Previous Post:
>>/others/64814 ###
###
###
Your eyes open as the door does. The very second a figure steps through the threshold, you reach into the gap between the sofa cushions, pull out your pistol, and aim directly at the intruder’s large bosom. “Take one more step and you’re dead,” you call out to her. “Who are you, and what’s your business?”
A young woman with long, pale blue hair frowns at you. “Keine Kamishirasawa, entering her own home. That is, if you don’t mind.”
Your grip relaxes, and you lower your weapon. “Don’t scare me like that,” you admonish her. “I thought I told you to knock?”
Keine drops her giant schoolbag on the floor and begins to take off her shoes. “And I thought I told
you: it would look ridiculous for me to knock. What would the neighbors think if they saw? Attracting any kind of attention is the last thing we need to do right now. Until I get a chance to fix things, you’re the top suspect in a serial murder case.” After both of her black shoes hit the floor, she wiggles her pale toes and breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Perhaps I could get a massage? It’s been a long day.”
You hide your gun again and go back to laying down on the couch. “No thanks.”
Even though you’ve turned away from her, she marches right up to the couch and peers over your back. “Your eyes are so dark. Have you been sleeping?”
If only you could. “Trying to,” you reply dimly.
Keine stares at you for a moment, and then kneels down. She reaches out and touches the top of your head, moving her long fingers gently through your hair. “You can’t go on like this. You need to sleep eventually.”
Her touch feels nice — so warm and gentle you could melt — but it’s not what you need right now. You shake her off and sit up. “What I need to do is make dinner. You’re probably hungry, aren’t you?”
Undeterred, Keine’s hand moves to your shoulder instead — which prevents you from fleeing to the kitchen. “I’m serious,” she says. “You look awful. It’s almost been a week since… you started staying here. If you really can’t sleep, then I can pick up some sleeping pills—”
“I’m not taking any pills,” you argue. “I have to be alert.” She continues to stare at you, in that stubborn way she does that forces you to keep going. “Every time I try to sleep, I keep thinking about her. I slip in and out, reliving it all. ”
Keine releases your shoulder and stands back up, over you. “My offer still stands,” she tells you firmly. “If you tell me everything that happened, I could devour that history. Then you wouldn’t be able to remember what
she did. You could go back to your life and live in blissful ignorance as a simple widower. As it stands, the events you won’t tell me about are too closely-linked to… what you had to do. You’ll be the only one who remembers, and even that will significantly weaken the hold my power has over everyone else.”
You groan. “What a useless mind-erasing ability.”
For a moment you think you might eat a headbutt, but instead she just huffs. “I told you, it’s not mind-erasing! It’s concealing events. I’m basically throwing a blanket over history and hoping nobody pulls it off. It’s very delicate! And it doesn’t help if someone’s still under the blanket making a fuss about it!”
For an educator, her analogies leave something to be desired. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” you tell her. “I’m fine with this. I want to remember who she
really was, and I want to remember my own part in it. If I forget that, then what did those girls die for?”
“But you don’t have to bear that wei—”
“And then there’s the tengu,” you continue. “I’ll
never forgive them. They were the ones who started all of this.”
Keine heaves a great sigh. “Now see, you still haven’t told me what they’ve done. If I don’t know what happened, I can’t help you.”
Even in her personal affairs, she has a habit of acting like a teacher. You raise yourself off of the couch — with more than a little gloom and weariness slowing you down — and start toward the kitchen. “Good,” you tell her. “You’ve helped me far more than I deserve already. Just forget about it. Fried rice sound good?”
You’re stopped by a pair of arms wrapping around your chest and pulling you backward into something soft — two things, really. “It doesn’t sound good,” Keine murmurs sadly into your ear. “None of this is good.”
You let her cling to you for a few moments. It would take more energy than you have right now to get her off of you. “Just the same as when we dated in school,” you remark without turning around. “Always so touchy-feely. Your breasts are bigger now though, which is nice.”
Unfortunately, her hold on you only tightens, increasing the pressure on your back. “I don’t care if you want to push me away,” she says. “I’m going to help you, because you deserve happiness.”
Those words should be sweet, but all you can think about are mutiliated bodies — not from the crime scenes, but in that accursed cellar, writhing in agony for days, months — years, probably. That sick bitch. That twisted sick bitch.
“I don’t deserve a damned thing,” you decide. “The woman I loved was a hideous monster. The blood that was on her hands is on mine as well. I should have known. I could have stopped it.”
Keine speaks softly into your back. “You’re going to blame yourself, because that’s the kind of person you are. But, it’s not your fault. I think you know that. You’re hurt. You’re confused. You need time to heal.”
Whether or not she meant for you to reply, you stay quiet. She lets go. You turn to see if she’s crying — and it’s your mistake. Her eyes may be wet, but they’re also determined. “The full moon is tonight,” she reminds you. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do from now on?”
You haven’t quite made it to the point where you shift your gaze towards the future instead of back at your past. “I don’t.”
“Then stay here,” she offers. “I can make you a new identity. You could have all the time you need.” Then she smiles meekly. “And I could be here for you.”
Even if she doesn’t mean it that way now, you know what will become of it — and rekindling your relationship with Keine is the worst possible thing that could happen right now. She’s been a big help, and your only reliable ally, but the time has come for you to leave. It’s a cruel thing to do, but all you can reply with is, “I’ll think about it.”
She insisted on making dinner. It wasn’t very good. You both ate quietly.
###
You awake with a start, and the first thing you feel is the layer of sweat on your body. You’re still on Keine’s couch. She must have put a blanket on you, and you quickly throw it off with annoyance. The blanket is why you were sweating — not the gory and tormenting illusions that have relentlessly hounded your conscious and unconscious mind. Those had
nothing to do with it at all. You’re fine now, or so you tell yourself.
After dinner, you remember that you laid back down on the couch while Keine graded papers like usual. She didn’t say much — mostly self-directed murmurs of discontent at a student’s progress. You were supposed to feign sleeping until she went into her bedroom to prepare for the full moon, and then slip out unnoticed. Instead, judging from the pale light flowing into an otherwise pitch-black room, it seems you actually did drift off for several hours. That puts you in a far more vulnerable position. Getting caught by normal Keine would be annoying, but a Keine
influenced by the full moon would be a disaster.
You slowly lift yourself from the sofa and creep across the living room. Your light feet are an incredible boon in times like this. Step by careful step you make your way to the door and grab her spare slippers; you didn’t have any shoes when you came here, so you’ll have to steal a pair of hers. Fortunately, her feet are pretty large for a woman — and yours are slightly on the small side — so it isn’t much of a squeeze.
“I knew you would try leaving.”
Your body freezes like you might as well have been caught robbing her blind. Your first thought is to throw yourself through the door and hope she’s still ashamed enough of her condition to not follow you into the streets, but you know damn well she would stop you before it even reached that point.
There’s no choice but to turn and behold a tall, hardened woman with skin so pale it seems to glow when bathed in the light of the full moon. Her normally straight-and-proper blue hair has become a messy, light green mane, and her irises are saturated with a piercing crimson. Two wickedly-sharp horns extend from the top of her head and curve inward toward each other like a bull — or a demon.
It’s the worst possible outcome.
“So strange,” she continues, slowly taking steps toward you. “I relied on you so much back then, on nights like these. Yet, only when I try to help you in turn do you run away. You are a difficult man to comprehend, even when I can so clearly see you.”
Her tone is totally different. She isn’t sweetly considerate or lightly scolding you. Instead, Keine is ice cold. This isn’t another personality or identity of hers — as if it would be that simple. Instead, the powers she gains on the full moon grant her insight that changes her inside and out. When you both were younger, she would fly into a rage and lash out against those unfortunate enough to witness the spectacle, but now she channels her ability into a bitter, calculating persona. Of course, your own influence might be to blame for that.
“Gawking?” she asks, as she stands above you. “It has been a long time since you’ve seen me like this.”
Indeed it has. From this angle, the dark green robe she has loose draped on her body offers her little — if any — modesty. Her sizable breasts are unbound, with nipples just barely covered. Despite the tantalizing sight, the real eye-catcher is the wild patch of thick, green pubic hair that seems to integrate seamlessly with the bushy tail peeking out from beneath her robe.
Finally you feel like you can move and speak, so you stand up. “You’re a beautiful woman, Ke—”
“
Silence.”
Never mind. Her red eyes peer into your own. This piercing gaze is what you recognize as her “searching” through history — your history, at the moment. Any record of you, or rather, any public perception of you and how it came about is now within her grasp.
Keine blinks. Then, she sighs. “I’m so beautiful, and yet you flee without anywhere to go. I won’t be having that.”
The faintest grin crosses her lips, but to you it might as well be a living nightmare. “Keine, I can’t stay here,” you tell her. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to fight this. You of all people should understand that there’s a dark side to this city’s history that even you can’t see. My life is over. There’s no use in dragging you down with me.”
Keine’s eyes drift downward. She’s smart enough to know what you’re saying is true. All she has to do is come to terms with it and let you go. And you know she has a strong enough heart to do that now. You smile in a rare display of consideration, and then turn to leave.
But then something crashes into the back of your head and knocks you to the ground.
“I understand perfectly well,” you hear Keine say. “But you don’t.”
###
You aren’t the type of person to close your eyes and hope that this is all a dream, but lately you’ve been doing that more and more.
However, eventually you have to open your eyes and face reality:
You just aren’t that good with women.
The sensations set in. Something hot and heavy is on top of you, straddling your bare crotch. The raw, hot feeling of being inside someone is strangling your dick, and you can feel her coarse hair rubbing against your own.
“Keine,” you croak, “why are you doing this?”
Her flushed face and moist, red eyes look down on your own. “Because,” she replies before a satisfied moan, “you wouldn’t.”
Your first instinct is to free yourself, but the feral grip of her large, clawed hands on your shoulders make that impossible. You have no idea where your gun is — as if that would matter. The trigger she has her finger on is far deadlier.
In a vain attempt to take your mind off your genitals, you glance around Keine’s bedroom. The dim repository of both old, dusty scrolls and new, hardcover books reminds you of her room in school — in fact, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was a bedroom if it weren’t for the small bed tucked into the corner, beyond stacks of books and papers. It appears her fanatical reading habit hasn’t lessened despite her new job as a schoolteacher. On her wall, you notice her three treasures, replicas of a legendary sword, mirror, and orb.
Keine slams down on your waist particularly hard, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body that you try to shut out. You’re not going to let yourself enjoy this. It’s all too fucked up.
Whatever’s happened to Keine to cause this, you have to talk her out of this. “Is this what you’re going to do to our history?” you beseech her, staring her straight in the eyes. “Does our friendship mean nothing to you any more?”
Keine’s nails sink deeper into your shoulders, and you feel blood start to leak out. Her lips draw close to your ear as she murmurs through erratic grunts and moans, “I’m doing this
for our friendship. I’ll create our new history myself — and it’ll start with our child!”
The weight of her body becomes even heavier, forcing you into the floor as she grinds her hips into yours with all instinct and no grace. Your member is imprisoned by the tight grip of her sex — never allowed to stray far from the entrance to her womb.
She’s dead serious. It’s hard to even recognize her as she desperately bounces up and down on you, trying to milk a kid — and a family — out of you. “You’ve completely succumbed to your beast side,” you tell her. “You’ve become the monster you fought against all your life.”
Her hands move to your throat — but not tightening yet. “Be quiet,” she warns you, before switching to a pleasure-drunk smile. “I love you.”
Hearing those words from you makes your stomach churn. “I never doubted Kotohime loved me in her own twisted way,” you reply bitterly. “Not even at the very end. This isn’t lo—”
Keine’s hands tighten, crushing your voice. “
Shut up,” she demands, her red eyes lights up. “
And love me.”
She’s really going to do it. There’s no more reaching her with your words. Instead, you’ll have to reach her with your actions. Your hands are free, so you wrap your arms around her smooth back, causing her to respond with a hopeful “Ah?”
Then you pull her down into your crotch, thrusting into her with your hips as you do so, elliciting a honeyed moan from the beast. WIth gooey eyes she attacks your face, slipping her tongue into your mouth and thrashing it about wildly. You can feel — and then taste — the salty tears on her face.
It all makes you want to vomit.
You lurch forward, causing her to release her hands and let you reverse your positions. Now you’re on top, looking down into her gleeful eyes. “It worked,” she remarks between unstable laughter. “I can’t believe it. We can finally be together.”
You slam your hips into hers, trying to match the ferocity with which she attacked you. Every mental faculty is spent maintaining a hold on your ejaculate as she cries out again and again. Her juices leak from her body and drip down your manhood, then your thighs, as you rock back and forth trying to satisfy her as quickly as you can before you lose your grip on yourself.
Releasing now would mean releasing your very being. Past that point, there would be no helping Keine — or yourself. The history of being a family would be set, and you aren’t even sure whether or not that would be a bad thing. There would be no more Kotohime, no more conspiracies, and no need for atonement. You would be placed into whatever storybook fantasy Keine wanted, and probably be much better off than the alternative.
“I’m cumming!” you tell Keine, as you speed up the pace of your thrusts.
Her legs wrap around your backside, drawing you in even closer. Her claws rake against your back. “Me too!” she replies. “I love you so much!”
You charge into her as hard as you can, penetrating as deep as possible as she begins to climax. Her muscles twitch and converse, while her nails dig painfully into the back of your shoulders. She gasps for breath uncontrollably, face burning red, as her eyes well over with tears.
Then she releases, and you pull out.
The only fluids trailing off your member, however, are her own. You successfully restrained yourself.
So you rise, grab the round mirror from her wall, and bring it down as hard as you can on top her head. Then again, and again, and again — until all that’s left of the mirror are bloody shards.
You look down on her body, now unconscious and covered with a mixture of sweat, blood, and sex. There isn’t much time before she recovers, so you hurriedly find your clothes, and then your gun, and rush out of her bedroom.
As you go out the front door, you convince yourself that you don’t hear sobbing.
###
###
###
