The petite, silver-haired Taoshi manacled to the wall squirms, legs shaking beneath her stuck-out ass. The disciplining chamber stinks of sex. Gnashing my teeth, I drive my hips forward, closer – ever closer – to that round, pearly bottom. The Taoshi’s thighs tremble, their insides runny with slick arousal.

“Nn—aaay,” she whines down the collar of her loosened outer cloak. “Nay so deeeep… hnn!”

Her pleas fall on large yet deaf ears. There is no halting the punishment. I push on, each jaw-setting moment seeing more and more of my rigid shaft vanish among the creases and folds of the Tao woman’s obedient pussy. Instincts – primal, youkai instincts to terrorise and dominate – vie in my head with the senses of loyalty and duty to my Acharya saviour. The horny, female moaning lends itself to but one of these. I continue the slow insertion even so. Until the root. Until my bare, engorged glans presses up against the mouth of the Taoshi’s virgin womb.

Only then, I give in to the masculine feeling of conquest. With my penis threatening to get her with child should she but disobey, I raise a palm… and then clap it solidly on the Tao woman’s defenceless behind.

A throaty, feminine cry rattles the disciplining room’s window shutters. Another chases it out under the barred, basement doors once I spank the other hemisphere of the Taoshi’s splendid ass. They are everything but repentant.

“… Will you now apologise, Scourge?” I try, not believing it overmuch myself.

The Scourge, Toyosatomimi’s hound, Mononobe Futo, screws up enough of her faculties to smirk back at my one-eyed face over her shoulder. “… Wood Boddhist,” she mocks, despite her insides wringing wetly around me. “Thinkest thou this enow? To me with yon long, hardy cock of thine sentence? Thou shalt woeful twice… nay, thrice thy seed in me plant afore I thine of might orts acknowledge!”

“Won’t be too difficult,” I grunt in reply.

Thread the previous: >>39853

Sequel to >>40675 & >>40692 (& refers to others)

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||


I have been afflicted.

“Curse” could be the wrong word to use. After all, my new condition could be construed in a more complex way than “well, Odou, you’ve rolled a bad pair of dice, you’ve drawn the wrong hand, you’ve been put in the proverbial shit”.

It’s complicated.

“Hahh... it’s complicated,” I lament, my voice echoing throughout the room.

I became the target of a whimsical god.

Somewhat follows >>40675

Previous Thread: >>38360

[x] Play around a little. You’ve still got some frustration to work out on your would-be ‘lover.’
[x] Blast Mystia with your orgasm beam for so long, and make her cum so hard, that Mystia reaches a level of pleasure and ecstasy she never thought possible.
　- [x] Tell Mystia that we will never use the orgasm beam on her ever again unless she never tries to rape us ever again, and does whatever we say for the rest of her life.

You can’t help the evil twitch at the edge of your lips. You give Mystia’s leash a tug and she approaches, one timid step at a time. You lean in close, feeling her excited breath wash over you again. “Close your eyes.”

Her eyes flutter closed as she puckers her lips. You wait only a second before you bring the ball to her lips and press. Her brow furrows and her stubborn lips twitch. Her eyes open, questioning, or perhaps pleading. You push and for another rebellious moment she resists. Then she allows the ball to slide behind her lips and through her teeth until it hits her throat, stretching her jaw wide open to accommodate its sheer, curving girth.

Satisfied, you step around her and pull at the straps, buckling it tight against her head.

You run your fingers across the rigid frame of her wings. She groans a quiet, muffled protest. You hum, rubbing the crescent depressions. No response. Your hand slides back up, out, and down, eliciting a shiver as you hit the base. You smile as your tone drops close to menacing. “Say, Mystia, did I ever tell you how I managed to satisfy Wriggle?”

“Hwogh…” She shivers.

The aloof face of the Moon slides up the night sky over the shrine’s roof. The many feminine voices of the flower-viewing party out front are no more than a muted, drunken buzz. A nature-gazing party after dusk sounded a dull idea when brought up first, but the guests have readjusted their attentions as appropriate. When you go back far enough, hops are nature too.

It is with that thought uppermost in my mind that I refocus my own attention on the natural beauty before me. Seated on the back porch of her home, Hakurei Reimu, the shrine maiden of Gensokyo, peeks up at me – pink of face but calm. I rather expected she would call our “breather” off at the first interruption, but no. Instead, she holds the bottom edge of her short, Summer vest pulled up to her chin and says,

“Just the wind. Go on, keep at it. I haven’t all night.”

I nod my assent and wrap my fingers back around my unsated erection. Reimu’s gorgeous, keen eyes lock onto my selfish motions, and she leans back to present me with an even clearer view of her nude chest. There is a certain underbite in her expression, a controlled annoyance, as I resume stroking myself to the sights and shapes of her nudity. It is an underbite I understand. A servant ought never to be serviced by their master. A shrine maiden should never leave her charges to play around. It is why, I imagine, we are both a smidge jumpy. It is why, I presume, Reimu’s cheeks are flushed pink… and her nipples stiff and cherry-red from arousal.

At the back of my preoccupied mind, the wilful little miss Reimu whom I met once years before at somebody else’s behest refuses to concede. She refuses to accept she is one and the same as the ripe, young woman now tamely baring her tits for a man behind her shrine while a besotted reception goes merrily on in her front yard – precluding her supervision. Nor am I without trace mistrust. The Reimu I am gratifying myself to is little no more. Her slim, girlish hips have widened, readying her for childbirth. Her breasts have plumped out beyond even the largest palm-size. Her tongue has taken on an e

Content warning (tags, if you will) below the story post

______

Satori Komeiji trembled in inexplicable excitement. Today was it. The day. The momentous day, after nearly a year of sending Rin out to cajole, market, hawk her mistresses’ services to any who would hear. Even Satori herself, if asked, could not tell why she’d put so much effort into this project of hers, and would balk at looking inwards at it. In her heart of hearts, she knew the intentions were not wholly pure.

Regardless, now it was done. All she could do now was wait for her mark. She tapped her desk, bit at her nails, kicked her legs, got up and paced back and forth at regular intervals. Rin would laugh if she saw her master acting as such, for certain, but Satori could not contain herself. It was a wonder and a testament to Koishi and Rin’s skill that she had achieved it at all. Luring a young girl into the den of the most hated youkai to freely talk about their problems specifically should have been near impossible, but time and insistence were on the mind reader’s side. She knew first hand that Rin was a tremendous talent at getting what she wanted and annoying people, and there were a number of good arguments going for her, after all. She knew many people’s secrets already, and had never let a single one pass her lips without very good excuse. She’d been very well behaved in all fronts, ever since the underground was unsealed a good year ago. All in all, she’d made herself as trustworthy as she could have.

She paced again, running a hand through her messy hair and took a sip of her strong wine, calming herself as best she could. It was only the first session, and she wasn’t burdened with any over malicious thoughts. Only an edge, a blackened thorn in the corner of her mind that, unbeknownst to her, would come to grow and corrupt her mind into the one thing she didn’t want to become, the very fear that others held when they beheld her, ever since she was a flesh-eating, uncivilized stripling, running wild with her sister.

But for the time, no such thing went through her head. She was helping, yes, helping the poor girls of Gensokyo, burdened as t

Previous thread >>33941

Cosplay threads are not hot, that's what we don't want to see.
So this time, let's start with Musou Kaihou.
Hardmode
http://g.e-hentai.org/g/768449/3a71a50152/
Extramode
http://g.e-hentai.org/g/768709/49b0377bc1/

Well, no lunaticmode.

Youmu Konpaku had a broad education. She’d taken studies at the Konpaku School of Swordsmanship, been to lady Saigyouji’s Cookery Seminary, and was now a postgraduate at the Hakugyokurou Academy of Gardening. The count of things her swords, Roukanken and Hakurouken, youkai-forged, couldn’t cut was only forerun by those which hadn’t passed under her kitchen knives. There was not a fern or flower in the dead-realm she mightn’t name, none she couldn’t nurture into blooming. She was a warrior-servant, the best Konpaku loins had ever produced.

And she was fighting a losing battle with her own face when lady Yuyuko swished into the room. The vague widening of her lavender eyes might have been a trick of the dim lighting, or it might’ve been surprise at the two half-phantoms awaiting her at the table, one in the other’s lap. She moved on, graceful as the Sun-warm winds of the dead-realm, until seated opposite from her fantastic attendants. There was a soft, dignified cough and a faint, endearing smile.

“… Well?” lady Yuyuko said in her silvern voice. “Was there something requiring my attention?”

The older, wiser of the half-phantoms spoke first, his jolly, middle-aged voice rumbling behind and above Youmu’s left ear. “Certainly, certainly, ma’am,” he confirmed. “Yes, indeed. Yet before we rejoice you with these jubilant news… Youmu?

In his lap, the young Youmu Konpaku jolted to attention. She brought forth an obedient smile and plastered it to the front of her face with all the self-possession she could muster, which was not a great deal. The core of the warrior-servant understood the idea; the extremities of her body had their own. The busy, pantiless one underneath her skirt most of all.

Master Youki granted his student a moment’s mercy before prompting, “… Youmu?”

And Youmu, still a trifle jittery, complied, “Yes. Yes, um… thank you, lady Yuyuko, for all your tender care and patronage until now. This Youmu Konpaku is indebted. W—We do, however, have an announcement in regard to my tute