All art used here are under fair use.
Monday, July 29, 2019
Wednesday, July 24, 2019
Sunday, July 21, 2019
Monday, July 15, 2019
Saturday, July 13, 2019
Thursday, July 4, 2019
Monday, July 1, 2019
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Thursday, June 13, 2019
Friday, May 31, 2019
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
A Prince[ss] TG
So much has the 765 Production gone through since the arcade game in 2005 and the anime in 2011...
All art used here are under fair use.
Monday, May 27, 2019
Bunny Girls' Patron Disillusionment
5/17
Just got a new job offer from a firm in this town, a few hours from my new place. It’s not just the job (10% pay rise and even more month on month) that matters - the social circle will be far wider than what I’ll ever get back on the spot of my old job.
7/2
The first paycheck from the job. Hours of overtime, team work and devotion later, we have, for now, genuine results and cold, hard earnings. If our team hadn’t the kind of mutual coordination and collaboration, most of our accomplishments already gained by a newly-formed team would be nigh impossible.
It’s probably time for some of the cash to go into a (premature) celebration. Or later when I know of more places to reward myself then – more delaying of gratification for me.
7/6
A lot are to be had here – a few drinks for the usual (late) Friday night, some small talks on the girls (some would rather avoid though for sufficiently serious reasons) and exchanging all the work and leisure tips.
From what I’ve heard, if a male hasn’t dined in Beautiful Neverland, he can’t call himself a native. This is what I’ve heard from all my colleagues who’ve at least some experience with flirting and being flirted – so a premises with both dining and flirting. And good bunny girls, most emphasized.
Without any girlfriend looking on to with jealous eyes, I’m free to take a meal inside and see for myself, whether the floppy-eared waitresses being heart-throbbing or not. But for this time, the first time at the place, I’m keeping my chill there.
7/7
An early enough leave from the workplace, and half an hour later, I was facing the stump building housing Beautiful Neverland, in the best part of the town. Other than the café on the ground floor, the building doesn’t seem to have any other establishments occupying the floors above – meaning that 2 of the floors are used by the café for some unadvertised purposes, probably staff lodging or… extra services? Yeah, the windows were mostly shuttered by dark blinds, which might partly validate my suspicions
I could confirm a lot of the common reasons why it’s popular with most of the male workers around me from the reviews I noted online – quality food (best beefsteak and pasta around) is one, but the bunny girls are the main attraction. They’re compliant, flirty and offer a tongue-in-cheek experience not provided elsewhere. The girls are valuable enough assets to the café that, once inside the dimly lit interior, a boorish suited “butler” kept an eye on each and every entrant, both keeping the girls from too much unwarranted contact or from… deep intrusion? His gaze was a bit disconcerting to those already having bad intentions towards those salacious figures. A lot of other diners here was apparently engaged with the bunny girls, though, despite this.
I would now see the charisma of this café for myself, then. As soon as I signaled, one of the many leather-clad girls hurried to my table – not an average girl, but the second most famed. If “almond eyes”, well-sized breasts and slightly caramel-colored skin were good, racist identifiers (no offense to her anyway), she stood out quite a bit from the other, paler “bombshells” (why aren’t there more Asian bunny waitresses or girls of other varieties?). She had the kind of mild, natural mist of charismatic beauty some other girls (as I saw) lacked.
“My name is Heather, how may I serve you today?” As much as some of the more waitress-focused reviews briefed me beforehand, I was serendipitous to recognize that one of the most valuable bunny girls in the café was serving me. But since this should have been a bunny café more than a place for carnal pleasures, it was better to have the menu than asking for anything else. Then, of course, I preferred beef flesh before human flesh, so I ordered a medium steak in their signature style. As she jogged away, the bottom twisting and leg swinging were just thinly-covered additions to my forthcoming meal – Surprisingly, she was slightly less active in alluring the seated, sexually prepared men, since being frequently requested for “special services” directly had done a number on her motivation to seek out new “special customers”.
A while later, the same Heather returned with the sizzling plate in her pair of gloved hands, the unblemished face reclining a bit to avoid the popping beef fat from sticking onto her olive skin. My focus was on the plate, not on her face or the figure though. Time for some commenting – the texture of beef was well-preserved without unwarranted toughening or softening, with most of the juice locked inside; garnishes were mildly but appropriately grilled, and the potato was delightful for a lover like me. Definitely worth the 9.1 rating, if not for the bunny girls.
And the bunny girls, like Heather? Some critical people might say the whole “sexualizing the figure in a costume” thing is degrading, but then, they are just trying to earn a basic income as a waitress, some extra cash with their figures and the bunny costume, and a hefty premium with a few select customers’ “special” favor…
7/8
The night at Beautiful Neverland is forgettable but mesmerizing. I didn’t ask for anything more than a meal. While some stayed behind and entered the stairs with some of their associated bunny waitresses, I left for my own business, yet the mental imprint was far more than whatever sexual gratification I could have extracted from Heather. The immense atmosphere of implicit and explicit copulation in the middle of affluence, thinly veiled with the menu of a café. Many will be returning, but not me – having their meals once is enough for my taste buds and pouch, and I am still proudly single, taking advantage of the bunny girls’ bodies or not.
9/15
Rumors are around that, the senior of in our hierarchy visited Beautiful Neverland privately, the same bunny café I went to in July.
As far as I could make out, It was nothing out of the ordinary – closely matching, moment by moment, my own time at the café. Until he decided on being which bunny girl would be serving him – both as the waitress and as the most wanted mistress upstairs.
The bunny girl came, in a rather nondescript way – the same pitch-black bunny suit, the cups only slightly clutching her full, bouncing mammaries and the natural curves being neatly fit. The lighter pantyhose and needle fingers were just as enticing. Her ribbons matched her hair color, instead of the usual red of the lesser ones.
Even before the “special services” he ordered, she was already being impatient in seeking ways to please him – speaking words laden with sexual innuendo, inviting him to have a gratuitous night of pleasures with her, and position herself even with her plates with her sleek figure, said the ones spreading his news.
After the brief meal, they left upstairs, behind a closed room and tight shutters… Thus went the whole night, him being seen wearily entering the workplace the next morning.
Those known by the rumor mill (I’m not talking those there, not in my interest to criticize my senior too deeply) are just the least of the innumerable sexual acts that got out of his mostly secret time in the rooms upstairs – no one knows all the expletions he had done with Violet any better than the senior himself. There’s no more good fussing over this except for the fun of themselves…
9/20
The rumors have gotten even more heated - Beautiful Neverland’s hiring procedures are a bit shady, sure, but this particular rumor online is even more absurd.
There are male patrons, female patrons and naturally an all-female bunny girl staff in the café, plus the bearish guard, Mr. Wilson. Now, there are nothing off with the patrons and seeming not the bunny girls. But when I said shady hiring procedures, it’s not just coercion – a lot of girls and men voluntarily sign up by themselves and try gaining a place in the café. For the female newcomers, their social traces are being lighter as some are getting lodgings upstairs or integrating closely with the circle of the bunny girls – but for males, they either got the reply to the effect of the café not hiring, say they failed the interview in the interview, or – this is the crack where the rumor can seep in – disappear. Any trace of their activities, right after presumably being hired.
There are only bunny girls working for the café, and the stout man watching over them. He must know something the patrons don’t know.
Something about the males fading from their old self, and new bunny girls coming out from nowhere – without any records at the government or social history.
This is getting to tinfoil hat level of crazy. What are those making up this cruel, denigrating joke up to?
9/22
Following the thread, those naysayers are getting into the race to identify the “gender transformed” among bunny girls of the café.
Their common victim? Violet, the champion of the café’s safe and explicit businesses. Linking her to a disappeared male model named Zacharias Begnone. This second-rate name was rather active on the masculine modelling scene almost a decade back, but lately (before the alleged disappearance) had been rather disengaged from the industry. It was after the date of his last sighting when Violet started to be seen in the café, as a bunny girl.
A few others have been implicated, but none attract the attention as the most “whorish” girl of Beautiful Neverland. What could have been worse than having your entire existence discredited?
But then, that night of my senior would gain an extra layer of perversion – it might be better for me to turn my head against Beautiful Neverland, with all the fuzz and legends surrounding it.
9/24
The senior who went to the café left the position of our project. The reason? “Pursuing better opportunities”, or because he’s in jeopardy with Violet. He has to go with his reputation ruined.
9/25
It’s not just him resigning – in fact, contacting him seems to be impossible. The number is dead, the email’s gone, and he doesn’t even bother to clean up his old office. From one of my co-workers, he was last seen going to Beautiful Neverland, in a suit, with what might have been his resume as far as the coworker gleamed…
10/12
Yes, the senior is now a bunny girl. The investigating coworker had a meal in the café, and the new bunny girl, a tall blonde, immediately recognized him. She pulled him aside after the meal, kissed him, and murmured her biggest secret to him. No prize for guessing what the confession was.
So the online rumors were true, after all. They have a way to turn all the male job applicants into bunnies of the opposite gender, and I won’t ever approach near the damned 3-story building.
This is my part of a trade with someone on DeviantArt
Just got a new job offer from a firm in this town, a few hours from my new place. It’s not just the job (10% pay rise and even more month on month) that matters - the social circle will be far wider than what I’ll ever get back on the spot of my old job.
7/2
The first paycheck from the job. Hours of overtime, team work and devotion later, we have, for now, genuine results and cold, hard earnings. If our team hadn’t the kind of mutual coordination and collaboration, most of our accomplishments already gained by a newly-formed team would be nigh impossible.
It’s probably time for some of the cash to go into a (premature) celebration. Or later when I know of more places to reward myself then – more delaying of gratification for me.
7/6
A lot are to be had here – a few drinks for the usual (late) Friday night, some small talks on the girls (some would rather avoid though for sufficiently serious reasons) and exchanging all the work and leisure tips.
From what I’ve heard, if a male hasn’t dined in Beautiful Neverland, he can’t call himself a native. This is what I’ve heard from all my colleagues who’ve at least some experience with flirting and being flirted – so a premises with both dining and flirting. And good bunny girls, most emphasized.
Without any girlfriend looking on to with jealous eyes, I’m free to take a meal inside and see for myself, whether the floppy-eared waitresses being heart-throbbing or not. But for this time, the first time at the place, I’m keeping my chill there.
7/7
An early enough leave from the workplace, and half an hour later, I was facing the stump building housing Beautiful Neverland, in the best part of the town. Other than the café on the ground floor, the building doesn’t seem to have any other establishments occupying the floors above – meaning that 2 of the floors are used by the café for some unadvertised purposes, probably staff lodging or… extra services? Yeah, the windows were mostly shuttered by dark blinds, which might partly validate my suspicions
I could confirm a lot of the common reasons why it’s popular with most of the male workers around me from the reviews I noted online – quality food (best beefsteak and pasta around) is one, but the bunny girls are the main attraction. They’re compliant, flirty and offer a tongue-in-cheek experience not provided elsewhere. The girls are valuable enough assets to the café that, once inside the dimly lit interior, a boorish suited “butler” kept an eye on each and every entrant, both keeping the girls from too much unwarranted contact or from… deep intrusion? His gaze was a bit disconcerting to those already having bad intentions towards those salacious figures. A lot of other diners here was apparently engaged with the bunny girls, though, despite this.
I would now see the charisma of this café for myself, then. As soon as I signaled, one of the many leather-clad girls hurried to my table – not an average girl, but the second most famed. If “almond eyes”, well-sized breasts and slightly caramel-colored skin were good, racist identifiers (no offense to her anyway), she stood out quite a bit from the other, paler “bombshells” (why aren’t there more Asian bunny waitresses or girls of other varieties?). She had the kind of mild, natural mist of charismatic beauty some other girls (as I saw) lacked.
“My name is Heather, how may I serve you today?” As much as some of the more waitress-focused reviews briefed me beforehand, I was serendipitous to recognize that one of the most valuable bunny girls in the café was serving me. But since this should have been a bunny café more than a place for carnal pleasures, it was better to have the menu than asking for anything else. Then, of course, I preferred beef flesh before human flesh, so I ordered a medium steak in their signature style. As she jogged away, the bottom twisting and leg swinging were just thinly-covered additions to my forthcoming meal – Surprisingly, she was slightly less active in alluring the seated, sexually prepared men, since being frequently requested for “special services” directly had done a number on her motivation to seek out new “special customers”.
A while later, the same Heather returned with the sizzling plate in her pair of gloved hands, the unblemished face reclining a bit to avoid the popping beef fat from sticking onto her olive skin. My focus was on the plate, not on her face or the figure though. Time for some commenting – the texture of beef was well-preserved without unwarranted toughening or softening, with most of the juice locked inside; garnishes were mildly but appropriately grilled, and the potato was delightful for a lover like me. Definitely worth the 9.1 rating, if not for the bunny girls.
And the bunny girls, like Heather? Some critical people might say the whole “sexualizing the figure in a costume” thing is degrading, but then, they are just trying to earn a basic income as a waitress, some extra cash with their figures and the bunny costume, and a hefty premium with a few select customers’ “special” favor…
7/8
The night at Beautiful Neverland is forgettable but mesmerizing. I didn’t ask for anything more than a meal. While some stayed behind and entered the stairs with some of their associated bunny waitresses, I left for my own business, yet the mental imprint was far more than whatever sexual gratification I could have extracted from Heather. The immense atmosphere of implicit and explicit copulation in the middle of affluence, thinly veiled with the menu of a café. Many will be returning, but not me – having their meals once is enough for my taste buds and pouch, and I am still proudly single, taking advantage of the bunny girls’ bodies or not.
9/15
Rumors are around that, the senior of in our hierarchy visited Beautiful Neverland privately, the same bunny café I went to in July.
As far as I could make out, It was nothing out of the ordinary – closely matching, moment by moment, my own time at the café. Until he decided on being which bunny girl would be serving him – both as the waitress and as the most wanted mistress upstairs.
The bunny girl came, in a rather nondescript way – the same pitch-black bunny suit, the cups only slightly clutching her full, bouncing mammaries and the natural curves being neatly fit. The lighter pantyhose and needle fingers were just as enticing. Her ribbons matched her hair color, instead of the usual red of the lesser ones.
Even before the “special services” he ordered, she was already being impatient in seeking ways to please him – speaking words laden with sexual innuendo, inviting him to have a gratuitous night of pleasures with her, and position herself even with her plates with her sleek figure, said the ones spreading his news.
After the brief meal, they left upstairs, behind a closed room and tight shutters… Thus went the whole night, him being seen wearily entering the workplace the next morning.
Those known by the rumor mill (I’m not talking those there, not in my interest to criticize my senior too deeply) are just the least of the innumerable sexual acts that got out of his mostly secret time in the rooms upstairs – no one knows all the expletions he had done with Violet any better than the senior himself. There’s no more good fussing over this except for the fun of themselves…
9/20
The rumors have gotten even more heated - Beautiful Neverland’s hiring procedures are a bit shady, sure, but this particular rumor online is even more absurd.
There are male patrons, female patrons and naturally an all-female bunny girl staff in the café, plus the bearish guard, Mr. Wilson. Now, there are nothing off with the patrons and seeming not the bunny girls. But when I said shady hiring procedures, it’s not just coercion – a lot of girls and men voluntarily sign up by themselves and try gaining a place in the café. For the female newcomers, their social traces are being lighter as some are getting lodgings upstairs or integrating closely with the circle of the bunny girls – but for males, they either got the reply to the effect of the café not hiring, say they failed the interview in the interview, or – this is the crack where the rumor can seep in – disappear. Any trace of their activities, right after presumably being hired.
There are only bunny girls working for the café, and the stout man watching over them. He must know something the patrons don’t know.
Something about the males fading from their old self, and new bunny girls coming out from nowhere – without any records at the government or social history.
This is getting to tinfoil hat level of crazy. What are those making up this cruel, denigrating joke up to?
9/22
Following the thread, those naysayers are getting into the race to identify the “gender transformed” among bunny girls of the café.
Their common victim? Violet, the champion of the café’s safe and explicit businesses. Linking her to a disappeared male model named Zacharias Begnone. This second-rate name was rather active on the masculine modelling scene almost a decade back, but lately (before the alleged disappearance) had been rather disengaged from the industry. It was after the date of his last sighting when Violet started to be seen in the café, as a bunny girl.
A few others have been implicated, but none attract the attention as the most “whorish” girl of Beautiful Neverland. What could have been worse than having your entire existence discredited?
But then, that night of my senior would gain an extra layer of perversion – it might be better for me to turn my head against Beautiful Neverland, with all the fuzz and legends surrounding it.
9/24
The senior who went to the café left the position of our project. The reason? “Pursuing better opportunities”, or because he’s in jeopardy with Violet. He has to go with his reputation ruined.
9/25
It’s not just him resigning – in fact, contacting him seems to be impossible. The number is dead, the email’s gone, and he doesn’t even bother to clean up his old office. From one of my co-workers, he was last seen going to Beautiful Neverland, in a suit, with what might have been his resume as far as the coworker gleamed…
10/12
Yes, the senior is now a bunny girl. The investigating coworker had a meal in the café, and the new bunny girl, a tall blonde, immediately recognized him. She pulled him aside after the meal, kissed him, and murmured her biggest secret to him. No prize for guessing what the confession was.
So the online rumors were true, after all. They have a way to turn all the male job applicants into bunnies of the opposite gender, and I won’t ever approach near the damned 3-story building.
This is my part of a trade with someone on DeviantArt
Sunday, May 26, 2019
Monday, May 13, 2019
Monday, May 6, 2019
Friday, May 3, 2019
Thursday, May 2, 2019
Wednesday, May 1, 2019
Monday, April 29, 2019
Magically Trapped
This is Caption-Muse's trap OC Millie, done as a trade with him
All art used here are under fair use.
Tuesday, April 16, 2019
Turned Into A Flower Girl
1st April
The train going on my way to the ancestral home was stuffed with far more people than other times of the year, as far as I could know. It’s the local Spring Festival, but the festivities stretch from the spring solstice to the 3rd so the locals grab more tourism money when they have not much else to cash in from in other seasons. Obviously, there’s another season based on the folklore here, I’ll get on it soon.
I’m here because this is my ancestral home that I had never visited, and my grandpa insisted that everyone of the land’s blood must visit the Spring Festival once in their lives – even for me who’s just on a vacation away from work in Brazil. “Without seeing the long-lasting cherry blossoms of our origins, we are not genuine descendants of the land,” was what my grandpa told my dad and me – probably calling back to our cultural origins.
If he was alive, he would say it’s even more important for me personally when the last day, coincidentally, is my birthday – so he actually said I’m also the son of the blossoms. He seemed to be hiding something of the last day about the procession – of his memories attending the festival, he never went into detail on the secretive ritual. This will be my chance to find out the truth, and it might be my first time seeing the cherry blossoms. I’m eager, but not so much enjoying the time here.
*ACHOO* Just outside of the rustic station I had a running nose, because of the pollen from the cherry trees everywhere. By everywhere, I mean not just this square, but along many of the roads and paths of the small town, in some of the backyards, *ACHOO* and even in some of orchards. As you can guess, cherry trees are important here because of the Spring Festival.
I did my research on the town’s history, here’s the folklore that explains the whole thing:
Centuries ago, when the forefathers of the town came to the place and opened the coastal plain for farming, they met a stubborn cherry tree under a jealously burning sun *SNEEZE*. They’ve vowed to protect the tree from being logged or ran over, to which, reputedly, a tree spirit appeared and thanked the aspiring pioneers, giving the gifts of a bountiful harvest every year and the signs of blessing. *ACHOO*
That’s how the folks here explain why, every cherry tree here start blooming at the same time as the others ones in Kanto, but only withers after the end of the Festival. As far as there’s still a last cherry tree left, the tree spirit will still reside in the town’s main shrine and bless the town “with splendor and happiness” *ACHOO*. And for the spirit or goddess the Festival is now held in her honor, there is one big procession on the last day, and the 2nd sign is in it – I said it’s my birthday, and something’s going to happen, right?
Damn, the pollen’s *ACHOO* close to choking me. I just can’t realize the spirit of this custom with my itchy nose.
2nd April
I’d been to some places around – there aren’t much to see except for my family’s ancestral home (which a distant relative of mine lives in) and the shrine. *SNEEZE* The home is my lodging for my stay here – it’s not much except for the tallest cherry tree in the town, which is definitely a great thing to be proud of.
*ACHOO* I instantly understood why my ancestor emigrated to Brazil. Giving up the boring procession for the Carnavals I guess. That might be a good thing for me – if I had been born here, I would have been a rural *ACHOO*… you get the idea. What a nuisance for me to be in this town, but the ancestral home’s standing here, and it’s the Spring Festival that’s important for my dad and granddad, or maybe the even more important ritual. I might still need the experience here that’s turned into a dream for my family, for good or bad. *SNEEZE*
Now onto the shrine. The main hall does have a dignified tree spirit as its main goddess, and even more nondescript gods are housed on the sides. I was slightly surprised to find my surname on the row of the donators to the shrine’s renovation – apparently belonging to one of my ancestors who was a landed dignitary in the village. *SNEEZE* and just for that, to keep the memory of the donation and our roots alive, he was passing that custom of homage to me. It was not like this place was indispensable for his descendants like me, apparently, when I’m growing up as a Brazilian.
*ACHOO* The blessing’s may be good. The town is animated, brought by the tourists who truly appreciate the beauty of the cherry blossoms. A bountiful harvest, which was needed by the subsistence farmers of the past, isn’t the most wanted thing for now. The cherry trees, with their abnormally long blooming season, is getting some good tourist money.
But this feels a bit hollow – without the trees and the tradition, the town’s just another one south of Tokyo. I can even say, in the past, the harvest was just the fertile soil and frugality. *Breathes deeply* The cherry blossoms – what magic’s up with those that keeps attracting tourists unlike anything else in the average park? What have they hidden in the procession? Maybe that’s it.
3rd April
My sneezing was getting worse and worse by the day. Most of the morning I was just rolling in my futon, with the occasional sneezing. Good thing it was far less than the last 2 days.
“Please be awake, it is 5 in the afternoon and the grand procession will proceed in an hour.” The relative gently spoke to my weary ears.
“Isn’t it bad for me to sneeze for the whole procession inside the crowd?”
“My boy, have faith in the Sakura Goddess. Pray and she will bless you will the right spirit.”
A cherry petal drifted softly onto my face, and naturally I sneezed again. My relative was right, no matter how bad the sneezing would be, have faith in myself, even if I had wanted to be in a field of flowers as a child and my family doctor had kept me back. I would definitely hold my own breath in the crowd. Picking the petal up, even without the right nose, I was ready for the procession and unravel its secret.
5:55pm. I was squeezing past the gathered bodies in front of the shrine.
Under the warm light the cherry trees were reflecting something for me. A reflected light guiding me into the hall.
The procession might start anytime now, but something in my mind clicked.
I flied up the good number of steps to the modest structure, skipping and barely scratching at once, as if tree branches were propelling me.
Entering the hall, my heart was glowing for little reason than something.
To enjoy the procession…
Without rinsing my hand or offering, I quickly clapped my hands and, without myself thinking, I heard myself saying a prayer:
“Oh Goddess of Cherry Trees, for my allergy, please claim, and for the procession, please direct…”
I was barely aware of what was happening. Was I praying to some figure the villagers of old projected onto the cherry trees? Why would I pray when I could simply hold my breath from time to time?
I turned back to the torii, barely noticing the gust of wind swirling around me. With those and the cherry petal flashing around me…
The motionless body was like a constantly shifting mannequin. Petals of tints of pink pushed and attached themselves to the body, morphing for the skin and bulk to match what the petals had in mind. Or rather, what the tree spirit had in mind. She had finally found the body of the as a vessel, with the birthdate exactly aligning with this year’s procession. The petals clustered to reshape the torso, with the right chest size here and the favorite short hair up there. 2 cherry buds strapped onto her bangs, radiating a warm, sharp light. A few more loose petal were strung onto a few threads of soft scarlet, with much more providing the texture of the stamped fabric in the top and skirt – this year the spirit preferred an exposed mid-riff.
With an almost magical hop, the girl disappeared from the grounds of the shrine…
All in a sudden, the “Hana-Hime” appears at the starting point of procession, right in front of my eyes. You can always recognize her from the flamboyant dress. I’m calling a Brazilian friend of mine who’s coming for his birthday just to see this. The phone rings for a few seconds and is cut.
This is the “Hana-Hime”, said to be the incarnation of the Cherry Tree Goddess herself, but with different faces every year that the locals have never recognized as the daughter of someone they know. Just like how she arrived, out of thin air. As she ascends the float, she will be shaking to the drum beats with her second nature and be the attention of the crowd – some pious townsfolk even kneel and chant before the float, as the Hana-Hime smiled and waved to the fullest.
The cherry pollen reminds me of the missing guy instead of the mysterious centerpiece here. Where’s the Brazilian? He just visited the spring market yesterday, and said he’s risking choking to death for the secret of this. Is he too sick from allergy to be out now?
Written for a DeviantArt group.
All art used here are under fair use.
The train going on my way to the ancestral home was stuffed with far more people than other times of the year, as far as I could know. It’s the local Spring Festival, but the festivities stretch from the spring solstice to the 3rd so the locals grab more tourism money when they have not much else to cash in from in other seasons. Obviously, there’s another season based on the folklore here, I’ll get on it soon.
I’m here because this is my ancestral home that I had never visited, and my grandpa insisted that everyone of the land’s blood must visit the Spring Festival once in their lives – even for me who’s just on a vacation away from work in Brazil. “Without seeing the long-lasting cherry blossoms of our origins, we are not genuine descendants of the land,” was what my grandpa told my dad and me – probably calling back to our cultural origins.
If he was alive, he would say it’s even more important for me personally when the last day, coincidentally, is my birthday – so he actually said I’m also the son of the blossoms. He seemed to be hiding something of the last day about the procession – of his memories attending the festival, he never went into detail on the secretive ritual. This will be my chance to find out the truth, and it might be my first time seeing the cherry blossoms. I’m eager, but not so much enjoying the time here.
*ACHOO* Just outside of the rustic station I had a running nose, because of the pollen from the cherry trees everywhere. By everywhere, I mean not just this square, but along many of the roads and paths of the small town, in some of the backyards, *ACHOO* and even in some of orchards. As you can guess, cherry trees are important here because of the Spring Festival.
I did my research on the town’s history, here’s the folklore that explains the whole thing:
Centuries ago, when the forefathers of the town came to the place and opened the coastal plain for farming, they met a stubborn cherry tree under a jealously burning sun *SNEEZE*. They’ve vowed to protect the tree from being logged or ran over, to which, reputedly, a tree spirit appeared and thanked the aspiring pioneers, giving the gifts of a bountiful harvest every year and the signs of blessing. *ACHOO*
That’s how the folks here explain why, every cherry tree here start blooming at the same time as the others ones in Kanto, but only withers after the end of the Festival. As far as there’s still a last cherry tree left, the tree spirit will still reside in the town’s main shrine and bless the town “with splendor and happiness” *ACHOO*. And for the spirit or goddess the Festival is now held in her honor, there is one big procession on the last day, and the 2nd sign is in it – I said it’s my birthday, and something’s going to happen, right?
Damn, the pollen’s *ACHOO* close to choking me. I just can’t realize the spirit of this custom with my itchy nose.
2nd April
I’d been to some places around – there aren’t much to see except for my family’s ancestral home (which a distant relative of mine lives in) and the shrine. *SNEEZE* The home is my lodging for my stay here – it’s not much except for the tallest cherry tree in the town, which is definitely a great thing to be proud of.
*ACHOO* I instantly understood why my ancestor emigrated to Brazil. Giving up the boring procession for the Carnavals I guess. That might be a good thing for me – if I had been born here, I would have been a rural *ACHOO*… you get the idea. What a nuisance for me to be in this town, but the ancestral home’s standing here, and it’s the Spring Festival that’s important for my dad and granddad, or maybe the even more important ritual. I might still need the experience here that’s turned into a dream for my family, for good or bad. *SNEEZE*
Now onto the shrine. The main hall does have a dignified tree spirit as its main goddess, and even more nondescript gods are housed on the sides. I was slightly surprised to find my surname on the row of the donators to the shrine’s renovation – apparently belonging to one of my ancestors who was a landed dignitary in the village. *SNEEZE* and just for that, to keep the memory of the donation and our roots alive, he was passing that custom of homage to me. It was not like this place was indispensable for his descendants like me, apparently, when I’m growing up as a Brazilian.
*ACHOO* The blessing’s may be good. The town is animated, brought by the tourists who truly appreciate the beauty of the cherry blossoms. A bountiful harvest, which was needed by the subsistence farmers of the past, isn’t the most wanted thing for now. The cherry trees, with their abnormally long blooming season, is getting some good tourist money.
But this feels a bit hollow – without the trees and the tradition, the town’s just another one south of Tokyo. I can even say, in the past, the harvest was just the fertile soil and frugality. *Breathes deeply* The cherry blossoms – what magic’s up with those that keeps attracting tourists unlike anything else in the average park? What have they hidden in the procession? Maybe that’s it.
3rd April
My sneezing was getting worse and worse by the day. Most of the morning I was just rolling in my futon, with the occasional sneezing. Good thing it was far less than the last 2 days.
“Please be awake, it is 5 in the afternoon and the grand procession will proceed in an hour.” The relative gently spoke to my weary ears.
“Isn’t it bad for me to sneeze for the whole procession inside the crowd?”
“My boy, have faith in the Sakura Goddess. Pray and she will bless you will the right spirit.”
A cherry petal drifted softly onto my face, and naturally I sneezed again. My relative was right, no matter how bad the sneezing would be, have faith in myself, even if I had wanted to be in a field of flowers as a child and my family doctor had kept me back. I would definitely hold my own breath in the crowd. Picking the petal up, even without the right nose, I was ready for the procession and unravel its secret.
5:55pm. I was squeezing past the gathered bodies in front of the shrine.
Under the warm light the cherry trees were reflecting something for me. A reflected light guiding me into the hall.
The procession might start anytime now, but something in my mind clicked.
I flied up the good number of steps to the modest structure, skipping and barely scratching at once, as if tree branches were propelling me.
Entering the hall, my heart was glowing for little reason than something.
To enjoy the procession…
Without rinsing my hand or offering, I quickly clapped my hands and, without myself thinking, I heard myself saying a prayer:
“Oh Goddess of Cherry Trees, for my allergy, please claim, and for the procession, please direct…”
I was barely aware of what was happening. Was I praying to some figure the villagers of old projected onto the cherry trees? Why would I pray when I could simply hold my breath from time to time?
I turned back to the torii, barely noticing the gust of wind swirling around me. With those and the cherry petal flashing around me…
The motionless body was like a constantly shifting mannequin. Petals of tints of pink pushed and attached themselves to the body, morphing for the skin and bulk to match what the petals had in mind. Or rather, what the tree spirit had in mind. She had finally found the body of the as a vessel, with the birthdate exactly aligning with this year’s procession. The petals clustered to reshape the torso, with the right chest size here and the favorite short hair up there. 2 cherry buds strapped onto her bangs, radiating a warm, sharp light. A few more loose petal were strung onto a few threads of soft scarlet, with much more providing the texture of the stamped fabric in the top and skirt – this year the spirit preferred an exposed mid-riff.
With an almost magical hop, the girl disappeared from the grounds of the shrine…
All in a sudden, the “Hana-Hime” appears at the starting point of procession, right in front of my eyes. You can always recognize her from the flamboyant dress. I’m calling a Brazilian friend of mine who’s coming for his birthday just to see this. The phone rings for a few seconds and is cut.
This is the “Hana-Hime”, said to be the incarnation of the Cherry Tree Goddess herself, but with different faces every year that the locals have never recognized as the daughter of someone they know. Just like how she arrived, out of thin air. As she ascends the float, she will be shaking to the drum beats with her second nature and be the attention of the crowd – some pious townsfolk even kneel and chant before the float, as the Hana-Hime smiled and waved to the fullest.
The cherry pollen reminds me of the missing guy instead of the mysterious centerpiece here. Where’s the Brazilian? He just visited the spring market yesterday, and said he’s risking choking to death for the secret of this. Is he too sick from allergy to be out now?
Written for a DeviantArt group.
All art used here are under fair use.
Thursday, April 4, 2019
Wednesday, April 3, 2019
Well Done for a Bunny Girl
“Bang!” The talks had broken down. The “bodyguard” of the opposite side shot this boss.
Taken altogether, this was closer to a serious negotiation than the gangster confrontations in the streets, but they were no more legal than those inferior minions. They were on a higher level of being a crime syndicate: Cadillacs instead of those worn-downs, sips instead of pops, and schemes instead of dealings. Yet they bore the same risk of bloodshed.
The underling of the dead boss rushed outside, blood gushing out from his motionless body on the ground. Surely, on the table, Richard Macotelli was gone. Another entered to claim and drag the body off the scene before anyone else could.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Richard awoke in a room vastly different from where he had been last: instead of the dark interior, it was all blank. Some figures in a kind of uniform were handling something… Scarcely anything could be made out before Richard fell into darkness again…
Then a bed-ridden girl shook up from her place. She was Asian from her slightly tanned skin and pitch-black hair, and a well-endowed one at that: Under the white coat 2 heaps bounced loosely, some hair dangling above them. The coat barely covered her thighs as fatty as the breasts, and the blanket slid off one of her slimmer, hairless legs to the side.
“Where am I?”
A man clad in black suit hurried to the bedside. “This is your new body, Il Capo or whatever you used to be.”
As much as Richard had expected of the paid service to “resurrect” himself – now herself, she had not thought of being this body. The paid service was of course for the cases when he had to die or was killed, and for a hefty (but affordable with his hidden wealth and influence) price, his mind or brain would be transplanted into another body with novel and poorly-known surgical procedures – so a new life. Richard Macotelli was gone, dead as f*ck, no matter which body his consciousness had ended up. As she would later hear, a new Capo has taken over Richard’s place, and nothing else was left except his private money and his mind here. Influence, gone, hubris, gone, old enjoyments, gone. She wouldn’t be the old Mafia boss she used to be, and back then it’s much expected.
But becoming a buxom woman? “They’re short of male bodies, you see.” She’d be stuck like this for the rest of her life now the procedure was irreversibly complete. What then?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Here’s what she has to wear every day – a dark bunny suit “uniform”. She’s got to be familiar with its leather and lace since she’s here to stay, at least for now. With the muscle memory of this body, she easily dresses up, bends the bunny ears a bit to stand out, and handles a tray of shots, before entering the main playground…
She can’t help herself but blush when she sees the guests’ eyes, all fixed on her perfect figure and her delicate face. Oddly it’s satisfying for her to be looked down onto after all these years of looking down on other. She hands each guest his favorites (so as other bunny girls tell her), and while some are good with just drinking and looking, some go touchy on her body, at least a nip on her suit or skin, and as much as grabbing her chest or butt mounds. Those are extra goodies for the guest and extra money for her, after gesturing them to tip after all that intimacy, and they’re all compliant.
Even more “shameful” is seeing her new master. He’s the same boss Richard used to negotiate before he was shot dead, who has already taken over some of the rackets Richard used to preside over (as far as she can tell) and no less gain a lot of the ground lost by Richard. He’s sitting here sipping martinis; she’s standing beside him, trying to please his guests. The blush grows into a fret before him, since she’s still a bit hesitant to “serve” this imbecile.
But she isn’t Richard physically, she’s just a bunny girl. So, with this thought, she decides to put some of the old feuds behind…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It’s a special event for the master: a bunch of Yakuza bosses are coming for some boozing with him, and some fireworks are arranged for this. She can actually recognize some of them as the ones she had dealt with as Richard, and in them there’s a few well-connected ones who know of her real identity.
Another pair of hands clutch her pair of titties and then slipped bills into her cleavage. At the back, she takes the bills out to find a vial. Immediately she knows what it does, and what she has to do to avenge for her last body’s death.
But if she poisons her master, her time here will end, and she can’t get back into the underground as this caricature of sexiness. No more giggly looks on her. So…
This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt
Taken altogether, this was closer to a serious negotiation than the gangster confrontations in the streets, but they were no more legal than those inferior minions. They were on a higher level of being a crime syndicate: Cadillacs instead of those worn-downs, sips instead of pops, and schemes instead of dealings. Yet they bore the same risk of bloodshed.
The underling of the dead boss rushed outside, blood gushing out from his motionless body on the ground. Surely, on the table, Richard Macotelli was gone. Another entered to claim and drag the body off the scene before anyone else could.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Richard awoke in a room vastly different from where he had been last: instead of the dark interior, it was all blank. Some figures in a kind of uniform were handling something… Scarcely anything could be made out before Richard fell into darkness again…
Then a bed-ridden girl shook up from her place. She was Asian from her slightly tanned skin and pitch-black hair, and a well-endowed one at that: Under the white coat 2 heaps bounced loosely, some hair dangling above them. The coat barely covered her thighs as fatty as the breasts, and the blanket slid off one of her slimmer, hairless legs to the side.
“Where am I?”
A man clad in black suit hurried to the bedside. “This is your new body, Il Capo or whatever you used to be.”
As much as Richard had expected of the paid service to “resurrect” himself – now herself, she had not thought of being this body. The paid service was of course for the cases when he had to die or was killed, and for a hefty (but affordable with his hidden wealth and influence) price, his mind or brain would be transplanted into another body with novel and poorly-known surgical procedures – so a new life. Richard Macotelli was gone, dead as f*ck, no matter which body his consciousness had ended up. As she would later hear, a new Capo has taken over Richard’s place, and nothing else was left except his private money and his mind here. Influence, gone, hubris, gone, old enjoyments, gone. She wouldn’t be the old Mafia boss she used to be, and back then it’s much expected.
But becoming a buxom woman? “They’re short of male bodies, you see.” She’d be stuck like this for the rest of her life now the procedure was irreversibly complete. What then?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Here’s what she has to wear every day – a dark bunny suit “uniform”. She’s got to be familiar with its leather and lace since she’s here to stay, at least for now. With the muscle memory of this body, she easily dresses up, bends the bunny ears a bit to stand out, and handles a tray of shots, before entering the main playground…
She can’t help herself but blush when she sees the guests’ eyes, all fixed on her perfect figure and her delicate face. Oddly it’s satisfying for her to be looked down onto after all these years of looking down on other. She hands each guest his favorites (so as other bunny girls tell her), and while some are good with just drinking and looking, some go touchy on her body, at least a nip on her suit or skin, and as much as grabbing her chest or butt mounds. Those are extra goodies for the guest and extra money for her, after gesturing them to tip after all that intimacy, and they’re all compliant.
Even more “shameful” is seeing her new master. He’s the same boss Richard used to negotiate before he was shot dead, who has already taken over some of the rackets Richard used to preside over (as far as she can tell) and no less gain a lot of the ground lost by Richard. He’s sitting here sipping martinis; she’s standing beside him, trying to please his guests. The blush grows into a fret before him, since she’s still a bit hesitant to “serve” this imbecile.
But she isn’t Richard physically, she’s just a bunny girl. So, with this thought, she decides to put some of the old feuds behind…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It’s a special event for the master: a bunch of Yakuza bosses are coming for some boozing with him, and some fireworks are arranged for this. She can actually recognize some of them as the ones she had dealt with as Richard, and in them there’s a few well-connected ones who know of her real identity.
Another pair of hands clutch her pair of titties and then slipped bills into her cleavage. At the back, she takes the bills out to find a vial. Immediately she knows what it does, and what she has to do to avenge for her last body’s death.
But if she poisons her master, her time here will end, and she can’t get back into the underground as this caricature of sexiness. No more giggly looks on her. So…
This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt
Saturday, March 30, 2019
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
The Priceless Hunt
It is normal business.
The floor is lightly wettened by the slick goo spreading over the ceiling and dripping. As she jolts and slides along the dark grey “alleys” in the maze-like buildings, whether almost losing her own balance is because of the mildly-drenched gauze platform or that, she is not the best at controlling her own body, despite her swift moves across the thin air.
True, this body is now her own, she has been chasing targets of all descriptions for years as an elvish woman, but not after a process of continuously acculturing to her present form. She is, for now, a tanned elvish woman who is partially enclosed by the black and cream-colored latex bodysuit, made to be a second skin for optimizing her agility, and with a few glowing electronic implements closely attached. It is something and nothing on her body at the same time: the sweats are being trapped in this bodysuit, the slim latex clinging onto her curvy figure even more, but the immense fumes circulating around the alleys are seeping across the fabric, magnified in scorching hotness by its tightness. The same fume is choking without her gas mask, especially so when her nose is sensitized for the scents of each target… Otherwise, the appealing contours, with ample bosoms and the thick, fecund hip, is more telling of the unknown origins of her body – appearing more like the figure of one in a harem and too much like an acrobat of the distant past with every overdrawn swing.
In other words, she appears to be completely strange and awkward to herself, but it is still normal business. A lot of the physical actions she now performs will be strange to her past self, and much of her daily existence – from the skimmed and almost erotic bodysuit to the torque of having such breasts and waist – are those she has never accustomed to. Being a sexually appealing, slightly bumbling bounty hunter is still a bounty hunter, and she has been successfully being one for all these years. On the up side, her body makes a few much-needed skills possible – he is loose in the labyrinth. She squats to listen, with the gift of hearing the smallest noises, the movement of this target when the space is too densely walled and convoluted, as to lose her sight of him, even with the usual sharpness.
This old target. True, she has a lot of old targets: for these years, or maybe since the start of her career, she has long-time chases and armed engagements with multiple criminals across the galaxies, for crimes too demented and damaging to describe, simply and only for monies. It is normal business anyway. But this man is too different from them: she has been on alert of all his maneuvers and thefts, and actively seeking him for years with the persistence she otherwise would not devote onto one target. It is not just another for the bounty – there is no real reward other than a good, overdue revenge. The time is coming for her to conclude the whole incident that has placed her in her present state.
He is her original self.
He used to be her original self – as much as the body he is using originally belonged to her, the bounty hunter, and she was born with the body of that brown-haired lackey or something. He may have changed his body and aged a few years in this body, but two things of his hasn’t changed: who he really is and what he does routinely. Both of which are why she is seeking him. She can remember the whole incident and her life before that, even though this isn’t the right time for flashbacks.
It’s almost the same setting: still a chase between the bounty hunter and the body thief, but that time, the bounty hunter was the unassuming human male. The same fume and mechanical exterior of the walls, just with less experience. He had of course heard of this heister already famous for both her form and infamous for all her exploits. She once wooed 2 escorts full of gold and rare earth off their route and promptly sold those on the black market, all without being noticed; countless lost items in art inventories could be credited to her, always as a visitor or something. She was, of course, the last one in the chain of a lineage of thieves “of the same mind” – he hadn’t really grasped the whole thing so far as he seeked her out.
Catch this elvish woman who was as stout as she seemed, send her to the authorities, collect the heap of money, and break this “lineage” or not for good. He wouldn’t let her escape alive or dead; if she managed to be loose from his grip, then shoot her, hand in her dead body, and collect the same bounty. It was usual business.
Passing by even more pipes and wires, the thief finally arrived at this poorly known part of the tunnel network where much of the routes have dead ends – and promptly she entered one of these routes. Sheer luck for him, who had been there many times for some other targets; this time wouldn’t be far to different. The steel enclosure blocked her further escape, and the top of it was barely above his head. Without any other exits or space to leap backwards, this was the right place for her to be cornered and caught…
Surely, the thief was no longer loose, as she closed onto the roadblock, she slid and slowed her bouncing moves, until slumping against the metal wall. As he approached her, she was laid on the ground, weakened and almost bewildered by her final capture. He could imagine her being gagged or getting a more humiliating punishment by his own hands. If she had this inviting pose and being sluttish with everything of her buxom body, as if on the bed, why wouldn’t he accept those? It’s done, he thought. She was now overpowered and opened to him. Slowing his steps to clearly see her figure. The tar skin of the thief was full of sweat, and the air full of panting vapor. A small blush ran through her pristine face, seemly being in great shame to him, her eyes drifting between her own body and his eyes. The only thing for him to do seemed to be only overpowering her and carry her stunned body to the authorities. Strangely, even in this distressful situation, her ruby eyes gleamed with something else in mind…
The red glow of the eyes intensified, adding a red hue to the vision which radiated first from the eyes, then from her whole body. As the glow increased from a mild annoyance to the blinding light, it covered her whole head and gave his own head migraines as intense as the glow…
It was all white and all too painful before dark numbness set in.
The sight slowly came back. It was still the same darkness around this consciousness which cleared slowly, as the warm fume soothed the skin, anything else stripped away. The arms were fastened too tightly to flex, and in the mouth, something was blocking the throat.
Exasperated…
There were his own legs still standing before the sight. Or rather, the pair of legs that no longer belonged to her. She was seeing from the perspective of the elvish woman – she is now the elvish woman.
The rest are barely memorable from the shock of being in the new body. Assaults to her while being nude? The “bounty hunter” moving both his bulk and her, once dragging and then carrying clumsily, finally falling and injuring himself before unloading her and putting her in chains, all while she was too dazed to sense anything else.
The next thing she knows, she was in a cell with some other petty criminal she wouldn’t imagine to be with, who was constantly eyeing her nudity. It wasn’t normal business then. She needed to prove her real identity and escape; if she had tried to jag the lock, she won’t be that innocent. Every time a guard passed through, she resorted to only shouting, which of course never worked with every indifferent guard. But at once, a few days into the detention, the guard came with the key, and said, “you gotta be right, your old body broke into a few cells around and some of those inmates are out there for you…”
Then it was again normal business.
At least, she has gotten the truth that it isn’t a lineage, but an entity behind all this. To break this entity is one thing, and to exact everything from this man is another. Now that she has found him again, she can of course strip him until nothing is left, massage and rub his member, and force him to cum until his face is full of his own guilt, just like what he might had done to her.
This used to be her body, but it no longer matters – this is no longer hers. She is now the famous elvish bounty hunter, every skill and fighting style she has is now adapted to this body. She is fit for everything that is womanly possible, and frozen in time. This is the perfect body she would have been born into if she had been a superb bounty hunter in the first place. It is a gift to her and the biggest loss to this thief.
The duck may be over after a thought: This target being a body hopper, if she faces them, won’t they simply regain what they’ve lost and leave her with that body? That body belonging to someone already gone?
She waited further. Turning the dial on her gun to the dazing mode, as his head emerges again down below, she aimed...
And the thief, both a valuable and body one, fell onto the ground unconscious. The body is now down. It is normal business, and she will carry it to the authorities…
This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt
The floor is lightly wettened by the slick goo spreading over the ceiling and dripping. As she jolts and slides along the dark grey “alleys” in the maze-like buildings, whether almost losing her own balance is because of the mildly-drenched gauze platform or that, she is not the best at controlling her own body, despite her swift moves across the thin air.
True, this body is now her own, she has been chasing targets of all descriptions for years as an elvish woman, but not after a process of continuously acculturing to her present form. She is, for now, a tanned elvish woman who is partially enclosed by the black and cream-colored latex bodysuit, made to be a second skin for optimizing her agility, and with a few glowing electronic implements closely attached. It is something and nothing on her body at the same time: the sweats are being trapped in this bodysuit, the slim latex clinging onto her curvy figure even more, but the immense fumes circulating around the alleys are seeping across the fabric, magnified in scorching hotness by its tightness. The same fume is choking without her gas mask, especially so when her nose is sensitized for the scents of each target… Otherwise, the appealing contours, with ample bosoms and the thick, fecund hip, is more telling of the unknown origins of her body – appearing more like the figure of one in a harem and too much like an acrobat of the distant past with every overdrawn swing.
In other words, she appears to be completely strange and awkward to herself, but it is still normal business. A lot of the physical actions she now performs will be strange to her past self, and much of her daily existence – from the skimmed and almost erotic bodysuit to the torque of having such breasts and waist – are those she has never accustomed to. Being a sexually appealing, slightly bumbling bounty hunter is still a bounty hunter, and she has been successfully being one for all these years. On the up side, her body makes a few much-needed skills possible – he is loose in the labyrinth. She squats to listen, with the gift of hearing the smallest noises, the movement of this target when the space is too densely walled and convoluted, as to lose her sight of him, even with the usual sharpness.
This old target. True, she has a lot of old targets: for these years, or maybe since the start of her career, she has long-time chases and armed engagements with multiple criminals across the galaxies, for crimes too demented and damaging to describe, simply and only for monies. It is normal business anyway. But this man is too different from them: she has been on alert of all his maneuvers and thefts, and actively seeking him for years with the persistence she otherwise would not devote onto one target. It is not just another for the bounty – there is no real reward other than a good, overdue revenge. The time is coming for her to conclude the whole incident that has placed her in her present state.
He is her original self.
He used to be her original self – as much as the body he is using originally belonged to her, the bounty hunter, and she was born with the body of that brown-haired lackey or something. He may have changed his body and aged a few years in this body, but two things of his hasn’t changed: who he really is and what he does routinely. Both of which are why she is seeking him. She can remember the whole incident and her life before that, even though this isn’t the right time for flashbacks.
It’s almost the same setting: still a chase between the bounty hunter and the body thief, but that time, the bounty hunter was the unassuming human male. The same fume and mechanical exterior of the walls, just with less experience. He had of course heard of this heister already famous for both her form and infamous for all her exploits. She once wooed 2 escorts full of gold and rare earth off their route and promptly sold those on the black market, all without being noticed; countless lost items in art inventories could be credited to her, always as a visitor or something. She was, of course, the last one in the chain of a lineage of thieves “of the same mind” – he hadn’t really grasped the whole thing so far as he seeked her out.
Catch this elvish woman who was as stout as she seemed, send her to the authorities, collect the heap of money, and break this “lineage” or not for good. He wouldn’t let her escape alive or dead; if she managed to be loose from his grip, then shoot her, hand in her dead body, and collect the same bounty. It was usual business.
Passing by even more pipes and wires, the thief finally arrived at this poorly known part of the tunnel network where much of the routes have dead ends – and promptly she entered one of these routes. Sheer luck for him, who had been there many times for some other targets; this time wouldn’t be far to different. The steel enclosure blocked her further escape, and the top of it was barely above his head. Without any other exits or space to leap backwards, this was the right place for her to be cornered and caught…
Surely, the thief was no longer loose, as she closed onto the roadblock, she slid and slowed her bouncing moves, until slumping against the metal wall. As he approached her, she was laid on the ground, weakened and almost bewildered by her final capture. He could imagine her being gagged or getting a more humiliating punishment by his own hands. If she had this inviting pose and being sluttish with everything of her buxom body, as if on the bed, why wouldn’t he accept those? It’s done, he thought. She was now overpowered and opened to him. Slowing his steps to clearly see her figure. The tar skin of the thief was full of sweat, and the air full of panting vapor. A small blush ran through her pristine face, seemly being in great shame to him, her eyes drifting between her own body and his eyes. The only thing for him to do seemed to be only overpowering her and carry her stunned body to the authorities. Strangely, even in this distressful situation, her ruby eyes gleamed with something else in mind…
The red glow of the eyes intensified, adding a red hue to the vision which radiated first from the eyes, then from her whole body. As the glow increased from a mild annoyance to the blinding light, it covered her whole head and gave his own head migraines as intense as the glow…
It was all white and all too painful before dark numbness set in.
The sight slowly came back. It was still the same darkness around this consciousness which cleared slowly, as the warm fume soothed the skin, anything else stripped away. The arms were fastened too tightly to flex, and in the mouth, something was blocking the throat.
Exasperated…
There were his own legs still standing before the sight. Or rather, the pair of legs that no longer belonged to her. She was seeing from the perspective of the elvish woman – she is now the elvish woman.
The rest are barely memorable from the shock of being in the new body. Assaults to her while being nude? The “bounty hunter” moving both his bulk and her, once dragging and then carrying clumsily, finally falling and injuring himself before unloading her and putting her in chains, all while she was too dazed to sense anything else.
The next thing she knows, she was in a cell with some other petty criminal she wouldn’t imagine to be with, who was constantly eyeing her nudity. It wasn’t normal business then. She needed to prove her real identity and escape; if she had tried to jag the lock, she won’t be that innocent. Every time a guard passed through, she resorted to only shouting, which of course never worked with every indifferent guard. But at once, a few days into the detention, the guard came with the key, and said, “you gotta be right, your old body broke into a few cells around and some of those inmates are out there for you…”
Then it was again normal business.
At least, she has gotten the truth that it isn’t a lineage, but an entity behind all this. To break this entity is one thing, and to exact everything from this man is another. Now that she has found him again, she can of course strip him until nothing is left, massage and rub his member, and force him to cum until his face is full of his own guilt, just like what he might had done to her.
This used to be her body, but it no longer matters – this is no longer hers. She is now the famous elvish bounty hunter, every skill and fighting style she has is now adapted to this body. She is fit for everything that is womanly possible, and frozen in time. This is the perfect body she would have been born into if she had been a superb bounty hunter in the first place. It is a gift to her and the biggest loss to this thief.
The duck may be over after a thought: This target being a body hopper, if she faces them, won’t they simply regain what they’ve lost and leave her with that body? That body belonging to someone already gone?
She waited further. Turning the dial on her gun to the dazing mode, as his head emerges again down below, she aimed...
And the thief, both a valuable and body one, fell onto the ground unconscious. The body is now down. It is normal business, and she will carry it to the authorities…
This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt
Monday, March 18, 2019
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
Saturday, March 9, 2019
Cosplaying at the Convention: Edna TG
This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt
All art used here are under fair use.
Cosplaying at the Convention: Esdeath TG
All art used here are under fair use.
Costume Once Again
This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt
All art used here are under fair use.
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
Sunday, March 3, 2019
Cosplaying at the Convention
All art used here are under fair use.
Saturday, March 2, 2019
Tuesday, February 26, 2019
Monday, February 18, 2019
Thursday, February 14, 2019
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)