to time, until her neck slightly arched upward in pleasure. Gently, slowly and with purpose, the demigod continued his actions. He pushed, pulled, shifted from side to side, until eventually, he made a final act of pulling at both nipples ever so slightly and letting go, resulting in a small gap.

Kane opened her eyes when she realised he hadn’t taken her again after letting go, to see the man had gone to one knee, leaning over her. His member dangled between his legs, slowly finding it’s way upwards. It wasn’t flaccid, but certain wasn’t a full erection just yet.

A moment of silence followed as Kane observed the penis slowly pulse as it gained size, and berserker seemed to wait for something. Kane said nothing, eventually getting out of her sitting position and crawling to Berserker. The giant made no large movements, but his head raised a bit, and his mouth opened for just a second.

Her crawl ended just as soon as her head made contact with his member. Hanging downwards, it rested on her nose for a moment, before she raised a hand to cradle it between the palm and her cheek.

“It’s warm…” she stated to herself, as she pulled her legs forwards and sat again, this time on her butt, her legs off to one side, her free hand supporting her. She drew her face away and lifted the member up with her hand, so it came across both of her eyes. The thing pulsated in her hands, and the tingle in her lower body intensified at the feel, the smell and thought of it.

She pulled her hair back with her other hand quickly, returning it to the ground afterwards, and brought her face to the tip of the penis. She took a deep breath, the thick smell of it invading her nose, put the tip in her mouth.

The taste was strong, odd, unpleasant even, and yet Kane couldn’t find it within herself to shy away. She brought more of his penis inside her mouth, as much as she could before she started feeling a gag. As soon as she felt it, she stopped pulling, let it out of her mouth, then forced it back in.

At some point, her other hand had found her vagina once again.

She built a rhythm, taking the now wet member in and out of her mouth not as fast, but as strongly as she could. She noted at the beginning, she could take at least two thirds of it, but after what felt like an incredibly short time, she struggled to even get half.

As soon as she noticed the size had changed, she put the penis in her mouth once again. Not reaching deep, but licking the head. She looked down at it, to realise it had grow to be the size of her hand and forearm together.

Berserker’s hand moved. He grabbed her head and forced it down, sucking down on his hardened cock. He pushed it slightly passed the point she’d start gagging, deeper than she’d done, and left if there a moment, then let go, her head pulling back to take a short breath.

She looked at him a moment, a look of surprise and curiosity, before looking at the member once again, and going just as deep. In, and out, she put her mouth, her throat around him, wrapping him in a warm, wet embrace, and letting go just long enough to make him want it again.

She pulled her head back again for another breath, prepared for another plunge but was stopped, by his hand on her shoulder. She let go of his dick, and he pushed her down, back to the floor. He took away his hand from her shoulder, and pushed apart her legs.

The first thing that greeted him was a strong scent, that of arousal. Her vagina was wet, through her efforts in the shower and during fellatio. He kept a hand on a thigh, but brought the other to the fold, massaging the clitoris with a finger as two others worked around it, loosening the area.

While she was already panting, red in the face and shifting her body with delight before, Kane had only now started to do so almost violently. She kept both hands on his arm, not to keep it away but to keep it close, as her back arched and her breaths filled the room.

Breaths turned to grunts as a huge finger found its way in, and grunts to loud moans of pleasure when a second followed suit. The girl had stopped trying to hold back her voice, as if she’d gone blind to her two friends on the bed, somewhat frightened but also totally absorbed by the show in front of them.

For a moment, it all slowed down. Berserker got up, looked down at the girl, for a short moment. Their eyes locked, and Kane made a silent nod. He lifted her up effortlessly, and moved to the bed. Kane, as if for the first time, looked at her friends.

“Sorry, Yukika, Kaede, we’re going to need the bed,” she said, and despite the calm in her voice, her face was flush, her eyes hungry, her body covered in sweat and the smell of sex.

The two stared uncomfortably, but Berserker didn’t wait. He set Kane down to the side of her friends and loomed above her, handling his penis. Similarly, Kane reached both her hands down to spread herself open.

Berserker’s member hovered close, a weapon tightly held in this warrior’s hand, and yet the instant it made contact with its goal, a cry interrupted it.

“I-I’ll go take a shower next!” Yukika shouted, running to the bathroom from the bed, keeping her eyes anywhere but on them.

“W-wait, Yukika, I’ll come too!” Kaede ran after her, desperate to not be left a lone spectator.

The door shut behind them, and as soon as they were out of sight, they were out of mind.

Berserker loomed in once again, pressed his cock to the entrance of her pussy. He stopped a moment, looked at her, and in an instant her face showed displeasure.

“You came this far, you don’t have to ask for permission for what comes next,” she said, impatient and lustful.

Berserker wasted no time, shoving the head inside, as Kane had a sharp intake of breath. He slowed down afterward, putting inch after in of his massive member into her wet folds, as she covered her face with blankets, masking the sounds coming out of her mouth, pleasant and not. He stopped once his member reached the end, his huge dick only three fourths of the way through.

Kane slowly took her face out of the covers, her eyes watered with a few tears. Berserker noticed this right away, and a massive hand came down, took off her glasses and gently rubbed a tear away from her eye.

“Ah, no, this is…” Kane stuttered, rubbing tears out herself. She put her glasses back on, gave Berserker a look, then looked down at her belly, seeing a bulge denoting just how he’d gone. “I thought it would hurt, and it does, but it’s less then I thought. I’m fine, really. Please…”

She didn’t even need to continue. Berserker started pulling out, causing a provocative series of moans. Once he was almost out, he thrust it all the way back in, not violently, yet not gently either. He went at just the right speed to hit all the right spots, making her let out an ecstatic yelp.

She covered her mouth in a hurry afterward, but he kept it up. In and out, the sound of liquid shuffling. In and out, moans and sexual screams escaped her. In and out, his breathing got heavy. Again and again, in and out, the room was drowned in the sound of raw sex.

Once again, he put it in, and Kane screamed louder than before, her entire body tightened up and her face relaxed beyond the point of looking relaxed, her eyes almost glazed over. Berserker pulled out, and put a hand on her head. She looked right at him, with foggy eyes, and smiled happily. Yet a few moments later, she returned to her senses. She shot into a seated position, adjusted her glasses, then spent a few actions looking at him, opening her mouth and looking away.

“Ah, I’m sorry…” She finally said, and he tilted her head. “Well, I mean, I was the only one feeling good…”

Berserker looked at her, then finally seated himself on the bed next to her.in a swift motion he fell back entirely with arms spread, his immense, black cock pointed towards the roof. Kane looked over to his face to see his eyes were closed. She gave him a small smile, and did just as she pleased.

She crawled over to his penis and reached out, stopping herself at the last second. She remembered what she was thinking in the bathroom, and looked down at herself.

She straddled the huge mass of muscle, sitting on his impossibly toned abdominals, and squeezed the dick between her breasts. It was so large, it barely even sort of fit, yet it was enough. She put an arm around her breasts, forcing the pair and the pillar in place, and then slid up and down.

She quickly found the endeavor far more taxing than it was pleasurable. She let go, relocated to a spot between his legs, and pushed his penis down to his abdomen. She got on her hands and knees around it, wrapping it in her breasts once again, pushing them onto him, and made the motions once again. Except this time, she gave his dick a lick every now and then, and the occasional full blow.

This continued until she couldn’t take it anymore. Even if she’d already cum, the scent, the feeling of his hard, black cock so near her compelled her to take it once again. She let go of his dick, prompting movement from the colossus, then crawled up to his chest.

She reached behind her, between her legs, and took hold of his rod. She handled it carefully, guiding it back to her hole, and pushed her butt back, sliding it in.

Immediately she moaned extremely loudly. She’d underestimate the feeling, and yet, she needed more. She arched her back upwards, pulling her ass down and forward, then pushed with her arms, pushing herself back and up, forcing his outstanding specimen to hit every single one of her sensitive spots.

This continued, again and again, to a symphony of moans and liquids, until two massive hands came into motion, one grabbing her ass and the other her back. Suddenly, the act sped up. His huge cock forced itself into her body vigorously, the bulge in her stomach coming and going outright unnaturally. Faster once, faster twice, a third fourth, until on the ninth, he held her there for a moment.

On the tenth, Kane felt something pulsing hard inside of her, a rush of warmth invading her.

“W-wait, you can’t,“ she started, pushing herself up with both hands on his chest, until an eleventh thrust took the wind out of her. Her neck arched back, and then she looked down to see her belly bulge, larger than the original bulge of Berserker’ peerless weapon.

A twelfth came, and the bulge increased one last time, before berserker pulled out his massive member. Along with it came a torrent of white, thick liquid. Kane reached down with her fingers, feeling both her incredibly sensitive clitoris, and a huge handful of the white liquid.

Her eyes were foggy again, and drowsily she smelled it. She looked down at her stomach, seeing the bulge, and put a hand on it. Yet, no strength came out. Berserker noticed, and sat up. The motion made Kane fall down from his chest between his legs, yet she barely seemed to notice. He put a hand on her stomach and pushed, strong yet gentle, and she felt like her insides were being pulled out. The act was followed with a moan, or a grunt, or just inarticulate words, but they were rife with the sounds of pleasure.

A true flood of white liquid came out of her all over the sheets. Panting, she looked up at berserker, his face a steel mask, yet also somehow looking exhausted. She then followed her nose and saw his penis, no longer fully erect, covered in his own cum. As a surprise to both the room’s inhabitants she sat up, still between his legs, and started sucking on it, cleaning away the cum, taking the salty liquid into her mouth.

She went over it three, four, five times until she finally retreated. She seemed to look down, a difficult look on her face, and forced a swallow.

She looked back at him, and in the short time she swallowed it all, he’d gotten fully erect again.

The room was still, sex in the air, until finally Kane spoke up.

“Should we… go again?” she said, mid-pant, the thirst in her eyes betraying the fact she could barely move her lower body.

Berserker growled, a primal sound that could only indicated one thing, and picked up the girl once again, intending to sail his Argo into her docks.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, one girl was having a host of problems with the other.

“I mean, why are you even masturbating?!” Kaede shouted out.

“I, I can’t stop,” Yukika said in between breaths, both hands between her legs, lying down in the middle of the bathtub, hot water falling down. “I mean, Himuro, and Berserker-san, they looked, so, so…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, her words turned into sounds of ecstasy. Both girls had started taking a shower together, and while Yukika was spacing out since the beginning, Kaede did not expect her to fall into her own reality.

“By now, she’ll be treated like a cock sleeve… Heh heh…” Yukika mumbled to herself, to the utter dismay of her shower-mate.

“Stop that! You’re creeping me out! What kind of weird switch just got turned on in your head!?” Kaede shouted out, retreating to a corner of the bathtub.

“But, Kaede,” Yukika said with a clear happy smile. “Did you see the look on Himuro’s face? Don’t you want to feel the same way?”

Kaede stopped for a moment, looked at her friend with a look nearing consideration.

“All that, before they actually started,” Yukika continued, but the smile turned a little sicker afterwards. “And then, once they’re done, she’ll be completely broken, a slave to the cock… completely satisfied being his sow for the rest of her days…”

“Ah! No! Enough! Stop that!” Kaede shouted, jumping out of the tub. “No more of these weird fantasies, nope, not allowed!”

Somehow, Kaede found herself stopped midway between the tub and her clothes, Yukika having somehow gotten both her hands out of her vagina and gotten off the floor in time to catch her friend.

“Kaede,” she said, her voice extremely serious. “If you go out there without getting ready, it’ll just hurt more.”

“Hey now, you…” Kaede started with a shout, until she saw the look on Yukika’s face.

“You saw the size of him. Fantasies or no, we have to go out and have se-sex with him,” she said seriously again, even if her lips curled a bit at the mention of coitus. “I hope it feels amazingly good like in my dad’s secret doujinshi collection, but if it doesn’t… well, I hope it hurts as little as possible.”

“Oi, you…” Kaede said, considering her friend’s feelings. “That’s a load of crap, you’re just worried about feeling good!”

“Am not!” Yukika said, her face red with embarrassment. “Now, I’m going to go out, since I’m nice and ready, and maybe you just stay in here and get ready yourself!”

“Aren’t you a little too forceful right now…?” Kaede said, on point. Yet as she said this, Yukika went and opened the door.

What greeted them was the sight of their good friend and associate, Himuro Kane, sitting on berserker’s stomach, her stomach mildly swollen, her vagina dripping cum by the ounce and his dick looking equally dirty.

“Four months pregnant?!” Kaede shouted, horrified, yet was quickly corrected by the increasingly open deviant next to her.

“Stomach inflation!” Yukika said, delighted.

Both girls left the bathroom, and Kane seemed to notice, if barely. Berserker picked her up from behind, sat up and set her aside, once again helping her expel an amount of cum with nothing his hand.

Yukika practically ran from the open bathroom door to Kane and jumped up on the bed, ignoring the stains somewhat everywhere. She quickly got above her friend, her head right above the spectacled girl’s crotch.

“Himuro-chan, you’re all dirty!” She said in a shrill tone, her eyes swirling with madness. “Let me help you clean up!”

Without even waiting for an answer, Yukika reached down and started taking Berserker’s semen directly out of her friend’s overly sensitive pussy.

“Wait, stop, I’m, ah!” Kane tried to say, as she reached for her friend’s head, trying to push her away. Sadly, little to no strength remained, and all she could do was accept the overwhelming stimulus. “Stop, Yukika, please, ah…”

She was ignored, as Makidera was frozen in the bathroom’s doorway, until Berserker himself picked her off of her friend’s vagina and put her aside, immediately placing himself on top of her.

Makidera took the chance to go grab a towel, wrap herself and go next to Kane. She’d have gotten on the bed, but noticed the sticky, viscous liquid all around.

“Ah, Berserker-san, are you going to have your way with me? You can’t, I won’t be able to live without your cock anymore!” Yukika eagerly shouted, and Berserker frowned, doing nothing. “Why aren’t you doing anything?! Ah, you’re denying me until I beg for it! Please, Berserker, treat me like a cocksleeve, ravage me as hard as you can, as if I were just an onahole you can break and replace!”

Berserker looked at Kane and Kaede, sweat apparent in his face, his frown reaching gravitational levels, attracting all skin around it.

“I… really don’t know, either. Some switch got flipped when she saw you two,” Kaede said, resigned.

“Well, Berserker…” Kane said, her face flush. “At least it looks like she’s willing.”

“Yes, please! Ravage the area, leave nothing left, just take me now, Berserker-san, I’m already prepared!” She shouted, spreading her legs and pussy, her earlier works leaving it wet and spread.

The three others took a moment to look at each-other, until Berserker raised his cock in preparation.

“Ah, wait, before you do that, let me walk to the other side of the bed,” Kaede said, both hands holding her towel. Berserker awkwardly moved closer to Yukika’s prepared self on the bed, and Kaede snuck past him and sat down on the drier side of the bed.

“This is not at all how I imagined my first time going,” Kaede said to Kane whose head was not far off.

“Ahhh! It doesn’t hurt bad at all! My dad’s doujin were right! It’s alright, berserker, you can go as hard as you want!”

“I’ll admit to thinking the same,” Kane said, sounding very drowsy. “However, I can’t help but think we’ll never have sex this good again.”

“Yeah, but I also don’t think this Berserker fellow is very good relationship material. I wanted my first time to not only feel good, but mean something, you know?” Kaede made hand gestures at the air, as if grasping something.

“Yes, Berserker-san, I can feel it, it feels so good! I can’t, I’m going to get addicted! Addicted to big, fat black cocks!”

“Are you sure about that?” Kane said, craning her neck to look at her friend.

“What do you mean?” Kaede looked down at her friend, sprawled over the bed as if she had no energy to replace herself.

“Berserker… he’s really very kind, and patient. That foreplay, he wanted to make sure, one-hundred percent, that he could put it in without hurting me. He could have just as easily had his way with us, not caring about how we felt about it.” Kane closed her eyes. “I have to say, he might be my type.”

“I feel myself turning! I’m becoming a slave! A slave to the cock!”

“Eh? Super kind? Patient? You’re making him sound thoughtful!” Kaede said, before turning her head back to the ceiling. “I mean, it did look like he didn’t do a thing without making sure you were alright with it, but…”

“Hm? It seems like you already know,” Kane declared, pulling all her energy into placing herself onto her shoulder, to look at her friend. “He’s attentive to how you’re feeling, eager to move forward, but considerate enough of your own desires. Sounds just like what you’d like.”

“I can see your cock just by looking at my stomach! Amazing, I’m rubbing your dick from the outside while you shape my insides!”

“W-woah, don’t make it sound like what I was spouting earlier was exactly my type, now!” Kaede went red in the face, flustered.

“Oh? Then how about you ask Berserker to take you whichever way you want, once it’s your turn?”

“I can feel something coming! Ah, your meat rod is forcing my pussy to lose it! Don’t stop! Even if I cum, don’t stop! I want to feel it when I’m most sensitive!”

“W-well, maybe I will!” Kaede declared, before looking over at Yukika, who at the time, had tears in her eyes, her tongue sticking out and a glazed-over look. “By the way, Yukika said something. Should I… get, uh, prepared beforehand?”

“Hm, I won’t lie, that’s quite a good idea. I even had a bit of a time in the shower myself.”

“Aaah! Ahh… ah… it’s, he’s cumming…” Yukika said in between mad gasps. Just like she asked, Berserker didn’t stop even when she came. “More… I want you to treat me like a relief tool, pump me full of cum at least two, no, three more times…”

“W-well, it looks like I’ll have the time. I’ll just go back in the bathroom and do that…” Kaede made to get up, but Kane held her hand. “What gives?”

“Do you really think you need to hide in the bathroom, with all that you’re seeing?” Kane stared her right in the eyes, a grin on her face.

“Ah, ah, yes… Ah!”

“W-well, I’ll do things however I want, alright?” Kaede said, shaking off Kane’s arm. She walked off the bed, passed Berserker, and went into the bathroom.

Kane watched her go with a smile, and then turned her attention to Yukika, who was foaming at the mouth, a wild grin on her face, happily taking Berserker’s cock again and again.

“Heh heh heh… Dad, are you watching?” She mumbled. “Your daughter’s become a slave to a giga-cock.”

“I really hope that won’t have any lasting effects.” Glasses were adjusted.

A few minutes later, Kane was finally sitting up, resting her back against some pillows. Resting on her lap was Yukika’s sleeping head, still mumbling about various sexual things. While Kane was pretty much done dripping out, Yukika was till making a mess all over the place.

Berserker was sitting next to them, looking down at the two girls. His shoulders were straight, yet his frame slightly bent forward, elbows on his knees.

Ever since Berserker helped Kane straighten herself, this group had maintained their silence, waiting for a final event of the night.

“Really, I hope that girl isn’t overdoing it in there,” Kane said, to which Berserker looked at her directly. “She’s very competitive, and sometimes takes things too far. I told her to go in there and get ready, but I really hope she doesn’t accidentally go too far.”

“Who’s taking things too far?!” A door slammed open, and there was Kaede, wrapped in a towel. “Do you really think I’d be dumb enough to go and cu-cum on my own in there?”

“Hm, how unexpectedly pure. You can hear dirty things, but can’t say them.” Kane put a hand on her chin, and her glasses shone brightly for a moment.

“Shut it!” Kaede shouted, until a dark shadow fell on her. Berserker stood up, looking down at the girl. He fell to one knee, looking her intensely in the eye.

Kaede made to say something, looked away, faced him again with mouth open one more time and again, looked down at her feet.

Still looking down, she undid her towel. She had tan marks, the smallest breasts in the group, but also the leanest body. She let the cloth fall to the floor, and wrung both hands in front of her, right in front of her crotch.

“Just… be gentle, alright?” Kaede said, and the titan made to pick her up. He was stopped short by another outburst. “And hold me tight! The entire time! And, and let me hold you, too!”

“Oh my,” Kane said below her breath, sure her friend couldn’t hear it.

“And, one last thing, after we’re done… Can you just hug me? Really gently? And pat my head?” Kaede said, fully blushing, looking at the side.

Berserker silently, slowly, picked her up in his arms like a princess and set her on the bed, one of the dryer parts. When he tried to let go, Kaede grabbed him around the neck as loosely as she could. He followed suit by putting an arm around her, holding her tightly against him.

The other arm reached down, to the wet, prepared folds of her vagina. He put a finger in, rubbing the clitoris with his thumb, and she let out an excited gasp. He put two, and provoked another. He pushed them inside occasionally pulling them apart from each other, feeling the space, making more.

After a minute of this, he went down and grabbed his cock, and aligned it with her pussy. And then, he stopped and looked down.

Kaede had completely shut her eyes, and carried an expression not unlike that of someone about to have their teeth pulled. To this, Berserker let go of his Mount Olympus and let it rest on her Gates of Troy, and brought his other hand to her face.

He caressed her gently, running his hand on her cheek. Kaede let out a small noise, and looked up and the demigod, his face suddenly not scary to her in the least. It even looked, for just an instant, like he was smiling.

“Alright,” she said. “I’m ready. P-put it in me.”

Berserker could feel her entire body finally loosen up, lose some of the tension that had been seeping in since they first locked eyes.

He reached for his cock again, put in the head, then a bit more, a bit more…

“T-that’s alright! That’s enough, it’s starting to hurt…” Kaede said, and Berserker immediately stopped. His dick had entered less into her vagina than either of her friends, yet it felt tighter than either of them.

He slowly pulled out, then thrust back in, slow, gentle and hitting all the spots it needed to.

“Ah… it’s so big…” Kaede said with a pant. “How did you two ever fit more of this inside of you?”

Kane didn’t answer, certain her friend wasn’t actually asking her.

Again, slowly, he pulled out, and thrust back in. Again, and again, punctuated by the gasps and moans of the girl clinging onto him.

“How… it hurt not so long ago, how can it feel so good?!” Kaede said in between breaths, holding the Colossus tighter than before.

He thrust again, and again, slowly gaining speed as he felt she would take it. Her pants gained force, her moans got louder, and louder, the sound of pleasure filling the room.

“Berserker, I, I think…” She said, in between sensations. Berserker put his hand to her face again, and held her in a tight embrace as they both came.

A hold sensation invaded her tight folds, as his dick pulsated, sending out the last of his cum for the night, an amount insufficient to change her physique like it did her friends, albeit temporarily.

“Ah, that felt good…” Kaede said, hugging the warrior’s physique on top of her. He hugged her back, a massive, protective hand gently petting the girl’s head as requested. “Thank you. You’re so kind, Berserker.”

Kane, sitting off to the side, couldn’t help but smile at the situation.

“Well, it’s all well and good that we’ve all come out satisfied of this situation, but it’s far into nighttime, and I really don’t think we can sleep on this bed,” Kane said, standing up on her own once again. Behind her, a drowsy Yukika was resting her head on her back. Both girls were wearing towels once again.

“Well, maybe Berserker can go tell Ilya to get us a change of sheets?” Kaede responded. “Or, well, those armchairs look really nice, we can sleep on those.”

“Thus, proving the panther of Fuyuki is in fact, just a giant cat. I’d rather not start developing back problems.” Kane propped her glasses up. “For now at least, we could find a corner of the bed not stained, and maybe squeeze in there.”

“Sounds like an idea,” Kaede agreed, as they both turned around to look at the bed, only to see that there was not a single stain on the sheets. Next to the bed was Berserker, holding a ball of what could have looked like bedsheets.

“…Well, he certainly is capable. Do you mind if I take him, Makidera?” Kane said, crossing her arms.

“W-woah! Why are you asking me!” The panther reeled from her friend.

“You did seem the most attached.”

“I mean, you told me to tell him to take me whichever way I wanted! So, I did! Is there something wrong with that?!”

“I don’t remember bringing up how you had intercourse, simply that you seemed the most attached. Why so defensive? I’m quite attached myself.”

“W-well, I mean…” Kaede started her sentence, but it quickly ended as a shadow fell across the trio once again. Berserker loomed over them all, and same as how it all began, picked up all three girls and chucked them on the bed. Somehow, Yukika wasn’t awoken.

Except this time, he tucked them in, gave Kaede a pat on the head and squeezed in between her and Kane.

“That sounds like a bedtime call if I’ve heard one. Good night, everyone,” Kane said. She was answered with a mumble from a sleeping Yukika, a grunt from Berserker and a hesitant “good night” from Kaede, on the other side of the sleeping giant.

That night, she dreamt of once again having sex with the giant. Yet this time, they indulged her secret fetish, and she took it up her ass.

“As I have said, Ilyasviel, I sincerely doubt that your prank on those girls is appropriate.”

Sella walked the halls, three steps behind her master, chiding her reckless actions.

“You’re worrying too much! After all, Berserker’s a gentleman!” Ilyasviel proudly declared. “But also, they said Onii-chan had a babyface. They were asking for it!”

“Ojou-sama, Berserker has lost his mind due to his class. I’ll honestly be surprised if we go into the room and don’t find them split in half.”

Ilya stopped, making the maid stop with her.

“Are you doubting Berserker’s capabilities?”

“O-of course not, ojou-sama!” Sella quickly bowed, and the bloodlust in the air vanished.

“Great! Now, let’s go wake them up!” Ilya happily started walking again, a spring in her step, until she came to an especially big door. She put her hand on it, and many tiny clicks happened all at once, the large door unlocking.

She pulled it open with a lot of effort and the maid’s help, and peered inside. Berserker was happily snoring away, while Kaede clung onto his right arm and Kane the left, while Yukika held on to Kane. All four were buck naked, and Kane and Kaede’s breasts were out in the open, out of the covers.

“See! All satisfied!” Ilya proudly declared.

“I-indeed, I am corrected. You’re right again, Ilyasviel,” Sella admitted, looking awkwardly at the unlikely bedfellows. “Should I worry about something like this happening again, ojou-sama?”

“Well, so long as they want to come play with Berserker again, I’ll let them in every time! So, I guess so?” Ilya happily decided.

“I see… in that case, I’ll prepare some bathrobes. Perhaps, some extra changes of clothes… and certainly, pajamas.”

“That sounds like a good idea! But for now, breakfast! I’m hungry!” Ilya retreated from the doorway and headed back to the main hall. “Also, I’ll be going to Onii-chan’s place today!”

“Of course,” Sella said, surly her lady was off to meet that boy again. She spared one last glance to the sleepers. “Still, I am impressed. Not only are they fine, but they’re sleeping so happily after what must have been, well…”

The words caught in her throat.

“A black onslaught, I suppose?” She said, thinking of his skin’s color. Immediately, the words referred to something else of his, to which she had a furious blush. She shook her head strongly, and proceeded after her mistress.

Makidera Kaede, Himuro Kane, and Yukika Saegusa do everything together. Everything. After setting their sights on a certain someone, this leads to that and all four of them end up in a room together, naked. Each girl has to have a different fetish, and one is butt stuff.

March 14th, 2017, 02:03 PM
Shirou’s Diary, Monday, 00:18AM

So this is the first entry. Tohsaka told me to start writing a diary because I’m “super forgetful”. Something makes me think she just wants to read someone she know’s diary, but I agreed anyway, it’s not a bad mental exercise.

It has been a week since me, Tohsaka and Lancer Artoria, helped Saber fight Gilgamesh and shut down the Grail. I still don’t know how we made it out of that one, but we did. Since then I’ve spent the week in hospital, sleeping off the bodily exhaustion caused by one of Gilgamesh’s trick weapons, with Tohsaka and Artoria visiting me every day. It could be worse, really. Tohsaka’s back in school and Artoria’s looking for a job, claims she won’t freeload, so Tohsaka has hooked her up with a fake resumé and spent some time in the last week instructing her how to behave in front of one’s future boss. Its great either way, since I got to see her in business casual for the first time today. Either Tohsaka’s being devious or she picked a size too small, and I don’t think I mind either option.

Then I was signed out with doctor’s orders to stay home and a receipt to send to the school to avoid further bad marks on my attendance. It’s a shame since I was sort of excited to go back to school, but on the other hand I get to stay home and help Artoria with her preparations for work in our time.

I was still feeling under the weather as we took a taxi home, but I admit Artoria got a good stir out of me by leaning into my side with her breasts and letting out a low breath by my ear as we sat in the backseat, Tohsaka giving directions on the fly to the driver. It was around then that I realized we (or at least I) hadn’t had sex with either for a week. Now that might not sound like a lot as I write this, but given our strategy late in the war became, erm, exploiting Artoria and her spear’s endless capacity for mana to beat down our opposition, it was a lot relative to the week and a half before. We’d taken an interest in Artoria almost immediately and she us, and well, what happened happened and for the better.

When we arrived back home, where Tohsaka had almost moved in during the week I was hospitalized, Tohsaka cooked for us. It’d been a week of dreadfully mediocre hospital food, so I ate almost with the same appetite as Artoria did. Tohsaka’s gānguō jī is ridiculous and I’ll have to learn it from her some day. Again Artoria surprised me when Tohsaka wasn’t looking by looking intently at me from across the low table and nudging my leg with her foot. I didn’t do anything except be bashful at the time but I guess she missed me more than she’d said she did. Was there a slight bit of red in her face back then? I don’t recall, too tired.

After we ate I retired to my bed. It felt good finally being able to lie in my futon at home, but before I went to sleep, Artoria came in my room. Hugged me (I definitely noticed her breasts pressing into my chest), repeated she was glad to have me home with a smile, and then kissed me. Intensely. To me, a horny teenager who hadn’t felt the touch of either of his, uh, partners for a week, it was pretty intense. But just as a part of me hoped this would devolve into something more than a kiss, she broke off and told me to rest, closing the door after her while popping her hips, and here I am now. Damn tease.

Tomorrow I’ll do some cleaning around the house. That’s still resting, right? Also I’ll probably keep these entries shorter from now on, though I’ll admit these are more fun to write than I expected. For now, sleep.

Monday, 7:34AM

Woke up to Artoria’s skirt-half-covered rear resting in the air at the foot of my futon and her mouth around one half of my dick and her hand around the rest. I came embarrassingly fast, in her mouth. She peeked her face out from under my blanket and showed me it on her tongue before swallowing and telling me ‘good morning’. That one was new, I had to admit, but it got me to wake up and then some.

Breakfast was somewhat awkward, as Tohsaka did her usual thing of barely being awake and moody while Artoria and I were both somewhat red-faced over what had occurred in my bedroom. Contrary to what I thought in the past, people who have sex regularly, leaving out the part where our relationship is triangular, can still be embarrassed about sex. I wasn’t sure why it got to her though. Was it that she might’ve felt that in hindsight she was too bold?

Well, I wouldn’t hate getting used to it.

Monday, 3:36PM

Spent most of the day in a light recliner chair I fixed in our downtime during the Holy Grail War reading more of Asimov’s The End of Eternity, which I had Tohsaka bring me while I was in the hospital. It felt somewhat surreal to think he conceptualized something so close to how Heroic Spirits work. I’m not much of a reader, though, so I grew restless after a bit and took a peek at Artoria studying business economics in the living room. This was the first time I noticed that she read things at bullet speeds. When I was sure she was done with the mathematical questions she was working on, I walked in and began to make lunch. How earnest she is in studying was actually super cute. Her face seemed so relaxed and happy even though she was working on things as mind-numbingly boring as business economics.

Monday, 6:51PM

Tohsaka came home, complaining in a bad mood that Shinji was back in school already. It didn’t take long for her to cheer up though when she heard I was making rabbit hot pot. Dinner was fairly standard until, as Artoria was devouring every scrap of the rice and hot pot, Tohsaka reached over and almost grabbed my dick through my pants. I’m not sure how Artoria didn’t notice, or if she did she simply ignored it, but it was fairly unexpected and I reddened a bit as I looked over at Tohsaka’s cheeky face.

Monday, 10:48PM

Well, turns out Tohsaka was no less sexually frustrated than Artoria had been this morning. Rather unexpectedly, or knowingly, Artoria asked to be alone as she kept studying in the living room after dinner. Out on the veranda Tohsaka loudly complained about the presence of Shinji, who’d dug himself a hole after Artoria had utterly destroyed his Servant early on in the War and hid there until it was over, and apparently now thought it safe. After she’d vented and calmed down, we went back to smalltalk before I pointed out what’d happened in the living room. At first she got cheeky about it again, but then it didn’t take long until she pushed me through the entry to the shed, kissed me up against one of the supports and then confessed that while her and Artoria fooling around a bit in the last week had been fun, there was something missing without me. I responded by pushing her against the support, tearing her underwear down to her knees and lifting her off the ground mounted on my cock until we both came with her legs wrapped around my back. It was pretty satisfying.

Tuesday, 01:02AM

Going to bed. After Tohsaka insisted on another quickie, which had me doing her up against the support with one leg over my shoulder, we made out and wound down. We made some small talk about how it was great to be back together at home, and then she turned in early, leaving for the shower with a visible white stain in her black panties. I went back to the living room, watched the late news with Artoria as she’d finished her homework and had some tea. Apparently the police still had absolutely no clue how Ryuudou Temple had been reduced to a spiral-shaped crater, and I teased Artoria that she’d overdone it, which made her pout cutely, saying she couldn’t have helped it. We had a bit of small talk, kissed each other goodnight, and here I am.

If my daily life is gonna be like this from now on, then that doesn’t sound half bad.

Tuesday, 8:02AM

Woke up late, had what’s left of breakfast. Artoria hadn’t dressed properly yet since no one else was up. I never knew I loved sports bras and yoga pants until now.

Tuesday, 9:35AM

Went shopping with Artoria, felt a little bad that I had to make her carry everything but despite the uh, vigor I had when I was with Tohsaka last night, I can still barely carry a shopping bag. She didn’t seem to mind though.

Tuesday, 9:37AM

Walking behind Artoria made me realize for the first time why Rin bought her denim jeans.

Tuesday, 9:39AM

Artoria whispered in my ear that she heard me and Tohsaka last night as we stood by a red light. That got a rise out of me but I didn’t respond past sputtering a bit, and she winked at me. She’s already drop-dead gorgeous but when she does things like that, I can barely control myself.

Tuesday, 10:25AM

Finally got home. I spent a bit too long staring when she bent over to untie her shoes, because she turned her head, gave me a smile and shook her hips at me as she stood up and went for the living room with a sway in her steps. Alright, that’s it.

Tuesday, 12:44AM

So, since the last entry, I’ve had to clean the living room table. Because after the thing in the hallway, I snuck up behind Artoria (I’m sure she knew I was there in hindsight), grabbed her breasts that I’ve watched painfully strain her white shirt all morning, and it kind of escalated from there to me fucking her from behind. As much as I am starting to grow a bit too obsessed with seeing it in pantyhose or a pencil skirt or jeans, I don’t think there’s quite anything so wonderful as her ass in the nude. Well, besides her face. Then after I finished once, Artoria, apparently as horny as she had gotten me during our shopping trip, threw me on the table and mounted my cock again. While in said throw, I knocked over every cup on the table, luckily only staining the table, my shirt (that very quickly came off thanks to the woman on top of me) and one of her books on business management, one of the ones she was already done with. Not that either of us cared at the time. That stain then wasn’t helped by Artoria being rather wet and covering me and the table in a rather explosively wet orgasm when we came at the same time.

Then I made lunch for the two of us with her blowing me while I worked and now I’m writing this as I’m coming out of the shower to join her at the table. I’d like to not have to clean it again.

Tuesday, 1:31PM

I had to clean the table again.

Tuesday, 6:43PM

After the fortunate accident at lunch, I went and cleaned the Dojo. Even though Taiga moved back to her old man to give the three of us space to “be lovebirds”, in her words, I like to keep it well-maintained and clean. Plus me and Artoria sparred in there a few times, and “sparred” once after one of those times, during the War, and I’d like to do the former again once I recover. Besides that I tinkered a bit with an old neon sign depicting the word ディスコ and an incorrect spell of Disco (Disuko) underneath it that I promised to fix for Gotou a while (at this point I’m sure he’s forgotten but a promise is a promise) back but checking the insides with Magecraft made my exhaustion act up and I gave up fixing it for now. Will have to do that another time, though I did write down what I’ll need to go buy for it. I’m told by Artoria that in my daze I went back to the living room and more or less passed in her lap. There were worse things to wake up to than her having to lean over to look me in the eyes because her breasts were in the way.

Tohsaka’s cooking tonight.

Tuesday, 8:23PM

Tohsaka’s attempt at Chinese-inspired Risotto was… okay? I’d expected it to be fairly bad but she pleasantly surprised me. More worrying is that she was given a couple of bottles of Shaoxing wine by Taiga that were intended for me, and insisted we crack one open on a weekday. This isn’t gonna end well.

Tuesday, 8:45PM

Rin’s flushed red after one and a half glass. This isn’t gonna end well.

Tuesday, 10:32PM

After a few more drinks and one and a half bottles of Shaoxing, I had to carry Tohsaka to bed, who drunk-murmured some stuff about me not paying enough attention to her before ordering me to kiss her. I obliged, and stayed by her bedside rubbing her hair until the alcohol made her fall asleep. She was weirdly cute like that. Then I went back to the living room and Artoria.

Tuesday, 10:37PM

Artoria insisted we should continue drinking. I guess I technically don’t have to get up tomorrow, so sure.

Tuesday, 11:01PM

This stuff is strong, or I’m just a lightweight…

Wednesday, 3:21AM

I had to clean the table again. Will clean up the stains on the floor tomorrow. Turns out I’m the polar opposite of a whisky dick, and Artoria took advantage. All our clothes had to go in the wash. I need to stop letting her throw me on that table, or at least make her move the stuff on it out of the way first.

Wednesday, 11:20AM

I woke up super late to hear Artoria scream from the kitchen. Apparently she felt bad for being the only sober one last night and wanted to bake a cake as apology. It was a cute gesture but all my hungover self understood at the time was that Artoria, in only some of the rather racy white underwear Tohsaka had gotten her and an apron, was covered in a rather sweet-looking cake batter.

Wednesday, 11:22AM

Can confirm it’s incredible sweet. Source: I licked it off her back.

Wednesday, 11:33AM

Three new discoveries. One, cake cream that’s way too thin makes for great lube. Two, anal sex might be one of my new favorite things. Three, Artoria can get a lot louder than I thought.

Wednesday, 11:42AM

Well, that was a way to start the day. Artoria is in the shower now and I’m tempted to join her if she’s still there when I’m done cleaning up her kitchen accident and wiping her pussyjuice off the counter. Apparently Rin actually went to school without being in a bad morning mood, or so Artoria said. I’ll figure out what I’m gonna do for the day after the kitchen is sparkling again. Sheesh, she gets explosive.

Wednesday, 12:21PM

Well, I ended up joining Artoria in the shower. I was barred further access to her ass but she said it wasn’t because she didn’t like it (on the contrary she said she loved it), just that she needed to prepare herself to do that again. On the other hand, the in-shower blowjob was nice, though I had to wash her hair again myself because i ended up shooting in it. Worse things have happened, her hair is super silky.

Wednesday, 2:10PM

After we got out of the shower, Artoria showed me what she was trying to make from a cookbook and I showed her how to actually do it. She seemed a little pouty over not being able to do it without my help since Tohsaka and I were supposed to be the receivers of it, but she was happy with the result as we set the cake (a Blueberry and chocolate layer cake) in the fridge to cool as we waited for Tohsaka to get home before trying it.

I got to lick the the spoon clean though.

Wednesday, 2:11PM

She licked my spoon clean.

Wednesday, 3:59PM

Read some more of The End of Eternity as Artoria went back to reading macroeconomics. It’s a sunny day. Would be great to do some exercise right about now.

Wednesday, 4:11PM

Artoria agreed to do some team stretches with me as a stand-in for real exercise. It almost just became an excuse for seeing her in a sports bra and yoga pants, even if she’s really earnest about it and I’m not exactly unmotivated either.

Wednesday, 4:33PM

So it turns out that grass isn’t the worst thing to get ridden on. At least there’s nothing to knock over. Yeah… this might’ve become just an excuse for fucking Artoria in yoga pants.

Wednesday, 6:54PM

After a light dinner of sashimi of smoked salmon with charred veggies and rice, Artoria presented the cake and Tohsaka was ecstatic, so that’s a success story. It also ended up being a lot tastier than expected. Tohsaka’s sweet tooth is appeased at any rate.

Wednesday, 6:56PM

Tohsaka got some of the cake cream on her face and not-so-indirectly talked Artoria into licking it off her cheek, which didn’t actually happen because Tohsaka immediately started making out with her once she got in close. Here we go…

Wednesday, 7:04PM

Tohsaka, cake isn’t supposed to go in Artoria’s cleavage. Oh well, I got hard looking at her eating it out of there anyway.

Wednesday, 8:55PM

So Tohsaka ended up getting fucked from behind by me while she motorboated cake out of Artoria’s cleavage, and that’s sort of where things kicked into high gear. Artoria then rapidly took control of the situation by eating my cum out of Tohsaka, straddling her midriff and then snowballing it with her while Tohsaka still had cake in her mouth, all while just telling me to watch. She’s a real tease when she wants to be, goddamnit.

We didn’t spring the anal card on Tohsaka yet but she did get watch me pound Artoria in the ass with only their spit and the cake cream as lube. As delightful as the first time, and having Tohsaka watch me do it only added to it.
After we were done, we all went into the bathtub together, covered in cake and cum as we were, and that ended up much the same way. Getting titfucked in the water with Rin on my balls was an experience, alright.

Now I’m stuck with the cleanup job afterwards. Great. Thanks, girls.

Wednesday, 10:32PMIt only took a quarter of a century to get the cake cream out of the carpet but I succeeded. Then I wondered where the girls had been. Turns out they were in Tohsaka’s room kissing each other’s faces off while rubbing against some vibrating gemstone I was almost sure must’ve been Tohsaka’s weirdest creation yet, magecraft-wise. I wasn’t allowed to join in, Tohsaka said, because I’d had her so much to myself recently.

Wednesday, 10:35PM

I was allowed to join in if I allowed Artoria to do something to me that Tohsaka wouldn’t say and I had to keep my eyes closed, so I was blindfolded by Tohsaka. I then heard a sound like zoom and Tohsaka marvelling over something, to the effect of “Wow, you weren’t kidding! But let’s not make that a regular thing, you’d make Emiya-kun feel inadequate” and Artoria agreeing. I wonder what’s up with that…

Thursday, 1:23AM

My asshole hurts, but it was so worth it…

Thursday, 8:16AM

So after I had my ass destroyed by Artoria’s spear and all the other blindfolded fun I had yesterday, I at least got a great consolation prize. Tohsaka woke me up by blowing me in the 69 position in this weird gold, white and black bikini set. Apparently my girlfriend was into something like cosplay now? I commented on it and she just got teasy about it, saying that with Artoria’s combat clothing she thought I was into that stuff. I called her cheeky, slapped her on the ass and obliged her in returning the oral favor.

Thursday, 8:48AM

After we got each other to cum, me and Tohsaka joined Artoria for breakfast. Artoria wanted to bring me along for a job interview she’d apparently gotten using Rin’s forged resumé, to which I agreed. She looked banging in business casual with a pencil skirt.

Thursday, 9:25AM

So Artoria’s randomly moaning quietly and breathing heavily as we’re walking to the company’s building. What’s up with her?

Thursday, 9:35AM

So I think I cracked the code. Rin’s put vibrators on the inside of Artoria’s underwear. Goddamnit Tohsaka, she can’t go to a job interview like that.

Thursday, 10:44AM

The interview apparently went pretty well! They said they were definitely interested and would get back to her as soon as possible. I barely got this information out of her before she pushed me into a bush in the company’s garden and rode me until we both came, uncaring of the fact that we could be seen by literally anyone who’d come outside for a smoke break. I could feel the vibrators every time she forced me inside her and that definitely helped in making me cum in no time. Then, Artoria declared revenge on Rin for the humiliation she’d felt, and went commando for our walk home, which presented its own problems like her pussy juice leaking down her thighs, making stains on the inside of her pencil skirt.

Thursday, 11:25AMApparently once wasn’t enough or Artoria had gotten addicted to the rush of being discoverable at any time, because we ended up doing it against a slide in the park where no one was around, with her supporting herself on the side of it, one leg in the air while I fucked her. We shouldn’t make this a hobby because I’m fairly sure we’ll be social pariahs in no time. This city isn’t that big and people know me fairly well. Oh well, the sex was great.

Thursday, 12:06PM

After we finally got home and put Artoria’s clothes in the laundry as they were… not pristine anymore, I made early lunch and we discussed how to pay Tohsaka back for nearly getting Artoria done in at a job interview. I’ll detail it as it unfolds because Artoria’s giving me that look from across the table and I’m sort of hoping we don’t make the same mess we usually do, so I’ll ask her to join me in the bath.

Thursday, 1:18PM

So newsflash is that water and soap isn’t enough lube by itself, but Tohsaka has been so generous as to put this thick non-washable bottle of oil by the bath and it worked wonders in both making Artoria’s asshole a smooth, fantastic ride but also left her skin glistening and this stuff just won’t come off. Oh well, I am certainly not adverse to Artoria having shiny skin for a day or two.

Thursday, 5:55PM

Tohsaka, who came in sounding all smug asking if Artoria had had any difficulties with her job interview, was gobsmacked the moment she entered the living room and saw Artoria, skin as shiny as can be, lying around seductively in pieces of armor that barely could be described as a bikini. It was like a honeybee attracted to pollen, except that pollen got up, greeted her even more seductively, and essentially swept Tohsaka off her feet in an instant, and it wasn’t long before Tohsaka had tossed everything on hand aside and was licking Artoria’s body from head to toe. She apologized profusely when Artoria said that if she wouldn’t, she’d made Rin get off her and go have loud fun with me instead, and is now offering Artoria something like a little tin filled with what looks like… edible gemstones?

Thursday, 5:58PM

So apparently these are things Rin made to “make our sex life something a little less under control”. Well, we all agreed to try one, so let's see what happens.

Sunday, 11:59PM

Oh, I’ve totally neglected this project haven’t I? Well, let’s just say the three of us have been extremely occupied these last few days. Oh well, now that I’ve remembered I was doing it, I’ll make sure to start updating it again. Why has it been so long since the last update? Rin is terrible at dosages, that’s what.

=Following UBW Good Ending (with Saber's Lancer version from F/GO instead), a look into a week (Monday through Sunday) of Shirou, Rin, and Artoria's active sex-life. As the week goes on, their needs become more intense to them becoming nearly inseparable. Vanilla.

March 14th, 2017, 02:06 PM
Crystalline reflections surrounded her as she allowed the water to relax her muscles, washing away any impurities that might have come to settle on her perfect skin during the day. Oh, it would be a stretch to say that she’d done a lot of manual labor, but even the slightest trace of fatigue or unsightliness had to be washed and scrubbed away with fervor. Carefully, with the utmost concentration, she inspected every single inch of her skin, running her nails over wherever she saw even the faintest beginning of a wrinkle. Losing herself to her task and the hot water, she paid no mind to the time that passed, until she could finally be certain that her skin was still as spotlessly resplendent as it had been when she had done the same ritual in the morning.

The consistent cadence of footsteps echoed beautifully through the bathing chamber, and the embodiment of aristocratic grace glanced over her shoulder, platinum hair flashing through the water.

“D’Eon! Was there something I could help you with?”

With the ease and haste of practice, the knight solemnly knelt, their head bowed low so as to not improperly observe the queen’s bathing.

“Ah, yes, our Master wanted to know why you saw fit to deploy the Crystal Palace. I told them that there was nothing amiss, but-“

“Hm, I just wanted a bath. You should come join me, D’Éon, you look too tense. Since you’re always running around for me, it’s making me feel responsible.” At the stutter of objection, she smiled teasingly and raised a finger to shush. “I said you’re making me worry, isn’t it your duty to make sure I can relax? We’re just two Servants here.”

“A-as you wish, your majes-Marie.”

Flustered, the chevalier nonetheless started removing their armor and uniform without further objections to enter the bath. It was the duty of a loyal retainer to fulfill the desires of royalty, and if that involved bathing in their presence, there was nothing that could be done about it. However, no sooner had they slipped into the water that a royal threatened to send them barreling into it, as Marie grabbed them without paying any attention to the surprised yelp her actions caused.

“Like I thought, your skin is too smooth. You’re so lucky, D’Éon, I need to spend hours to look like this for the people, but you’re always perfect.”

“N-no, your majesty, I can’t even compare to you.” Cheeks burning red, the knight tried to look away, a task made difficult by the fact that Marie had taken to pinching said cheeks. “Your magnificence cheered everyone up, in the entire country.”

“Haha, you know just what to say. You’re such a lady killer…” Slyly, the queen looked down, the water that was just as crystalline as the palace’s name doing nothing to hide the view of D’Éon’s flawless legs. “…for being a girl yourself.”

With mischief in her eyes that left no doubt as to her intentions, she slowly brought a finger to the neck of the completely unguarded knight, slowly tracing down her smooth skin toward her crotch.

“A…ah. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Her breathing growing uneven, D’Éon’s voice grew deeper. “I’ll fix this at on-“

“No, shh.” In a fluid movement despite the water she was partially submerged in, the queen swiftly shifted to sit on the smaller knight’s legs. “It’s alright, it’s like I said before, D’Éon is perfect as a girl. You’ve done so much for me lately, just let me make you happy or else I’ll just continue worrying about you. You’re a part of France too, so you can’t be unhappy while I’m here!”

Slowly, meaningfully, Marie’s left hand continued to trace down D’Éon’s chest even as her right took hold of the back of her partner’s head, moving it to the side to allow her to plant a teasing kiss on her neck. Years of training became instinct and D’Éon’s body forced itself to relax completely to obey the queen’s order, the intended change ending before it had even begun. With the same careful movement that she would have used to take care of a beloved doll, Marie expertly positioned herself so that she could slowly move up her kisses toward the knight’s beautifully reddened face without stopping her finger’s descent as it now moved down her abdomen.

By the time the kisses were approaching the lips, the finger had done likewise and slowly, teasingly traced the entrance that had developed a wetness other than the one caused by the water. Stifling a moan, D’Éon braced herself in a mix of shame and desire.

“Y-your highness please-“

The please was silenced in an instant as Marie’s finger finally pushed its way inside her body, causing her to let out a cry that echoed throughout the crystal palace, and as she looked up to the ceiling from the unconscious movement, she saw herself reflected hundreds of time over throughout the room, beautiful crystal turning into a hall of mirrors.

“Shh, I told you.” The digit exited, only to be joined by another on the next pass, and Marie grinned teasingly. “Just receive your reward happily.”

As D’Éon’s eyes widened in a pleasure she couldn’t contain anymore, the queen brought her face forward, bringing her into a kiss that prevented any noise from being made, her tongue now teasing her companion’s mouth as her fingers did below. Finally, all the tension left the chevalier’s muscles and she allowed herself to return the kiss, tongues intertwining in a parade of love. She remained there in the queen’s embrace for what seemed an eternity, her body caught between its desire to brace itself for the inevitable release and the sheer sense of comfort and happiness that overwhelmed all her senses. Finally, as Marie pulled back her own face now flush with desire, she could vocalize a cry of release, her body falling motionless into the translucent as a deep sense of satisfied exhaustion filled her.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Grinning from ear to ear, the queen slowly took hold of D’Éon’s hand as the knight frantically tried to mutter an agreement. With the same slow and deliberate movements as before, she brought the knight’s fingers, unmarred despite their years of manual labor, between her own legs. “Now it’s your turn to do your duty, my cute chevalier.”

"I know she's a girl." Marie Antoinette and Chevalier D'Eon. Playful, sweet sex, so vanilla it hurts. Have Marie reject a gender switch proposal from D'Eon.

March 14th, 2017, 02:09 PM


Nights were supposed to be dark. Black and blue, with silvery stars shining in their thousands in the skies above. The way she remembered them back when she was the fury of the battlefield.
Back before she became a phantom, a snake, a terrorist.

The heavens above the enormous metropolis of Tokyo were anything but the clear desert skies of her childhood. The innumerable lights of the monstrous city illuminated the night, dying orange the clouds that were lazily rolling over the night sky, as if they, too, were taking a rest until the daybreak.

The wall opposite the entrance door was one giant glass panel, offering a breathtaking view across the endless city. In turn, the room was always bathed in the dimmed blue and orange of the countless lights shining from below.

She was leaning against the window, her head tilted so that she felt the hard, cold glass against the end of her cheekbone. Her eyes were dim, unfocused.

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You never can...”

The other woman’s voice rarely betrayed emotion, but when it did there was no mistaking it.

Irritability. Frustration. And sadness.

“Your mind is elsewhere again,” she whispered as she rolled over in their bed to look at her lover, “Isn’t it?”


“Come back to bed.”

Alphard turned her gaze from the streets below.

“What is it, Ryougi?”

“Just come to bed already.”

Impatience. Frustration. And more sadness.


She slipped her nightgown down her shoulders, leaving it in a pile next to the bed.
Shiki raised her head a little to admire the sight. Not satisfied with just looking at Alphard as she climbed into bed, Shiki ran her fingers down a naked shoulder, feeling her lover’s collarbone under the tips of her fingers.

“Seems to be your favourite part,” Alphard observed, lying down next to Ryougi.
She tilted her head a little, giving more space. Her strongly-built shoulders shuddered for a brief moment when Shiki’s fingers reached the base of her neck.

“Perhaps...” the woman replied. Her pale and thin lips curved awkwardly as she mouthed the words.

Favourite and most hated at the same time.

As Shiki’s soft fingers continued to play with Alphard’s muscular physique, spiralling down the woman’s chest, her eyes remained fixed on the collarbone protruding starkly under the dark olive skin.
Blacker than the charcoal hair of her lover. Redder than the leather jacket she still wore whenever she roamed the city streets alone at night. Coiling around the bone then splitting into dozens of sharp ends at the base of the woman’s neck.

A line of death.

“Now it’s you whose mind is somewhere else.”

Shiki’s eyes met Alphard’s.

“Tell me, what do you see?”

“I see you?”

“Don’t play around. Like I told you that evening, I can tell your eyes are not normal.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Alphard bit her lip and averted her gaze.

“Each gets two rules, right? That’s also something you said that evening,” Shiki’s voice was cold. Cold, but faltering. “So stick to it.”


“You’re always sorry.”

Alphard couldn’t find words to try and retort to that. She knew that Shiki was right.
Ever since that faithful day, on a lonely train in the desert, her life was one of regrets. A never-ending ‘sorry’. Even if she denied it. Even if she refused to admit it to herself.

Alphard wasn’t particularly good with words. Like all predators, she preferred to rely on and communicate through her senses. Shiki was quite alright with such an arrangement.

They drank together, danced together, fucked together.

Words were superfluous to people like them, a burdensome annoyance. Words could hurt far worse than a fist or a whip could. Words could confuse, deceive, lie – lips and fingers couldn’t. Bodies always told the truth; through the swinging of the hips, through the feeling of teeth against the flesh, through short, shallow gasps.

Alphard pulled Ryougi closer into her embrace, burying her face in the dark, ruffled strands of Shiki’s hair.

“Can I make it up to you?”

She heard Shiki let out a long sigh.

Tiredness. Frustration. An ever-growing sadness.

Still, Ryougi nestled herself in Alphard’s embrace, her thin fingers caressing the smooth skin on Alphard’s back. Muscles trembled beneath her fingertips.

Emboldened, Alphard slid her left hand down Shiki’s bare shoulder, taking her time to take in the soft, smooth sensation of the naked skin under the rough palm of her hand.
She couldn’t get enough of Ryougi. Of her ghostly pale skin, smooth and soft as silk. Of her thin lips – teasing, sweet and dangerous. Of her cute moans and gasps...

Alphard reached between Shiki’s legs.

Something between a purr and a moan reverberated against Alphard’s chest. Her lips curled into a faint smirk.

A loud gasp escaped Ryougi’s lips.

She shot a glance at Alphard, her eyes wide open, her lips parted and slightly quivering.
Their gazes met once again. Shiki desperately wanted to pay the other back for the cheeky grin she was returning. But even more desperately she wanted to feel Alphard more. She needed to feel more of her.

Shiki buried her fingers in Alphard’s messy strands. She left a quick peck on her lover’s lower lip then pressed her hips forward a little. Alphard didn’t fail to take the cue.

This time Shiki let out a deep moan. She closed her eyes to feel the sensation better. Stronger. Harder.


They were a good pair, Alphard fancied. From the very first night they read each other as if sharing a single mind.


Hints and pleas weren’t really necessary for either of them. But Ryougi enjoyed moaning them out, and Alphard enjoyed drawing them out. Shiki loved to tease Alphard, to see the stoic, muscular soldier lose herself to ecstasy. Alphard couldn’t resist toying with the mob queen, always dancing on the edge, probing how far she could go with Shiki – a true dance with death, even if she didn’t quite fathom it. Even if she couldn’t.

Mystery was what drew them both to each other.

A ghost-like princess in an elaborate kimono and an Arabian noblewoman in a black dress embroidered with pearls stole the spotlight at a cocktail party in one of Tokyo’s most luxurious hotels, celebrating the conclusion of the terrorist attack on Shibuya.

A mobster and a terrorist. Two killers were toasting each other in the light of a thousand flashing cameras.

“I can smell my own kind,” Shiki told Alphard during their first night together.

“I can sense people who have special talents, “Alphard said in reply.

Shiki felt as if her body was on fire. A jolt after jolt went through her body, resonating with every fibre of her being, every nerve and muscle. Her vision grew clouded, her mouth helplessly open, her dry throat letting out a series of ever louder moans.

Alphard briefly pressed her lips against Shiki’s, then slowly made her way down Ryougi’s jaw. A peck in the corner of her open mouth, then another one on her chin. With each kiss, Shiki murmured with pleasure. With each thrust of her hips, she felt a burning sensation inside of her.

Shiki was seemingly overwhelmed, and that was Alphard’s cue to strike.

She slipped a third finger inside of her. As Shiki gasped for breath, she buried her teeth in her lover’s exposed neck.
Ryougi had thought the pleasure was overwhelming before but this left her mind in complete disarray. She let out a scream of ecstasy, leaning into Alphard’s bite and wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Fuck...” was all she could muster.

“What was that?” Alphard said, snickering as she looked down on her lover.

Shiki did her best to catch her breath. Alphard was still inside her, her long and lean fingers teasingly poking upwards. “Fu...”


Shiki looked up. Her chest was heaving with ecstasy, her hair had stuck to her face, and she could tell that her entire thighs were soaking wet. Still, she scrambled what little composure she had left and shot a determined look at Alphard.

“I said I want you to fuck me harder.”


The morning, they both agreed, had come too soon.
By the time they got around to eating breakfast it was already past eleven.

“I didn’t know they even served breakfast this late,” Alphard said.

“Well, they do for me. I own this hotel.”

Alphard chuckled. Gone was the devilish domineering grin from last night, and she just smiled gently at Shiki’s off-hand comment.

“It’s the first time I see you smile like that, you know?”

“Is it, now?”

“Yes. It’s a pleasant change from your usual over-confident self.”

“You didn’t seem to mind this ‘overconfidence’ last night...”

“Shut up.”

Alphard couldn’t help it. She chuckled again.

Ryougi, too, seemed more relaxed than ever before. She didn’t eat but merely sipped on a cup of jasmine tea, still steaming hot.

The staff had served them breakfast on the small terrace adjacent to their suite. The sun was lazily climbing up to its zenith, bathing the balcony in warm, golden rays. Two women shared a cozy silence between them, enjoying a rare peaceful moment together.
A moment without dances, without parties or cocktails, without pressure they only had one way of releasing.

It was a moment they had all to themselves, away from whatever haunted them the rest of the days.

When the room serviceman came back to clear the table, he handed Alphard a dirty and worn-out envelope.

“From Shanghai, Ma’am,” he said briefly.

Alphard narrowed her eyes at the man but said nothing and took the envelope.

“A letter? From whom?” Shiki asked once the man had left them to themselves.

“Someone who died long ago...” Alphard replied, tossing the envelope on the bed. She went back to the balcony, though now her mood had changed completely. She was restless.

“How do you know that they’re dead?”

“I know,” she said, “because that man never called me ‘Alphard’.”

“Weird,” Shiki said, joining her on the terrace, “What did he call you, then?”
Alphard took a while to reply.

“He called me ‘Canaan’. That was my name before I changed it.”

“Canaan? What kind of name is that?”

Alphard’s eyes were unfocused again, just like on the night before. Just like every day since that fateful day on a lonely train in the desert.

“A special name,” she said after another lengthy silence. “Unique.”

“You see”, she murmured and turned to Shiki. The line of death coiling around her collarbone seemed to be strangling her by the neck.

“There can only ever be one Canaan.”


Alphard Al-Shua/Ryougi Shiki, formalwear, short term relationship. Stylish women who're good at what they do, but don't know how to have fun.

March 14th, 2017, 02:10 PM
The night had settled, the tired bodies of the group could be heard throwing themselves at the beds that at the moment felt as if they were made of the finest silk, even if they usually felt like blocks of concrete.

Kuro had chosen the furthest bed, right next to the window that let her view the enormous crater that was in the middle of the city she had lived, even if it wasn’t her own and she wondered if something had changed that could have been her own world. Those thoughts plagued her mind, not letting her sleep at all.

Before she realised it an hour had already passed and the bed was getting more and more uncomfortable, making her try as many sleeping positions as her preoccupied mind would let her think of, she still wasn’t able to sleep.

By the time the clock hit one in the morning she was forced to admit that she wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon and she certainly couldn’t let her mind wander or it would only led to the endless possibilities that could have befallen her good friend. Miyu was a strong girl, she could survive captivity, she was sure of that, but that didn’t stop her restless mind any more than her unsuccessful tries of falling asleep.

She decided to take a stroll around the school, maybe seeing familiar places would calm her, even if they were undoubtedly in a state of disrepair. She thought about changing out of her pyjamas, if it could even be called that: it was just a long t-shirt that they had found in the P.E. shed, but decided not to, it felt like a waste of time. She walked past the sleeping bodies of the others, careful of not waking them up, they deserved the rest.

Her feet took her around the school, her precious school, where endless fond memories had been created and where she truly belonged, but this wasn’t her school, couldn’t even be considered a school anymore truth be told. She went through the dark hallways, only illuminated by the light of the Moon, not a single cloud to be seen miles around, it seemed like clouds didn’t dare to approach the ruined city.

Her footsteps were the only thing that could be heard, their echoes bouncing off the broken walls and escaping outside thorough the broken windows. The damage of the building was substantial and made Kuro wonder what could have caused such a thing: had it been an aftermath of the thing that had caused the crater? Or god forbid had it been an attack by a group of magus or terrorist?
She really shouldn’t drink coffee before going to sleep is the conclusion she arrived at, trying to take her mind off the matters at hand.

Suddenly she stopped, in front of her was a room, probably an old classroom that hadn’t been used for its designed purpose in years, that was illuminated, the light crossing the doorless hole that probably had been the entrance. It was strange: she was sure that everyone was asleep in the infirmary, she hadn’t really counted the bodies but she had heard their breathing. Had someone woken up because of her? Was it someone forgetting to turn off the lights after using the room? Even so why would they be in this corner of the school? C-could it be a ghost? The question just kept pilling up without a single answer for any of them.

She was going to check it out she decided, she wasn’t scared at all, putting a facade of bravado for no one else than herself. She checked her breathing, she was unconsciously hyperventilating: the first thing to do was to calm herself, it was impossible for something dangerous to be so close to them. Right? She wasn’t so sure herself.

She made her footsteps as light as they could, even if someone were in front of her with their eyes closed and focusing all their energy on receiving the mechanical energy that sound waves produced they wouldn’t be able to her Kuro. Heroic spirits were truly wondrous, amazing and incredible beings, the legends of old could not do justice to the truth that surrounded those who were chosen to reside in the Throne of Heroes, even a mere imitation like Kuro had such an ability.

She approached the door, or rather the hole entrance, her breathing now silent and calm. As she got closer and closer she began to hear a repetitive noise that originated from inside: a sound not at all dissimilar to that of the sound produced when the butcher slaps the meat before cutting it in cold blood, that is to say it was completely out of place for a school in the middle of the night.

She hesitated when she was in position to touch the doorframe, did she really want to know what was happening inside the room? She shook her head to clear her mind off her vacillation, she had gotten too far to back down now: she had to know what was happening inside, and if it was something bad; she had to stop it.

The inside of the old classroom was well lit, surprising for a building in such a lamentable state and yet it had an eerie feeling attached to it. The windows directly in front of the entrance were in perfect state, which shouldn’t have been possible, but she took her mind off such a matter focusing on the important questions first, who or what was causing the noises.

The noise was getting louder, harsher, ragged even; such was the loudness that she materialised Kansho and Bakuya, it wouldn’t do to be without weapons if it was an enemy after all. Her sight or rather her hearing found the origin of the noise to be behind a door at the corner of the classroom, why was there a room inside a classroom she wondered, but she had no time to ponder, she had to know what was happening.

She opened the door quickly holding her weapons high, in a fighting stance, prepared for anything that she could have found inside, she was not prepared for what she encountered: on top of an old mattress were a man and a woman or maybe a boy and a girl, they looked rather young after all and Kuro had found mid coitus and she couldn’t help it: she screamed at the top of her lungs and dropped her weapons. Her shouts made them stop what they were doing and looked around alarmed until their eyes found Kuro’s, they made no noise as if their inactivity would led to Kuro’s disappearance.

Eventually the stalemate was broken by two things: one, Kuro backed off slowly but not being able to take her eyes off their naked bodies and two, the girl pushed herself up and started to put her clothes on.

“Aww, do you see what you’ve done?” asked the boy in a loud voice with a tinge of disappointment.

Kuro didn’t react or rather she couldn’t react, her mouth moved but produced no sound and as much as she wanted to bolt she couldn’t make her legs, her dropped weapons long forgotten.

“What? Do you see something you like?” He asked with a sneer, absolutely proud of his body.

Those words finally broke the metaphorical spell that had petrified Kuro.

“Not at all, I was just wondering how you can be comfortable doing it in such a dirty place” Banter was in her nature and her response came out easily and it ringed true: the only sexual experiences she had, had been with her brother Shirou in the sanctity of her home and she couldn’t believe that someone would do such an act in a public space, even if it was hidden for the majority.

“There’s no place in which you can’t enjoy the pleasures of sex you know?” He snickered. “What are you doing here anyway, kid?”

“I…uhhh” That question had caught her off-guard, she didn’t know how to answer, she couldn’t exactly say the truth: that they were searching for a friend and that they were prepared to take her back by force. Suddenly an idea appeared in her mind: a typical activity that kids did. “I am here as a part of a courage test.”

“Sure you are.” He answered back with a snort. He started to put his clothes on, his companion already fully clothed and signalling him to hurry up. “You interrupted in the best moment you know? It’s going to take ages for her to agree to have sex outside again.”

“I hope that you are happy with yourself.” Were the last words that he said before he and his companion walked calmly out as if they were taking a stroll through the park and not showing any sign of having just been caught in the act by a girl that was barely a teenager.

When their backs had disappeared completely form her sight Kuro let out a sigh that she didn’t had been holding back, that had been an unnerving experience, she would have preferred a thousand times that it had been an actual enemy looking for a fight, getting caught or catching someone while they having sex was not something she wanted to scratch off her list of things to do.

When she turned back to return to her bed she encountered a pair of crimson eyes. She couldn’t help it: she jumped back.

“I’ll have you know that I am not that scary, at least at the moment.” He was mocking her.

“What the hell are you doing here? Is your hobby to give people heart attacks?” Kuro clutched her heart as she breathed raggedly.

“I heard a scream and came to check out what had happened and lo and behold I find you interrupting a couple while they were making love. That was awfully rude of you, you didn’t even apologise.” Again with the mocking tone, it was as if he lived to infuriate people.

“None of your business.” Kuro replied angrily. “Now are you going to let me pass or what?”

His answer came in the form of his shaking head, the sound of his tongue clicking and the waving of his hand with only his index finger extended.

“What, you are going to stop me from going to bed?” Shouted Kuro.

“Bad behaviour has to be punished, otherwise how would people learn how to rightfully act.” As his words came out of his mouth a set of chains appeared out of thin air and trapped Kuro in the place she stood. “I am pretty sure you know my title, faker. What you may not know is that in the Age of the Gods I reigned supreme over the known, the civilised world and I had a privilege, you may know it as jus primae noctis, or right of the first night, wherein I had sex with any woman or man on the night of their wedding, and you know what I did to people who interrupted me while I was in the middle of such a thing? They didn’t didn’t die nor were they condemned by any means, the punishment was as simple as it was effective: they were forced to slavery for forty days and forty nights.”

“Stop, what are you trying to do?” Even if her words were filled with wrath her face couldn’t help but show her true feelings: she was scared, the King of Heroes was not a person to cross against, his title was not only for show, he truly was the origin and the epitome of what a heroic spirit should be.

“Didn’t you hear me? You. Are. Going. To. Be. Punished.” He said slowly and putting emphasis on each word as if he were talking to a 5 year old who didn’t really understand language just yet. “And it is the duty of the king to teach his subjects how to behave correctly and wouldn't you consider interrupting people while they are enjoying themselves to be one of the rudest acts?.”

"That's rich coming from you, aren't you the person who would throw away his own kingdom for his own satisfaction and what do those kids have to do with you anyways?" She snarled in defiance.

He snorted as he took out an object from the infinite space that was the Gate of Babylon, he took in his hands and he started to change physically, his appearance was taking a typical Japanese aspect, he actually kind of looked like the guy from before: Kuro's eyes bulged in realisation. "It is the duty of the subjects to accept the wishes that come from the King aND they just have to accept it without an objection. And thus it is for the pleasure of themselves that they would sacrifice their lives for their king: that's the rightful order of the world."

That transformation together with his words left Kuro speechless, she had never met such a narcissistic personality in her whole life, how could someone be so full of themselves?

"Enough chit chat, it's time for your punishment." He announced as he reverted to his previous form.

He approached her trapped body slowly as if captivated by the sight, enjoying the power he had over her. He was so close that she could hear his breathing next to her ear. He moved his hands roughly, checking every inch of her vulnerable being. His hands felt surprisingly smooth, but that could probably be attributed to the young age of his body. His hands masterfully took off, or rather ripped each piece of clothing she had on, which honestly was not much: her makeshift pyjamas, some shorts and her sneakers.

That left her naked body for the world to see except by her black panties. "Not even a sports bra? Bold, I commend you."

"Fuck you." Blushed Kuro.

There was warming to his lips touching her breast, slightly biting her now hard nipple, she couldn't help the moan that escaped her mouth. He moved his hands slowly, caressing her soft skin, being careful of avoiding the most important zones, not wanting to get ahead of himself. Her toned legs showed her Heroic Spirit origin, as if they were sculpted by a most masterful artist. Her smooth abdomen and her petite back were the preferred victims of his hands. He let his mouth wander around, circling her whole body creating a slight coat of sweat and spit giving her an erotic shine.

Gilgamesh's movements didn't waste a single Newton of energy, always with perfect and planned actions, he kept it up for minutes, losing himself in the slight smell of strawberries and , oddly, food that Kuro was surrounded by, but it was by no means unpleasant, in fact it was the contrary, her essence was homely and innocent not unlike that of a hidden princess. His mouth kept moving around her body, finding it's new prey: her neck looked ripe for the taking and he attacked mercilessly not letting her rest a single second, his hands caressing every inch of her naked flesh.

After what seemed an eternity but had barely been some minutes, he finally stopped and stood high as if wanting to see a finished artwork, and he wouldn't be wrong: the sight of Kuro's body and the aftermath of his onslaught would undoubtedly produce a blush in most people. This was the moment he noticed something and smirked, proud of himself.

"Oho? You are so wet already? We have barely started." He mocked her as his fingers found themselves barely touching the fibres that contained there most intimate parts, noticing how wet they were.

"It's a natural and instinctive reaction of the human body." She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Feisty aren't we? Thats how I like it." He finally ripped off her last remaining piece of clothing and she was now in the most bare nakedness, like the day she had been born. "Aren't instincts the deepest desires of the human psyche anyways?"

He proceeded to touch every part that surrounded her lower parts, without really touching he most sensitive parts while his tongue was doing circles on her abs and moved around her legs. There was something to be said about Kuro's mind of steel: she hadn't let out a single sound for minutes and yet such was the stimulation that a moan unconsciously escaped her and she tried to instinctively close her mouth in her hands, but unfortunately they were still chained.

Gilgamesh kept playing around for what seemed hours, touching her, licking her, kissing her, embracing her, but never letting her release but that ended when he stopped to undress himself, his short stature and baggy clothes hided a well built body, fit for the King of heroes even if it was younger than usual. His shaft was in full show, in all its glorious length.

The chains lowered, they fell to the ground even if they still kept her captive she still couldn't move freely but it was way better than before. He lowered his body to her height, she had stumbled and was splattered on the ground.

"Having fun?" He asked condescendingly as if he knew something that she didn't.

"Not at all, onii-chan is way better at this than you, you know?" She replied back with a mocking tone.

"Are you comparing the King of heroes to a normal human and giving him the upper hand? Your jokes are pretty bad." He snorted.

"I'm not joking." She said confidently and truly for her she was saying the absolute truth, not even a hint of it being a lie.

"We'll have to see what happens, won't we? The night is long and it has just begun." He announced as if they would be at it until the sun rose from the horizon, his words lingering in the silent city.
He made to search in his Gate of Babylon, it was hard to see if something was truly there when his access to the Gate was limited, but he finally found what he was looking for and held it high showing it to her.

"For protection you know? Wouldn't do to give you more energy than necessary." It was a condom, the original condom in fact: it was capable.of preventing any problem that might come from sexual intercourse, but even if it was to be worn on the penis the protection it offered was body wide including he transferring of Mana that was produced through sex.

"Do you have anything in there or what?" She asked in disbelief.

"Have you ever heard of the theory of the ideas of Plato and the existence of the world of ideas?" He asked as if the person he was talking to knew as much as him.

"Plato, who?" She asked innocently and truly she was ignorant of what he had just said, her facial expression revealing her absolute ignorance in the matter at hand.

He sighed. " To keep it short and badly, Plato said that there's an intangible world that contains all the ideas, which are basically the blueprints for everything that exists and it's where the truth comes from. Can you guess where he got the concept from?" He smirked.

"So you have the prototype of everything that has ever existed?" She asked amazed at such an information.

His answer came in the form of a nod.

By the time the conversation had ended he had already put on the condom, efficiency what’s not to like?

“Prepare to have your world blown away.” He said with a cocky grin.

Kuro tried to prevent him from entering her, from defiling her, but even if the chains were not floating in the air they were still being controlled by Gilgamesh and therefore her body what at his mercy, she presented her body and opened it up as if she were doing it by her own.

He entered slowly, as if testing the waters: it was tight, tighter than the usual ones at least, it wasn’t bad at all. He began to move, slowly at first but each minute he went faster and faster as if he were a mad dog in heat that couldn’t reign into his lust. For Kuro, the pleasure taht usually came from sex was completely mixed with the pain that came of rough manners and the way the chains forced her to do her bidding. While his member was inside her he grabbed her breasts and began sucking them, not that he would find anything from them, it was just a part of showing the power he had over her.

Every few minutes he would change positions and would make her do the most embarrassing ways she could present herself or rather her body and the game would begin anew with him trying to make her climax and her trying to stop him. This was the status quo that would remain for what Kuro counted as an hour. Her body and her mind both tired from all the sex that had been forced on her, she couldn’t believe the power that those chains wielded.

No word had been muttered for the last hour, the sound of their flesh hitting each other the only sound that would fill the school. Kuro just hoped that nobody would wake up and wonder where she was and start looking for her: it would be terribly embarrassing if they found her in such a defeated state.

The sex if it could be called that, as one side as it was, even if she couldn’t control her own body to do what she wanted, had been pleasurable for Gilgamesh, it wasn’t exactly worth being interrupted in his previous session but it was a good compensation: the body of Heroic Spirits were made of another thing, they were much better than the filth that humanity had become after thousands of years.

The previous plan had failed so Kuro decided that a new plan was in order, if she couldn’t prevent him from entering her and doing whatever he wanted with her body, he would force him to submit in his own game, he would pleasure him so much that he would be left without a single ounce of energy and then he would be at his mercy.

The change was subtle and yet absolutely recognisable, small movements that she had successfully prevented were no longer blocked, she no longer fought the chains orders, she let them guide her, never submitting to them however. Her body had become the perfect sex machine, perfected for the sole purpose of pleasuring Gilgamesh, such had been the subconscious order that the King had given when he chained her.

They kept going for what felt hours, days, weeks but had only been a matter of minutes, such had been the amount of energy she spent after trying her best: Kuro’s body felt numb, she couldn’t see more than three feet in front of her, she couldn’t move correctly anymore and yet she had to keep going, she knew that the perfect moment would present itself soon enough and just as she was beginning to lose hope it happened.

'There!' The moment the King of heroes climaxed was the moment the chains that held her wavered, as if shivering themselves, it was barely a second but it was enough time for Kuro to push herself free and break off the chains even in her tired state. She immediately summoned Kansho and Bakuya and made to ready herself mentally for the impossibly hard fight that was going to ensure, but it wasn't necessary: Gilgamesh was on the floor spasming slightly, it seemed like the young body hadn't been ready for the amount of intercourse or maybe it was because Kuro was just that good. Kuro smirked sinisterly, it was time for payback.

Ko-Gil ends up taking Chloe into his bed for a night. Set during Prisma Illya 3rei, the ruins of the Miyuverse school. Illya OT3 is allowed, dom-sub interchange is preferred. No diaper, scat, torture, pissing, mindbreak.

March 14th, 2017, 02:12 PM
There was no light but the flickers cast by the torch on the other side of the underground room, passing through the bars of the cell door and not doing nearly enough to illuminate the empty cell. There was no sound but the drops of water falling from the ceiling and splattering on cool stone. There was no warmth, but instead an unceasing, overpowering humidity that left him feeling like he'd been smothered under ten layers of blankets and left to suffocate to death in the stagnant air.

Truthfully, it was Emiya Shirou's heaven. Knowing that he'd succeeded was reward enough; anything that came after was irrelevant. It would be fine if he never saw the sun again, never heard another human being's voice, never took in a single breath of cool, snow-tinged air. That sort of ending was more than suitable. The strength in his body had run out a day or a year ago, and had yet to return. He could rest here, and perhaps never wake up again.

But a brighter light shone through the bars and made him wince. The soft metronome of falling water was disturbed by the sound of metal hinges creaking and a door being thrown open. The air swirled ever so softly; he caught a whiff of a girl's perfume.

"Rise and shine!"

The bratty voice was painful to listen to on more than one level. Shirou's hands twitched, the reflexive urge to cover his ears warring with the reality that his body was too broken to move.

Footsteps approached, stopped. A click, and the door swung open, all but blinding him with light. Dark outlines of two women, one taller than him with the aid of a pair of sharp heels and the other shorter yet much frillier, kept the worst of the glare at bay. The one on the right cackled like a witch.

"I've heard of you!" she said. "It was a story about a cockroach that got stepped on, and didn't die."

Shirou's eyes were slow to adjust but his mind, tattered as it was, knew he had never heard that voice before. The smaller girl, in her overly frilly dress, was a stranger. The one on the left, though...

"So you have chosen to live, faker."

He wouldn't be forgetting her any time soon. That word was enough to send a shiver through him. The woman who had stepped on him was alive and well, and judging by the tense tone, not too happy to see him again.

She stepped into his cell and looked down on him, eyes shining in the black-and-white world he occupied. She extended a hand, seized Shirou's bloodied and torn shirt, and pulled him off the ground. Skin tore, wounds reopened, and muscles tensed. She didn't care. They were face to face once more, even if he stood only from her iron grip.

"Look at me."

He'd avoided eye contact, from coincidence more-so than any conscious decision. Now he could run no longer. The pride and arrogance that had coloured her speech were gone, leaving next-to-nothing in their place. Yet, her eyes still had a spark of authority in them.

"I was told that the right of every human being is to choose between life and death," she spoke, making sure he heard every word. "You are still alive after a day without supervision. Clearly, you've made your choice. And we have made ours." With the distance between them shrunken down to nearly nothing, he could smell the difference between them. Where he was dirty and dried up, she was clean. But the girlish scent came from the other, the younger one.

She released him. Shirou's aches tripled. The rusty chains around his wrists tore at his skin. He couldn't hold back the cry of pain that emerged as he landed badly on a loose stone.

"Is this really him, Angelica?" The cackling girl seemed to find his suffering amusing. "The one that gave you so much trouble?"

"No," said Angelica decisively. He finally had a name to put on that face. "He's just a leftover."

"Is that so~?" The cackling girl stepped forward and took a good look, peering a bit too closely for Shirou's comfort. Here he was, completely spent and broken, supposedly at peace, and only now did he rediscover the feeling of shame. "He's got muscles, I guess, but that face is no good, Mr. Cockroach. Brown and yellow is fugly. It's just begging to be-!"

A hand closed around her wrist, intercepting the sudden swing. The girl clutched something that was most definitely not a sword, halting an inch from his nose. Had Angelica been a fraction of a second too slow... Shirou didn't want to think of it. He didn't want to think about anything.

"Beatrice. I brought you with me because you wished to observe."

"I was just gonna play around a bit!"


The frilly girl pouted – Shirou's eyes had improved enough to make out a cute face, pig tails, and a half-formed sneer – and turned on a dime, strolling out of the cramped cell and leaving him alone with another woman that had nearly ended him. The door slammed shut behind her.

Shirou managed to drag himself up to a sitting position. He rested his back against the cool stone and looked up at his captor. "She's a treasure," he croaked after a few seconds of silence, somewhat surprised that he was even capable of speech, let alone snark.

Angelica's only reply was to drive one of her feet into Shirou's leg, heel first. There was a moment of resistance as he choked and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and then something gave. Cold steel went through skin and stopped only when the rest of her shoe rested on the muscle of his thigh. He stiffened, squirmed, swore, and then, when time came for screaming...


"Is... that your way of asking for an apology?" He managed to meet her eyes and muster up a grin.

"No," said Angelica, as still as ever. "It is a prelude." She leaned forward, putting more weight on her heel, using her captive's leg like a glorified footstool while he did his best not to pass out from the pain. "You may think yourself some sort of noble martyr, faker, but we are not so kind as to entertain that delusion."

"Miyu Edelfelt. Is untouchable."

Her hand closed around his chin and yanked it up. Angelica was not angry, that was plain to see. But Emiya Shirou knew resolve when he recognized it. "Not at all," she said. "We will have her within the month. But for now we have you, and we will soon have everything you know, as well."

So it came down to that. Shirou clenched his teeth, bore the pain, and glared right back at his captor, daring her to do her worst. It may not have been heaven, but this battle would be a pleasure compared to what he'd already gone through. Even if he knew nothing, he wouldn't ever give that nothing away. That was Emiya Shirou's resolve as a warrior fighting for something precious.

"Then I am in your care," she said. Angelica straightened and stepped back, pulling her heel out of Emiya's newest wound with a sticky splat. He barely twitched.

"I have never done this before," she confessed. "But that is to my advantage. A trained torturer knows the most efficient methods with which to acquire what they seek. The best place to cut, what tools to pick out, and how to preserve the body for future use. I know none of those things, and our dungeon does not have any of this specialized equipment. What we do have is the ability to fix you when you are broken."

The hole in his thigh had already closed up. In its place was a puckered scar.

"So I will experiment, to the best of my ability," Angelica said, straightening her outfit and looking down at him as one might observe a dying dog. Shirou had called her cute before, but that cuteness was nowhere to be seen. Only a hint of satisfaction at what was to come.

"Let us learn of pain together, faker."


Beatrice Flowerchild sighed. Mostly from boredom, and also to drown out the screaming that could still be heard from the top of the stairs to the dungeon. Angelica had said she could watch, but the moment she'd started joking around, the stern doll had given the gorgeous one the boot.

Beatrice had returned eventually, for about an hour. Then she'd excused herself to wait somewhere that didn't stink of blood and sweat.

"It's not gonna work," she said, mostly to herself. Angelica was smart-ish, resourceful-ish, and aware of her weaknesses, but she didn't understand how people ticked. How they fought, how they struggled, and how they lost. She didn't know how to break someone open and suck out the juices inside. And most importantly, she took no joy in playing that game. The girl was just too bland to get it.

Beatrice was different.

Shirou's screams reached a peak, and descended into whimpers. He may have wet himself, or fainted upon having his fingers chopped off by rusty gardening tools. The former, Beatrice guessed. He was a cockroach, so if all Angelica did was crush him he'd oppose her forever. The harder she pushed, the more he'd resist. That was his type. The stupid, no-good type that didn't at all think things over as Master Julian did.

"Mm... Juliannnnn." Beatrice peeked around the corner, and upon seeing no one there, pulled up her skirt and snuck one dainty finger downstairs for a little solo action. Her mouse needed clicking.

If it was Julian down there, it'd be over instantly. He'd figure it out. He'd get the answers for sure. He could do anything. No one could ever oppose him.

Beatrice pulled aside her panties, as lacy and black as the rest of her dress, and plunged two fingers inside while her thumb worked her button. Emiya Shirou's screams were music to her ears. Not quite as good as if she'd personally gone down there to make him sing, but still enough to get her good and soaked.

Oh, all of the fun she could have with that cockroach. A bit of teasing here, some bullying there, and he'd break down. Not from the cruel North Wind peeling his skin off, but from the heat of her harsh sunlight melting away his dignity as a man. And then Julian would see the result, hear the game-changing information from her mouth. He'd give her no compliments, of course; a doll was meant to be used. But she would notice that spark of approval in his cold eyes. As a reward he'd lean close to whisper into her ear: "Come to my room tonight, filthy girl."

She stiffened. "Master Julian-!" Beatrice's quiet climax was drowned out completely by a blood-curling scream. Angelica must've tried something else. And failed, of course.

That was fine. Beatrice stood, breathing just a bit more heavily, and stumbled to her room. She'd fall asleep to a wonderful lullaby, and do it all over again the next day, playing with herself to the sound of pain.


And again.

Nearly a week later, and every time Beatrice ventured near the stairs to the dungeon, she'd hear him. It was a miracle that his vocal chords hadn't given out before his will. Even if it was only for twelve hours a day, no human should have been able to withstand it without his mind shattering. Unfortunately Angelica was nearly as stubborn, her only good trait.

But there was a problem. She'd grown too used to it. Now the noise was just an irritant.

When Angelica next ventured up the stairs for a break, she found Beatrice waiting, wearing a cheeky grin.

"Hard at work, aren'cha?"

Angelica walked past her. Half an hour for bodily functions was all the time she'd allocated herself, and there was no sense in wasting it.

"No luck, huh. So you haven't figured it out yet."

Angelica stopped. Turned. Frowned. "He will break. No fortress is unassailable."

"Sure, he'll tell you what you need to know – in year or so, when it's too late to do anything about it."

"You think there is a better way."

Beatrice shrugged. "I mean, you're enthusiastic. For an amateur."

"You spend all of your time in your room, playing with toys." It was clearly intended to be an insult, but Beatrice's grin only widened.

"I know my dolls. You don't even know a half-dead simpleton. Lemme at 'im and I'll do in an hour what you couldn't do in a week."

"I won't give up."

"Then don't!" Geeze, the doll was uptight. Beatrice couldn't stand her, but that was part of Angelica's appeal. Someone like her was fun to mess with on occasion. "We swap. Every other day one of us gets him. I'll even give you first go."

"This is no game. The fate of the world is at stake."

"Nu-uh. You don't get to play that Class Card. You're like a little kid hogging the computer and dying to the same boss over and over again. Or are you saying you're too stubborn to let someone else do better than you, Big Ms. Perfect?"

Oh, she was angry now. But an angry Angelica was a productive Angelica. She nodded, and that was it.

"Knew you'd see it my way. Here's a hint: Play with him a bit. But not before me!" Giggling, Beatrice disappeared down the stairs, leaving Angelica scowling.

"Don't break him!" she called. A tittering laugh was the only response.

Let the brat have a shot, she decided. She'd use the free time to scrounge up more tools for tomorrow.

Angelica sniffed. Had the stairway always smelled so... wet?

The heels clicking and clacking down the stone steps were new. Shirou would never forget the sound of Angelica descending the stairs every morning, for the rest of his life. This was no Angelica. The girl was smaller, took quicker steps, and threw open the cell door without so much as a "Good morning."

Oh. Her. Beatrice. The frilly girl. The one with the cute smile that had nearly bashed his brains in.

"She didn't do a good job, did she?" Beatrice observed the broken body before her with the eye of someone used to ripping the heads off of stuffed animals. The boy bore new scars, and his arms were wrapped in blood-stained bandages that hadn't been there before. Chapped lips, sunken eyes, and the skin that wasn't dyed brown had paled considerably.

But Emiya Shirou's body was made of swords. Whatever atrocities, whatever agonies, he would endure. He would retreat to the hill of swords in his mind and accept it all.

The girl was satisfied about something. "Good. You held on. That's about your only charm point, so don't lose it just yet." She crouched down next to him, taking care not to let her delicate dress touch the dirtied floor. "So how's Angelica been treating you?"

No response. He turned his head away.

"Hey." The chipper tone instantly gave way to a gutter growl. "Don't be rude. I'm the nice cop, aren't I? Want me to call her back?"

Shirou was brave, but he was no masochist. "...don't," he grunted.

She picked up his bandaged hand and tore off the cloth, revealing a mess of calluses. Angelica was good at putting things back together, but there was no such thing as a perfect fix. They were nothing like Julian's smooth fingers. He was smart. He'd have avoided getting hurt in the first place.

"Pleasedon't," she said.

He glanced back at the girl gently bending his immobile fingers back and forth. There was something innocent in that smile, at least. A mass of dark emotions and ulterior motives, but still more wholesome than the sham Angelica wore to hide the emptiness inside.

"Please," he said. "Don't."

"Please don't, Mistress."

He was silent. Beatrice tilted her head to the side, waiting for a plea that never came. Slowly her smile disappeared, leaving in its place disappointment and apathy.

"Then we're done here." She dropped his hand, rose, and turned on her heels. "Angelica~!" she called out to the staircase. "I'm bored with him! You can come back now!"


She stopped. It was barely audible, but she'd been waiting for it.

"Please don't," Shirou said. "Mistress."

It wasn't giving up, he told himself. There was no harm in it. He was just taking advantage of her whim to conserve his strength. She was clearly just here to have fun. Nothing this girl could do would possibly be worse than Angelica's exploratory torture.

"Eh?" she half-turned. "I didn't hear that."

"Please don't, Mistress."

"Hm..." she paused, gave it some thought. "No. You were rude."

He rose to his knees, reaching out towards her without thinking about it. "I'm sorry."

"You're not. Not yet." She reached back with one arm and slammed the door shut in his face. She skipped up the stairs, finally able to enjoy his howls again. "Go ahead," she told Angelica, who'd been waiting at the top the whole time. "I'll be back the day after tomorrow."

"That wasn't even ten minutes."

"Coulda done it in five."

And, true to her word, she returned. Early in the morning, before Angelica could get her hands on Shirou for the day's torture, she found Beatrice leaning against the door to the stairs, munching on a bagel of all things.. "Today's my day," the girl said. "Go on, scram."

"You will get bored again."

"All part of the plan."

When Shirou heard for the second time that foreign sound, he was ready for it. Angelica had steadily ramped up the intensity of her "exploration" with each passing day, and he couldn't hold back a sigh of relief. Nothing could possibly be worse than having someone iron their clothes on his back.

Beatrice kicked the door open, then slammed down the fancy chair she'd been carrying right in front of the open door. Beside it she carefully placed a dainty table, and on top of that a bowl of something Shirou couldn't quite make out. She took a seat on the soft cushions and sighed. "Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?" she asked, finally deigning to look at her prisoner.

Shirou's legs were crossed, arms limp at his sides. The wall was all that supported his aching back. "I'm sorry," he said instantly. She was the proud type, he'd guessed. A bored young lady. All he had to do was play along and keep her interested and he'd be treated humanely.

She crossed one leg over another, inadvertently giving him a flash of her dark panties, and raised one eyebrow, as if waiting for him to continue.

"Uh," his mind blanked. "I'm sorry... Mistress?"

"Too slow," she sniffed. "But I'll take it. You stink, cockroach. Apologize for that, too."

"But I haven't-?"

Beatrice flicked her foot forward and her shoe slipped off, flying across the small room and smacking Shirou in the nose at fifty miles per hour. His head was blown back, cracking against the stone wall, and were he the swearing type he'd have let loose enough curses to bring down even more punishment. But instead he sputtered like an idiot for a few seconds and rubbed at his watering eyes, looking for all the world like sad, scruffy dog.

"Oops," she said mechanically. "Guess I didn't tie it right. Fetch me my shoe, cockroach."

He had a name, Shirou thought. And she had to know it. As he felt around the corners of the room for the discarded missile, his indignation resurfaced. When his hand finally closed around the black pump he held it aloft, as close to Beatrice as his chains would allow.

"So you're good for that, too," she said, giggling as if he'd just done something praiseworthy. "Now put it on me, and I'll personally feed you some grapes." She shoved her stocking-clad foot forward, nearly close enough to touch. At the same time her fingers dipped into the bowl and came back with a round, purple fruit that she tossed into her mouth and chewed on.

Shirou's stomach growled, reminding him that breakfast, lunch, and dinner had all been delivered through intravenous injections and feeding tubes for the past week.

He got to his knees and reached forward, stretching his arms and the chains to the limit. The shiny black shoe inched every closer to its rightful owner, as she munched on some grapes and watched him sweat. Had he an ounce of strength he could've Projected something and cut right through, but Angelica had taken care to keep him weak and incapable.

His forward progress abruptly slowed and then halted, right as the shoe was close enough for its heel to touch her toes. "Come on now. You're almost there," she said around a quartet of grapes. She wiggled her toes and playfully prodded the sole. In the leg department alone, she was a veritable Cinderella.

"The chains," he said. "They're not long enough."

"Sure they are. Your head can keep going. Fight on, little cockroach~!"

Her intention was all too clear, and Shirou wasn't having it. "This is too much," he said.

Her toes tipped and then flicked upwards, knocking the shoe out of Shirou's hands and sending it flying into a corner again. Then it shoved forward and the heel of her foot dug into his already bruised nose. For an instant he smelled sweat and detergent and that same girly perfume, and then he was back where he started with a new ache and no progress to show for it.

"You've got a mouth on you, cockroach," Beatrice growled. She got up and crouched in front of him, loudly chewing on a mouthful of grapes between sentences, raining flecks of spittle on his bruised face. "But your brain's not doing shit with it."

He'd messed up again. Somehow.

"Angelica wants you to talk," she continued. Her fist slammed into the wall next to his head, cracking the stone. "But I want you to shut the fuck up and speak only when I tell you to. Got real excited when she told me you were a mute, but maybe she was just fucking with me. If you're gonna keep blabbering on like that, I'll go up and tell her. Sure she'd be happy with how talkative you are."

He opened his mouth to respond and her chewing stopped. She waited with baited breath for him to say something stupid again.

But he didn't. Shirou bowed his head. "I'll put it on, Mistress."

"Good." She plopped back down onto her seat and reached for another grape. "Don't damage it, now."

It wasn't difficult to reach his old position. But her foot was still too far to reach by hand. Shirou glanced down at the shoe in his hands, then up at her expectant eyes. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, gently bit down on tip of the shoe, and released it with his hands.

The sound of a young girl clapping excitedly was jarring in the otherwise silent basement. "Not so hard, was it?" she said. "Just a bit more then."

He leaned forward. The chains only bound his arms; his upper body could inch closer if he got on his knees and used his bindings as support. She wiggled her toes in the air, and he couldn't help but notice that smell again. Her stockings were translucent, making the contours of her foot all too visible as his shaking mouth positioned the shoe properly. Despite his apprehension she didn't sabotage his attempt, quietly staying still as he struggled to slip it on with only his mouth.

The fact that this position gave him an uninterrupted view of her underwear was something he tried not to think about. But he did sneak two peeks: one as he approached and another as he retreated. He regretted each one.

It took a minute, but no more. Shirou let go and sat back, sighing at a job well done. Beatrice examined his handiwork silently.

"Guess this makes you a dog," she decided. "But that's an upgrade, so no complaining."

He was silent. It was the safest bet.

"Oh!" Beatrice realized something. "I said something about food, didn't I?" She plucked a purple grape from its stalk.

Shirou's stomach rumbled against his will.

"Yeah, yeah, good boys get fed. Well then." She raised the same foot and brought down the grape, smashing it against the polished leather that he'd work so hard to put back in place. It ruptured, splashing juice and fruit all over. She held her foot up again. "Eat up, doggy. This is your plate."

Humiliation. That was her goal. Hers was the attitude of a certain terrible friend he'd had a lifetime ago. But in his situation, that was a kindness. Emiya Shirou had no pride to swallow.

He leaned forward and licked up the scattered juices. He ran his tongue over Beatrice's soiled shoe, catching and shovelling the scraps of fruit flesh into his mouth. When it looked like he might be done her finger descended and smashed another grape against the black leather, letting him repeat the process from the beginning. He sucked and swallowed and for the first time in a week tasted something other than dirt and blood.

"Polish it," she said as he devoured his meal. "I wanna see my reflection."

He did. Small mercy that it was fairly clean; she either had a dozen pairs or didn't go out much. It was a process of lathering the surface with his own saliva, then mopping it up with his tongue. Not the most embarrassing thing he'd ever done, but it was getting close.

"If only she was here to see this," Beatrice said, and he froze. She? Her? That couldn't be.

"Angelica thinks she's smart," the girl continued, pushing forward a bit as a signal to keep going. "But she's not creative at all. She's like you, dog. Good at following orders and nothing else. Is that why you ended up fighting her instead of me?"

There was nothing he could say.

"If it was me, I'd have smashed you into paste," Beatrice said. "So in a way, you're lucky. Now instead of being dead, you get to play around and have fun with a cutie like me. Aren't I great?"

That was a signal. He pulled back and nodded. "You are," he whispered. A moment passed. "Mistress," he added.

"Mm." She looked over her shoe. It was slick and shiny. She rubbed it against Shirou's bandaged arms, wiping off the spittle. "Nah, you're being disingenuous. I can tell." She stood, turned, pushed open the door without bothering to look at him once.

"Wait, are you-?"

"We're done today, doggy!" she crooned. "Think of me in your dreams!"

She shut the door behind her, trapping Shirou with only himself for company. In the quiet and the dark, all he could hear was his own canine panting.

"Good morning, Mistress."

"Hello, big guy."

When Beatrice next appeared, Shirou was ready. He knew what to expect, and he had made peace with himself. No matter how embarrassing or aggravating her orders were, he'd endure.

This time she carried with her only a leash and a leather collar. Not the most subtle indicator.

"You've been stuck down here a while," she said. "So we're taking a walk." She tossed the collar his way, waiting for him to put it on. Shirou raised his hands in response. They were heavily bandaged; Angelica had been rougher than usual the other day, and he couldn't so much as move his fingers.

Beatrice snickered. "Yeah, dogs don't have opposable thumbs. Alright, I'll put it on for you. But first get naked. Dogs aren't allowed to wear clothes, either."

He very nearly refused. As a big brother who'd kept himself away from romance, disrobing before a girl small enough to be his little sister was nearly as painful as yesterday's mutilation. But Beatrice's eyes narrowed and her innocent smile gradually shifted to a scowl with each second spent doing nothing, and he knew there was no choice in the matter.

The shirt was easy to shimmy off. Next came the pants. He hesitated when only his underwear remained. Perhaps that would be enough?

"All of it." She couldn't hide an excited blush.

If there was one saving grace to the whole ordeal, it was his complete lack of arousal. The only thing worse than having his junk visible would be an awkward boner. Even when completely naked in front of a cute girl, the situation was too bizarre to be erotic.

She chortled at the sight. "Hehe... I mean, that's not too bad," she said. "For an animal. C'mere, you." The collar snapped around his neck, and a moment later the chains on his arms clattered to the floor. He briefly debated attempting an escape, but the electric buzzing on the back of his neck discouraged the thought. Beatrice opened the door and marched ahead, pulling the leash taught.

When he made to follow, her heel found his shin and he collapsed to the ground, holding back a swear.

"Rule number one," she said. "Dogs walk on four legs."

It was more uncomfortable than painful. His knees were too scarred to be torn by the rough stone. The collar around his neck, though, made its presence constantly known. It was just wide enough to not block his airway, but tight enough to be a constant itch and reminder.

Beatrice pulled him out of the cell and into the underground waterway. The only light came from a series of torches set into the wall. Rather than making a beeline for the nearby bridge she went left, walking slowly to give Shirou time to adjust to his awkward crawl. His field of view was limited to the murky water, pale stone, and swishing skirt of his temporary handler.

Occasionally she would glance back. "You must be fucked up," she said after they'd gone some distance. "You'd rather walk around like this than stay in there."

He shrugged. "Compared to Angelica, you're an angel."

She laughed, and then yanked the collar straight up, choking him for an instant. "Dogs don't talk."

He nodded weakly. "Woof."


Despite his fears, she didn't come up with any other cruel jokes. They reached a dead end soon enough. The river dipped underground and they looped around to return the way they'd come. Shirou's knees were beginning to ache, but it was easy to ignore the irritation. Beatrice chattered about her days, telling him inane things such as her disappointment with the cooking, or how Angelica was being all smug about some idea she'd gotten. She even mentioned Julian once in a rather reverent fashion. Shirou was sorely tempted to tell her that her crush wasn't nearly as amazing as she thought, but the moment he did anything un-dog-like she'd yank hard on the ever-tighter collar.

Finally, they reached the bridge. Shirou's brief hope of his ordeal being over was dashed when Beatrice turned left instead of right, opening a door leading to a long upwards staircase.

"You haven't seen the castle, have you? Might as well get a tour." Perhaps that was her kindness. But the idea of walking around completely naked and on his knees in a populated dwelling was completely different from doing so in an isolated place with little possibility of encountering another human being. Shirou made that clear enough by digging in his arms and legs, and shaking his head from side to side. He was not going up those steps.

Beatrice sneered. "Dogs don't get to be bashful."

Walking up the steps shouldn't have been too much trouble. Shirou had enough grip. It wasn't too slippery. The only possible distraction should have been Beatrice herself; the angle of their ascent afforded him an ample opportunity to ogle her derriere as it swayed from side to side. But even if it was just that much, he wouldn't normally have allowed himself to be distracted.

Then something closed around his dangling manhood, and he froze mid-step.

"Huh? Did I say you could stop?" Beatrice scowled and yanked on the leash, forcing him forward. The grip didn't vanish like the momentary illusion it should have been. Even as he moved, he felt fingers moving about from base to tip. One moment the hand cupped his balls, and then it moved up and gently squeezed his head.

No. It was impossible. He had to have been imagining things.

But it continued, even when they reached the top of the stairs and exited into a corridor richly furnished with carpeted floors and expensive wallpapers. Beatrice whistled as she picked a direction and tugged at the leash, and Shirou took that opportunity to glance down at his junk.

He hadn't been imagining things. There, extending from a shimmering portal formed of countless aggregated polygons, was a dainty hand. Before his eyes it adjusted its grip and pulled his foreskin down, exposing him to the cool air.

"You're slowing down, dog." Beatrice had noticed his floundering. "What's wrong? Tired already?"

He nodded.

"Well too bad. We're stopping by the kitchen for a snack. If you're good, I'll even let you eat like a human." She clearly hadn't noticed, and Shirou knew he had to keep it that way.

But it was difficult. With each step he took the hand gained more confidence. Before he realized it he was already erect, dick bobbing with each step as fingers gently pumped it back and forth. They were slathered in something cool and lubricating that amplified the feeling to the point that even the breeze from walking was stimulating.

He couldn't. The hand was relentless. He could be seen at any moment, but he couldn't look away from Beatrice, teasing him with her perky ass so close. He could say nothing, do nothing. Only endure.

It was impossible. Emiya Shirou had no defence against this sort of assault.

It may have been a shudder that gave it away, or an inadvertent whine. Beatrice stopped in the middle of a hall. She turned slowly, deliberately, and glared at him. "Stand," she said, almost in a whisper.

He shook his head. "Beatrice..."

"Shut up! And get up!" She wrapped the leash around her hand and pulled him forward and up until he had no choice but to get to his feet. Then she shoved him back with her free hand. He staggered, giving her front row look at his raging hard-on. Of course, the offending hand was nowhere to be seen.

He'd seen the girl angry. He'd seen her happy. He'd seen her bored. But never like this. Beatrice's face went pale, her eyes wide, and her mouth agape. She was momentarily at a loss for words, but the disgust in her eyes was unmistakeable.

It was like she was looking at walking garbage.

He tried to say something, but it was too late. She rushed forward and wrapped one hand around his throat, crushing it easily. Even without a Card Installed, a doll specialized for combat was beyond any human. A twitch of the wrist flipped the world on its head and nearly broke his neck.

For a brief moment, he flew. Then he collided with something hard that put up a momentary struggle and no more, flying open in his wake. Shirou landed hard on the carpet, skidding along his back until his head thudded against the base of a cabinet. Beatrice marched into the empty room after him, taking care to slam the door shut behind her.

"You're not just a dog," she said. "You're a horny little mongrel."

Her march forward ended with one foot slamming into Shirou's bare stomach, just above his leaking penis.

"What were you gonna do, huh!?"

She kicked again, and one more time, driving the breath from his lungs.

"Were you gonna hump my leg? Try to push me down like the animal you are? Or maybe you were gonna let it all out on the floor and lick it up later!"

The next kick was aimed at his head. He raised his hands for protection and caught it on one forearm, which turned out to be a bad idea. Something cracked.

"Well that's the last time I'm nice to you! Rot in that damn cell of yours forever!"

Despite the abuse, Shirou wasn't going to give up just yet. "Please." he begged.

Surprisingly, it worked. Beatrice paused. She stepped back, panting slightly.

"No," she said. "You're just a dumb animal. You don't know any better."

He nodded frantically. Whatever got her to stop.

Her panting became a wheezing laugh. "That's right! You can't control yourself! I'm just that gorgeous! But it's useless, you little shit. Bestiality's not my thing."

Her eyes drifted down, from his bruised face to his throbbing erection. In the face of all her abuse it alone had persevered.

"It's all that thing's fault," she spoke more to herself than to him. "Dogs used to get neutered before they went extinct. It's the humane thing to do. Otherwise we'll have repeat incidents."

Was she going to-? "No," Shirou whispered. "Please, no!"

She giggled. "I'll ask Angelica to stop by tomorrow. But it's a shame, isn't it? You'll be a virgin for the rest of your short, miserable life. I almost feel sorry for you."

He crawled back, away from her, but her foot arrested his scrambling.

"Yeah," she said. "It's just too sad. So we'll play one more game, mutt. A little Red Rocket should calm you down." One hand slipped into a pocket and retrieved a familiar Class Card. After a muttered "Include" Beatrice's hand swelled up to three times its size. It descended onto Shirou's chest and pinned him to the floor, preemptively halting any possible escape attempts.

She withdrew her foot and slipped off her shoe. Then she planted it on top of his erection. Her toes roughly cupped the tip through a thin layer of cotton.

"Ew... you're already that slippery?" She dragged her toes from tip to base, spreading it everywhere. "Are you that desperate? Or was I just that beautiful?" She made a V with her first and second toes and slid up again, covering even more of his organ. Up, down, up, down, and both he and her stocking were soaked.

"Ugh. This is disgusting. I'm never wearing it again." She retrieved her foot and for a moment he hoped the ordeal was over. Said hope was, of course, in vain. Something tore. The hand pushed him down before he could rise and furthermore shoved something sticky and slimy half-into his mouth, draping the rest across his face. When he felt her foot on his penis once more, there was no barrier between them.

He hadn't often thought of such things during his life. Emiya Shirou had resolved himself to becoming a big brother and nothing else. He'd assumed that those urges were gone completely.

He had been wrong.

It was wonderful and terrible. He could barely breathe. His ribs creaked and groaned under an uncaring load. But when Beatrice pinned his dick against his stomach and violently ground her rough-skinned heel into the head, pain and pleasure lost distinction.

Every breath he had to fight for, and when it came it came with the heady smell of a girl's unwashed feet soaked in his own juices, the same juices being milked out of him by that girl's inexperienced ministrations. She pushed and pulled and prodded, marvelling at his dick's resilience as she tried to figure out the best way to get the treasure inside.

"Maybe if I squeeze you harder, it'll come out faster."

He wanted to say something about people not being tubes of toothpaste, but he had no breath with which to say it. Thor's arm pressed down on him like a ten-ton vise, bruising bone and pushing him closer to unconsciousness. The only part of his body showing any life was his penis, standing proudly despite all the abuse it'd taken.

While Beatrice resorted to kicking it around like a waylaid football, Shirou felt something further back: A familiar finger exploring where no finger ought to go. It pressed in for a moment, realized it couldn't get any further, and vanished for a few moments, only to reappear covered in lubricant. Only then did he recall that only one person he'd ever met could utilize that sort of Spacial Translocation.

Angelica's finger pushed into his ass and felt around, until it pressed against a fleshy bump. Shirou jerked uncontrollably from the sudden stimulation. Another finger joined in and pressed harder as Beatrice ramped up her efforts, tapping away and forming the sensation of being played like a drum.

She returned to the V shape from earlier, pumping it furiously with little regard for wear and tear. "Just! Cum! Already!" she commanded.

He did, spraying all over her hand and foot. The invasive fingers disappeared, as did the last remnants of his dignity and strength to resist.

Beatrice's Included arm returned to normal as she retrieved it. She held it up before her eyes, examining the white stains adorning her smooth skin. With some hesitation she opened her mouth and gave his ejaculate a lick.

His heart stopped at the sight, and started up again when Beatrice licked it once more, seemingly finding the taste to her liking. Next she sucked on her pinky, scouring it clean and moving on to another finger. He could only watch her slowly and deliberately lick her hand clean until it was as spotless as it had been before his mess.

Next came her foot. She looked it over and shook her head. Instead Beatrice stepped over Shirou's splayed out legs and shoved her toes into his agape mouth along with her torn-up stocking. If the taste and smell earlier were strong, this was overpowering. He couldn't breathe at all.

"Clean it," she said, and the thought of resisting didn't even cross his mind. He moved his tongue as best he could and tried to ignore the salty taste of his own seed. Fortunately there wasn't much, but Beatrice held it there until his lungs ached.

"If you spit anything out, you'll regret it," she said after withdrawing her spit-polished foot. "Now get hard again."

He shook his head. It wasn't possible. Male anatomy didn't work like that. No matter how much she poked and prodded, he'd be out of commission for fifteen minutes at least.

Just as he was thinking that, something sharp stabbed into his back. Fire ran through his veins. His dick stiffened instantly, standing at attention once more. Another of Angelica's pranks.

Beatrice didn't bother making some quip about dogs and obedience. She was interested in one thing and one thing only. She sank to her knees and pushed apart Shirou's legs, displaying his package in plain sight and somehow shaming him further.

Her hand approached his member hesitantly, as if she hadn't tamed it with her foot moments before. When her fingers closed around it, it jumped in her hand and she let go immediately. She licked her lips.

"Don't get the wrong idea. This is just practice for the real thing. Guys like a girl that's good at... this."

No, Shirou wanted to say. Guys liked girls that were nice and not bat-shit insane.

Beatrice gathered up a bead of leftover cum from the tip of his dick with one fingernail, and popped it into her mouth. She shuddered, made up her mind, and opened wide.

He had to close his eyes. No way was he gonna watch a girl suckle at his tip for more dick-milk. She licked around a bit, experimenting with how hard to squeeze and pull, but the flow had already slowed to a trickle. She ran her tongue around the whole head, scraping up the last of the flavour, oblivious to his moans, but was left wanting for more.

There was nothing to it, Beatrice decided. She was gonna have to get him off with her mouth. Not because she liked the taste or anything. She backed off a bit and took a deep breath, then opened wide. Guys liked it deep, right?

"Guh-!" Shirou groaned through the paralysis. Not from the pleasure, though the feeling of something warm and wet surrounding his oversensitive prick was out of this world. No, he groaned because Beatrice was all teeth and no blow.

She sucked on it like a lollipop: the tip was stuck nearly in her throat, her tongue licked up the sweat and slime dripping off it, and she gnawed on the rest of the stick as if to coax out more. It was the completely wrong way to go about it, but nobody had ever taught her how to give a blowjob. She bit down softly at first, with her molars, but that soon changed. She shifted, sticking Shirou's spasming rod into one puffed-out cheek and chewing on the base with her front teeth.

It was then that he began to fear for his dick. Every time the friction stimulated his leaking head, she chomped down on it like an overeager kitten and ground out more. And her chompers were sharp. He hadn't imagined it, right? A mouth full of triangular incisors like a shark?

Beatrice decided to switch sides. She pulled out partway and shoved her tongue into that slit for a moment, teasing out a bit more juice. Shirou shivered, and she paused.

With a loud noise it popped out of her mouth. She twitched, and the paralysis relaxed its hold. "Hey," she said. "How is it? Good, right? You love it, don't you?" It was said in a way that left no assumptions as to what the response would be if he answered unfavourably.

Shirou opted for constructive criticism. "U-um, maybe if you uh, bob up and down?"

The collar, physical and metaphorical, shocked him into silence again. "Fuck that," she decided, and bit down. The bitch was enjoying her bone just fine without his barking.

It was slow going. Harder than with her foot. He wasn't nearly as pent-up, and clearly not that into it. But Beatrice found that the harder she bit down in certain places, the more Shirou would groan, and the harder his dick would get. She teased and played with it, pumping it up further until it was bright red and engorged the next time she released it. For a moment she stopped to admire the thing, bite marks and all, before diving onto it again.

She gave up on getting it in her throat. Why should she try that hard for a dog? Julian would have to train her later, but that would be fun in its own right, too.

Yes, Julian. That was it!

Beatrice closed her eyes and stuck one free hand into her panties, making sure to hide it from Shirou's sight. She slid down his rod as she slid one finger into herself, and thought of Julian.

Julian's moans. He'd like it gentle at first, to have her prove her skills. She softened up, letting it out of her mouth and servicing it with her tongue only. She licked every inch of its surface, lingering on pockmarks and areas where she'd bitten down too hard and caused a bit of bleeding. Blood and sweat and a hint of cum together made for an all-too tempting cocktail.

Julian's taste. Then, once he was polished just right, she took the head into her mouth. Just the head, nothing else. She sucked and sucked and at the same time tickled the tip with her own, flicking it left and right, playing around the slit as he shuddered. Her own slit widened, taking two fingers and then three.

Julians dick. Then she opened wide and dropped down, taking it all in one fell swoop until it was in her throat, her nose was pressed into half-shaved crotch, and a stream of saliva ran down her chin and onto his tightening balls. Her buzzer buzzed, his dick tensed.

And then, of course, Julian's cum. She bit down, hard enough to bite any bone in half. But not this one. This dick spurted a hot load right down her throat. Just in time she withdrew and it left a trail all across her tongue, and even her lips as it slipped out for a moment.

Beatrice wasted no time sucking it all up, swishing it around her mouth for a long minute, letting the taste and warmth linger. It wasn't so bad, she decided. She'd definitely swallow for Julian, but not for a dog. She opened her mouth wide and let the runny mess dribble onto Shirou's stomach.

“Hah... not bad for a dog,” she said.

No reaction. Beatrice shifted her gaze from Shirou's bleeding dick to his face. His eyes had rolled up into the back of his head and he was out cold.

“What the-? I'm not dragging you back down there, idiot!”

But he couldn't hear a thing. Emiya Shirou was already broken.

When Shirou woke, he was whole. Surrounded by darkness and stone and suffocating humidity, but in one piece. He had been clothed. His arms were still bandaged and chained to the wall, but his fingers moved like rusty hinges. He could breathe. He could think. He could-!

He stuck one hand down his pants, feeling around. It hurt, and he had no doubt his equipment was as battered and bruised as it felt. But it, too, was unbroken. The tension in his body evaporated with a sigh. The nightmare had ended.

Then he heard it. The sound of heels clicking down a stone staircase. Today was Angelica's turn.

Shirou could only laugh and cry. This was his heaven, and his hell.

Miyuverse Shirou has been kept captive for months. Who knows what could have happened in that tiny cell with his captors? Angelica and Beatrice take turns torturing him, wanting to know the whereabouts of Miyu. (Torture, Sadism. Class cards allowed)

March 14th, 2017, 02:14 PM
It started, as things tend to, right after something else ended.

Rain, pitter-pattering onto the canopy high above, splashing down onto the dirt in great fat drops. Pure mountain rain, carried up into the rarefied air by heavy swells from the lowlands. A fine mist turned to thick, roiling clouds, that wrung themselves out to feed the forest. In the process, washing away the blood, rusting corroded iron down to scraps, and wetting the long-rotted timbers of a house whose inhabitants are now lost to memory.

But in that place, which admitted nothing human, there was a man. His breathing was so slow he hardly seemed a man at all. Perfectly immobile, planted firmly like a great tree. One could picture him standing there forever, fed only on sunlight and mist. Like a monk removed from the world, seeking ascension onto a higher plane.

And yet, the construction of his body was entirely inappropriate for that role. Wild hair fell over his face, covering the gaping hole that once held an eyeball. As for the rest of him, powerful muscles coiled around a solid frame. It was a body that could have been carved from stone, but could explode at any moment into a savage violence written away somewhere in the atavistic deadweight of the inhuman genome, belonging to a time when strength was the currency of survival. A body that belonged either to a god, or to the fiercest of demons. Perhaps he was a bit of both.

Fallen trees littered the area around him, charred and broken. Trunks twice the girth of a man’s arms splintered like popsicle sticks. Others, burnt down to nothing at all but ash and smoke. But the acrid scent of burning wood died away quickly in the rain. In time they would rot, and the hollows would house squirrels, rabbits. Grow moss to feed the ants, and eventually crumble away to detritus. But for now, they remained an eyesore.

Beams of wane sunlight scattered through the canopy, forming broad streamers of light at all angles. A light mist rose up, and tiny rainbows formed for nobody to see. The quiet of the forest was deafening. No insects, birds or animals made a sound. All natural activity had put itself on hold for the dance of destruction that had only just finished, and the caution innate to such small creatures ensured it would remain silent for a while to come. The apex predator had found his prey, made his meal. That was really all that counted.

The blood caking his arm ran off in small flakes, lost to sight as soon as they hit the ground. Somewhere behind him was the broken and cooling corpse of a young man, cooked whole, like a victim of a house fire. Shriveled limbs coiled up in the fetal position, not out of volition, but simply the consequence of muscle shriveling and shrinking, flash-cooked in a blast of hellfire and smashed down onto the dirt like a basketball. The scavengers would have at it in no time, and with the rain soaking into everything, there was no doubt that that the worms would have a feast.

All that was left intact was a warped and discolored bar of steel, the inscription still clear on its flat.

Seven Nights.

There was terribly little to be said about that. Like father, like son, perhaps. Kouma Kishima could understand that the apple never fell far from the tree.

Fire to ash, and the exhilaration of the fight now subsided, he set off on the path to his small lean-to. Stepping on over grass burnt to soot, dirt cracked and dried by the intensity of the fire. Now the brittle chips of charcoal, and then the hard topsoil of the mountain forest. As he moved on, the sparrows resumed their chirping. Beneath even that sound was the steady tinkling of a small silver bell.

It was darker now, colder, and a small fire crackled up. A hare turned on a spit, skinned and cleaned. He rarely ate cooked meat, as his teeth could shred through even the toughest muscle, but tonight was special. Something of a festive occasion. Like red lily-petals, tongues of flame licked over the meat, now glistening. Eyes watched from all around, drawn to the scent of meat but kept away by the fire, and by the demon that guarded it. Scavengers and predators down on their luck, both of them could do nothing but envy him, who would go to sleep that night with a full stomach.

He reached into the fire and plucked out the hare. Softened and seared, and yet not too tough. This was the closest he had been to civilized life in years. About to bite in, he paused, noting a new arrival. Bell jingling with every step, a small black cat padded toward him. He kept still, watching it curiously. It came onward, braver than any forest animal, and stopped right at his feet, staring imploringly at the meal he had cooked.

As it was just a simple animal intent, he understood at once and responded by tearing off a leg, handing it to the cat, which for its part ignored him entirely and got to the matter of eating. Chewing, ripping, and swallowing with the small sounds of labored breathing. He did the same, and despite the difference in the size of their portions they finished almost simultaneously.

The cat did not take its leave, did not leave him to fade away as had happened every time in the past. Perhaps it was the chill of the night, as it instead hopped up into his lap and rubbed against him with the typically aloof kind of affection that cats have mastered. They remained that way for some time, as the fire sizzled and the rain came down. Streaks of mud dried on his clothes, and her fur, and the scent of earth and smoke produced a sleepy haze that would have been very fitting for the end of the world.

But it did not end.

The cat took to grooming itself, licking away the needles and detritus caught in its fur, and then stood, stretched on his lap, digging claws in through his pants and against his leg, though the skin underneath was not so much as dented. The rasped tongue combed through silky fur with only the softest susurration, and after a few minutes of attention she was content with her efforts. In languid steps, she navigated around his folded legs, perfectly balanced. Over thighs, knees, shins, and then a hesitant step onto the seam of his pants.

Something twitched, quite beyond volition, and she almost leapt right off him. As her hackles fell down, she began to sniff at him quite thoroughly. Feet, arms, brushing her cold wet nose against his hands. Still holding that expression of hollow curiosity, he turned over his hand, showing her his palm. She sniffed down from his fingers to the meat of his hand, and then flicked out her tongue. Lapping up the salty sweat and lingering traces of blood, her tongue hardly even tickled him. He was ignorant to most sensation, especially something as small as this, but he found himself attentive, anticipating the next little stroke of friction.

She lost her interest, and circled around him, sniffing at his other hand, gracing it with the same treatment. Soon that too was over, and she simply leapt into his lap again, shifting into the most comfortable position on his trunk-like legs. In her adjustment, one of her forepaws pressed again onto his crotch with a bit too much weight, and something twitched from underneath his pants. She lost her footing and slipped straight into the space between his legs, and in her desperate attempt to regain her balance, lost control of her form.

She landed, not as a cat, but as a young girl, and her face was pressed directly into his crotch. Heat entered her cheeks, spreading all the way out to the tips of her pointed ears. She looked up, seeking some kind of guidance. Kouma was staring out at the fire, thinking little, and saying nothing. He looked down, and before their eyes could meet she ducked her head. Once again, her face was inches from his crotch, and now there seemed to be something growing against the seam of his pants. She sniffed the air, and found beneath the scent of smoke and dirt, a heady, primal odor growing.

She looked up, bringing her hands onto his legs, shifting her body so that her stockinged legs escaped her dress, and found his eye looking back at her. That eye burned with something more than curiosity, something barely restrained by common sense. All it was seeking was an excuse, but it would have more than that. While she held his gaze, the smoke brought her to tears, face heated from the fire and something far more organic.

And as it was just a simple animal intent, he understood at once.

“If you’re so impatient, I’ll have you first.”

He settled his weight on his arms, leaned back. Small arms wound around his body, and she pulled in to nuzzle at his neck, licking and biting at his ears. Small kisses peppered his cheeks. Little flashes of heat. She closed in on his mouth, testing his reaction, and then went straight for it. A muffled gasp of excitement. His mouth clamped down on hers, sharing his furnace-like heat. She bent under the pressure, back arching and legs straining to keep her up. Heat pressed against her belly, his shaft now free from his pants. Like the rest of his body, it was hot iron. Thick, long, and glistening with precum already. A long slow stroke from the tip to the base, even cupping the tight balls underneath. Something like this could break her apart. She entered a rhythm, stroking it with one hand as the other held his shoulder for support.

Her mantle was flung off, dress torn apart. She shifted to straddle him, gliding up and down his length, twitching when the swollen nub of her entrance hit his head. For his part, he supported her with his hand, guiding her along. Over and over, until her lust leaked through the fabric of her panties. She simply couldn’t wait, wondered why he wasn’t acting.

Her panties dropped. Tossed away into the dirt. Heat and friction between them, charge mounting like the electricity brewing in the clouds overhead. She came closer to crumpling. Closer and closer. Little lips puffed and swollen, clit exposed and slick with sweat and wetness. Faster now, and faster and faster and then he picked her up like a doll, moving her dripping entrance straight in front of his mouth.

Hands right around her hips, keeping her firmly secured, while he probed her entrance with his tongue. Slimy pressure forced itself through her folds, reaching deep and tasting her. It wasn’t sweet, but he drank it in like nectar. Sucking on one side, then the other. Bullying her clit with his tongue. The feeling was too strong, and her hands flailed, seeking any support. Her abdomen twitched, hips bucked. Legs found some purchase around his neck but could only pull him closer. She twisted, writhed, and then found she could breathe again.

“I’m going to move.”

Wide-eyed, blushing furiously, like she was drunk on it, she couldn’t even communicate her assent before he lowered her down. Hands like vice grips around her waist, shaft driving through like a stake. The faint echoes of thunder brought to mind the image of a tree rent in half by lightning. Down she went, and along came the searing stretch. Up, and down again. Fire went up into her stomach, her insides twisted and writhing around him. A steady rhythm, up and down, up and down, and the fire got to the rest of her as well. The pain was constant and sharp but now it was feeling good. She was moving all on her own.

She took him down halfway, filling herself up almost to the limit. She wasn’t built to take him, and it showed in the way her stomach stretched out. In he went, tearing through all resistance. All that he got in return was the tightening, the desperate response of flesh that could no longer differentiate pleasure from violence. Once she got into her rhythm, bouncing on his cock like a playground ride, she didn’t even notice it. It was wet and hot, squelching and stretching. The scent of fire and rain and the blood of the boy whose face she couldn’t even remember anymore.

Blood dripped from her lips, mingling with precum and liquid arousal. The lubrication was almost enough to make it bearable, being filled to the point of breaking. But she could handle it. This task was what she excelled in. Warm hands pushed her down, lower and lower, as if simply by trying she could take him down to the base. His head was bouncing against her deepest part now, in the most intimate kiss possible. Any more, and he would rip through that as well.

The thunder got to rolling. Rain crashed against the forest, sending the half-shielded fire sputtering and crackling. Acrid smoke brought her to tears, or simply intensified the already steady stream. Heat and hardness, a body that could break boulders ripping into flesh, just gently enough not to break her outright. A balance between life and death that set her heart to burst, and the rest of her to coil and twist helplessly. Every breath was intense, gasping as though it could be her last, and then she came.

He picked her up, limp and out of energy, and stood. He slammed her down, forcing himself in all the way. Up and down, almost in tune with the crash of thunder. They were like the fire in the storm, burning and steaming, blasting out heat to counteract the cold rain. She went down, and down, and down, guided in by his hands, until with a final thrust he came, spilling everything inside her.

Everything after that escaped memory, left only as a series of images and sensations. Her face in the mud, the scent of dirt filling her nostrils, being taken from behind, hips smacking into her petite bottom. Her lips wrapped around his cock, head pushed down as far as it could go. She could hardly breathe, and black spots swam in her eyes, and yet it continued. Again, he ripped through her sore lips, emptying his balls directly into her womb. A long night’s dream.

The rains were now just puddles in the morning sun. Skies clear and bright. Sunlight kissed every part of the forest, and the little creatures woke to make their daily run for food.

Kouma tugged on his pants and vest, sat back and waited. Quietly, like a Jizou statue. As if awaiting the end of the world.

Len woke, bleary and sore in every way imaginable. And though she had not made a sound, he addressed her.

“Next time, make sure your master tries a bit harder.”

She stared at him, blankly. Her eyes had lost that longing stare, and now seemed to accuse him.

“Or don’t. I’ll take you as many times as you please.”

She flushed, like a little girl in love. But that was all she had needed to hear. An impish smile twisted her face.

And like that, the forest and sky melted away. Spider lilies sprouted from every crack and crevice in the world, and blossomed in a final display for its end.


It's a rainy day in the mountains. There's a fire going... and Len opens up to Kouma in more ways than one. (Vanilla, embarrassed, fluffy as hell)

March 14th, 2017, 02:17 PM


From atop the decaying rooftop, Enhance took potshots at the falcon that flew too fast to be just a falcon.

Consecrated buckshot that lit up the sky with rounds that smouldered with appropriated dragon’s fire was led into the hyperbird’s flight path, always missing by a hairsbreadth as the avian flew at supersonic speeds. Their battle had started with the thing baiting him, forcing him from reverie in a hiding spot and pushing him through this ghost town.

It was fast. And durable. Supernaturally so. It shouldn’t have been able to tear through concrete walls like a missile and come back to him for more the way it did.

The hunt went on and he adapted.

This ambush from out of the dark blue made him seethe, moreso than he usually. Enhance being Enhance, he transmuted that anger into potential and that potential overclocked his body. Under typical conditions, the seventeenth Dead Apostle Ancestor was a half-baked existence that barely ranked higher than a human being.

His hatred fortified his fragile existence. Tempered him from brittle cast-iron into steel that dared to take the heads of all of the other Ancestors. He pushed his quick reflexes to counter the quick reflexes of his erstwhile tormenter.

The falcon was too fast. It led Enhance on. It fell like a Morningstar cast from heaven, dipped below the horizon, into the labyrinth of foliage-encrusted empty streets. His undead arm stung from being in contact with a sanctified weapon of the church, the Holy Crematal Artillery. His human arm, one of the vestigial traces of his pre-Ancestor life, ached from being shook up by such a powerful gun. Still, he kept vigilant, and the blessed boomstick remained trained on the sky as his darkness-piercing night vision scanned for the re-emergence of the avian assailant.

Seconds of silence pass.

For a pest as dogged as that falcon that was enough to be ominous.

‘It’s obviously a trap,’ Enhance says aloud to himself as he lowers the shotgun, but does not holster it. ‘No point chasing something that’s not even a vamp—’

There was a supersonic roar from where the bird had surely alighted – and Enhance’s footing was blown away. Shattered as if ravaged by a localized disaster, or targeted by a top secret prototype weapon. The destruction was swift, and instantly tore the ruin to rubble. He fell, and the crumbling structure fell with him.

It was a feat of athleticism that any seasoned vampire could pull off. Midair, he righted himself and bounced from falling debris to debris, like an astronaut crawling through a space station at zero-g, in a breath-taking display of agility and reflexes, and leapt away from the imminent cave-in. He cleared the street in a single bound, crashed through an upper-level window of the opposite building and tucked into a dive roll that took him sliding across the floor to coolly prop against a brut concrete pillar, naked were it not for the half-rotted posters of aged Soviet propaganda that remained been upon it.

Looks like they really wanna get me face-to-face, he mused, this time a thought for himself and himself alone, and the Artillery was pointed skywards, ready to aim anywhere Enhance had to even as it burned his hand. He wordlessly drew his blade, Avenger, silently from the scabbard across his back, and its obsidian edge gave off a keen edge of darkness that radiated an infernal black mass that stood out even in the unlit room. His arm throbbed as the sinister sword sought to drain that vulnerability of all of his life force.

All in all, a typical moment for the Seventeenth during a hunt.

Suddenly, the room was gouged, debris smashed as if a titanic cannonball had shredded it in a trajectory from wall to wall. Another supersonic roar trailed the destruction. For anyone else it was too late to dodge. For a Dead Apostle it was the perfect time. Enhance, he instead explosively dashed away from the deadly vector. His enhanced hearing picked up on the pinpoint direction of the sound.

With his momentum he kicked off the wall and bounded towards the source.

Timing in between those two shots: two and seventy-five hundredths seconds.
…far too slow and not nearly aggressive enough to seriously try to gun him down.
That is, unless the sniper was pulling punches before and planned to send a mach 4 missile straight through his stilled heart in the next fraction of second as he zoomed to the charged towards the point of discharge as a pitch blur.

He wasn’t forced to block or dodge as one instant passed to the next. In that case, it was time to meet to say hello to this aggressor.

On the other side of the square stood Lorelei Barthomeloi. Her riding crop drawn, she tossed a piece of shrapnel up and down in a gloved hand. A small pile was on the ground next to her, collected by her for her own use. The falcon, having served its task, roosted as still as a statue atop a long burnt-out streetlight.

‘I see this really isn’t a chance meeting.’

‘It is not.’

Their first encounter was in that castle on the lake, hidden within the pseudo-fairyland that no humans had intruded upon for five centuries until the Battalion had come knocking on the Dead Apostle’s door.

The second encounter was here, where the folly of man culminated into a city that had instead been polluted by radiation instead for mere decades – a monument to humanity’s capacity to ruin itself and the very land. Yet, the deserted urban wastes, overgrown and long-vacated homesteads, also stood as testament to the nature’s capability to wipe humanity’s accomplishments from the face of the Earth. This time, it was only between her and him.

‘A human like you is gonna get sick if you stay here too long.’

‘I shan’t, so therefore I won’t.’

A thin membrane swirled over Lorelei’s skin and clothes.

‘Ah. I see.
…Still dangerous here.’


During the first time, they had a shared target. That prey was novel, a vampire that existed as three individuals. Together, a single candidate for the seat of Ancestor, and a vacancy that still held to this evening. For they were hunters. They preyed upon those who preyed upon humanity.

‘You want something?’

‘Indeed – I want you gone.’

‘I can simply go awa-’

‘That won’t do.’

Theirs had been a temporary stay of action. To war with the other would have been, at that time, foolish, a waste of effort. Now, there was no other game to distract her from him. The night they had encountered each other had seen the gathering of a trio of hunters, bound by that magnetism that draws the bizarre together, and he was one of the two skilled killers who had caught her eye during the course of that happening.

The Queen, the Magus Supreme of the Current Era, and vice-director of the Magus’ Association, couldn’t abide the Knight of Vengeance’s existence.

Enhance hunted vampires. Lorelei hunted vampires. But, he too was vampire, so, as if her very existence was compelled by a curse – the curse of the Barthomelois – she was driven to eradicate him.

‘To ash with you, leech!’ Lorelei declared, and in her mind’s eye she envisioned an ancient glacier tat stretched from horizon to horizon. A deep cracking boom resounds for kilometers, and an iceberg splashed down into the eldritch sea below, left a sheer face in its wake. Her circuits sparked with magic. With a twist and swing of her arm, followed by a twinkle of power from the roiling, glowing Barthomeloi crest that lit up the right side of her body from her fingertips to her hips, she sent a blast of trench-carving concussive destruction straight at Enhance. Those mere concrete pebbles she had launched at him before like a railgun were scattered and forgotten like meagere dust, trash returned to a ruined city.

Now was the time and place for the magus to show the true strength of her family’s techniques that had been cultivated since the days of the Holy Roman Empire.

‘Lady, I’m human as you are!’

Harsh words retorted from one fellow monster to another as Enhance threw himself into the overgrown ruins and narrowly dodged the hurtled energy.

‘No. You’re just my prey.’ Lorelei strengthened her legs and turned her eyes on, and Enhance’s aura was there for her to see.

‘No matter what, Knight of Vengeance, you’re my mark.’

She took off after him, like a lioness running down a jackal.

A storefront blasted back into trace elements by a cone of decomposition. Suddenly exposed to her line of sight, he vaulted to the next street over. His shotgun roared, thrice, hungry to burn her for her heretical lifestyle, and incendiary rounds of covering fire were sent in Lorelei’s direction as she continued her charge down the lanes reclaimed by nature. With a twirl and an artful step, like she was the conductor for her own dance, she flicked Lævateinn – one of her two mystic codes – like a baton and a localized tempest erupted around her, scattering the flames.

Enhance disappeared onto the roof, and Lorelei kicked off of a rusted Mercedes to follow after the black blur. Her chestnut ponytail flapped in the wind as she pursued. She caught sight of his aura again, a hundred meters running catlike down the row of buildings, parallel to the avenue. The speed and distance of her target was pushing her effective range.

Lorelei recalled childhood hunting outings with her father, obligations alongside the families of other Clock Tower lords. She recalled a specific highlight – the last time she had enjoyed bagging fowl before she awoke to the Barthomeloi’s proverbial curse. She recalled a venture to Scotland, of gunning down the pink-footed goose at the head of the v-formation. She had wanted the leader, the leader alone, and had knocked it down to Earth with the aid of that Mauser. The rest of the flock had become disoriented, but quickly closed the gap to form a new v, like a fatal wound being closed up, erased by the very passage of time.

Such an action was like the curse of restoration that every Dead Apostle had at work.
Yet that bird had had a place in the world’s ecosystem.
A vampire was just a parasite that made chattel out of mankind.
That made all the difference.

Her target was fast, and far, and moving further away from her. But, his trajectory? Stable.
Lorelei would have had a harder time shooting a pink-footed goose from the sky.
She drew her arm back, rolled her wrist in a circle, and threw her gloved hand forward, her fingers pointing at Enhance through the gauntlet of Járnglófar like the clawed barrel of a tank.


The humble, well-used Finnish magecraft essential spilled forth from the fingertips. Lorelei fired five unbroken streams of dense curse, sharing more in common with a water drill than fired machine gun. It was a simple testament to her thaumaturgical superiority, like how the skill of a chef can be measured merely with the way that one prepares a fried egg. It cut through the night air and closed the distance between him and her.

He yowled in pain as the streams sliced holes in his body, dipped to the side like cheese wire slicing apart his body as Lorelei’s aim naturally deteriorated as and after she took the shot. ‘Kuh, step off!!’ Enhance stumbled and snarled. He nearly tripped as his leg threatened to messily separate from his hip. He clenched his guts in tight and pointed the gun backwards, towards Lorelei, and that same song and dance number from before made an encore. Fire, flames, those steps, the wind, shield. The process was repeated.

The moon was full. Gibbous wouldn’t do. Waxing wouldn’t do. It always had to be full. She always had to hunt the Dead Apostles at their height.He had to be athis height. Her target would soon restore himself. But he was incapacitated, his movements hobbled ever slightly. Thus, she spoke, and moved her arms and the fingers of her armored hand in tune with the words:

‘Why do we strive for Excellence? To Eradicate the Foes in our sight–’
‘Why do we Eradicate the Foes? Because they Rape of Mankind and Ruin Us–’
‘With Age Comes Wisdom, with Wisdom Comes Power, with Power We Hunt the Foes–”
‘The Silver Spoon Serves Milk and Honey – and with Age becomes Nectar and Ambrosia–”
‘By Barthomeloi, we Craft that into theLightning of Olympus—!!!’

Ball lightning, an incredibly rare natural phenomenon, sparked into existence near Lorelei by a dozen, a miracle orchestrated by her hands. More accurate than those half-hearted pebbles, more numerous than her gandr outpourings, and faster than her falcon, Lorelei conducted with Lævateinn and sent the screeching orbs to smash into Enhance.

Over the course of the hunt, from rooftop to rooftop, over and across streets, Lorelei had chased Enhance onto a building with a large skylight; octagonal in overall shape, and an ornate design composed of thousands of pieces of shaped glass interlaid in an intricate frame of thin metal. The skylight creaked beneath his footsteps. Countless of these mosaic-like panes have shattered over the course of years of neglect, yet still many other remain held in place, stubbornly, like a phantom clinging to a shade of the life it was part of, before nuclear meltdown forced all to evacuate the forsaken land.

His limp made him lose his footing, but briefly.

He slammed Avenger into the grate, for support, to regain his sure-footedness. The skylight creaked more loudly than before, but held for the moment.

At Lorelei’s behest the zig-zagging ball lightning slammed into the momentarily lingering vampire. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve. The results of a five-line aria peppered Enhance’s body with an inescapable barrage. He screamed. He didn’t sound as unearthly as a Dead Apostle. He sounded like a human as he was lit up like a Yule tree, as he shook like a ragdoll, sans his death grip on his sword, burnt alive by centuries-old magecraft in an instant.


Her eyes narrowed as she bit into her lip, Lorelei slashed with her crop and sent the finisher at Enhance. A baker’s dozen of killshots. Lucky number thirteen struck Enhance through his crown and sent lightning down his spine. That clinched it – and the skylight shattered from the force of everything it ever had to endure.

The straw named Enhance, the Seventeenth Dead Apostle Ancestor, broke that camel’s back, and his incinerated body fell amidst the broken iron and glass into the depths.

Lorelei jumped down to an open upper level, just shy of the broken skylight, and then made her way to the ground floor. She zeroed in on where Enhance had fallen. There was only one way to be sure. Too faint to tell for sure whether it still existed or was an afterimage burnt into her cornea from staring too long at it; his aura was like an ember.

Still yet to wind down from the battle, Lorelei became again that thirteen-year-old girl, wading into the fen to claim her downed pink-footed goose, confirm her kill. Just like she did on every successful hunt. The abstract intersection of Lorelei pre and post-curse. The youth and the young woman’s desires and hungers overlapping momentarily in this aspect.

‘What a shame.’ He still clung to his sword. Stubbornness? No, rigor mortis. This human arm was the only part of his vampire body that would retain its shape after death. The only part to retain the privilege of decay and return to the earth. His tight, but charred and peeling black outfit contained nothing but dry ash. All she’d have to do was stamp on it gently, and his remains would spill out like carbon sand, lifeless.

–And Enhance was gone.

Sharp pain. Multiple places. Hamstrings cut. Achilles’ tendons cut. She yelped in surprise and pain. Her legs were unable to support her. Lorelei would fall and hit the ground, but she was instead slammed up against a wall. Ribs crack. Lungs bruise. Arms, both dislocated. The pain was sharp – she dropped Lævateinn. It clattered on the ground as it was kicked away. A strong hand pawed at her chest to keep her in place. Now the pain had a hint of provocative sensuality, all forced onto her body is short order. Her right arm snapped – Járnglófar was ripped right from her fingers and likewise chucked away to join the rest of the Chernobyl refuse. Lorelei gave a pained snarl as she slid against the rough wall and turned what she could of her body to face her attacker.

‘You…!’ she said.

That ember of his had been stoked into a furnace.

Lorelei had seen the truth and not recognized it.

He had incapacitated her, and then he fell onto his butt. For a vampire, under the full moon, no less, he looked worse for the wear. ‘You bitch!’ he grouched. ‘This – is – your fault.’

‘I’ve no need – for the pity of leech.’

‘LADY.’ She felt the steel of a demonic sword on her neck. ‘Don’t make this worse. Don’t make me pop your bounded field. We’re deep into Chernobyl’s illegal zone. The rads are making my skin tingle. Cancer isn’t something the vice-director of the Magus’ Association wants. Especially if she needs an heir in the future.’

‘Rot in Hell, you leech.’

‘Not yet… Not until I’ve torched every one of those bastards.
‘So, don’t get up. Not unless you want me to knock you down again.’

A beat in the conversation. Silence in the room. Just the breathing of two beaten down vampire haters who crossed paths, vying for domination. Lorelei asks after what seems like an eon of wordless exchange.


‘How what?’

‘How did you survive it?’

‘I grounded myself.’ He explained.

‘Was such, that your plan to escape?’

‘My plan was to NOT get hit by deadly magic, but there was a change of plans.’ He confessed. ‘Even with that, you really did a number on me, Barthomeloi. If I try hard enough to remember I can tell you what color Saint Peter’s eyes are.

‘Yeah. You cooked my brains like a fried egg, but it was still nice and runny inside. So I barely made it.’

‘Then, how you hid – from me?’

‘You misjudged? I’m good at playing dead?’ Enhance stood up, stretched, grunted with some pain, and shrugged at the magus. ‘If you want to kill me, next time burn me up for good from afar. ’

‘Where are you going?’

‘You’re chatty now that you can’t destroy this vampire, huh? I’m gonna leave you there to bleed for a bit. I’ve got this bastard I need to pay a house call to. Thanks but no thanks for your help, ice queen.’

‘You intend to leave me here?’

‘Bad girls need a timeout. Stay there and think about what you’ve done, attacking a vampire who has nothing against you and wishes for the same thing you do.

‘…Hey. Ever since the humans stopped living here the wildlife has returned. Did you know that Chernobyl has one of the largest wolf populations in eastern Europe? Focus on getting better while I’m gone, unless you wanna be White Fang’s dinner.’

‘…I didn’t want to kill you. That is, not all of me wanted to. I don’t want this.’

‘That’s what happens when you play rough, Barthomeloi.’

‘Ignatius!’ she snapped. He gave her a curious look, with his too-human eyes. ‘That is, my I am Barthomeloi, Lorelei Barthomeloi, but, Ignatius…

‘I pushed you to your limits to see. Even though I, as a Barthomeloi, wanted to, and do still, want to destroy you because you’re a leech like them, I want to see if you can become my Ignatius.’

Being as high up in the Clock Tower as she was, she had never taught a lecture. She was no mentor, but a born leader. Why Lorelei had gone out of the way to stalk Enhance all the way here, to the fringes of civilization and beyond. Even as he tracked prey of his own, following his black heart that writhed with the curse of hate. This was intended, indeed, to be a trial of sorts, even with her failings at the very last moment.

If he could become like her childhood retriever, swimming through the deepest of icy highland waters that she could not forge to aid in the hunt of her prey.

‘…If you could become my hunting dog. Quite – you, have passed.’



‘Too much regulation. Assuming I even manage to destroy all of the vampires they might turn me into a specimen at the very end. “Enhance, the living undead relic! A trophy to prove that humanity won!” An existence where I’m the last of a blight, not even free to off myself, sounds like hot garbage. Nah. Forget about that. Enjoy being wolf chow, Lorelei.’

‘Th-Then don’t be my Ignatius! Just form an alliance with me, instead! Off the table, signed in the contracts that only matter; an oath!’

He didn’t need to ask why she sought one with him. Their lifestyles, they overlapped. A sorceress who hated vampires because they were diametrically opposed to humanity. A vampire who hated vampires because of what they did to him. He had no qualms with her. She personally did with him, but she was willing to put those feelings aside for the benefits of a working relationship.

After all, the rumors of the Dead Apostle Ancestors getting to work on some insidious ritual continued to spread through the supernatural world.


He leaned against the wall she was slumped against, a meter from her. ‘Get to it and fix yourself up. It won’t fly if my “ally” gets eaten by wolves as soon as we agree to join forces,’ though he sounded exceptionally devil-may-care and a drop impatient.

‘Enough about the wolves, leech.’

The word made him scowl back and he shrugged.

Time passed. Lorelei remained slumped. Enhance glanced at her. She turned her head.


‘Nothing of the sort.’

‘The Hell there isn’t. Doesn’t the oh-so great Barthomeloi family have any healing spells in stock?’

‘We certainly do! We do.’

‘So? Fire it up. Damn creepy how you’re lying there like a broken china doll.’

Enhance was annoyed. Lorelei was being uncharacteristically difficult.

‘…I’m low on prana.’

He ran his hand through his pale scruffy mop and gave a sigh. ‘I know how to deal with this—”


—and Enhance had Lorelei on her back, underneath him.

‘What are you-?!’

‘You know exactly what I’m doing.’

‘No! Wait! Will that even work?! You leech–’

Enhance shut her up with fingers on her mouth. ‘I may be a “leech”,’ he growled that word, frustrated and impatient with the magus, ‘but part of me is yet human. It’ll work.’ His finger—his human fingers—circled over her lips, and Lorelei whined beneath his touch.

The membrane-barrier around her did nothing to keep his grasp at bay. Enhance ran his fingers from her lips, over her chin, straight down her neck, right above her throat. The sensation made her gasp.

Down her chest. In-between her breasts. She remembered how and where he had grabbed her before during that grapple, and the raw memories made her heart beat in nervous excitement.

He wasted no more time and went right to it. Though the magical film held, Enhance split Lorelei’s riding pants at the central seam with a loud rip, tearing through her pants and silken, white lace panties all at once. Lorelei was affronted at the exposal. ‘M-My word!!’ She tried to close her thighs, hide her naked womanhood from the vampire’s licentious eyes.

‘Pipe down, princess.’ Enhance’s grip was too strong, and she squirmed impotently beneath him. ‘You can do better things with that mouth of yours.’

‘What the devil do you mean by thHAAAHt?!?’ Lorelei lost her words in an undignified squeal; Enhance had spread her lips, fingered her with a pair of fingers that her personal barrier clung gently, insistently to. …A pair slightly cooler than the fingers that he ran from her lips, down her torso.

‘What do you say to that, huh, Lorelei? Getting finger-banged by a vampire’s digits?’

Lorelei let out a cry of shock at that. As he moved his fingers around in her at an already hungrily fast pace, Enhance held up his free hand—his human hand—for her to see. Which meant–

‘–If the other Barthomeloi could see you now, what would they say?’

‘Nnohh, damn it, damn you!’ Her hips bucked and she whined girlishly, petulance and fire coming into her eyes as she remembered his vampiric existence. As her emotions came on hard and was as bedfellows with her remembrance of that proverbial curse of the Barthomeloi. Even so, her body had a mind of its own, and was just as much at odds with that curse. ‘It, it doesn’t – doesn’t feel that good, at all! At allll!!’

‘That so?’ Swift as ever, certainly invigorated by Lorelei, Enhance dropped shorts, and his flesh fang stood proud and sharp and ready. He lifted her hips back and up and pierced her with it in one go. ‘Here’s your magic infusion, Barthomeloi!’

‘That! That won’t! That won’t! That won’t work, like, like thaaahht!!” That personal bounded field, meant to reject foul humors, kept her safe from the dense radiation of this sector of Chernobyl. As it had done with his fingers, it clung to him, to her insides, and he wildly pushed his cock around in the vice director of the Clock Tower’s innermost private sanctum. ‘N-Nothing will! Ahh! Nothing will, will get,’ she gasped, ‘will get in! With the! The! The field is uhhhhp!! There’s no, no poiiiiiint!!! You beast!’

‘Already here! Gonna go all the way!’

‘D-D-Damn you, you leech!!’

‘You want it harder? Choice!’ Her moan of an insult backfired – Enhance leaned over Lorelei and went faster, deeper, into the vampire-hating magus. So mad was Lorelei that she spat on his face.

Enhance didn’t care. He grinned. And used his strength to flip her over as easily as one would a playing card and took Lorelei from behind like an animal. Her derriere lived up to her title – defined, fit, full of muscle, and tight against those riding pants; it was royal, fit for a queen.

He gave an appreciative grunt. ‘Nice! You work out?’

She told him to go die.

‘Later, Barthomeloi! Just move, those hips and, enjoy, it already!’

‘God-d-damned leech!! LEEEECH!!!’

By now, Enhance had internalized that choice slur as code for “Oh God, oh God, fuck me, fuck me harder, right fucking now Jesus fucking Christ,” and he jumped at the opportunity to oblige.

Though the destruction of the other Dead Apostles was his self-appointed mission equally as much as it was the outlet for his self-sustaining hatred, this kind of outlet, was one he hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time. His body thirsted for release, and it was release that her body received. Enhance eagerly emptied himself in Lorelei Barthomeloi, and when the deed was done pulled away from her, his piece sweaty and smeared with seed.

The bounded field had held through it all, and remained pliable even after. As soon as he pulled away from Lorelei every single drop of his desire fruitlessly spilled out from her quivering body onto the dirty floor.

‘This thing,’ noted Enhance, ‘is kinda like a weird condom.’

‘That’s…not it’s intended – purpose!!’ Lorelei replied, indignant, spent, and still nowhere near closer to restoring her magical energy enough to a level that she could repair her body. ‘You, wasted, your time, you fool…’

‘No,’ went Enhance’s only, self-satisfied reply.

He drew up his trousers and shorts, dusted himself off, and went to retrieve Lorelei’s mystic codes for her. ‘Here. I think you’ll want these back, my ally.’

‘Many thanks.’ Lorelei’s tone was sour. Once she again wielded Lævateinn and again donned on her right hand Járnglófar, Enhance picked her up like the “princess” he had called her as they were about to do it.

Lorelei was caught off guard. ‘Huh? HUH? What the Hell is it, maggot!?’

‘My quarry can wait. At least until you can fight again.’ With slight admiration for her decision to go with a different insulting buzzword, Enhance replied to her, pragmatically. ‘Have some class and be grateful.’ Now, she was again annoyed with him, but somehow found it within to keep her temper in check. ‘I’ll take you as far as your safe house. Where is it?’

‘It is beyond the contaminated zone. Follow Katua. She’ll guide you to it’s exact location.’


‘My falcon.’

‘Weird name.’

‘She’s been in the family longer than you’ve been on this earth, you skeevy greenhorn leech!’ she walloped him on his head with her gauntleted hand, over and over, as she angrily bit him on the neck just like a vampire would.

‘Ow. Ow. Ow!’

As long as she didn’t do that while he flew after her familiar they should have been fine.

Using the incredibly old money that she came from, Lorelei Barthomeloi had acquired a luxury recreational vehicle to drive around the eastern European countryside in to tail Enhance.

‘I see you’ve been stalking me in style.’


The interior would have come across as more typically luxurious, were it not for the magus-like amenities that made to transform it from an expensive-yet-mundane comfort cruiser into a mobile atelier that basic field magecraft could have been performed in or from. Special beakers on the shelves, drawers with artifacts and pages of notes and intel on Enhance and other entities of interest in the moonlit world.

‘Place me in that chair, Enhance,’ Lorelei ordered him, and he did so.

‘Now toss those rags. Wash off in the shower, too.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You may as well be glowing, you filthy thing. Though I set up this vehicle with precautions against the radioactivity I don’t want any half-lives decaying inside. Clean up, now.’

‘You got it,’ Enhance callously shrugged, and he left to do just that. Lorelei nodded to herself, and feebly fumbled around for a particular bottle. She found it, pulled the cork with her teeth, and drank the vessel’s bitter contents. Once it had slid down her gullet and sat warmly in her belly she again thought of breaking glaciers – and the Barthomeloi family crest glowed with life. She sat there in silence, still as standing water as her body burned like a sauna and the growth of her cells was kicked into overdrive with restorative spellcraft that had been refined for hundreds of years.

Many minutes of healing commenced. ‘Ahh…’ and with that sigh of relief, Lorelei was able to move again. More importantly, she could now perform basic thaumaturgy at will, and such a thing was more important to her, as a magus.

The young woman, a prodigy even amongst an exceptional family of magi, stood up and stretched her newly-mobile body and cast a glance to the bathroom door, then to Katua. The bird of prey stared back, as if to ask “What is left to do now, my mistress?” Now, Lorelei Barthomeloi waited for Enhance to finish washing himself.

She did not have to wait long. The rogue Dead Apostle Ancestor stepped out of the steaming bathroom, droplets of water on his fair, toned skin, and his wet hair a tousled silver mess from being hand-dried by what was surely the Egyptian cotton bath towel wrapped around his slender waist.

He held Lorelei’s eye for a moment.

That would do, she decided, and then the magus properly regarded the vampire before her.

‘Enhance. Before you see yourself off, there is an important matter I must discuss with you in my study.’

‘Formalizing the details of our alliance?’

‘They concern matters of that sort.’

‘That’s vague. Very well. Which direction is it?’

Lorelei pointed over Enhance’s shoulder, to the bedroom at the back of the camper van. He raised an eyebrow. She gestured with her chin, impatiently. Enhance gave yet another shrug, like he had done so many times that night, and walked into the room, towel and all. Lorelei followed closely behind and shut the door without even looking.


Lorelei swung her arm, swiftly and deliberately, and sliced the air with Lævateinn. That very air bent to her will, and a millisecond later Enhance was blown off his feet. Before he could even land, Lorelei motioned again with her arms, as if conducting and a set of chains and clasps lashed out from below like a quartet of serpents to fasten him to the bed.

Enhance immediately thrashed about like a trapped animal, but his trappings were uncanny. ‘The Hell is this, Barthomeloi?!’

‘It transferred into my ownership when I salvaged it from that leech, Louvre’s, collection of artifacts. TheManacles of the Château; a conceptual weapon used in a certain prison that, with age, developed the ability to bind those whose hearts burn with vengeful will.’

‘Vengeful will, huh? Bet you had to be careful not to land your pretty-little-princess-ass in these things, too.’ Enhance tried to move even a little in gesture, but the chains were so taut that the links did not even rattle or give. ‘Talk about premeditated. Did you plan this, too?’

‘THIS, all, was not my plan,’ with words that echoed his from not so long before, Lorelei referred to the events of the night as a whole. ‘The Manacles were meant as just a precaution, but YOU forced MY hand to improvise – and thus the backup plan became my designated trump card.

‘No, MY Knight of Vengeance, this isn’t premeditated at all–’ Lorelei took her riding crop, touched it to Enhance’s towel, and with a single flip tossed it aside, to the thick, carpeted floor. The trapped vampire was held in place, and naked before her. ‘–THIS is a crime of passion.’

Almost lazily, Lorelei wound up. Then, she swung in a flash, and the leather tip of the crop brushed his nude head and shaft. ‘You damn witch!’ Enhance snarled in pain, yet so too, did he swell from the impact.

She took note of this. ‘Ah, is that so? This requires further experimentation. Until I may yet confirm my hypothesis…’ and ran her crop from below and over his balls, up straight the length, and flicked him with it from behind, making it jump from where it lay – a Lorelei slapped it back down with her tool.

Enhance grunted. And shook. And remained in place. The chains held fast. He quivered with steadily boiling-over, seething, impotent rage, even as a crucial part of his body gave an overwhelmingly virile display.

Again, she struck. Again, he was like a defiant, wild beast, wanting to lash out at her.

‘I see. I had a feeling that you became stimulated by your own misery.’

As before, she brought down Lævateinn. The blow made him roar out a curse. The mystic code slashed across his stomach, left a dark weltmark that disappeared as quickly as she made it on him.

‘–then, you catalyse those feelings, all of them, into anger–!’






‘–and lust.’

By now, Lorelei was beginning to breathe hard. Nearly as hard as Enhance. As for his tall, shameless erection, Lorelei still had not changed from the pants and underclothes that he had torn in order to take her in the ruined city—her true feelings were exposed.

She was now as wet as he was.

Feeling tantalized, Lorelei stripped off her jacket, carefully replaced Járnglófar on top of a nearby dresser, and unfastened the bright vermillion ribbon below her neck… ‘Then, that lust,’ …Unbuttoned a blouse that fetched a price as much as the very RV she had had imported… ‘you make it act in a feedback loop,’ …Slid it down her shoulders to reveal a pair of perfectly palm-sized perky breasts nestled flawlessly within the embrace of a strapless bra of white silk lace worth a nobleman’s dowry… ‘thus, fuels you to act,’ …One boot off… ‘and act,’ …Both boots off… ‘and act–’

Pants off. Garter belt and stockings of that same pure color to match her bra, and the panties that had been ripped from before.

She donned her armored gauntlet of a mystic code again, a striking asymmetry to her womanly value. Lorelei’s smile was one of utter, wanton control.

‘–until your desire is sated.’

‘This was premeditated as fuck, you lying cunt.’

For that attitude, she mounted him faster than he could blink.

Lorelei was used to him, him and his size. She retaliated in kind, adeptly, bounced with him in her, feeling every inch of Enhance that she cared to feel, in full control of this encounter. ‘Do you hate me right now, you leech?’ Lorelei’s expression was tough.

Enhance nodded furiously as she pounded atop him. ‘You’re! As bad! As her!!’ His words came from the very bottom of his dark heart as he recalled that girl who had wronged him the most.

Lorelei was heedless. Eager for a sort of payback. She leaned over him, made her hips work him faster, slapping and smacking and getting noiser. ‘I was unsure, but now I must hate you, too. You are no human. You are no vampire. You’re – a – freak.’ Her face was close to his. He spat on it, his crimson eyes ablaze with spiteful spitfire. She closed one eye, reflexively, but remained unperturbed as she continued to ride the wave of the moment (and Enhance).

‘But, even unsightly as it is, a mutant may be fit. For what, who knows? I’ve no time to use clairvoyance to try to pry an answer from the unanswering fates. But for now, you’re fit – for a contract; an intimate oath.

‘With out bodies as one, we will destroy the vampires, one and all.’

Magical energy cycled between them enough to make their hairs both stand on end, sway in an indoors wind, and dress their skin with goosepimples.

‘Didn’t! Need to! Make me! Agree! To that!’ He thrust with his hips alone, up and into and up and into Lorelei. ‘If nothing! Else! A freak! Should! KILL! FREAKS!!!’

The geass was agreed upon. Enhance came. Lorelei came. It was matter-of-fact, a mere outcome that acted, in the spirit of things, like their signatures on a written contract. This time, their juices mingled together, nothing to separate them.

Time passed, again. Silently, for no more words needed to be exchanged for the two vampire-haters to understand the other’s motive.

‘Now I know why you’re called “the Queen”.’

‘That is not it at all!’

Strange bedfellows for a strange alliance.


She is the vice-director of the Mage's Association, a veritable glacier of domineering force, and sworn enemy of vampires. He is a vampire of the Dead Apostle Ancestors, a knight of vengeance with a burning will, and he doesn't like setbacks. Different in many ways, but alike in others. They met. They fought. And now they fuck. (tags: hatesex whip dom_sub_interchange)

March 14th, 2017, 02:20 PM
Indoors Squirt Duel
(a ‘Cerulean Ride’ alternative)

There’s unfinished business to take care of before summer ends.

See me as soon as possible in the master room.

Artoria Pendragon

Oh, dear.

What gives? I thought we had already cleared the islands of those malevolent boars. Or is it some sort of new threat? In a twisted way, it’s fitting that the summer has to end on a big climax like this -- end on a bang.

I’m annoyed, yet determined to see this through to the end. It’s my job as their Master.

I leave the hammock behind and go off to the rendezvous point, ready to talk strategy with Saber?… Archer?… Artoria. Summer while working for Chaldea is weird. Whatever. Anyway, I go to the “war room” to be debriefed by the King of Knights.


I nearly get whacked in the face with the squirt gun that Artoria aggressively passes to me to the point that it’s basically a throw. I desperately juggle the toy around for a handful of tense moments, until my brain catches up with the absurdity of the situation and I let the play-weapon clutter to the floor. It pathetically dribbles a little as it lies there, rejected.

Nice try, but those are crocodile tears, courtesy of a certain Pendragon.

“Master?! What are you doing!?” My black-and-white bikini-clad, ponytail-sporting Servant looks rather insulted, a slight sourness to her face more akin to the sternness she’s capable of. Guess an end to the summer means the slippage of everyone’s summery-facades, too?

No, Artoria, what are YOU doing? No, wait, I know what this is, and I won’t take part in it.

“Come on, come on, Master! Do not deny me this!” Artoria argues with me. “It’s been a full summer and I’ve not even had a duel with you! Come now, pick the soaker up and let’s have a fun contest!”

I’ve seen you kill monstrous crabs with a squirt gun. No thanks.

“I know my own strength, Master! I shall temper the water fae’s blessing and will not blow you away! This I do swear! Just have some fun with me!”

Denied once, twice, every time, Artoria! Your word is good, but you’re nothing if not competitive. That trophy you somehow got is the proof of the pudding! You’re gonna Prana Burst on me, I just know it. Let’s just do something else!

“M-Master! I’ll have none of that!”

I’LL have none of THAT!
Artoria points the barrel at me, threatening me to pick up my weapon and engage in sport with her. I grab the barrel in my palm and point it up and away from me, towards the ceiling. Artoria, please--!


The gun goes off. We’re caught in the blast. If it were real, with solid slugs of standardized caliber, this situation will become an accident, or a tragedy, fostered by summer desperation.

But it’s just a squirt gun. With just water.

No. Wait.

This isn’t water.

This isn’t water at all.

Artoria, this is—

“Awa! Master, this is—- The battle potion is—”

Excuse me, but… “battle potion?”

She struggles to get her words out, and for good reason. “I j-just wanted to have a-a good d-duel with you, M-Master— B-But, if y-you refused to l-live to th-the f-f-fullehst on the l-last day of summer, then the b-battle potion in the gun was s-supposed to s-set your spirit a-a-ablaze—”

…A “battle potion,” huh…???

“Th-That’s what Kiyohime told me what it was! But, Kiyohime is, is not right in her m-mind, so Tamamo-no, Tamamo-no-Mae vouched for her word!

“But, T-Tamamo-no-M-Mae is a schemer, s-so she can’t be t-trusted, either!

“—but then Marie said, with a fine s-smile and a lovely laugh ‘Oh, my? This cute little vial? It is indeed a “battle potion!”’ And Anne and Mary cheerfully agreed! And Scathach too, she said ‘Yep. That right there is indeed “battle potion,” of sorts, meant for particular battles -- namely: duels.’

“A-All of them, M-Master! All of th-them were in a-a-agreement! It’s a ‘battle potion!’ Well, M-Martha was nowhere to be f-found, but still-!”

Artoria, you innocent fool, they all took you for a ride. I recognize this taste. I feel it’s effects as much as you do. This isn’t a battle potion—

My Archer-for-the-Summer is dazed, swaying where she stands. Her eyes are drawn to me, distant and dilated and slowly blinking. She slowly, with a quivering lip, mouths at me “Master…” She leans back, falls – right onto the master bed. Artoria simmers and sweats and it’s not from the summer heat.

—oh, dear.

“Master…” her eyes dart up and down and down and up my body as she clenches a fist over her heart, as the Servant’s thighs rub against thighs. Her voice comes out as a whisper. “Pl-Please… Duel… Me…”

This is not the first time I’ve experienced “battle potion.” But, that doesn’t mean I have any built up resistance to it.

Right now, I can’t resist – don’t want to resist.

And, from the state of Artoria’s bikini bottom—soaked without even getting splashed by the blowback—she doesn’t want to either.

Artoria bites her lip and her chest noticeably yet slightly raises and falls with each breath. She mouths words even unsaid. “Master…”

F-Fine. Let’s d-d-d-duel. An Indoor Squirt Duel.

In this chaotic state I do the only sensible thing. I drop my trunks and hobble my way over to the bed. My swimwear got in the way, and even now it still HURTS to move. My need makes my weapon of choice feel alien, like a parasite I’m all too sensitive of that HAS to hunt.

A-Artoria— My words are stupid, animalistic. Long live summer.

Hands grab at her bikini top and TEAR. No mercy. We can always get another one made. Who cares now, though? Her breasts are slim, but soft, so soft that I throb in delight so much that it hurts. Her bottom goes too, God knows where, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men in Camelot can’t put that Humpty Dumpty back together again.

“Master–! Y-Yes! D-Duel m-me!” Nearly completely gone is Artoria, the King of Knights, her personality nearly completely overwritten by those trace drops of “battle potion,” replaced with the primal urge to “duel” with me.

I give it a go as I stand at the side of the bed, my taut muscles giving in, and I fall into Artoria. Her legs reach up and over my shoulders as I press into her all the way, her utterly wet holster accommodating my locked and loaded DNA cannon of a squirtgun.

“A-Already!! S-So bold, already! Ah!” her voice raises, not at all in complaint.

The wet sound of coitus, erm, duelling and friendly competition. VERY FRIENDLY competition. It should be embarrassing, but the “battle potion” makes neither of us care. Hip-to-hip. Waist-to-waist. Crotch-to-crotch. I strike. She deflects. She swings. I retreat. It’s wet enough. This IS a squirt duel, isn’t it?

She was so wet before, so I have to see, touch her above our connection, to that very swollen little scale of Pendragon’s. “N-No, n-not there, n-not n-nooOOWWW—!!!” I barely pet her and she forces me out, and her own personal lady of the lake gives a blessing to this engagement of ours, soaking my hips and hers even moreso as Artoria moans out like a little girl.

“N-No! No forfeiting. B-Back to the combat area. NOW.” She begs me, her legs and chamber already spread and glistening and too-willing.

O-Of course. Who in their r-right mind would leave when it’s g-getting this g-good?

Neither Artoria nor I are sane right now, but who cares.

Same as before. I enter her again, and the sensation of my cock in her makes her roar with unrestrained delight. “F-Faster, M-Masterrr—!”

Artoria wants to trade blows, does she? Then let’s trade them. Even if you’re a Servant, like this I can keep up with you.

The first time is always fastest. Especially on “battle potion.” A dozen full strokes of the moves she wants, and I let her have it. I pull as fast and far out as possible. I grit my teeth and stroke like a madman and whitewater from my super soaker splashes up her body, face and breasts splashed with a manmade mother-of-pearl necklace.

“You, you have bested me, Master,” she says. “But this, this is, is yet merely the f-first round…” Artoria, her face creamy and flushed, crawls over to meet me, and I oblige her and get up on the bed. She takes my gun in hand and opens her mouth, and her tongue dances along the white-dripping barrelhead. This, is…

“ ‘tis fair, Mathtuh,” says she, and her lips suck up and down the barrel, lewd noises crashing against our ears like the distant waves of the beach just down the hill. Drool coats me, and connects her lips with that part of me, and Artoria strokes what bit that she’s able to as she takes me in her mouth, and I get treated to a more and more of her throat with each passing moment. “An ahpuhtoonehtee fuh yew.” She barely, legibly tells me.

An opportunity for what? An opportunity that I already see. Can’t squirt you like this, get my points. Well, I could. But I wanna do it like THIS instead. I pull away, slippery in her touch, using her own tactic against her, and I leapfrog over Artoria to get behind her. On her belly, her butt sticks up, taut and tight and ready.

I take her. She, in such a prone position, I don’t miss this opportunity. It’s not playing dirty, honestly. At least, NOT YET. Artoria’s velvety, wet cunt remains as inviting as ever, and her dazed eyes burn needfully though and at me as we use each other from behind like this.

Artoria’s butthole winks at me as I pull back and forth. I indulge the cheeky thing and press into it with my wet dong. “Ahh! An underha-handed tactic! You! Y-You were the one to look out f-f-for!!” So she says, but obviously without complaint, as she leaks and leaks from between her lips with every stroke into her gut.

This? Playing dirty. NOT YET.

Her bottom is positively royal, yet I again miss that leaking fountain of once-and-future delight. Leavign Artoria’s bottom agape, I return to her and stroke and stroke in and out, and her hips press back more and more against me, as her voice and mine raise.

Betwixt and between rational choice and hungry pillaging, I swap between Artoria’s ass and pussy, indulging in both as quick as I can, making her leak and squirt no matter which one I’m in, regardless of whether I get pushed out by her wonderful contractions as it happens or not.

All the while her hips rise more and more to meet with mine until Artoria is all but face-down into the bed. “Master! MAsterRrR!! Your tactics—! Such manuever’n!!”

I’ve lost track of how many times she’s come. So here’s another one for you, Artoria, and another load is loosed right in her face, getting into her flaxen locks, making those emerald eyes of hers squint.

Even then, the bint, she still looks at me with eyes that couldn’t possibly be hornier. Seems like this match shan’t end so soon.

The sun has started to finally dip below the horizon, and the sheets are soaked. I feel like I went swimming and I haven’t been in the water at all today. Artoria is coated from face to chest to abdomen in rounds and rounds-worth load as we lie there, finally having gotten that “battle potion” out of our systems, and our contest resolved.

“Who… who do you suppose won the match, Mas-ter…?”

Well… If we consider your actions, and mine, and our respective reactions, then…

We could really use a referee.


The startled voice of Mordred Pendragon resounds through the bungalow’s master bedroom, and yet does little to startle us from the lasting hangover of an summer’s afterglow.



“What is this, Father?! And YOU, Master!!? Where the HELL have you been!! It’s been hours!?” Tears sparkle in Mordred’s eyes alongside her clenched fists. “I-I-I’ve been waiting, this whole time…!”


“My invitation! Th-There’s no way you c-couldn’t have seen that, could y-you?!?”

“Oh, that.” Artoria speaks up. “I saw garbage. So I disposed of it.”

“Y-You’re the worst, Father!!”

“O-Our Master’s a beastly brute, anyways! T-Too dangerous for you to handle, m-my s-son!!”

“THE!!! WORST!!!”

With that, summer was over, and the fantasy was shattered.

Welcome back to Chaldea, everyone.

Its the end of the FGO Beach Event, and after running themselves ragged managing the thing and making sure everything worked out, Gudao/Gudako (whichever the writer prefers) decides to spend the final day of the singularity relaxing and unwinding from all the stress when they get an invitation for a sunset beach date by one of the Event Servants [Mordred/Kiyohime/Tamamo/Scathach/Mary&Anne/Artoria/Antoinette] (Pick 1) that has all the ingredients for an unforgettable summer memory.

March 14th, 2017, 02:21 PM
And so it ends.

September 15th, 2018, 01:19 PM
He stroked the ring.

He could have said he stroked the ring as a good luck charm. He could have said he did it to ward off anxiety along with the magic it repelled. He could have said any number of things to justify his handsy habit.

But if he were to be completely honest with himself, if he were to strip away that veneer of respectability and leave the unvarnished truth naked for the world to see…

He stroked the ring to keep his hand busy.

He watched as the war goddess stripped the priestess bare, sliding the robes from her slim shoulders with a grace that spoke of reverence for the mortal. An interesting turnabout, that.

He continued watching as the priestess sighed and turned into the kiss. The kiss. So sudden. So deep. Not a kiss of love. No, not entirely. A kiss of lust. One often begat the other, but there was no love lost or won here.

This was an aegis against entropy. What better to counteract the creeping stench of death than the heady aroma of physical love?

Lancelot of the Lake knew this. He had suffered through enough lectures from the flower mage to know the power and purpose of sex rites.

He knew, and he did not care.

He did not care about the arc of the arcane circle in which the women worked their magic. He did not care that the exchange of fluids imbued each with the power of the other. He did not care that this, the witching hour, had been chosen for its liminal state, capturing the concept of in-between things like lightning in the proverbial bottle.

Lancelot knew, and still he did not care.

Lancleot knew, too, that he had not known a woman’s touch in this incarnation of od. It was a half-existence, this one. So many doors had opened before him to walk again among the living, even as a ghost, but a great many remained closed to him. Or so he told himself.

He thought it somehow improper for two of the Master’s Servants to carry on like this. He should have spoken up. He should have stopped them.

And as he saw the goddess slide the crook of her fingers into Medea’s wet and willing body, the thought was blasted from his skull.

His hands were still upon the ring, but it was a weak and feeble thing, that grip. Grip. When he had he started white-knuckling the ring as if it would keep him from this sweet sin?

Medea’s delicate cheeks had gone rose-red, drunk on Scathach and what she had to offer.

Oh, yes, Lancelot had heard of her prowess from her own pupil and sometime-lover, the Hound. Lancelot had found talk of carnal conquest to be low brow at best. He had tried not to listen just as he tried not to watch.

Oh, but Lancelot, don’t you know what you are the weakest knight of all?

The voice sounded like Merlin, cheshire grinning. The voice sounded like Morgan, peacock preening. The voice sounded like Guinevere, siren singing.

The voice sounded like his own.

Medea was no longer the passive partner. Her lips were locked around Scathach’s heavy left nipple like a child fresh from the womb.

It was obscene, the mingling of childlike innocence and adult pleasures.

But if that was obscene, so was Lancelot, whose hands had strayed yet again. They had strayed from his loyalty to his king and queen. Now they strayed from the ring of enchantment, a symbol of his chastity.

He tugged loose his breeches in a perfect mirror of Medea sliding her hands down the front of Scathach’s body suit to find the place that made seed into child and child into man.

Disgusting. Obscene. Shameful.

The women or himself? Their actions or his own treacherous thoughts?

It should have been hard to keep himself hard with so much self-flagellation intruding into his thoughts, but maybe, just maybe, Merlin had been correct.

A strong woman suits you.

Yes, strong. Who stronger than the Lady of Shadows? Who better than her to ride him, to tame him?

Who better to lock eyes with him in that perfectly prurient moment?

She did not blink. She did not look away.

She knew what he was doing, and she did not care.

And just like that, it was over. The eye contact was broken along with the spell of anxiety. She returned instead to the spell of sensuality, stepping out of the clothes that pooled around her milky thighs like leggings so that she could show Medea and Lancelot the totality of her bounty.

And it was good.

Medea’s breathing quickened. Lancelot set an even more demanding pace.

Scathach saw all of this, knew her power, and smiled.

Seed spilled in shame was not an essential ingredient of this ritual. Far from it, in fact. But she would not refuse it. Let the man have his moment and his shame. Such was the nature of his legend.

What were the ghosts of heroes past but creatures of habit?

Medea practicing a magic sex rite with Scáthach in the open air, with at least one male observer somehow affected by the ritual.

September 15th, 2018, 04:35 PM
Very much appreciated, whoever wrote it! Well worth the wait!