/jp/ - Otaku Culture

(1/1)
—
The snow falls on my face as I make my way home after the meeting in a place I had many controversial feelings about in the past—now, numbness has seeped its way into my every thought, be it meditation or the mere act of eating. All thoughts are of sin, and every sin leads to another and another and the static is deafening…

I look at my feet, careful as I make my way around a narrow passage on the side of the mountain—too mentally strained to fly—Jizo statues sprinkling along the narrow way, as is short vegetation and the occasional falling rock, which I catch.

Above, the moon is red.

I stop.

Darkness surrounds me, and I can barely put my two feet on the passage's floor leading into a tight stairway with no handrails—a dark pit to one side, a monolith slab of mountain wall to the other.

I turn.

A figure stands there, holding two swords, gentle breeze swaying its hair and red moonlight glowing on a protuberant horn. One sword is thrown at me with enough force to rip a mountain apart. I catch it as if just another rock.

I move.

Swords clash immediately, and a thousand years ago, this would've been familiar: holding a sword. It's not anymore and in such closeness, unable to get a proper footing and squeezed against the rock wall, my movements can't follow the finesse of my enemy’s, steel clashing in the silence of the night at a velocity that shreds air as if paper. She stabs, and I deflect—it was a trap, and I have to move backwards, losing ground, climbing the stairs without paying attention, fully focused on the rapid movements, thirsting for skin and blood—

—but a thousand years ago can come back just as easily as they fade away and, with my bandaged grip and titanic strength, I send the enemy stumbling backwards, sweating, turning a weakness in the narrow stairs into an advantage, the sheer might of my swings shaking the very mountain beneath our feet.

Eyes wide, sweat pouring, feet balancing on a trembling mountain, enemy just as vicious, the rage pent-up from what I see now as sacrifices burning as a thousand sulfuric flames, the taste is that of blood and my bandaged arm is fuming—and—

Our swords clash one last time and, in a show of silver, explode, metallic shards glimmering against the red of the moon and the cold of the snow, raining down the mountain.

I'm panting, holding the remaining handle of the sword.

Konngara looks at the metal with placidity—just another facet of the snow—then at her own handle and simply throws it away. Her eyes are on me and, like a thousand years ago, I cannot decipher them. "You used to not be a slave. I wonder what happened." I narrowed my eyes, puzzled. What is s— "Did that little spar made you remember who you truly are, Douji?"

I freeze for a second—a mere second. She scoffs and, skillfully, I recover my breath. "Don't call me that."

"That's your name. The one mother gave you."

"It's the name of a monster that I've sealed—it's Kasen now!"

"Hm… So you aren't a slave to just Yukari." I'm about to cut, guts burning with rage that I gulp down: it tastes acidic and harms immensely. "But a slave's soul cannot be chained down. I'd know—the Underground has changed a lot." I scowl; she ignores it. "But that thing you created, the sword… I can feel it—wrath, unlike anything else. Yukari will lose to that, Okina too… I’ll kill Reimu, her daughter—she is unpredictable—, but her husband will serve as coin. And at the end, we, oni, shall come victorious."

"There's no 'we', Konngara—the Big Four are no more, and Douji is dead." My eyes narrow and, not thinking, I crush the sword handle into dust. Konngara watches. "And if you lay a finger on Reimu or her family, I'll—" Images pop in my head: of Anon thrusting inside of me, the taste of his blood; Hana's messy face between my thighs, and I want to cry—

"—kill me? Do me that favor, Douji. Do it now, if you may."

I stare at her as if she had grown another head, which prompts the oni to laugh.

"Why are you doing this? You're telling me you're planning to betray Yukari." If I tell her all this…

"Are you going to tell your master my plans to stab her heart, Douji?" She asks, tilting her head a little. I don't answer. "I saw it at the vampire's party: a caged beast. Begging to be let out so it can bring forward destruction—one you despise thoroughly yet can't let go of it." She looks at my arm. "You're a slave to 'Kasen', Yukari—and like every slave, you want your master dead. That's why that sword in the Underground exists: to kill them… Because of that, you're not telling her. You want her dead; have the means for it—yet, can't bring yourself to do it, and it was apparent in that little spar of ours. Kasen prefer someone else do it."

She laughs, my fists trembling, chest tight. Rage boiled deep inside.

"That inner fight will be your death, Douji."

She jumped off the mountain, disappearing into the darkness.

The rage was snuffed like a candle, and all that remained was the hollowness of sins and fears.

(1/3)
—
"Calm down, Anon—regulate your breathing, focus your mind!" Despite my words, the sounds filling the room are of flesh on flesh hitting at high speeds. Squatting over him, I sent my hips up and down with no hint of slowing it down, drooling a bit and damping him with my lewd combination of juices, my breasts jumping with the speed, loud moans leaving me as the floor creaks, both my hands on his chest to help with the rhythm; my chain clanking against the floor.

Our bodies were covered in sweat, remarking the excruciatingly good long time we have been in this position, Anon's teeth clenched and eyes closed shut, almost to the point of crying, holding the futon with such force as if trying to rip it apart, chains of light holding him to the ground—all that impulsing my horniness to the moon and increasing the speed in which I slammed my ass against his dick.

"Kasen… please!" He pleaded loudly, but I simply sat down on his dick with might, a painful shout leaving him.

"Training the body is as important as training the mind, Anon—to control it is to control your limits!" I mewl, the tip of his penis hitting that stop and grinding there with such—ah… "With my powers, you have training wheels, but when the true training starts, you'll have to hold it all by yourself! You cannot cum yet, Anon!" I lay on him, crushing my boobs on his chest and smelling the intoxicant smell of 'man', sweat, and sex, fervently kissing him.

An important part of training is enjoying it, after all~

For ten more unstoppable minutes the training goes on, our bodies red with the heat, cramps only prevented by magic. But Anon is on his absolute limit, so I slowly release the chains holding his orgasm at bay, the light around his wrists exploding. As if a switch had been turned, his hands fly to my hips, squashing them before starting to slam his dick inside repeatedly, holding my body still and just pumping and pumping, and oh, oh~

Clasping my hair, I have to support my entire body straight as I finally let myself cum, legs quivering and trying to cross with each other, another layer of utter control on my mind as to keep my strength at bay—if I lost concentration and cross them, my thighs will cut Anon's lower half-life a scissor going through a sheet of paper. The danger; my womb being filled to the brim with ropes of thick cum and the dispersing warmth of an outrageously long session of unstoppable throttling—training, oh, training—on his dick reaches its end… All make me reach heaven, even if for a moment.

I pull myself out of his dick, a loud 'plop' echoing as a line of cum drips from my soaked pussy, legs yet to stop quaking, body a bit bent forward, breathing as if drowning—yet a smile paints my face. My hands shuffle a bit with my hair drenched in sweat before I can properly express, "You did great today, Anon! Your body will be made of steel in no time!"

Anon doesn't answer, hands hiding his face, body shaking still. Oh, he's recomposing himself? So cute~

"We'll get down to mind training tomorrow, 'kay? Then we'll have all the basics covered!" Ignoring my post-sex state, I walk towards the veranda with a smile, giving Anon a side-eye. "I'll be outside refreshing myself—if you wanna join me for an after-session, feel free~"

I don't wait for an answer; I just leave, waling to the pond behind the fake shrine, murmuring a lullaby, the sun shimmering on my sweat-covered skin… It takes ten seconds before my body starts to shake, my pace on the reddening grass unsure. By the time my legs sink into the pond, tears stream down my face, eyes wide, hands over my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

It happened again. I thought it wouldn't, but it did. I try to clean myself in the pond, semen dripping from my femininity, but it amounts to nothing. It happened again… I—

"You lost control again~" A voice comes from behind, and in the span of a second, I'm ready to fight—though, in the next one, my eyes narrow with spite, and I cover my exposed breasts. Yukari giggles, not trying to hide her gaze. "My, my—what a weak sage—"

"What did you do to me?"

"Me? I did nothing, my friend—I simply used the pieces at my reach." Cold words congest my throat, begging to be let out, but any courage I have goes down with my tears. Her laughter drips venom. "Poor Ibaraki Kasen, raping her former protégé's husband, all because of a simple mistake. Adorable." She spins her umbrella carefree, her smile crawling on my back like a demon.

But rationally speaks louder; "… Mistake?"

She giggles, and I feel caught in a web; "Have you ever considered what is evil to an 11-year-old, my poor Kasen? There's wrath, of course; greed, even though hypocritical, indeed; sloth, pride, gluttony—all those come from your true form had in batches, now sealed inside your arm by an 11-year-old who also experienced those evils too… But you know what an 11-year-old should never experience?" I freeze as understanding befalls me—Yukari smiles like a devil; “Lust~”