Momo Won't Lose, Internet! – The Demon Girl Next Door [Complete]

Disclaimer: So that this story fits inside of Patreon’s Community Guidelines, it’s been revised so that it occurs in an AU where all the characters are legal adults. This includes the characters not involved in sexual events. Everybody is an adult, without a single exception. Sorry about the inconvenience.

Yuko Yoshida, also known as Dark Mistress Shamiko, also known as ‘that adorable cinnamon roll,’ also known as ‘that cute waitress who works for the talking tapir’ (it was complicated—and possibly illegal), had a battle cry she was (also) known for, one that was thoroughly associated with her trials and triumphs as a demon girl in training and that was instinctively recognized by her foremost nemesis (and neighbor, and best friend, and sometimes sworn subordinate corrupted by her dark wiles—it was complicated, but not illegal), the magical girl Momo. Said battle cry was:

“Don’t think this means you’ve won!”

Which was precisely what Shamiko was crying out as she beat a hasty retreat to her home after her latest scheme to have Momo turn to the dark side had turned like all her other schemes to turn Momo to the dark side.

Really, Momo was too uncooperative. It was like she only (temporarily) fell to the sweet embrace of the Darkness when she thought Shamiko needed her help or something! And she didn’t! Really! She was an independent, young, enterprising demon girl who didn’t need anyone to look down on her—

“Shamiko? Did Momo beat you again?” her other enemy-slash-neighbor-slash-best friend, the magical girl Mikan, asked as she saw her teary-eyed—ahem! As she witnessed the dark, brooding, terribly majestic return of the Mistress of the Dark Clan!

“Not really… But I’m starting to think her morning jogs are a sneaky way to chip at my mental strength,” Shamiko answered, not slumping at all, her tracksuit drenched with sweat, as she leaned on the not-that-dilapidated wall of her apartment’s corridor.

“Momo. Sneaky,” Mikan asked with a slightly skeptical eyebrow.

“She is! Remember that time she went dressed all out to my challenge? She looked like she was ready for a date! That could only be psychicly—psycholololo—a tricky thing!”

Mikan blinked. Then, for some unfathomable reason Shamiko didn’t understand, the redhead blushed.

“Maybe… Maybe Momo didn’t think it was a challenge? And maybe she showed the letter to another friend, who helped her get ready for what looked like an invitation to a romantic date, or to spend time looking at one another’s eyes as, well… you know…”

“Mikan, don’t be silly! Who could’ve made such a ridiculous, rom-com-like mistake?” Shamiko cheerfully and innocently said as Mikan flinched. “How blind would you have to be to read a challenge letter as something romantic?” Mikan looked aside uncomfortably. “You’d have to be a nosy girl obsessed with the love lives of others due to her own loneliness—”

Mikan ran away.

“Don’t think this means you’ve wooooon!” The magical girl yelled as she covered her eyes with her forearm, almost stumbling down the stairs of their shared apartment complex.

Shamiko blinked after her retreating friend.

“Oh. So this is how that feels,” she finally commented.

***

Being the heir to the Dark Clan’s legacy was a huge responsibility, one that carried with it terrible burdens Shamiko dared not share with anybody else.

Namely: her horns.

They weighed, like, a ton.

“Sis? Do you want a massage?” Ryoko, the best little sister in the world (and Shamiko would fight anybody who argued otherwise—all right, maybe challenge to a thumb war), asked as she saw her enter their small apartment, rubbing her shoulders due to the weight of her aforementioned burden.

“Please? Momo’s training was brutal today… I don’t know how she does it.”

“Maybe because she spends all day exercising rather than lying down reading manga?”

“Gah!”

“Which just shows how much better you are than her, sis! That she would need to devote every waking minute to avoid being crushed by your dark might—”

“Ryoko,” Shamiko said, her hands on the shoulders of the diminutive girl, looking straight into eyes so pure and full of faith in her older sister that didn’t seem to allow for the possibility of Shamiko’s ‘dark might’ being maybe as fearsome as that of an uncoordinated kitten, “please, stop, I can’t handle the mental damage on top of the physical one.”

Ryoko blinked her wide, innocent, violet eyes up at her, and laid her own hand on Shamiko’s right.

“That’s not true, sis. You can handle anything. I believe in you.”

Shamiko blinked at her little sister, then tried not to cry and completely destroy the mental image her little sister had of her.

“Sis?” Ryoko asked, her head tilted. “Do your shoulders hurt that much? You’re tearing up.”

“They… They kinda do, Ryoko.”

“Ah! The weight of the responsibility of conquering Earth in the name of our clan must be too heavy! Don’t worry, sis! I’ll do my best to help you with your burdens!” she said, pounding a tiny, diminutive fist on a soft palm as resolve brimmed from her eyes.

Shamiko thought about correcting the misunderstanding. Then thought about wide, bright eyes that, for some reason, didn’t seem to realize their admired big sister was far dumber than Ryoko herself.

So Shamiko nodded, suppressing a sigh as she slumped on top of her still laid-out futon (not because she’d been too lazy to put it away and planned on napping after being subjected to the physical torture Momo considered a warm-up, mind, just… because). And then Ryoko sat on her back and started kneading the far too tense flesh of her shoulders over her green jersey.

“You’re really stressed, aren’t you, sis?”

“Hngh,” Shamiko answered, caught between excruciating pain and sheer relief.

“Ah… I’ve been working on plans to help you defeat Momo, if that’s something that would alleviate your concerns?”

“Raaaaangh?”

“Yes, the internet has provided me with forbidden knowledge that no woman can beat!”

At that, several things ran through Shamiko’s head. In order, they were:

1) ‘Ryoko’s too good at this. Mom and I need to stop taking advantage.’

2) ‘The internet knows how to beat Momo?! The internet’s too powerful! The internet’s too fearsome!’

3) ‘Wait, a thing that no woman can beat? Wha—oh. Oh. No. Please, no.’

“Ryoko… What is it that no woman can beat?” Shamiko asked with mounting dread on every syllable.

“The cock! Can’t beat the cock!” Yuuko cheerfully replied.

***

“Sis! Don’t destroy our computer!” Ryoko begged, holding onto the Dark Mistress’s legs and trying to keep her away from their foremost source of intelligence gathering.

“It’s evil! The internet must die before it corrupts you!” Shamiko calmly explained as she tried to lift the giant mallet she had turned her Thingamajig Rod into.

“The internet doesn’t live on our computer! It’s everywhere!”

“Then I’ll hunt it down everywhere!”

“What are you two doing?” a gentle, mature voice called out from the door to the living room.

And the two sisters slowly turned around to face their apron-wearing mother.

“Nothing,” Shamiko said as she turned her rod into a small pencil and hid it up the poofy, detached sleeves of her demon girl suit.

“Nothing,” Ryoko said, quickly letting go of her sister’s thighs and standing up as nonchalantly as she could manage.

Truly, sisterly bonds should never be underestimated.

“Really. Because it looked to me like Yuko wanted to destroy the internet and Ryoko wanted to protect it.”

Truly, motherly insight should never be underestimated.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the sisters tried not to fidget under their mother’s stern gaze.

Then Shamiko, heiress of the Dark Clan, demon girl in training, and someone who at some point had given up on being called ‘Shadow Mistress Yuko’ and accepted the shortened Shamiko, much to her chagrin, caved in.

“The internet is evil! It told Ryoko to defeat Momo with cock!”

Seiko Yoshida, housewife extraordinaire who had managed to keep her family running for years despite their ancestral curse to only have an income of 40,000 yen per month, snapped the ladle in her hand.

Her smile remained on her face, but it may have been a tad strained.

***

Alone in her room as her mother tried to do damage control on Ryoko’s impressionable psyche, Shamiko was finally given enough time to blush hard enough for her ears to feel like they were about to catch on fire as she contemplated her sister’s… advice.

She had seen the… the manga that cursed line came from. The men carelessly commenting that the fainting woman by their feet may have been strong, but no one was strong enough to beat the… cock.

Burying her face in her hands and trying very hard not to shout until her throat went hoarse, Shamiko reflected that, even if that was true, which it most certainly wasn’t, she, Shadow Mistress Yuko, didn’t have a cock!

All right, yes, she was technically a succubus, but! That only meant she was a demon with influence over dreams! And dreams were weird! They were full of haunted hospital corridors and hostile IV drips—ah, wait, no, those were just Shamiko’s dreams. Momo’s were instead filled with terrifying, giant cats who kept saying, ‘The time has come.’ And Mikan’s had primordial, oozing darkness that hosted the spirit of a protective familiar who acted like a curse.

…

Why were dreams so weird? Or why did Shamiko only go into the dreams of weird people?

… Excluding Shamiko. She, horns and spaded tail aside, was perfectly normal.

So perfectly normal, in fact, that there was absolutely no way one of the hidden powers of the Dark Clan was to grow a… a… thingie. Yes. No way at all. Succubus, yes; thingie-grower? Not at all.

And… even if she did… How would that help against Momo? It wasn’t like she could just grab the taller girl’s hips, bend her over and lie across her back to seductively whisper in her ear just how much Yuko would like to lick up the inside of her thighs, and—

Aaaaaaahhhhh!

She wasn’t a pervert! She was a succubus, but a perfectly decent one! She wanted to corrupt Momo and bring her to the dark side, but only for her own good!

Really! It had nothing at all to do with how much sexier Momo looked in her corrupted uniform! Yes, the frills of her magical girl form were cute as Hell, and Shamiko would dearly love to run her hands up the inside of that poofy skirt of hers, but the bare belly of her Darkness Peach form?! That—that was unfair! How did Momo think walking around like that would make Shamiko feel! Really, if Shamiko had a… a cock, it would’ve been like, really hard, or something after seeing the—

Shamiko had been waving her arms in increasing agitation, which made something stuck up her sleeve slide out into her palm right as she thought about a certain, pink-haired magical girl’s toned belly. Said something had a very long, distinguished name that nobody cared to remember, and was thus referred to as the Thingamajig Rod, an ancient weapon of the Dark Clan able to transform into anything their owner demanded of it, so long as it was stick-like in shape.

So, there was a flash of light, and, mere moments later, Momo, still wearing her green shorts and white shirt from the workout Shamiko had earlier fled from, walked into the room.

“Shamiko? I brought protein powder; maybe we can make a few smoothies and—” she started to say.

Then she stopped and blinked as her brain tried to process the sight of Shamiko in her demon girl form, kneeling on the floor, blushing like a succubus should never blush unless playing a part, and waving an intimidating strap-on.

“This is all your fault, Momo!”

Momo stared at the kneeling girl, then at the frankly anatomically inadequate sex toy, and felt the room start to spin.

***

“So, it’s… true?” Shamiko asked with a low, gentle voice as she tried to fan Momo with a notebook.

The magical girl sitting on the worn tatami mat and leaning on the almost crumbling wall of the room rudely glared at her despite the kindness and care Shamiko was showering her with.

Said glare may or not have had something to do with the magical strap-on lying on the floor between them. It was hard to tell: Momo was always prone to glaring.

“What,” Momo started to say through a dry throat that forced her to pause,” is supposed to be ‘true?’”

“That you can’t beat the cock!” Shamiko answered through a mortifying blush. A blush that mortified Momo, specifically.

So Momo tried to look anywhere but the far too closeface of the flustered succubus. Under any other circumstances, that usually worked to mitigate her embarrassment as her brain tried to come up with ways to turn the situation around on the busty redhead, but, unluckily for Momo, the circumstances were anything but usual, and so her eyes fell on the magical strap-on.

She couldn’t help but notice it matched Shamiko’s hair.

“What are you even saying!” she shouted, defensively covering her eyes with her hands.

“So it is true!” Shamiko declared with a triumphant tone she didn’t particularly feel, but her instincts as a demon girl would not let her pass up this chance to capitalize on her advantage over her sworn enemy.

That, or Shamiko was precisely as embarrassed as Momo felt and desperately wanted to deflect, deflect, deflect—

“That’s ridiculous! There’s no way I would be defeated by, by—that. That thing!”

“So you say you can beat the cock?!”

“No! I say I can’t be beaten by that!” Momo declared, cheeks burning, as she forced herself to look straight into Shamiko’s purple eyes.

They both froze. In part, because now Momo realized that Shamiko had been brandishing the strap-on and pointing at her with it during her verbal assault. In part, because Shamiko’s demon girl outfit was about as modest as fancy lingerie. But, also in part, because Momo had leaned forward, and their noses were almost touching as their wide eyes kept looking at one another.

Again, this was not an unprecedented circumstance. For merely being close friends (or sworn enemies—tomayto, tomahto), Momo and Shamiko had a certain… tendency to end up far too close to one another, so the magical girl was used to forcing her brain to reset and default to saying something that would fluster the demon girl hard enough that all the embarrassment would fall on a single party. This wasn’t, at all, due to Momo particularly enjoying teasing Shamiko, or delighting in the way her blush almost yet not quite matched her hair, or even because of the opening this often provided for Momo to guiltily leer at the other girl unrestrainedly bouncing with emotional energy that translated to certain parts of her bouncing with kinetic energy. Not at all. This was all merely a psychological tactic to put her foe on the back foot, and had nothing at all to do with any unstated attraction of the Sapphic kind.

Really.

So, it was due to this perfectly sensible psychological warfare tactic that Momo, eyes wide open and cheeks burning as she felt herself drowning in the purple gaze of Shamiko, uttered the first verbal attack that came to mind:

“I bet it could defeat you,” she murmured, her voice trying to be heated and falling instead into a quivering murmur.

It could be said, not unkindly, that it wasn’t Momo’s brightest moment.

Shamiko’s eyebrows shot up, and she defaulted to her own anti-Momo tactic:

“No, you!”

It could be said, if one was slightly mean, that it wasn’t that far from Shamiko’s brightest moment.

“As if!” Momo yelled, some part of her brain observing in horrified fascination as her mouth kept making sounds. “You would… you… There’s no way you could outlast me!”

That part of Momo’s brain tried not to sob.

“I am a succubus!” Shamiko adroitly riposted, making a small part of her brain who was watching in (unknowingly mirrored) horrified fascination stand up and cheer.

“So you dress like that on purpose!”

“And what’s wrong with how I dress?!”

“You’re shoving your boobs in my face!”

Shamiko looked down and noticed Momo’s chin effectively buried in her cleavage. Thankfully, she didn’t embarrass herself by blushing.

The blushing had started long, long ago, at that point. It was a fond memory, a reminder of simpler times when Shamiko wasn’t waving a sex toy in Momo’s face—or, at least, the portion of it that wasn’t about to motorboat Shamiko.

“… I don’t hear you complaining,” she bitterly commented.

Momo also didn’t flush. For pretty much the same reasons.

“… I won’t be defeated by your sultry, demonic wiles,” she finally said as her brain screamed at her to stop.

“You would be so screwed if I tried,” Shamiko said before realizing the double meaning of her words and trying very hard not to self-combust.

“I do believe that’s the point,” Momo commented, her brain facepalming hard enough to make her ears ring. That, or the lack of air was getting to her.

“Well, if you won, I would be the one getting screwed.” Shamiko wanted to stop talking. To just shut up, lean slightly away from Momo’s soft skin on her breasts, and transform the Thingamajig Rod into something far more innocuous than a damn strap-on—

There was a flash of light.

Two girls turned to look at it, one of them (completely unwillingly and inadvertently) brushing her face against the other’s breasts.

And they stared at the Thingamajig Rod being transformed into something more innocuous than a strap-on:

A double-headed dildo.

Shamiko had learned plenty of things since she discovered her secret lineage. She had learned about the hidden, magical side of the world. She had learned about trials she had never considered before, about the pain other people, people stronger than her, managed to hide behind a bright smile. She had learned about her own strength, pitiful as it was, and how even it could make a difference when others needed her.

She had learned about friendship, about love, about sacrifice.

She had also learned to never, ever surrender.

“Momo… this time, you won’t defeat me,” she said with narrowed eyes as she turned to look back at the taller girl currently sitting below her.

Momo looked back, swallowed through a suddenly uncooperative throat while looking at Shamiko’s violet eyes…

And jumped up to kiss her.

“Mmmmmmph!”

As far as reactions to her first kiss went, Momo had a list of things that could be considered far worse than Shamiko’s panicked mumble.

“Momo!”

And plenty more that ranked below the shorter girl yelling her name and burying one hand on her pink hair as Momo dragged her down to the tatami, licking and kissing the fascinating neck all the way.

“Ah! No fair, Momo! No fair!”

In fact, Momo thought as she nibbled on Shamiko’s always entrancing earlobe, it could be said that things were going… not bad. Which was definitely better than most of her projected scenarios.

“Fine! If you won’t listen, I’ll make you listen!” the shorter girl declared.

Oh, wait, that sounded precisely like something that was actuallyon the list—

Momo’s eyes shot open as she almost idly considered that Shamiko shoving her hand down her shorts and panties to grope at her bare ass definitelywasn’t on the list of scenarios.

It was, though, on the list of guilty fantasies she touched herself to far more often than she would care to admit (working out with the bouncy Shamiko was frustrating), and so it didn’t come as a surprise when a long, sweet moan was taken from her lips as they almost vibrated over Shamiko’s neck.

Well, it didn’t come as a surprise to Momo.

“Wh—what? Did you—? With—because of me?!” Shamiko tried not to panic, only to then realize she was cupping Momo’s lowercheek, which seemed about as soft as the upper ones, but also far firmer than Shamiko’s own, maybe a tad more generously proportioned behind—she wasn’t fat! Really! She didn’t even have enough food to get fat!

… Which made Shamiko sad.

Something that was immediately countered when she squeezed Momo’s firm, soft, delightful butt and made the taller girl moan yet again.

“Sha—Shamiko…” Momo said, her body undulating over the demon girl, the white shirt gliding over the satin-like fabric that made up Shamiko’s demon girl meager outfit.

This time, though, it was Shamiko’s turn not to answer.

She had always been… touchy-feely, to put it mildly. She hadn’t even considered how embarrassing it was to beg Momo to let her rub the exposed belly her Darkness Peach form taunted her with, not until she had been alone in her room and screaming into her pillow at the memory.

(And then doing other things at the memory of actually touching said perfectly toned belly.)

But that was who Shamiko was. She expressed her affection physically, and sometimes had trouble keeping herself from showering Momo with onlythe barely socially acceptable level of touches between sworn, fated rivals who were actually best friends of the same gender without any kind of romantic attraction messing things up, really.

Which meant that, when not only given an excuse to act on her often repressed urges but confronted with Momo moaning her name in precisely the same tone that Shamiko sometimes moaned Momo’s name when it was dark and her fingers wandered…

“Ah! Shamiko, that’s—hn!”

The demon girl acted.

The hand groping Momo dropped lower, her fingers teasing at both thighs, nearly at the point where they joined, feeling the damp, radiant heat coming off Momo’s center and mirroring Shamiko’s own. The hand on short, pink hair, pulled, and Momo had to bend her head back and expose her throat to Shamiko’s canines tracing the line between her throat and her muscles as her petite tongue traveled up and down.

Momo moaned yet again, her eyes closed in overwhelming pleasure.

And Shamiko pushed her thigh up, right between the soft, almost exposed ones of the girl above her, and she pressed it against the damp heat, nearly trapping her fingers before her hand retreated, pulling Momo’s elastic panties against her sex.

Then Shamiko bit down, not strongly enough to hurt her, but, maybe, hopefully, strongly enough to mark her.

“Momo…” she darkly whispered. “This time… I’ll make you fall.”

Momo’s eyes shot open, incredulously trying to focus on the sexual juggernaut she had, apparently, unwittingly unleashed upon herself.

The danger was real. Turning into Darkness Peach was easier every time she did it, and becoming Shamiko’s vassal, forever bound to her, was far from the ridiculous notion it had been when she first met the short, easily flustered, prone to running away in tears, demon girl.

Not that Shamiko had stopped being any of those things. It was just that Momo had fallen in love with her.

…

Which may not be the best thing to consider as she was apparently locked in sexual battle with said demon girl.

Still, the reminder of Darkness Peach gave Momo the start of a plan.

“Shamiko…” she tried to say, and ended up moaning. “If you let me recover… I’ll let you lick my belly.”

There was a blur of motion, and Momo found herself looking up at the ceiling of Shamiko’s room as the shorter girl straddled her, face tinted a darker shade than her hair, and audibly panting.

“Now?” Shamiko asked.

“Wh—what?” Momo replied with all her usual sharp wit.

“Now? Are you recovered now?”

Momo blinked. And noticed that Shamiko’s hands were on either side of her head, doing a horizontal, double kabedon.

… It wasn’t like she could blush any harder.

But that also meant that Shamiko’s hands were empty, which meant…

Shamiko was panting in sheer anticipation, the promised land of Momo’s belly finally within her grasp as she looked at where the askew shirt was already showing a thin strip of pale, creamy skin that would soon be slathered in Shamiko’s saliva as she—

“Aaaaah!”

As she yelled in surprise?

“Wh—wh—wh—wha—!”

And her brain short-circuited?

“Well… maybe you can’t beat the cock, Shamiko,” Momo smugly stated as she twisted the Thingamajig Rod and tried to push it farther inside Shamiko than just the very tip of the tip.

“You—no fair! It has two ends, Momo! You cheater!”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Momo calmly stated—as long as she went by a definition of calm that included her heart beating so hard she was afraid Shamiko would hear it and draw the right conclusions.

Shamiko.

Right conclusions.

That was how scared Momo was.

“So, which is it?” Shamiko asked through gritted teeth as she clamped her thighs around Momo’s arm so the other girl could not push any farther past her pulled-aside panties.

No, instead, Momo twisted.

“Which what?” Momo asked in turn, almost entirely focused on the very interesting ways that each motion of her wrist made Shamiko’s face contort in.

“War… or love?” Shamiko grunted out.

And Momo stopped.

Her eyes were wide open, her jaw slack, and her fingers nerveless.

And Shamiko was looking down at her, her gaze that rare one she got during her insightful moments, when she didn’t speak about things she had no experience with, that she didn’t understand at all, but, instead, talked about emotions.

It was the gaze Momo had fallen for.

“I…” the magical girl started to answer.

And stopped. Afraid.

Which made the gaze soften as, Momo suspected, Shamiko understood perfectly well what the pause really meant.

The redhead leaned down, a delicate hand brushing Momo’s hair behind her ear as her lips warmly whispered five words that Momo hadn’t known she desperately wanted to hear:

“I’m going to defeat you.”

And then Shamiko sat back up, taking the rod from Momo’s fingers and… pushing it. Inside her, inside Shamiko, as she twisted and contorted on top of Momo in a way that made the heat between her thighs burn higher and higher as she watched the short girl use both hands to screw the dildo inside her until it looked like she was pointing a dick the color of Shamiko’s hair at Momo’s unguarded sex.

Unguarded except for drenched shorts and panties Momo very much wanted to get rid of.

“Momo…” Shamiko groaned in desperate need.

And, suddenly, as if by magic, Momo was naked.

Discarding the torn rags that used to be her clothes, there didn’t seem to be any actual reason for her state of undress. Really. It wasn’t like Momo was just now throwing away the drenched remains of her panties after having undressed herself in the most expeditious, straightforward way her lust-addled mind could come up with.

Raising a hesitating (and slightly panty-soaked) hand to cup Shamiko’s cheek, Momo opened her bare legs, exposing herself finally to the girl she was starting to let herself believe returned her feelings.

The tender smile as she nuzzled her hand, eyes almost closed, may have had something to do with that realization.

“Momo, I love you.”

And that about clinched it.

Momo found herself smiling a silly grin up at the other girl, who kept looking at her tenderly.

Or, well, who kept looking at her.

“What?” Momo finally asked as Shamiko’s brow furrowed.

“Well?” Shamiko returned as her eyes narrowed.

“Well what?” Momo asked, blinking in confusion.

Shamiko facepalmed. Then angrily grabbed Momo’s hips and shoved half an inch of magical sex toy inside her.

“Say that you love me too!” She yelled as Momo tried to deal with the very unfamiliar feeling of something wider than her fingers being… there.

“Wha—”

“You. Love. Me!” Shamiko growled, her face right in front of Momo’s.

“I—hn—stop that!”

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to fuck a confession out of you!”

Momo’s eyes widened at the hostile declaration of romantic and sexual intent.

Then bit her lip as a very silly grin tried to spread across her face.

“You can try,” she finally said.

And Shamiko kissed her.

As far as Momo’s list of projected scenarios for her second kiss went, having a frantic, sexually combative Shamiko on top of her as she tried to fuck her on a sexual implement was… not at all on the list.

As far as the list of fantasies to touch herself with at night? Near the top.

So it didn’t take long for both their mouths to open, their tongues to finally meet one another as enthusiasm tried to make up for lack of experience, and Shamiko kept rocking her hips back and forth in gentle waves of prodding pressure and heat.

Momo moaned into Shamiko’s mouth and tilted her hips up, something in her making her crave more of that sensation, of the… the ideaof Shamiko claiming her, taking her, reaching her.

It was like falling. It was like the hungry thing that Darkness Peach was, the devouring void that claimed all her magic, her soul.

But better.

Far, far better.

“I love you,” Shamiko whispered right in her ear as Momo gasped, unable to turn her head, to do anything but stare at the ceiling above as she felt herself being spread open, as she felt the increasing pressure of Shamiko claiming ever more of her insides, the heat of the other girl’s skin growing closer and closer after every prodding thrust.

Then Shamiko licked along the ridges of her ear, and Momo had to close her eyes, to just let the wet, branding sensations above and below overwhelm her, run through her body, and meet in cresting waves as her long legs wrapped around Shamiko’s hips of their own volition, further raising Momo’s hips into an angle that seemed to be just perfect for the… the succubusto just plow into.

“F…” Momo’s face burned at the thought of saying what she was going to say, at the idea of something so vulgar being heard by the always cute, peppy, and far too innocent Shamiko. Then she realized precisely who was driving what inside of whom, and forced herself to do it, to say the damn words she’d longed to tell her often enough: “Fuck me! Fuck me, Shamiko! Fucking brandme!”

And, with a loud clap, Shamiko’s hips met Momo’s.

They both stopped, frozen at the impact, at the wet sensation of their clitorises being mashed against one another as they trembled, Momo’s bare breasts pressing against the hard nipples poking through Shamiko’s outfit.

Then Momo locked her heels behind Shamiko’s hips and pulled.

“Hn!” the shorter girl said.

And Momo grinned.

“What’s… that? You… giving up… already?” she managed to say between panting gasps and through what felt like the best fever she’d ever had muddying her thoughts.

Then Shamiko’s outfit glowed and… vanished.

And Momo felt her bare breasts mashing against the other girl’s, felt her heels resting against a round behind, felt their bellies touching… And felt Shamiko grin.

“Not even… started,” the demon girl whispered wetly into Momo’s ear.

And pulled back.

Slowly, tortuously, making her feel every ridge and bump of the sex toy as she got it out of her body, she then leaned back, looking straight into Momo’s eyes as she bit her lip, as she just showed her how much she wanted what they were doing, how much she was enjoying it.

Which worked as far as Shamiko’s plan of overwhelming Momo with a mix of lovey-dovey and sexual stuff went. But maybe worked a smidgetoo well.

Because now Momo’s freakishly strong fingers were mauling both Shamiko’s breast and her butt in a way that made her go cross-eyed. Not to mention how Momo was pumping her hips up and down below her, trying (or more like, managing to) fuck Shamiko from below her, using Momo’s hooked legs and grasping hand to pull herself toward the girl straddling her.

“You… You’re always so unfair,” Momo grunted, slowly letting herself go back to the tatami before reversing course mid-fall.

“Me?! You… Always with those tight shorts! Running… in front of me!” Shamiko gritted out, her left hand almost desperately groping Momo’s chest.

“You—hn! You… noticed?” Momo asked, eyes going from sensually lidded, to angrily aroused, to vulnerably open and back again, sometimes switching the order.

“Noticed?! I wanted to push you down on all fours, rip them off, and, and, and take you! I wanted to lick you, and suck on you, and make you scream my name—”

“Shamiko!”

“Yes! Like that—”

“Shamiko! Harder!”

Shamiko blinked for a moment, just then realizing that Momo wasn’t climbing up and down along their shared rod, but just lying below her, rocking her hips and panting as it was the demon girl the one who was pounding her hips down faster and faster.

The realization short-circuited her brain, which was, all things considered, a good thing, because it then allowed her body to take over and comply with Momo’s demand.

“Ah! I’m going to lose!” Momo said.

And Shamiko almost roared.

She kissed her, taking her lips again and again, twisting her nipple between fingers that should’ve been far clumsier during their first time (image training seemed to work), sucked on Momo’s tongue, and…

And fucked her.

She didn’t even know where that came from. Usually, she fantasized about things with Momo being slow, tender, sensual, but something about the other girl’s begging tone, something about Momo’s flustered, loose expression, about the sheen of sweat highlighting the toned muscles, about the scent of their sex filling the whole room and masking the trace of old tatami mats…

She just… Momo made her burn.

She craved the body below her. She loved the girl, and wanted to hug her, and kiss her, and caress her lazily, her hands gliding over soft skin beneath the rays of a summer evening’s sun. But the body? The bouncing body going back and forth over yellow, woven straw, the perky breasts bouncing with every thrust of Shamiko’s hips? The body… she just wanted to claim.

Demons should be greedy, shouldn’t they? Shamiko was just being a good demon girl, right now, rather than a lovestruck girl getting carried away during her first time, wasn’t she? Surely, her Dark Ancestor would praise her?

…

On second thought, Shamiko didn’t want her Dark Ancestor to praise her for trying to fuck Momo’s brains out.

Not even if she managed to.

… All right, maybe a bit if she did manage to make the pink-haired, witty, sarcastic terror go cross-eyed as she screamed Shamiko’s name until she went hoarse. She may accept praise for that.

“Ah! Yes, just like that! Just right there! I’m—Shamiko, you’re gonna make me… make me—hn!”

Damn it. There went her attempt to distract herself so she didn’t come early. Momo was devious.

“Do it,” she tried to whisper darkly and enticingly. “Show me how beautiful your face looks when you come on my cock,” she said, definitely not blushing at the ridiculous line and hoping against hope Momo wouldn’t laugh at her.

Hopes that were apparently fulfilled when strong hands grasped her hair and pulled her into a deep, hungry kiss that made her go from frantically pounding her hips to grinding against Momo’s body, their clitorises rubbing against one another to the wet sounds of skin refusing to part.

And then Momo’s fingers tightened, her grip on Shamiko’s hair almost painful yet even more arousing, and Shamiko pinched Momo’s nipples harder as their hips twitched together, and—

And she felt Momo’s scream inside her mouth.

And her world faded away until only expanding heat between her legs and Momo’s touch remained as she felt wave upon wave of sheer pleasure grind away at her thoughts. Until a dam inside her shattered, and Shamiko was just…

Blinking herself awake, gasping on top of Momo’s sweaty chest.

And burning.

“Don’t…” Momo gasped, dead arms refusing to cooperate as she tried to pat Shamiko’s hair. “Don’t think this means… you’ve won.”

Shamiko heard the words.

And a surge of something went down her spine as she suddenly found the strength to once again hover over Momo’s flustered, open face.

“Then… Then I’ll keep fighting,” she said. And then waited for the burst of panic to go across Momo’s eyes before she, once again, hungrily kissed her and started to move her hips up and down, making sure her dangling, full breasts would shift over Momo’s with every swing.

***

“Don’t… Ugh… Don’t think…” Momo tried to say.

“Wasn’t going to…” Shamiko answered, almost breathless and definitely exhausted as she lifelessly lay on top of her.

“I… I won’t… lose…” Momo tried to defiantly state even as shivers of accumulated pleasure played havoc with her unresponding body.

Shamiko was relentless.

“Momo?” said sexual juggernaut asked with a thready voice that barely managed to reach the taller girl’s ear.

“Y… Yes?” Momo answered, her eyes and teeth clenching as her pussy spasmed over the thing still buried deep inside her.

“I love you, Momo,” Shamiko shyly said as she forced herself to tenderly kiss her cheek.

Momo blinked, then regretted the effort that took as her hands spasmed open and closed.

“OK…. Fine. I lose,” she said as warmth spread inside her chest and a silly grin on her lips.

They just lay there, their sweat drying as they refused to move or even try to after the marathon they had just undergone (or rather, that Shamiko had forced on Momo).

Until, yet again, Shamiko kissed Momo’s cheek and whispered in her ear:

“I know what you mean… but if you don’t tell me properly, I’ll fuck you again. And lick your belly.”

Momo blinked, once more regretting the effort it took.

And seriously pondered the pros and cons.

***

On the other side of a far too thin door, a small girl beamed with pride at a woman who was frantically pulling her away from the bedroom of her big sister.

“See, mom? Can’t beat the cock. The internet was right,” she said.

And Seiko Yoshida, who dearly missed her absent husband, picked her youngest daughter up and started running away, swallowing the urge to yell:

‘Internet! Don’t think this means you have won!’