Puella Monstrum Madoka Moecha – Chapter – 11 – It Turns Out Everybody Likes Karaoke

Oriko – Plans Within Plans, or ‘Dance, Puppets, Dance!’

“Are you certain of that?” Kyuubey inquires, not for the first time.

I suppress a weary sigh at her panicked insistence, but not entirely, letting a hint of my frustration out so that the sometimes albino girl will think me more genuine.

For some reason, she tends to believe annoyance and irritability are signs of sincerity.

“Kyuubey, if I tell you I am certain, it’s because I am. Kyouko and Sayaka have both the power and motivation to get there in time to save Mami. Stop worrying.”

“I—”

“She will be fine. I promise,” I tell her, not unkindly.

“But… I… My apologies, Oriko Mikuni. It seems I may have momentarily lost my composure.”

‘Or forgot to try to pretend you’re not human,’ I very carefully don’t say.

“It’s all right. We’re all tense at this juncture,” I instead tell her, reassuring and gentle as my persona should be.

“Yes. Yes, it’s… It’s a stressful time. That is all,” she says, fooling absolutely no one, least of all herself.

But her façade is still useful, still something I’d rather unravels on its own instead of at my own prodding, so I let it pass and reapply the soft smile on my lips so that it will flavor my words.

“Of course. Now, just let events unfold. It will be for the best.”

There’s a brief silence that brings me a spark of doubt, so I let my mind drift further away to peek at the hints of unfolding futures.

The karaoke is still there, and so are the three of them.

Good.

“I will take you at your word, Oriko Mikuni,” Kyuubey says, the threat all but stated.

And she hangs up.

I pause for a moment, letting the conversation play out again in my mind, seeing if there are any major divergences so far when the eddies of time pull me forward.

And, when I find none, I allow my smile to turn into a smirk.

So, sitting atop my arachnid body, I lean forward and over the small chess stand, its pattern unsubtly mirroring the white and black marble tiles of this room. Then I tug a single thread that would be invisible to all but me to send a white bishop along a diagonal that will threaten the black queen in two moves.

“Yes. Yes, Kyuubey, take me at my word and watch as my master plan unfolds perfectly,” I say with my most sinister tone as long nails tap a crystalline rhythm on the corner of the stone board.

Behind me, on the other side of my salon, draped atop the crimson velvet couch with her currently attached head resting on Kirika’s gray thighs, Komaki snorts.

“She’s such a dork,” she says.

“Yes. Our dork,” Kirika immediately replies, her amber eyes dancing with merriment on the mirror I carefully tucked in the webbed corner of the ceiling earlier today just to observe this tiny moment become something other than a premonition.

I feel my cheeks heat up in pleasant embarrassment, and then I pretend to be a chess-obsessed megalomaniac for a while longer until Komaki and Kirika decide that playtime is over and I need to replenish my magic.

And I enjoy every second.

***

Kyouko – Dragons Shouldn’t Be Rescuing Damsels, That’s Just Wrong

The city blurs.

“Wait!” the other magical girl cries out from behind me, the newbie still unable to strengthen her body enough to just keep up, and I should leave her behind, but if this is something Mami will have trouble with—

I kick my foot forward, the crimson boot of my magical girl form sending a cresting wave of gravel forward, and, before it can fall down, I jump back toward the startled eyes of the bluette still on the last rooftop we were on.

“Wha—eep!” the rookie says as I pull her up into a bridal carry before jumping back, the gray pebbles still bouncing along the concrete, the gray cloud of concrete dust hanging still in front of me before we shoot straight through it.

And then, the girl in my arms stops looking bewildered, which would be a relief if she didn’t start coughing.

“What the Hell are you—” she protests as I hold her closer to me, and we spiral down to the next building, my arm shooting up at the last second to grab the ledge and pull us up.

I miscalculated. Big deal.

“You’re too slow; this is faster,” I say, already calculating my next jump so I won’t cut it so close.

“It’s undignified!”

We hang for a moment between buildings, the lights of the cars below painting a still picture of something busy, full of life.

Something that won’t take Mami away from me.

“I don’t care about dignity,” I say as my knees bend to absorb the impact of our next landing. Two bodies, and she still doesn’t know how to control her weight. Need to take that into account. “I care about getting there in time.”

Something pulls my gaze down as I race, and I meet blue eyes staring up at me with determination no rookie should have.

“OK. Take me there. Let’s save Mami,” she says.

Something tucks at my lips, and the tip of my fang shows.

Then, without nodding or answering, I pull on the dragon always lurking beneath, on the scales gliding under my skin, let its strength encase my legs, and soar.

I’m not flying. Not yet.

And I’ll be damned if I let the cow slip away before I can show her my wings.

***

“We’re here?” Sayaka says as I let her down on the sidewalk of a dirty alley that should have no cameras.

Kyuubey always gives me an earful when she has to scrub public records.

I ignore the bluette and pull the dragon back in, letting it only enhance my senses, my nostrils flaring as I try to take in the scent of magic.

Gold is always the first thing to come in, the one most connected to my original wish to save Da—to save my father’s church. It took me a long time to refine it into something useful for something other than filling my pockets, but I know Mami. I know the aroma of her skin, her sweat, even her blood.

But, most of all? I know her magic.

So I let dew-covered grass under swaying olive trees drift to me. I let the dark scent of fertile soil moistened by night come to me as I try to track my… my mentor.

And I step forward.

The newbie follows me without saying anything, and when I drop my costume, I feel the scent of white waters splashing on sharp rocks recede as her monster form does the same.

Then… Then something makes my eyebrow twitch in irritation, and I take a sharp turn before stepping into the kind of karaoke that would make me punch anyone who tried to take me to it.

I glare at the straw-haired boy manning the counter before I can reign the dragon in, and then I give him a saccharine smile that may, or not, show an abundance of fang.

“Excuse me, we were supposed to meet a friend in here, but I’m not sure if she has arrived yet. Can I take a quick look?” I tell him.

“You’re not supposed to—” he starts to object.

“I don’t think you understood me. I said: can I take a quick look?”

He, for some mysterious reason that has nothing to do with my pupils briefly turning into sharp slits, pales before frantically nodding.

“Please and thank you,” I sing song as I stride through the door toward the private boxes.

…

I really hope there weren’t any cameras there. I don’t want yet another lecture.

Still, any and all worries about Kyuubey getting annoying yet again and saying, ‘How disappointed I am in you, Kyouko Sakura,’ fade away as I step into the dimly-lit, purple corridor lined with doors and…

Yeah.

Just as I expected.

Mami is fucking.

Because I know her scent. I know all of it: the sour notes of her fear, the sharp tang of her anger, the…

The piquancy of something else.

Damn it, Mami!

“Kyouko? What—” the newbie says.

And I step forward.

She’s in the last box of the left row, and, going by the smells, most of the other ones are unoccupied.

There are windows on the doors, presumably so that what is happening right now won’t happen, so I get on my tiptoes, my palms flat against the gray, glossy door, and…

Uh.

I mean…

Wow.

“Is she…?” the rookie, her cheek uncomfortably close to mine, asks with a tremulous tone.

“Yup,” I say, without specifying.

“With… At once?”

“She sure is.”

I hear her swallow. Loudly.

Thankfully, my throat is too dry to do the same.

“She… She seems to be enjoying herself,” she says.

For reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with foolish jealousy at Mami getting fucked by, and enjoying, phantom cock, my eye twitches.

“I mean…” the girl pressing her obnoxiously larger than mine breasts against my back to look over my shoulder continues, not taking the hint of my almost silent growling. “She certainly doesn’t look like she needs our help.”

My teeth grind.

It’s no big deal. They grow back.

Incidentally, some phantoms have tough throats.

“And… Uh… I’m not even sure how we would help. Those are possessed civilians, right? So we should, what? Help her get them off? I’m not sure I—hey!”

She stumbles back as I push away from the door and walk right back down the corridor.

“Hey, you! What gives?!” she says, laying her hand on my shoulder.

“Change of plans,” I grumble.

“What? I didn’t even know there was a plan.”

“You learn something new every day, newbie. Speaking of…” I pull the door open and look at the boy cowering behind his counter. Then I drop a stack of bills on top of it that should have, in a better, less obnoxious world, been spent on taking Mami out for tea and cake. “I’m reserving all the free boxes you have for the rest of the night. You’re going to copy the video feed on this thumb drive, and then you’re going to scrub and stop the damn cameras or else,” I tell him, being as non-specific as my current mood allows me to be.

He stares at the pile of cash. Does some mental math.

And frantically nods.

“Good. I’ll also be taking the bottle of tequila you keep beneath the counter.”

This time, the nod takes longer to come.

***

“Don’t they serve alcohol in these places?” the bluette sitting on the sofa across from me asks as I slice a lemon with an angrily manifested claw.

I try not to look at her like she was dropped on her head as a baby.

“Yes, they do, but I usually prefer my alcohol to be both non-watered and non-date-raped.”

For some reason, she seems to flinch at that last statement.

… Ah. Right. The ‘date rape’ thing.

I try not to show my own wince and line up two shot glasses on the equally glass table.

“OK, so, let’s proceed with our lesson,” I tell her, trying to bluff as if all this was intentional and not just me wanting to have an excuse to throw a hissy fit when Mami emerges fully fucked from her own personal gangbang.

As if she needed any supernatural help getting one of those, with the amount of Mami phantoms that keep flooding her school. She could launch her own series: ‘Mami Tomoe Gets Fucked 1: Swimsuit School Edition,’ ‘Mami Tomoe Gets Fucked 2: Bloomers Are in Season,’ ‘Mami Tomoe Gets Fucked 3: Girls with Cocks—’

Damn it!

“Wha—you mean get literally drunk?” the girl with breasts smaller than Mami’s says.

“Not drunk, drunk… just… a little tipsy. Get a feel for what it’s like,” I tell her as I arrange the lemon slices on a small dish that I push between us.

“I’m perfectly aware of what it’s like to have the maddening song constantly bubbling up inside of me, thank you very much!”

“You’re welcome?” I say as I grab a slice of lemon and rub it on the spot between my thumb and forefinger after closing my fist.

She looks at me with a raised eyebrow, then at the small dish with the other slices, the yellow standing out against the white porcelain despite the low, colorful lighting.

Then she looks at the two glasses I fill with golden, properly aged tequila.

… Shut up. I don’t like it because of the color.

Heck, I’m a Western dragon. I should like whisky or something gross like that.

“Why the lemon?” she says, the curiosity finally winning her over.

I shrug.

“It’s how it’s done. Some people think it’s because you don’t want to drink anything Mexican that hasn’t been properly disinfected.”

“That sounds racist.”

“And kind of stupid, given how much alcohol there’s in this,” I point out to the bottle of Jose Cuervo with my claw still out.

Then I grab the saltshaker and sprinkle some of the white crystals over the wet patch of my hand.

She blinks.

“OK, are you going to drink or preparing a salad?”

I sigh.

“You want the actual lecture? Fine. Theoretically, the salt brings out your saliva, then you take the shot of liquor while your mouth is prepped not to burn with it, and then you suck the lemon juice out of the slice so that the flavors mix and the sourness of the citric chases away the lingering aftertaste. If you want to get even more technical, you shouldn’t do that with expensive tequila, but fuck that. I like lemons, so I’ll take the excuse,” I tell the increasingly bewildered girl.

And then I allow my tongue to grow and split inside of my mouth, touch the side of my wrist with its two tips, and slowly lick up the sprinkled salt adhering to my skin.

Then, as the salt grains dissolve over my long tongue, I grab the shot of tequila nearest to me and down it in a single gulp.

It burns as it slides past my lips, over my tongue, down my throat. It burns in all the right ways, the nearest thing to my own fire I’ve ever tasted, and I take a few brief moments of welcoming darkness to enjoy it as I keep my head pointing up with my eyes closed.

Then I open them, and the neon tones of the shifting LED lights bring me back to the karaoke box in front of the place where Mami is getting fucked.

By civilians. Whom I can’t kill.

Avoiding the eyes of the rookie, I grab the previously used slice of lemon and bite into it, my increasingly pointed fangs piercing it and causing a burst of acid juice to explode inside my mouth.

Then I suck on it until there’s nothing left but deflated… what? Deflated cellulose sacks? I’m sure this must have some name.

Fuck it. It’s now a lemon corpse. I suck the slice until there’s only lemon corpse left.

“You… don’t look like you enjoyed that,” she says.

I look at her.

She’s wearing her school uniform. The same one as Mami’s. The one with a crème overshirt with red trim on the lower hem and cuffs, and those ridiculously poofy shoulders.

The one with the tartan skirt that doesn’t even reach the middle of her thighs.

…

She’s sitting in front of me on her own couch, leaning forward, her breasts (far bigger than mine) between the arms she’s resting on her knees, and her bright blue hair stands out from the shadowed background in a way that the smatters of color brought about by roaming, robotized lights barely accent.

She’s looking at me with eyes that…

Damn it, Mami, do you choose your apprentices based on how much you want to get fucked by them or something?

“Look,” I tell her, almost conciliatory, “if I don’t look great after drinking a shot? Think about how much worse I’d look if I hadn’t drunk it.”

She tilts her head, her short hair shifting when she does, the highlights in her startlingly blue eyes shifting as the angle of the LEDs on her changes, as shadows that delineate a delicate jawline recede to bring about pale, smooth skin and high cheekbones.

Damn it, Mami.

“OK, let’s say I buy what you’re selling. Let’s say I drink this shot. What comes next?” she asks.

I look at her like she was dropped on her head as a baby.

“The next one. Duh.”

She blinks at me, then stares at the spread of lemon, salt, and tequila.

“Sounds about right,” she says.

And grabs a slice of lemon.

***

“I don’t think this really was… a… a teaching moment,” the rookie says with barely any slurring.

“You sure look like you’re learning… a lot,” I tell her as I try to point at her with my own glass, only to decide the geometry isn’t suited for it and swallowing the golden liquid so I can more easily wave my hand around without making the creepy dude at the counter have to deal with morespillage.

God knows what Mami’s getting up to in her box.

“You’re kind of an asshole, aren’t you?” she asks, refilling my glass before doing the same with hers.

“First a jerk, now an asshole… I’ll start to think you’re flirting, rookie,” I tell her before I suck on the slice speared on my claw and bring my now liquor-laden glass back to me.

“You wish. And don’t call me rookie,” she says, already sprinkling salt on her… bluish skin?

Huh.

“Well, I can’t call you ‘pair of tits smaller than Mami’s,’ now, can I?” I very reasonably tell her.

She, for some strange reason, glares at me.

… I kinda like it.

“My name is Sayaka,” she says, still glaring over a hand that… uh, I guess those are scales. We match!

“I know, you already told me,” I tell her while reaching for… damn, we’re out of lemons.

I look with genuine desolation at the dish filled with lemon corpses, then something clicks.

And I look up to see Sayaka about to bite into the last slice.

“No!” I yell as I jump across the glass table, my own tequila flying out of my glass and breaking my earlier promise to Creepy Counter Guy not to make more of a mess than Mami—never mind. I don’t think he’ll even register this.

Also, I’m now straddling a very startled Sayaka.

Rookie. I mean rookie.

“This is all a perfectly sensible thing I would’ve done even if I wasn’t drunk,” I tell her, carefully enunciating every word so that I can come across as convincingly reasonable and for no other reason.

The girl lying on the black leather sofa with her short hair spread below her narrows her eyes.

And I steal her lemon slice.

“Hey! I need that! I already drank the damn tequila!” she says as I tactically sit on top of her hips to impede her movements.

“Show some damn deference to your seniors, won’t you?” I tell her as I rub my prized possession (Do lemons count as gold? I don’t think so, but who knows.) on the back of my left hand before I tilt to the right to reach the shaker on the glass table that is now splattered with some transparent fluid that has nothing at all to do with my earlier flight.

“That’s rich coming from you,” she says.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as I sit back down on top of her and sprinkle a liberal amount of salt, mostly on top of my hand.

“Gah! Aim that thing!” she says, sputtering out the remains of my brief bout of imperfect aim.

“Heh. That’s what she said,” I tell her with my best fang-revealing grin before I let out my long tongue in a way that some people may consider showing off when I lick the salt on the back of my hand from about a forearm away.

The rookie… stares.

And all but drools.

Heh. Still got it.

So, taking advantage of her momentary loss of brainpower, I reach back to grab the bottle and tilt it back almost entirely to pour the last dredges of tequila in my open mouth, some of it splattering on my lips, which gives me the chance to once again look at the wide-eyed rookie as I make a show of cleaning them with the independently wiggling twin tips of my bifid tongue.

Then, as she visibly swallows, I smile down in triumph and bite into the last lemon slice, swallowing the tequila just as I suck on it as hard as I can, the back of my nape tingling with both the pleasant sourness washing through my teeth and the liquid fire crawling down my throat.

I don’t stop sucking until the slice is completely dry, and then I slowly pull it away, the thin piece of lemon rind momentarily bridging my lips and my fingers as I suck it clean for no reason at all, and definitely not because I just caught the way she’s staring at me from below me as her eyes follow the wet piece of yellow peel as it slowly drags past my tightly closed lips.

No reason at all.

So what if Mami is being railed by inhuman cocks on the other side of the corridor? What if the last time I checked on her, she was bouncing between a thick shaft in her pussy and a writhing, whorishly moaning girl in front of her? What if the barrier I set up to avoid having more civilians wander in has basically hotboxed me with all the scent of her sex and lustful magic to the point I drank more than half a bottle of tequila just to numb the sensation away? What about it?

It’s not like I need her. It’s not like I can’t feel wanted if it’s not with her. It’s not like I’ve only fucked her and phantoms, which definitely don’t count, because of anything other than… circumstances.

It’s not like she can’t enjoy a cock other than mine without me getting sulky.

And it’s definitely not like I’ve been saving my actualvirginity for…

Damn it.

So I look at the girl still staring transfixed at the piece of rind that just cracked past my lips after a sharp tug that didn’t dislodge it from my suction. I look at the blue-haired girl lying beneath me, at her chest rising up and down in short bursts of ragged breath as both glimmering blue and scales spread and grow deeper over her skin.

I look at the rookie losing her mind as I make her horny.

And, you know what? I like it.

I like it a lot.

“You are a bitch,” she says.

And I grind down on her, my tight ass rubbing on something soft and increasingly wet as her skin glistens.

“I usually save that word for Kyuubey. Makes it more personal, you know?” I tell her as her eyes widen even further and the blue on her cheeks darkens.

“I… What are you doing?” she asks, her hands tightening into clenched fingers by her sides, between my bare thighs and her body.

Because today, of all days, I decided to be cute and wear a skirt.

A short skirt.

A dark forest green, plaid thing that I chose not because it would evoke in Mami some kind of familiarity for my student self, the younger girl that followed her around like a lovesick puppy. No, this was just for ease of access. In case something happened.

With phantoms, not with Mami.

And, what do you know? Something happened.

With phantoms, and Mami, and maybe the rookie.

“How is your drunk driving?” I ask her while staring down at her, my breasts almost in the line between our eyes as I lean back to push another semi-circle down into her soft, accepting hips.

Her gaze drifts briefly down, following the maroon straps of my bra down the broad collar of my creme shirt that is not precisely the same shade as that of her uniform’s overshirt until she briefly fixates on where my nipples would be showing, if not for the thick bra.

Then she blinks, snaps her mouth shut, and hurries to look back into my eyes.

“Wha—” she tries to protest. And I don’t let her.

“Are you going to sing, Rookie? Are you going to mouth filthy words to me just because we’re both drunk and I’m acting a little flirty?”

“A little? If I was a boy, we’d already be fucking!”

“You wish,” I tell her, finally leaning forward, over her, then to her right when I drop the empty bottle to clatter down on the floor before I get back up and I push both hands into black leather by each side of her head.

She’s panting.

I like it.

“Ky—Kyouko, I…” she drifts off. Her eyes don’t.

“Yes?” I ask, almost purring, the most feline part of the dragon coming out behind my eyes as I feel my pupils lengthen and stretch and the lights and colors of the room shift into something with more contrast, everything becoming more vivid even as the profiles stand out to the point I could count each strand of glimmering blue hair beneath me, between my hands.

“You’re going to make me…” She stops herself, something in her eyes pleading.

And I feel a thrill run up my spine that I usually only get when my tail is out and wrapped around a writhing blonde.

“Am I going to make you what, Rookie?” I ask as my arms bend, as I lower myself so that our clothed chests almost brush against one another, yet being very careful to avoid doing so.

“You’re going to make me hard,” she says, something in her tone shifting, something in her eyes shining, something in her voice…

Oh.

So I drop down. I drop down so suddenly that she lets out a sharp, brief ‘eep’ as our bodies mold against one another, and it only cuts off when I seal her lips with my mine.

Then, just for good measure, I push my tongue past coral blue lips and tease at her own, dragging my tips over the flat of it, teasing at her palate, behind her teeth…

I…

OK, I devour her.

I am a dragon, and she may as well be tasty sashimi.

So I taste everything of hers. I suck her tongue into my own mouth and swallow spit that feels like seawater would if it was milder, if it was something to be served in an expensive bar. I trace the ridges on the roof of her mouth as she writhes beneath me, as her hands open and close, brushing my bare thighs every time her fingers spread.

I don’t regret wearing knee-high socks. Not with the way her wet skin leaves a lingering aftertouch every time she departs, not with how it adds yet another layer to this forceful kiss, an underlying note of hesitation and yearning. Not with how it makes her let out a little involuntary sigh past her lips as I grind down on her hips yet again.

And definitely not when something hard and thick slides up and between us, the rookie’s cock finally unable to withstand my teasing.

… I do regret it slightly at the burst of embarrassingly intense pride that brings me.

So I lean back, and I make a show yet again as I leave my tongue inside of her warm, wet mouth until my arms are almost fully extended, and I drag it back out of her, yet again tracing the insides of her mouth, her tongue, her lips…

She’s delicious.

So I look down at her. At bright blue eyes that match her lips. At her hair hovering over the black leather, swaying as if underwater, each dot of errant, robotic, colored light diffracting across it as if on shimmering pearls. At her chest rising and falling in a breath that is synchronized with mine.

I like meat. I love meat.

But… I may enjoy fish every once in a while.

“Don’t sing,” I tell her.

“What?” she manages to ask through the fog of… everything.

“Don’t sing. Hold on. Don’t let the magic control you,” I tell her with a maybe encouraging smile.

And then I shift above her as I find the zipper of her skirt, precisely where Mami’s would be, and slide it down with a sound that makes her shudder as it echoes inside the empty box.

“I… Kyouko, I don’t know if I…”

I kiss her.

Not like before. Not devouring her. Just… Just brushing our lips together, my own crimson ones sliding across the blue coral.

Then, almost without separating from her, almost prolonging the kiss after our touch breaks, I stare into her wide eyes, past the glimmer of magic, and at the girl beneath me.

“You can. Trust me, Rookie. And trust that I trust you,” I tell her, my smile maybe something I once saw on the face of an encouraging blonde before everything went to Hell.

She… blinks at me.

“Did you just…?” she asks, her tone more uncertain than before.

“Did I what?” I ask in turn, realizing too late that my curious head tilt is as feline as my dragon side wants it to be.

“Did you just reference Tengen Toppa Gurren-Lagann?” she says as if forcing herself to ask.

“What the what now?” I tell her, my forehead scrunching.

“It’s… It’s a classic anime. One of the quotes is, ‘Don’t believe in yourself. Believe in the me that believes in you!’”

I blink at her. Uncomprehending. Disbelieving. In both her and myself.

“What?” I ask yet again, trying to make the world make sense.

“It’s… pretty badass?” she says with a shrug that does eye-catching things to her breasts below mine.

I close my eyes. I remember a solemnly smiling blonde girl shooting me a thumbs up. I remember her words sticking through the years to come.

“God damn it, Mami,” I hiss.

“Wha—”

“She always does this! She will say something cool, or meaningful, or… or romantic! And then it will turn out to be yet another of her dorky, geeky things that she tries to pretend she’s not obsessed with! She tried to name my magic something pretentious and Italian! She—oh, for… You’re still hard,” I finally tell her as something keeps insistently poking up at me from below.

The rookie, slightly guilty, turns her head aside.

“Well… I did tell you it was badass…” she sheepishly comments, her left hand leaving my inner thigh to scratch at her cheek.

My eyes narrow.

“That’s it. No more. You’re going to come your brains out, and you’re going to forget the dorky quote I’ve been infected with.”

“You actually paraphrased—”

“Shut. Up,” I growl.

And then dive down, biting on her neck, just above what I just realized are her gills as I snake a hand down between us to pull her skirt up and tease the tip of the cock poking out of her panties with my fingers.

She… She moans, the hand on her cheek grabbing the base of my ponytail and pulling me harder against her as I keep licking salty skin, my tongue gliding past my lips to trace a line up her nape that makes her shiver as she lets out a low, almost musical moan.

Then I bite her earlobe and pull on it until it snaps out of my lips, and she gasps.

“No singing,” I remind her in yet another purr as my tongue thins so I can send it spiraling into her ear canal.

She tries to moan, and I grab her shaft, my wrist twisting around it, brushing against the front of my panties, making me strain not to close my eyes.

Her tug on my ponytail grows more insistent.

And I…

I could do it.

I could… shift my panties to the side. Lift my hips. Point her at me.

I could slide down a thick shaft that is permanently lubricated with the lotion covering her skin. I bet it wouldn’t hurt even a tiny bit. I bet I could slide down all the way until my clitoris ground out against her mound, and I circled around her cock inside of me, looking for closer contact as I clenched my teeth hard enough for them to crack.

It doesn’t matter. They grow back.

But… But only my teeth do. And this would be my first time, in a karaoke booth, with a drunk girl whose magic is almost entirely out of control, and I’ve been saving myself up for years after a blonde girl broke my heart.

It… I wouldn’t be able to take it back.

So I close my eyes. I take a deep breath, one filled with spraying sea foam and white water over moss-covered rocks. One that cleanses as much as it entrances.

One that almost covers the… the perfume of Mami’s sex.

And I won’t do this.

Not like this. Never like this.

So I wiggle my tongue inside her ear, reaching just up to the point where the overwhelming sensation I know she’s feeling after too much self-experimentation would become something painful, and I twist my hand around her cock, reaching down all the way to her base, my fingertips brushing along her testicles until she shudders once again and pushes her hips up, my own arm pressing against my sex when she does so, when she pushes us closer together.

I try to bite my lip, and I almost bite my tongue.

Then I feel her jaw opening beside my lips once again glued to her neck, sucking on a spot right above her gills that made her hand on my ponytail clench tighter and pull on my hair when I first discovered it, and something… something bubbles up beneath her skin.

So I let go of her cock and slide my hand up below her white blouse, under her tight bra, and find her nipple just in time to twist itso that she doesn’t sing.

I lean back and see her staring up at the ceiling, her mouth open, her eyelids almost vibrating as most of her pupil hides behind them.

And I slide my tongue out of her ear before, this time successfully, biting my lip.

My fingers sink into her soft flesh, into gorgeous breasts second only to a single person in my life, and the hard nipple rolls easily between them, her areola dotted with raised skin whose edge I delight in tracing.

“No singing,” I whisper as I approach her yet again, and then I take her lower lip between my own, suck at it, prod it with the bifid tips of my tongue.

She moans, and it’s musical enough that I have to rub my hips up and down against her, both our skirts flipped up so that only my drenched panties keep me away from her cock spearing me open, from making my eyes cross in overwhelming pleasure like Mami’s have done so many times before when I have grasped her hips and pulled her against me, her abundant flesh overflowing from my spread fingers almost as much as Rookie’s breast now is.

I remember it. The first time I used two cocks on her, a few nights ago, before my mind became muddled yet again with constant thoughts of the graceful blonde, of the easily flustered woman, of the smile that…

I pull away, and her swollen lip slides out from between my own.

Blue eyes meet mine.

And I decide to focus.

“No singing,” I tell her, my lips turning up in a smirk.

She… gasps.

And then she pulls hard on my hair and drives me back down, our lips mashing together as her tongue rushes into my mouth, as her moans resonate through me, as the hand that was barely brushing my inner thigh gropes up and around, sliding beneath my panties and sinking into my ass to pull me harder against her cock.

Then…

Then she almost fucks me.

She thrusts up, her hard shaft sliding along satin panties that I won’t ever admit who they were meant for, and we’re both drenched. The cloth should be uncomfortable, sticking to my labia, pulling at it.

It doesn’t.

No, she… she just glides. She just makes my nipples hard enough to push against the stiff fabric of my maroon bra. She just makes me feel every vein of her shaft, pulsing against me, making my clit throb, making me finally understand the difference between the pleasure I take from Mami and the one I give her.

She just… She just makes me feel desired. Wanted.

Like a woman.

I… I think about fighting back. About thrusting my tongue forward to throatfuck her. About leaning back and away and swallowing her cock down to her root until the hand on my hair holds me down as she fills my mouth with dollop after dollop of her cum, making me taste it all the way, forcing me to keep it in my mouth until she allows me to slide up and I look into her wide eyes as I swallow before diving back down and encircling her tip all the way around with my tongue.

It takes me a stunned second to realize I haven’t even thought about fucking her with my own cocks. Or even my tail.

My eyes shoot open at the thought, but I only see her below me, incredibly taking my control away as her legs slide mine open when she bends them to get a proper angle, to lay her feet flat on the couch before thrusting up against me, lifting my body with hers, making all of me rest against her cock for a bliss-filled moment that she takes advantage of to twist her tongue around mine, to lick at my palate, behind my teeth, to trace the ridges on the roof of my mouth.

She… She makes me feel…

Her hand on my ass tightens, sharp nails lengthening against my taut flesh, just on the very verge of hurting.

My jaw slacks open, and I let her do whatever she wants.

And she wants me.

Her thighs brush the insides of mine as she keeps fucking up against me, always strong enough to lift my body that tiny bit, to bring me a moment of wonderful disorientation and helplessness when she’s the only thing holding me up.

Her tongue pushes mine down, briefly caressing the inside of my cheeks like her cock would if she wanted me to open my mouth as she grabbed my horns and held me in place.

And… And her eyes…

They are wide. Wild.

And so, so blue.

I pinch her nipple, not because I want to or even mean to, but because she makes my entire body clench with the last thrust, with the latest full taste of her cock against me, from tip to bottom. I feel the hard flesh between my fingers squash a tiny bit, and she all but mauls my ass in retaliation, shaping me beneath her touch, making me shamefully whimper around her tongue, my lips closing around it like I would if I gave her a blowjob.

She moans with her mouth forcefully open, the magic barely held back as I suck on her tongue, as I twist mine around her, enticing her more than anything else.

And I’ve been trying to hold my body up on my free hand for a while, but, when she reacts to my insistent kiss? When she tilts her head to the right so she can push further into my mouth?

My arm wraps behind her, my hand clasps her nape, and my fingers thread through blue hair swaying in unseen currents.

Then… Then she moans yet again, and she makes something at the center of my chest… I don’t know. It clenches, and it pulses, but it feels like it should shine as I feel her pleasure radiating through me, as I feel her insistent pushes against me.

As I feel her speed up.

And now it’s my turn for my eyes to roll back, for my eyelids to flutter, for my breath to stop.

It’s my turn for my back to arch as the hands on my ass and my hair pull me down, tighter against her even as she lifts me higher and higher, as her sawing cock goes too far back and stops sliding against me to push against me, against my opening, hard enough that I feel the vibrations wash over my clitoris.

She doesn’t stop.

She… She just keeps fucking me, as if trying to tear my panties apart and then do the same to my insides, and I’m at a point where I’m not sure I would stop her, where I just want her to fill me, to pump me full of her seed as my legs quiver around her and I just let her mark me.

My thoughts swim away, and there’s only deep blue in front of me, inside of me, rubbing against me.

And all but the blue drowns as my jaw opens entirely, as far as the dragon allows it go, and I thrust back against the cock knocking on my pussy.

My panties get pushed inside just a tad more, just enough that they are past my lips and against my tight, virginal opening.

And I, despite her hold on my hair, throw my head back and scream as my tail bursts out, tearing the back of my panties apart, hitting the side of her knee, making her slide down beneath me so that her cock brushes past my clitoris once more and the waves of overwhelming pleasure rushing through me shatter something inside my head and make my world go white as she bites down on my neck and pulses beneath me, something warm, scalding, shooting past my panties and drenching them with something other than what they were already soaked in.

I… I gape.

I stare at a grey ceiling with a strip of sliding LED lights bringing swaying colors that pale when compared to what’s swimming behind my eyes.

She keeps pumping. Keeps staining me with her seed. Keeps overriding any smells in here with her own.

I shudder.

She keeps cumming.

And…

And I look back down at her. At the way she’s looking up at me. At the raw desire.

“Don’t sing,” I whisper despite my rough throat.

And then I slide down her body to take the pulsing cock in my hand before swallowing it.

The moment my lips close around it? As soon as her fingers dig into my scalp with an overwhelmingly soothing massage? When another spurt of thick semen shoots over my tongue?

I look into her eyes.

And, without knowing why, as my cheeks heat and tingle, I look away as I slide down her cock, my long tongue cleaning any traces of her, me, and us.

***

“That… That was…” she tries to say, cuddled up against my side.

“Yeah,” I answer her, my mind too far away to come up with something better.

She makes a noise of agreement, curling up tighter, her arm over my stomach, her hand on my other side.

I just stare up. At a ceiling stained with shifting colors that are now disappointing to behold.

“Hey, I… Thank you,” she says.

“Why?” I answer, my mouth running on automatic.

“Because… It helped, you know? I… I really felt like I was in control. Like the magic didn’t mess things up. Not this time.”

“Anytime, Rookie,” I say, as dismissively as I can manage while I try to gauge whether my blinking is too fast or too slow.

Then I remember I’m not only cock drunk but actually drunk, and some relief washes over me at there being a perfectly reasonable explanation for the current mess inside my head.

No longer blue fingers tighten on my right side, and I look to my left, where still surprisingly blue eyes wait for me with a hint of displeasure.

“Sayaka,” she says.

“What?” I answer, my thoughts still sluggish. Because of the tequila. And nothing else.

“My name. It’s Sayaka,” she insists, her eyes narrowing, her lips tightening.

“I know,” I tell her, and then I try to shrug before I remember that my left arm is beneath her, buried in plush leather, and wrapped around her shoulders.

So I don’t shrug.

It’s the obvious choice.

“Call me Sayaka,” she clarifies, her lips… pouting.

Mine twitch.

“All right, I’ll call you Sayaka… Rookie,” I tell her.

The fingers caressing my waist turn to violently poking, and I suppress my giggles as I dig into her armpit.

Then, as Mami continues fucking a phantom to death just two doors away, Sayaka and I engage in a tickling fight that ends up with a glass table broken, the rest of the tequila consumed without any more lemons, and me painfully discovering just where the microphones of this karaoke box were stored.

The bluette can be vicious.

And I respect that.