Season 4 Episode 12: Comic Market

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, ecchi sketchi bitchii booper and 1% robot 1%er.

---

"I miss ya, Whitney," Armstrong says. He drums his fingers on the restaurant's table.

She does her trademark wheeze laugh. "That's rich. I don't think a day went by without you saying to me--" (she lowers her voice as deep as it can go) "--'hurr durr hurr, you're the worst CEO in history.'"

Armstrong takes off his glasses and wipes them clean. "You ever hear that Churchill quote about -- you know what, I'll just assume you haven't. To paraphrase: Whitney Darkbloom is the worst possible CEO, except for all the others."

Whitney slurps her milkshake.

"Where's Cerise?" Armstrong asks. "I wanted to give her an attagirl for winning her seat. I'm surprised Vivian was able to manage her campaign so well in the final days..."

"She's at some weeaboo shit in San Fran with Ally and the others. Alex and me will be headed there too, after this."

Alex, next to her, nods.

"What, that comic book convention?" Armstrong asks.

"Ayep," Whitney says.

"The world's fucking falling apart here," Armstrong breathes. "I have to be choppered into work every day. Only our most absolute critical systems engineers and project devs are on-site, and they have to live inside the building, because it isn't safe for them to leave the gates. Russia's ten seconds away from invading Alaska, and Broad Dynamics is deliberately tanking the entire globe's tech sector in a temper tantrum over being cut off from Darkbloom Analytics. It's World Fucking War III, and you mean to tell me that you and your friends are going to a comic book convention?"

Whitney pulls her lips off her straw long enough to say: "Ayep."

Armstrong, appalled, and looking sort of queasy, shakes his head.

Kay, sitting with Armstrong on his side of the booth, says: "Let me guess. It was Noelle's idea."

"Of course," Whitney says.

"Stupid bitch," Kay huffs.

"Do you want to come, too?" Alex asks. "You've been cooped up at Darkbloom Analytics since the riots started -- it might be nice to get away for a while and hang out with us."

"Sorry," Kay says. "I gotta go back with Armstrong. Best to keep as many friends in as you can -- right?"

"Well, we'll tell Noelle you said hi," Alex says.

"I didn't say hi to that stupid bitch," Kay gripes.

Whitney winks. "Sure. Gotcha."

Armstrong takes some paperwork from the satchel at his foot and slides it across the sticky table. "Well, it's your lucky day. The army doesn't want to deal with running a failing ice cream chain in addition to managing the end of civilization as we know it. So they're handing Shake 'Em Up back to you. Plus a bunch of other random shit from your old portfolio. Darkbloom Analytics is undiversifying, and you get to keep all the junk. Congrats. I guess."

"Awesome," Whitney says. She calls to a passing waitress: "Hey Mavis, get this man a shake on me." Then, only after lodging an order does she glance back to Armstrong, and ask: "what do you like?"

"I don't want a milkshake."

"He'll take a vanilla shake with caramel."

"My name isn't Mavis," the woman tells Whitney.

"Can you get him a shake or not?" Whitney says.

"Coming right up."

Alex rifles through the paperwork. "Wow," he says, "I didn't expect them to give us *Chan back."

"They're laser-focused here," Armstrong says. "They don't want to manage anything other than Sand Reckoner. But I really shouldn't say much more. I don't want to end up in goddamn Guantanamo Bay."

Forms and waivers get signed and co-signed, and files change hands. In the back-and-forth, Alex surreptitiously passes a note to Armstrong. Such an analog bit of trickery, a sleight-of-hand that any watchers watching would easily miss. Contained in that note are ciphered instructions, intended for Nelson, on how to finish the critical components of Diogenes. And what to do when he's done. Armstrong, who didn't expect to be passed a secret message, takes the note without missing a beat and stows it in his satchel for safekeeping. While he finishes half his unwanted milkshake, he and Kay exchange some final pleasantries with Whitney and Alex, and then they bid one another farewell.

---

"What do you mean you don't want to wait in line?" Noelle says.

"What do you mean what do I mean?" You sputter. "Who wants to wait in line?"

"At Comiket?" Noelle says. "That's part of the experience!"

You lean way off to one side, to peer around the man directly in front of you, whose head is a giant foam P obscuring your view. The line extends all the way to the end of the block and then around the corner. The entrance of the convention center is a five minute walk from here, and the sea of con-goers milling through means that you'd be waiting for a good four or five hours if you stood your ground. It's unseasonably cold in San Francisco today, and seasonably foggy. You don't exactly want to wait around all wet and frigid when you have a golden ticket to the head of the line.

Cerise echoes that sentiment. "Waiting is for chumps. We've got VIP passes." You can see her breath when she speaks -- god, it's so cold.

"You've got VIP passes," Noelle says. "Us hoi polloi don't."

"Hoi polloi?" Rose2 says. She's bundled beneath a thick down parka, plus mittens, and booties. Half her face is covered by her scarf. As plump as she is, she has zero tolerance for cold. "Is that Japanese?"

"There's no L in Japanese, you dumb--" Noelle begins, but stops herself. "It means commoners."

"Silly," Rose2 says. "I'm not a commoner! If I was a commoner, would I have a billionaire's sperm inside me right now?"

Noelle chokes and blushes.

"That VIP pass was a birthday present from my sister-in-law," Cerise says. "I'd be--"

"Congresswoman Soliloquy?!" A group of guys who look a bit more professional than most of the anime fans here -- like day traders on a brunch break, in button-down shirts and trousers -- come strolling up. "Wow, it really is. You are such an inspiration. Can we get a--"

As if materializing from an alternate dimension, your security steps to, and warns them back. "The congresswoman isn't taking photos today."

"But-- but we--" one of the guys begins.

"Please step away."

Scared, they comply.

"Fuck, I need to go incognito," Cerise says. "All the more reason to use my pass. And like I was saying -- it would be ungrateful of me if I didn't use the birthday gift that my lovely, amazing, best-sister-in-law-on-Earth gave me."

"Of course," Rose says. "And I would be just utterly crestfallen if my stupendous, upstanding, kindhearted sister-in-law spurned that gift..."

"Ham it up some more," Noelle says, frowning.

Grinning, Rose and Cerise loop their arms over one another's shoulders.

The line inches forward two steps. This is fucking torture. Of course a career bureaucrat like Noelle would get jazzed about waiting in an orderly queue.

"Where's Gal?" Noelle asks. "I thought she was coming with us too."

"She's helping Mom," you say.

"...With?"

"They've got a--" You begin.

"Let it be a surprise," Cerise says.

You shrug. Noelle, frustrated, sighs.

"If you didn't want to wait," she says, "you shouldn't have come so early. You can get in right away by noon. That's what Vivian's doing."

"Yeah, and all the good shit's gonna be sold out by then," Cerise says. "Of course Vivian doesn't care. She's not in this for the merch. She just wants to fuck up some bitch from her Lolita circle."

"That's the eternal quandary of Comiket," Noelle counters. "Go early and wait, or go late and miss the good stuff."

"No quandary here. I have official permission to cut the line. I'd be an idiot not to use it. Later, bitchface."

She strolls off.

"The only one she's hurting is herself," Noelle says sadly. "She'll never have the true Comiket experience."

"Sounds like the rationalization of someone forced to wait in a really long line," you say.

She shoves you.

Rose glances your way. "I'm heading in, too. Coming, dear?"

"Just a sec, honey," you say.

Noelle mimes puking. (Rose2, amused by the game, joins her.)

"Hey, you told us to ham it up some more," you chide.

"Don't blame me when the memories you make today are deficient," Noelle says.

[ ] Use your pass to cut in early with Cerise and Rose.

>[x] Stay in line with Noelle and Rose2.

You hand Rose one of the the two bags that you've been toting around. It's got her gear in it -- she's part of a contest later on. Your own bag you keep for yourself.

"You're not coming?" She asks.

Noelle can hardly hide the smile on her face.

"I've said it once, and I'll say it again," you tell her. "I'm not an anime convention guy. I never wanted to go to this stupid thing. You guys are forcing me. The longer I can delay actually walking through those doors, the better."

Rose is unamused. "I swear to god, Alabaster. If I hear that you got your dick sucked by either one of these girls while you waited in line, I'll bite it off."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You say. "Do you actually think I'm incapable of going a few hours without sex?"

Her silence is deafening. And not even Noelle or Rose2 rush to your defense.

---

You sip a juice box. Rose2 handed it to you a few minutes ago, and although you're probably even less of a juice box guy than you are an anime convention guy, you can't deny that you're thirsty. Staying hydrated is important, right?

In an hour, the line has advanced less than a block. Your feet hurt. Your ears are numb. You wanna go home and fuck your bunny.

At least you're not one of the leagues of even less lucky people queuing up behind you.

Noelle peers at the map of the con, circling the tables she wants to go to. You notice that she seems to be conspicuously routing herself to avoid the Touhou section. Oil and water, her and Rose.

Rose2 is less discerning. She intends to mostly just wander around aimlessly to look at all the sugoi merchandise. There's only a handful of eroge devs that she has any specific interest in seeing.

And you? You've got some interest in certain R-18 materials, but that's all.

Rose2 burps slightly as she sips her own juice box.

"Ugh," Noelle says.

"Gomen."

"Ugh."

"I'm surprised," you muse. You hand Rose2 your empty carton of juice, which she crumples, and puts in her purse. "I thought for sure you'd be cosplaying too."

"I was gonna," Rose2 says. "But Viv-tan wanted me to wear some Lolita with her! She's bringing a change of clothes with her."

Rose2 in a GothLoli getup. Now there's an image to give you pause.

You glance down at the map Noelle is working on. "KanColle, KanColle, KanColle..." you say. "I didn't know you were such a big fan."

"Not particularly," Noelle says, "but there's some good doujin circles for it."

"I see," you say, waggling your eyebrows.

"Grow up."

"Ohhh admiral," you whine in a high-pitched voice. "You're turning this warship into a bitch!"

She jabs you with her elbow. "Ass. I told you that I exclude the ugly bastard tag, didn't I?"

"Gunboats can't love gunboats," you warn her.

"Says who?"

The line inches forward.

You knock on Vivian's door with your toe, and enter at the same time. You're carrying a tray, packed full of nutritious shit that Vivian likes to eat: toast slathered with strawberry jam, eggs cooked over-easy, and some fresh kiwi. There's a plate here for you, too: cheesy scrambled eggs with bacon, bacon, and a side of bacon, with extra bacon.

Hands occupied as they are, you have to open the door with your butt. The glasses of orange juice slosh around and threaten to spill.

Vivian stirs, flops to her side, and finally rises. She's still groggy, and rubbing the sand from her eyes.

"What is the meaning of this?" She mumbles.

"Breakfast in bed," you say. "Isn't that obvious?"

"...But why?"

You shrug. "I 'unno. I was making myself something to eat and thought I'd do you a solid. Since you'll be in the land of weeaboo assholes soon and all. Figured you could use a breakfast of champions to keep your strength up."

You set the tray down. But there's an unwelcome third. As you crawl into bed with her, the covers shift, and you see Johann the penguin. Vivian is still sleeping with it.

"Goddamn it," you say.

"Do not be like that," Vivian says. "I keep him in here because he would hardly like to be anywhere near the libertine activities going on at all times elsewhere in the house. What else would you have me do with him?"

"You don't have to sleep all cuddled up with him," you say.

"It was my request," Darkbloom says. "Do not be angry at Vivian."

Regardless of whose idea it was, you want him out of here. You pick Johann up by his head, march out into the hall, and dropkick him over the banister. You hear a squeak from down below: Samantha saying, "oh! Mr. Darkbloom! Why are you flying around like that?"

Darkbloom replies, "Good god, woman, are you perpetually nude?"

As you shut the door and turn again towards Vivian, she nods, and says: "My point has thus been proved."

"Who cares about that asshole," you say. "Anyway, it's for his own good. This place is about to get a little libertine too."

You get back into the bed with her. She smiles warmly as you crawl towards her on hands and knees. You stroke her face, and she kisses you. Even her morning breath is sweet.

"So," you say. "Do you want breakfast first, or a bath? Or..."

The Moscone Center is hardly Tokyo Big Sight. It doesn't have the same striking visual appeal, and as a result -- although you suppose the space is larger -- it doesn't look nearly as grand. Its squat, mostly glass facade and blandly curvy architecture are a bit too reminiscent of the sensibilities of the Darkbloom Analytics campus. But maybe it's something else reminding you. While you've been waiting in line all morning, many of people in the crowd have spoken in worried tones about the rioting in Palo Alto, which centers itself around DBA -- wondering whether any of that violence will spread to today's events. You try to put those thoughts out of mind, but can't.

Whitney shows up, out of fucking nowhere. You startle when she sidles up to you. "Warn me," you tell her.

"Whoaaa," she croons. She casts an appreciative nod at the guy with the giant P for a head in front of you. "Sweet costume."

Mr. P turns around and cocks his P head. Whitney, grinning, gives him a thumbs-up.

Meanwhile, Alex, accompanying her, gently says hello to you, and the two of you hug. It would be a nice moment, if not for Rose2 obnoxiously squeeing in the background.

At her insistence, Whitney and Mr. P take a selfie together. Mr. P never says a word.

Plenty of other people do, though. Whitney can't show her face in public without being recognized. Just as security rebuffed people wanting to get close to Cerise, they rebuff people wanting to get close to Whitney; but unlike Cerise, Whitney is unconcerned with safety. She takes several more grinning selfies with several other surprised convention goers, against the strong advice of your guards.

"I wish you'd be more serious in places like this," Noelle fusses.

"Don't be such a wet blanket." She hands the most recent fan's phone back to him, and as he walks away, she tells you: "That's a /wdbg/ user if I ever saw one."

"What gave him away?" You ask.

"The dick-cheesy smell, the way he wouldn't look me in the eye, the way he hover-handed me..." She rolls her eyes to the back of her head, staring at the sky, thinking back. "OH! And the way he kept telling me to 'zoom' in. Of course, I refused." She looks back down at you, laughing. "Can't zoom the Darkbloom, bitches."

Alex laughs. "You're so much nicer to your fans than Cerise is."

"Well I should be. I'm like the least popular woman in America. The few people who do like me need to be encouraged."

"No one like that needs to be encouraged," Noelle says.

"You're just mad there's no /nkg/," Whitney says.

"If there's one thing I'll never be mad about, it's that."

Whitney chortles. Then, realizing something, she adds: "Oh! Kay was with Armstrong at the meeting this morning. She wanted me to tell you hi. She misses you!"

Noelle's eyes twinkle and she's mute for a beat, before she catches herself. She huffs. "That dumb bitch? Well, I don't say hi back."

Whitney winks. "Sure. I gotcha."

Once you're finally at the convention floor, you break off from Noelle, Rose2, Alex and Whitney. "I gotta go get changed," you tell them. "Meet back up at the food court in an hour?"

"Mr. Not A Convention Guy," Noelle hums. "Sure. Go get changed into your costume."

You click your tongue against your palate, but you don't have a comeback.

The truth is that you were shanghaied into this by Rose, who didn't want to enter the contest by herself. But you're putting minimal effort into it. She can make you participate, but she can't make you try!

You search along one of the far walls for the bathrooms. The women's room is open, but the entrance to the men's room is tarped off, and barriered by caution tape. A workman tells you that they're doing renovations, so the bathroom on this side of the convention floor isn't open to the public. He directs you clear to the other side of the venue. Great, more delays.

Grumbling, you push and trudge your way through the crush of humanity filling the entire floor. You pass table after table, and it seems almost as if it was purposely planned for tables of Japanese sellers to alternate with American sellers. This is truly a cross-cultural experience. Despite yourself, some of the covers of the doujin on display catch your eye, and you have to resist stopping to window shop. You're not going to have any fun here, even if it kills you. Anyway, the lines at almost every table are already over-long, with people jockeying to get closer, and you don't want to deal with all that headache.

You get to the nearest open bathroom, and change into your cosplay.

---

"I should depart," Vivian says, pulling her panties back over her slender legs and ass. You watch her from the covers, the way she bends over, the way her pale skin shines in the sunlight, the way she spreads open a little bit when she stretches.

"Don't let any otakus fuck you," you tell her.

"It is far too late for that," Vivian says in mock sadness. Wearing only those frilly black panties, she sits down at her vanity, clicks the lights around the mirror on, and begins to do her makeup.

"Well don't let any other otakus fuck you, then," you say.

She stops applying mascara, and peers at you through the reflection. "Oh? And what will you do if I have a fling with someone else?"

"I'll be forced to whip to you."

"Then I should certainly have a fling, no?"

You sigh. "Then I'll be forced to not whip you. How's that?"

She resumes putting on her mascara. "You are so over-serious, Amber. I would hardly put at risk my use of your holes to traipse around with the human detritus at Comiket. It would be like trading a Ferrari for a rusty bicycle."

"That's all I am to you?" You say. "Holes?"

"No, of course not," Vivian says. "I love you so madly I can barely contain myself when I am around you. Your holes are only three very good reasons of millions."

"Boy, do you have a way with words."

She clacks open a compact of foundation and begins to swab it onto her face. "Would you like to accompany me?"

"Renee was feeling pretty drunk and lonely yesterday," you say. "She wanted me to go out with her today. If I don't do it, she'll be stuck here with a horny bunny, and you know how that always turns out."

"Have you told Ms. Carte that she cannot have you -- that you belong to me, and me alone?"

"No."

"Please disabuse her of any notions to the contrary. It is entirely unfair to lead her on."

[ ] Go to Comiket with Vivian.

>[x] Go on a date with Renee, Samantha, and Chloe.

As you make your way to the food court, you get intercepted by your lovely older sister. She whacks you over the top of the head with something hard.

"Ow! What the -- Jesus fuck, that hurts. What the hell was that?" You rub the fast-developing welt on the back of your head.

"There you are!" Cerise shouts as you turn to face her. "Why on Earth did you choose to wait in line when you've got a VIP pass?"

"Because I'm incapable of accepting gifts from Rose. Acquiescing to her graciousness is as good as groveling at her feet."

"You don't like groveling at her feet?"

You make a face. "You wouldn't understand."

"Well?" Cerise asks. "What do you think of my cosplay? Am I gonna win the contest or what?"

You squint. "...Cosplay?"

"Yeah!"

"You're not wearing cosplay."

She whacks you again.

"Jesus!" You howl. "What the fuck is that?"

You stomp her foot. Yowling now herself, she jumps back, and whacks you a third time. The two of you are about to get into a fistfight right here on the convention floor, but she de-escalates?:

"You don't recognize me? I'm Touka Takanashi -- from Chuunibyou." She wags her ladle back and forth for effect. "Only the coolest older sister ever."

You shake your head. "Rikka was way cuter."

She's a fucking deadeye with that ladle. She nails you again, this time square in your forehead. You can see the deep red mark it leaves when you cross your eyes.

"Admit it," you tell her, still wincing in pain. "You picked that character so you could just wear your normal clothes, give yourself a cowlick, carry around a ladle, and call it a day. You're not putting in any effort at all."

"So what?" Cerise says. "At least I'm actually cosplaying."

"What do you mean? So am I."

"No you aren't."

"Yes, I am! You don't recognize me?" You hold your arms wide, and stomp. "I'm Hachiman Hikigaya -- from Teen Romcom Snafu. One of the best, most complex MCs in recent years."

Cerise rolls her eyes. "Kill me," she says. "And you have the audacity to tell me that I chose my character to avoid putting in effort? But you would choose 8man, wouldn't you, you weepy fuck."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You snarl.

"S-something..." she stutters, feigning oncoming tears. "S-something... genuine..."

You're about to get into it again when Rose shows up, to save you both from yourselves.

"Da ze~!"

"Oh my god," you say, appalled.

Rose's face sours. "Hey! I put a lot of effort into this! The least you could do is compliment me!"

"I always knew you'd become a witch," you say.

She shoves you. "Ass! And when are you gonna get changed, huh?"

"Goddamn it. Why can't anyone tell that this is my cosplay?"

"You're not wearing cosplay," Rose says.

"Yes, I am!"

She shakes her head.

"I'm Hachim-- forget it. The contest isn't even for another few hours anyway."

Rose folds her arms. "Right. So what do you want to do in the meantime?"

>[x] Touhou doujins with Rose!

[ ] Electronics with Cerise!

[ ] Check in with Gal and Mom!

[ ] Browse questionable material with Alex!

[ ] Annoy Noelle!

When you come downstairs, Charlotte is in a semi-involved conversation with Renee.

"...told her that costume was absolutely ridiculous, but she thinks it'll impress the two most important men in her life."

"Who?"

"Alabaster, and that Japanese man who makes those toohoo games she loves."

Renee cackles. When she sees you strolling into the kitchen, she nods at you. "Hey, Amber. You sleep with those lovebirds enough. Tell me, do you think Rose would gussy herself all up to impress Alabaster?"

"Oh yeah, absolutely," you say. "She's as smitten as a kitten." You grab a coke from the fridge. Renee cackles again.

"I heard you two are going on a little date of sorts," Charlotte says.

"Yep. Wanna come, Mommy?"

Charlotte turns a spectacular red. What aroused her in the throes of the wedding ceremony, now embarrasses her in the harsh light of day.

When she regains herself, she says: "I would, but I'm supposed to go help Scarlett with her little mission today."

"What mission?"

Charlotte puts a finger to her lips, and winks. "Top secret."

"Your funeral," you tell her. You guzzle your drink.

"Do you mind if Sammy comes?" Renee asks.

"You're hopelessly addicted," you say. "Aren't you."

"She asked to be included!" Renee says. "It would be cruel to say no, wouldn't it?"

You begin to reply, but Chloe comes into the kitchen. She's as naked as the day she was born. Despite yourself, you can't help admiring the way her darker skin tone fails to extend past the edges of the micro-bikini she must have been wearing when she was tanning. Only her breasts and her mound, plus a few lines around her back and hips, are still ghostly pale.

"Dear, you seem to have forgotten your clothes," Charlotte tells her.

"Is this not how people conduct themselves in this house?" Chloe says. She pushes past you, and takes a pitcher of filtered water from the fridge. Nonchalant as can be.

"You might get felt up if you go around like that," you warn her.

"So be it. I am resigned to my sorry fate."

"Resigned, or inviting it?" Renee asks.

She sips her water glass.

"You're cracking up," Charlotte says. "Poor thing."

You giggle. "Your daughter is a big part of the reason why she's like this. You know that, right?"

"I know nothing," Charlotte says, winking.

"We do need get you out of the house," Renee tells Chloe. "Wanna go grab a bite to eat?"

"Will I need to dress?"

"Since we'll be in public..." Renee says. "...Maybe. I'll leave it up to you."

Chloe actually takes a moment to consider it.

---

The Japanese mangaka bows deeply, repeatedly, and rapidly as Rose proffers the cash. Rose takes the book from his outstretched hands. It's some sappy lovey-dovey series of 4koma about Marisa teasing Reimu.

"Don't bow to her," you tell the artist. "It'll just go to her head. Trust me."

She jabs you in the ribs.

"You are the best Marisa!" He tells her. "You look just like her!"

"Da ze~," she says.

"Would you please stop doing that?" You ask her. "It creeps me out."

The mangaka bows to her again. "Thank you! Thank you!"

"I'm trying to get into my role," she tells you, carefully placing the book in her bag as if it's a cherished treasure, looping the bag's straps back over her shoulder, and continuing on. You follow beside her. "Honestly, Alabaster. If all you wanted to do was whine, you should have gone and done something else."

"I like Touhou too," you say. "It's only natural that I'd want to visit this section."

"You still can't clear a single game on normal."

"Touhou is so much more than just the games. You know that. Don't give me that shit."

She rolls her eyes.

You're headed towards the next table on Rose's itinerary, but it's slow going with all the people who accost her and ask to take her picture. She really does look perfect -- not that you'd admit it aloud. She poses with the broom between her legs, smiling toothily; or holding her enormous hat in front of her, and winking -- that sort of thing. It seems like she relishes the chance to play a character who's rough around the edges, unrefined and not very feminine.

You stop at a table selling R-18 doujins. Now this is more your speed. Rose only notices you aren't still following along after a couple paces, and has to backtrack.

"Alabaster -- god."

You hold up one whose cover shows a frightened Marisa with torn clothes, surrounded by a bunch of cruel faceless men in a bathroom. "Just so you know, this is what most guys here are thinking of when they look at you."

She makes a disgusted tch.

You turn the book back over in your hand, and examine it. "Man, this looks pretty hot. I hope someone scans it." You glance back up to find that that the artist knows English well enough to be displeased by that comment. "Uh, and I'll buy it too," you add.

This assuages his bad mood.

"Don't," Rose tells you. "I'm not here for porn, Alabaster."

"So?" You say. "I am. And anyway -- your bookmarks tell me otherwise. Between the two of us, I'm definitely not the one who's masturbated the most to Touhou porn."

She exhales. "Tell the whole world why don't you! Goddamn it, Alabaster--"

You hand the man some cash and flip shamelessly through the book while you follow Rose from table to table. You can't understand the kanji, but you don't need to; the hardcore public use it depicts is a universal language.

Although you're in the middle of the most public space imaginable, perusing this hardcore doujin is having the expected effect on you. The blood is leaving your brain, and migrating south for the winter. Marisa is far from your favorite 2hu, but seeing her get raped over and over (and over and over) has undeniable appeal. Casting your view from the black-and-white panels up towards your buxom wife, you make the obvious mental connection. Even under that audacious costume of hers, her hips are well defined, and sway with every step she takes; her tits jiggle. This conference hall is over-warm from the body heat of tens of thousands of people, and Rose is feeling it: her forehead shines with sweat that she wipes with the back of her palm. You can only imagine how damp she is with perspiration under her layers of clothes.

You fire a quick text to Gal asking if she can meet you at a certain spot during one of her breaks, and she replies immediately in the affirmative -- never one to deny Sir. Her talents are going to come in handy. Having arranged the festivities, you put the plan into action. You buy a decorative headband from one of the tables that you pass, one that bears the image of Alice Margatroid in the midst of a mind-shattering ahegao. Rose stops to register her disapproval in the bitchiest way she can. She hurls insults and recriminations at you. But you don't dignify her with a response. You just calmly and wordlessly slip your new headband over her face, using it as a blindfold.

"How dare you!" She hollers as she reaches for it. You grab hold of her wrists and stop her from removing it. She kicks against you, tries to pull away -- but you fend off her feeble attempts to escape.

You're drawing eyes, though, from the throngs of attendees swimming past. So you whisper to her as firmly as you can: "Stop fighting or I'll really make you suffer, Rose."

"I'll scream," she warns you.

"No you fucking won't. If you scream, I'll beat you bloody."

Her lips quiver. "I... can't even. I can't even believe you. First you buy that disgusting porn book, then this demeaning piece-of-shit headband -- and now you do this. You repulsive freak. Can't have one nice day out without trying to fucking rape me, can you. Pig."

Although she lobs these accusations, she doesn't fight you anymore. To the people passing by, it looks like a bit of master-slave roleplay conducted in public. She stands there letting you hold her wrists, blindfolded and trembling, while you gaze sternly back at her.

"You've been awfully mouthy today," you say. "I don't want to rape you. I want to teach you a lesson."

She hocks a loogie, and spits it on your face. Disgusted, you take her hat and use it to wipe your face clean -- before setting it back on her head. She shudders. You tell her, quite simply: "you're going to really regret that one," before rudely tugging her by the hands, and forcing her to follow you. Blindfolded, and without control of her arms, she lacks coordination, and stumbles as she tries to keep up.

"Al-Alabaster... stop -- you're going too fa--"

"Shut the fuck up," you growl.

"You--!! You nasty, chauvinist piece of trash -- what are you -- uff-- where are you -- what are gonna do, huh? Gonna do something disgusting to me right here in the middle of the con? I'll make you pay ten times as much, the second I--"

You stop, somewhere near the section for virtual Youtubers, and pull her body close to yours. Sellers and buyers alike gawk.

"Let's see whether you followed your normal habits today here, too," you muse. You stoop to reach the hem of her dress where it comes to her ankles. Snaking your hand under it, you stand again, and run your fingertips across the contours of her supple thigh meat. As you expected, the interior of her dress is swampy with her perspiration and body heat. And also as you expected, she isn't wearing panties. "You fucking whore," you tell her as you tickle her slit.

"Fuck you."

"I'm gonna take you into the men's bathroom, Rose, and get you properly raped."

"W...What?" She says, a catch developing in her voice.

"I'm gonna sell your mouth for five dollars a pop, and your lower holes for ten. All these otaku shitstains you like to look down on? You'll be their private cum dumpster today."

Rose is having a full-blown panic attack. "You-- cannot be serious -- you would never--"

"Watch me. Or actually, don't." You tug her by the wrists again, and cruelly start dragging her towards the fate that awaits her.

"Alabaster..."

"Don't worry. I'll charge a buck extra if they want to go in without a condom."

"Alabaster!"

You ignore her.

"Tenderness!" She wails.

You stop instantly, turn, and pull her close. You lift the blindfold from her eyes. They're bulging, and full of tears. She's shivering like she got stranded in the arctic, her little chin jittering.

You kiss her softly. Her eyes drift shut as she lets you do it. And when you pull away, she seems capable, at least, of breathing again.

You nod once, slowly, eyes locked to hers. "Trust me."

She calms her fit of shivering over the course of a long half-minute. Swallowing hard, she sighs, and manages: "I trust you."

"Okay?"

She nods.

You slip the blindfold back over her eyes and pick up where you left off.

Toting her behind you like a unruly child, you receive no shortage of strange looks. Some are appreciative, some reproachful; you get catcalls of all kinds. Rose begs and pleads you to stop, but doesn't deploy that word again. Among all the cosplayers here, she has to be one of the cutest, and you know that your little BDSM exhibit is turning on every geek and asperger-suffering weeaboo here. Man and woman alike.

Outside the entrance to the bathroom, Gal is already waiting. But she's brought unexpected, frankly unwelcome guests.

Whitney flashes you a thumbs-up, and jerks her head in the direction of the workmen who are just trotting away. She must have done the dirty work of paying them off -- so that's why Gal invited her. She wasn't comfortable performing bribery on her own. That explains that -- but why are Alex and Noelle waiting around, too? Why is Alex dressed like a cheap prostitute? And who the fuck invited Rose2?

The mouth of the men's bathroom is tucked past a little dividing wall, opposite the entrance to the women's bathroom. The setup allows you all to slip in without notice when the coast is clear. As you thought, the facility is pristine since it hasn't been used at all today. Some of the stall walls are ripped apart, the toilets uninstalled, with various tools lying out and pipework jutting up. But Rose can see none of that. She can just feel the chilly air in here, hear the echoing of footsteps, and then -- for effect, you flush one of the urinals. All she knows right now is that she's in a public bathroom.

Gal plays her role to a tee -- she'd make an excellent improv comedy partner. Adopting a plausibly masculine, albeit nasally and weirdly Canadian voice, she tells you: "Hey buddy, I think you got the wrong bathroom. The girl's room is two doors down."

"Alabaster, please--!" Rose cries.

You force her to her butt in front of one of the urinals. Noelle is already on top of things -- she binds Rose's wrists to the chrome pipework above her head. Rose becomes a sniveling, pleading mess, and to shut up her up before she brings unwanted attention, you take off one of her long white socks, ball it up, and shove it in her mouth. She retches. Payback's a bitch.

"I'll go find some paying customers," you tell her, testing the tightness of the knots. But of course, Noelle is an expert hand, and the knots don't give a millimeter. Rose tries to say something through her gag, but it only makes her... well, gag. She's so cute when she struggles.

You leave, and let her wait in frightened anticipation of what's to come. Outside the bathroom, you demand to know why so many people showed up.

"I couldn't let you dorks have all the fun without me!" Whitney says. "It's been too long since I got a good rape in."

"We were with Gal when you texted," Noelle says. "Of course, I'm always down for some police brutality when it comes to that fat pigbitch Rose Mallory."

"Rose Soliloquy," you say, internally frustrated that this is becoming a instinctual tic every bit as strong as "once removed." You turn Alex's way: "Why are you dressed like... like that?"

He's got on denim shorts cut hyper-low, long white leggings and tennis shoes. Plus suspenders and a crop top that's ends just below his chest.

"I'm Misty!" He says.

"You look like a fucking slut," you note -- not insultingly, just stating an obvious fact.

"I'm slutty Misty," he corrects.

"Super cute," Whitney says. "Makes me wanna finger his butthole."

Alex blushes.

You can guess whose idea "slutty Misty" was, then.

"And what are you doing here?" You demand of Rose2.

"I'm here to rape Rose! A-durr. Did you really think I'd miss out on the chance to beat her up?"

Whitney pulls a bag from her shoulder and opens it. It's full of enormous, veiny, lifelike dildos. "Vivian brought us her stash from back home. I got ahold of her right before she left. Lucky timing!"

Rose2 reaches in and tries to pull one out. Noelle slaps her hand away. "Could you not? Right out here in the open? Idiot."

"Gomen."

"GOD." Noelle spins on her heels and retreats to the bathroom.

"Be quiet in there, guys," you tell them. "Gal and I will do all the talking."

Rose2 salutes you. "Hai!"

Inside the bathroom, Noelle is already pulling her pants off. The jangle of her belt buckle and the unzipping of her zipper make Rose's breath go jagged. She strains against her binding. Sprawled on the tile floor, legs splayed and wrists tied, she's 100% open for use.

"How much again?" Gal asks, in the voice of a wheedling nerd.

"With a rubber, 5 for the mouth or 10 for either of her bottom two fuckholes."

"Dollars? That's it?"

"Yep."

"Whoa..." Gal says. Then she adopts the piggish cadence of a fat otaku, and throws her voice to her left as if by magic: "huhuh... do we have to use a condom?"

"She really doesn't want you to do her raw... but for another dollar, I could look the other way."

Rose shakes her head violently from side to side, arching her back, trying in vain to escape.

The other girls are already strapping on their plastic cocks. Vivian, the pervert, owns only dildos that ejaculate -- she so loves to get blasted with sperm deep in her womb -- so this experience is going to be steeped in verisimilitude. Among other things.

Alex doesn't need a fake cock, of course. All he has to do is tug down his barely-there shorts, and kick them away, to bare a pretty dick that's already erect and drooling precum. He keeps the leggings and shoes, ditto the suspender straps and crop top. Somehow it makes him look lewder than if he'd just gotten naked.

"11 bucks to fuck her raw?" Gal asks.

"Sure."

"I can cum inside her?"

"Of course. Why else would you fuck her raw?"

Gal throws her voice again and says: "6 bucks for a raw throat-fuck, right?"

"Yes."

"I'll buy that -- I've always wanted to fuck a girl's throat..."

You take the sock from Rose's mouth. It's coated in her own drool, and when you pull it away, she gasps for fresh air. "A-Alabaster! Please, don't do this! You told me to trust you! You TOLD meee--"

You free your cock from your fly, kneel down before her, and hike her dress up. Her bare, sticky pussy is out in the open, not the slightest hint of hair on it even under these harsh fluorescent lights. Gal provides commentary:

"Whoooa... she's going nopan and all."

"Fuck you!" Rose screams at the stranger she thinks is exposing her. "You dumb piece of shit! Get away from me! GET AWAY! This pussy doesn't belong to you, you worthless fat sack of shit! You--"

You slap her hard, across the face. She reels. Her rage turns instantly, then, to despair, and she begins to cry pitifully. Her shoulders and chest both heave. "Alabaster... make them stop... please... pleeeeaseee... don't do this to me..."

"Stupid bitch," Gal says. "I can't wait to punch my V card in your cumdump pussy."

"No... noooo... it isn't yours -- you can't do this to me -- Alabaster -- PLEASE -- t-tend--"

You shove your cock into her. Her spine goes rigid, like she just got tazed. Her wrists pull against the red rope, leaving equally red striations in her flesh there. She clamps her pussy muscles tight, as if in a last-ditch effort to bar you entry. But your thrusting hips and battering-ram of a member are far too strong. She isn't really wet at all: the only thing to help you slide home is some residual arousal from when you were molesting her earlier, and the dampness of her sweat. But as you settle your horny prick into her, and Gal moans like a 20-something virgin finally getting his dick wet, Rose suddenly goes still and quiet.

She lies there in mute motionlessness, tied up, your hands keeping her thighs spread, as you begin to hump.

"That's right, bitch, you love my cock, don't you?" Gal snarls.

Whitney steps up, her plastic cock strapped across her own bare pussy, and starts to whack Rose's face lewdly with the prickhead. Noelle, on Rose's other side, mirrors this.

But Rose isn't paying attention to the dick-abuse her face is taking. She's "looking" -- directing what would be her line of sight, were it not blotted out -- to the spot where your cock is stabbing in and out of her twat. Her tears stop flowing, and her cunt starts to drip. All at once her internal walls are turning on, loosening up and softening, getting damp, and slimy, and hot. You stop having to force your way into her body because her body is accepting you. You glide in and out of her cunt like always, your slippery dick getting all warm and lubed from her arousal. She doesn't say what she's thinking. But you have an idea. You've fucked her hundreds and hundreds of times by now -- she knows what it feels like.

"This bitch has an amazing pussy!" Gal barks. "Oh god, this is heaven! Can I really cum inside?"

Gal answers her own question, in the voice of another would-be gang-rapist: "Yeah! Nut inside her, man!"

Rose would be staring right into your eyes, were it not for that blindfold. You stare back and unload inside her. You fire off thick, cloying ropes of smelly semen, right into Rose's steamy pussy. Her jaw parts, and she moans deeply from the back of her throat.

"Unghh..." she heaves. "No... noooo... this hole isn't for you... it's my husband's..."

Even as she says this, she's cumming hard against you.

"Suck me," Gal growls.

Whitney uses that as her cue to jam her dildo down Rose's mouth. She holds the top of Rose's head with both hands, and humps her with utter abandon. It's vicious and selfish like a mouth-rape should be. Rose's pitiful retching and gagging echoes off the tiled walls. Rose2, ever helpful, tickles Whitney's cunt and asshole from behind her, to turn her on and encourage her to go extra hard.

If there was any doubt left in Rose's mind, though, that should settle it.

You pull out of Rose's cunt and enjoy seeing the torrential shower of spunk that flows out of her hole when you do. It smears her in-turned labia, her plump butt, and makes a puddle on the ground.

"Pay up," you say.

"Here you go, bro," Gal says. "That was worth every cent."

"Yo, is that safe?" Gal asks.

"Exactly!" Gal says. "Is it safe to cum inside her like that?"

"No," you say.

Rose chokes and sputters, spittle flying from the corners of her tightly stretched lips. Noelle tugs Rose's blouse down, baring her sweaty titmeat and hard pink nipples.

"I can fuck her ass, too?" Gal asks.

"Absolutely -- 10 bucks with a condom, 11 bucks raw, same as her cunt."

"All I have is 7..." Gal says.

"Whatever. That's fine."

"Thanks, man!"

Gal takes her turn. She gets in front of Rose the way you did, and rubs her dick through the cummy mess you left behind, to get it wet. Then unceremoniously, she jams it in. Rose would probably be shrieking in agony right now, if Whitney didn't have an 8-incher embedded inside her gullet.

Noelle is fascinated by Rose's jugs. (The flatties in your life always seem to be.) She amuses herself by groping and molesting them, while meanwhile rubbing her dick all over Rose's chubby cheeks. Rose's lips are distorted by the cock plunging in and out of her mouth, giving her a barely human expression, especially with how ruddy and tear-streaked it still is.

"Oooh... oooh fuck... I'm gonna cum in your mouth!" Gal yells.

Whitney barely manages to contain her giggle. She takes the hand-pump and squeezes it, blasting Rose's throat with an explosion of semen. The force of the ersatz cum is so strong that it backflows from both of Rose's nostrils, with a huge bubble forming on one of them. Whitney keeps humping, full force, as she cums down Rose's throat, while Rose2 daintily licks her pussy for her from behind. Towards the end, Whitney settles the fake dick as deep as she can, right to the root, and gives some last few squeezes, emptying the reservoir completely inside Rose's tummy. She keeps the dick lodged there while Rose2 eats her cunt out and gets her off.

When Whitney dismounts, Rose2, still on her knees, helpfully sucks the slop off the end of her cock. Rose's jaw is unable to shut, and stays hinged open. Sperm is swimming on her tongue, hanging in strands off the roof of her mouth. She pants hard for precious oxygen. Every once in a while, looking nauseous, she burps up a little wad of spunk, that drools out of her slackened mouth, across her chin, and down onto her expensive costume. Rose2 adds to the mess, drooling the cum she sucked off Whitney's cock back into Rose's open mouth.

Rose doesn't have very long to catch her breath before Noelle is taking Whitney's place.

"Slut," Gal spits.

You see Rose's cunt let out a little squirt of girlcum as Gal buggers her.

Alex steps to Rose and starts jerking off over her face. He runs his prick through the wads of fake spunk that coat her, enjoying the hot slimy texture.

"Blowing a load on her is free," you say.

Rose shivers.

"Hey..." Gal says, gulping from the exertion of fucking. "Hey... let's cum in that hat of hers, huh?"

Alex is already spunking, and he can't help the somewhat girly, albeit still obviously male groan of satisfaction he makes as he cums. He paints Rose's neck and face with his jizz. Whitney pays Rose2's hospitality forward. She makes good on her desire to finger Alex's butt, and gives him a slow, deliberate prostate massage with two of her fingers while he orgasms.

Noelle prefers Gal's idea, though. She grabs Rose's hat and empties her fake cock's spunk into it. It's a hot sight. Noelle jerks the dick like it really belongs to her as she coaxes out all the cum. The last few dregs she saves to splatter against Rose's bare, sweaty udders.

Rose is delirious, and ranting: "You can't do this... you can't cum inside, anything but that... I'll get pregnant... not safe, not saaaaafe... I don't want your babies... please! No!..."

With cruelty you never suspected, Gal takes her dick from Rose's asshole, and shoves it directly into her pussy. This dirty cock that was just rubbing inside Rose's anus is going to cum inside Rose's uterus against her will.

"Noooo--!" Rose screams. But too late. Gal is emptying her dickload into Rose's pussy-hole.

"Take it, cunt!" Gal says.

Rose weeps. But even as she weeps, she squirts whole geysers of cream.

When Gal steps off, she takes the hat from Noelle, and gets it under Rose's quim to catch the flowing mess. Gal's sperm joins Noelle's in the frothy brew.

Rose2 attempts a baritone as she mounts Rose. "Take my dick, fat bitch! Ha, ha!"

Gal jabs Rose2 in the ribs. "Shut up, bro!" She says sternly. Unlike Gal, Rose2 can't make herself sound anything close to male.

Of all Rose's rapists, Rose2 is somehow the meanest. On her knees, she nails Rose like she's trying to make her lose consciousness. Maybe she is. Rose's head bangs repeatedly against the porcelain lip of the urinal, and her meaty thighs whap painfully against the hard tile floor. The back of her legs turn black and blue as they bruise. Rose2 isn't happy to stop there, though. She grabs Rose by the hair and forces Rose's face into the bowl of the urinal. Occupied by that, Rose2 fucks Rose's pussy hands-free, butt bouncing up and down off her own ankles. It's a transfixing sight, the way both girls' plump flesh ripples and jiggle with the violence of it. When Rose screams and cums for the 50th or 60th time, Rose2 finally relents, hops to her feet, and adds her messy load to the voluminous soup inside Rose's hat. The thing is full now to its very brim.

"Stop... for the love of god..." Rose begs. Her face is all puffy from crying and getting slapped and cummed on.

"We'll stop when we knock you up," Gal says.

You start round two inside Rose's battered cunt. After all this hard use, both her lower holes are gaping, and offer zero resistance. Whitney, who's a horny bitch herself, isn't satisfied merely to masturbate while she watches. She bends over the urinal beside Rose and has Noelle start to fuck her. It's a nice view, from below the pair, to accompany the divine feeling of raping your wife. Noelle jams her dildo in and out of Whitney's cunt with a look of ecstasy, and plays with her own asshole behind her back while she does it. With Gal and Rose2 making out, swapping a wad of fake spunk back and forth, this is quickly degenerating into an orgy. Alex, unable to contain himself, milks another load out of his straining prick, that Rose catches on her tongue with broken moans.

You snap your fingers to get the attention of Gal and her playmate. Rose2, wearing a grin that looks downright demonic, retrieves the cum-filled hat, and steps to Rose.

"Put it on her head," you say.

"Noooo-- pleasshe--" Rose whines, slurring her words through all the cum in her mouth.

Rose2 of course doesn't listen. She tips the hat upright and puts it on her. The hot stew of mixed spunk slides down her hair, matting it, and over her face, obscuring it. It runs down her cheeks, her shoulders, and her bare titties. It clumps and sticks to her chin, the ruffles of her blouse, the fabric of her dress. Drips off her earlobe. Pools in the lap of her skirt. Paints her almost entirely in a filmy coat of white. Whitney, watching this, claps her hands over her mouth to stop from crying out, and cums against Noelle. Noelle holds Whitney's shoulders for leverage and really pounds that tomboy pussy for all its worth, panting like a dog the whole time.

It's enough to make you lose another load up Rose's already loaded pussy. You squirt that hole of hers even fuller -- it belongs to you anyway.

When, heaving with sheer satisfaction, you finish ejaculating, you pull the blindfold slowly off Rose's eyes.

She gazes up, expression vacant. You and the others lean over her. She looks from face to face, now finally and completely certain that it all really was just a perverted game.

"See? I told you to trust me," you tell her gently.

"I did..." she says weakly, enervated.

"Good." You hock a loogie, and spit on her face. You told her she'd regret it.

---

It's a little chilly to swim outside, but the pool you go to is indoors, and not very busy at this time of day. It's mostly old fucks and single moms with fussy kids, and they stay at the shallows. You've got the deep end all to yourself. Sure, the enormous, glass-walled swim room stinks of chlorine, and it's uncomfortably humid, but it's a nice getaway regardless.

"Watch me ok!" Samantha yells from the top of the diving board. Her one-piece leaves very, very, very little to the imagination. It's just a small red band of nylon covering her pussy, splitting in two to cover her nipples, and converging again below her cottontail, down near her asshole. It's an absolute marvel that A) she doesn't get get kicked out, and B) the thing actually stays in place to keep her naughty parts covered.

Another marvel: she gracefully pirouettes through the air, doing a double forward flip, and then slices into the water without a splash. It's a dive worthy of the Olympic games. When she surfaces, her bunny ears have lost their spring, and lie flopped over her forehead like bangs. "See?"

"Very nice work," Renee says.

"Do you want to learn how! I can show you!"

"Fuck, no," Renee says. "I'm too old for that shit."

Samantha pouts.

"Too old," you say, and "too fat." You poke her in the side of her tummy. She startles, shifting her weight to the opposite side of the deck chair she lies on. Then, reeling, she punches you in the tit.

"Jesus!" You moan. "That fuckin' hurts, you cow! Learn to take a joke!"

Chloe lies on your opposite side, inscrutable behind her sunglasses. Her two-piece is almost as revealing as Samantha's swimwear. The extreme edge of her bikini bottom exposes her tanlines -- and the very slightest hint of the crease of her pussy. You find yourself staring. So does Renee.

"Degenerates," Chloe murmurs.

"Ohhhh," Renee huffs. "You have some nerve. You're the one dressed like that."

Samantha watches curiously from the pool's edge.

>[x] Gently guide Chloe further down the path of corruption!

>[x] Ruthlessly bully Chloe in the water!

You rifle through Renee's purse for the thing you left there in anticipation of this moment. Renee is hardly happy to see you digging through her shit, and starts to say something bitchy. You shush her as you pull the marker out.

"What the hell is that?" She demands, still not amused.

You stand just long enough to straddle Chloe's tummy, facing her feet, and sit down again. Her bare skin is nice and soft against your butt -- she makes a good cushion.

"Uff-- get off of me," she demands.

You uncap the marker. Renee and Samantha watch on mutely as you set to work. You put the felt tip to Chloe's groin, just between her navel and her mound, and start to draw. The wine-colored ink has little flecks of glitter in it as well.

"What are you doing?" Chloe demands. Even with you hunched all the way forward, forehead practically touching Chloe's pussy, she can't see what you're up to. She lays her palms impotently against your tailbone, just above the hem of your own swimsuit.

"I'm doodling," you tell her. "Hold still."

"I've seen that before!" Samantha says, as the drawing takes shape. She hoists her body out of the pool, dripping from head to toe.

"Of course you have."

Renee cocks her head. "You've got quite the drawing hand."

"Stop this idiocy at once!" Chloe says, but she does nothing to force you up. As Samantha towels herself off, the temporary tattoo begins to take shape. Drawing upside-down like this is a real bitch, but worth every second of effort. You bite your tongue and furrow your brow in focus. And when at last you're finished, you get off of her, to let her see.

She gazes at her navel, chin touching her chest. After a few moments, she runs a palm along her taut tummy, down to her own crotch. At first she lightly touches and tests it, as if disbelieving that it's really there. Then she roughly rubs the ink, but it won't come clean.

"I like it," Renee says.

Chloe stops trying to rub it off, and considers it for several long moments.

"A heart..." she mutters. "Only with tendrils. Is this meant to be reminiscent certain anatomy within me?"

You laugh. "You're a smartie -- so you tell me. What do you think?"

She traces her forefinger from one ovary to the other.

"I like it too," she says at last.

Samantha plops down on her back on a deck chair beside Chloe. "Me next! Me next!"

You sigh. Horny bitches everywhere...

"I'm glad I used a waterproof ink," you say airily as you continue to draw on Samantha's soft belly.

Chloe tilts her head. "Why?"

Renee already understands your meaning. "This is why," she says, and grabs Chloe, and tosses her like a sack of radishes into the pool.

Renee dives in after her, and so do you -- and Samantha, too. When Chloe bobs to the surface, scared and soaked and trembling, Renee cruelly dunks her again. Chloe's got fight in her, though -- Renee's body suddenly lurches and disappears underwater, as Chloe tugs her by the ankles.

A four-way waterfight develops. Ostensibly four-way, at least, but it's more like three-on-one. You each target Chloe mercilessly, dunking her again and again. She gets her licks in, managing to subdue each of you at least once -- but she's no match for three larger girls ganging up, all in better shape. The tussling takes on a weirdly sexual energy, as, in an effort to keep Chloe down as long as possible, the three of you take to trapping her head between your knees, her face against your crotches as she struggles beneath you. It feels good -- it feels really good -- and Chloe is playing along.

After one particularly long dunk, in which Renee spends close to half a minute rubbing herself on Chloe's face in an obviously masturbatory way, you clear your throat, and warn her: "Uh -- Renee? You should let her breathe."

She lets go. Chloe, surfacing, gasping, has a wild smile on her face. When she's done hacking up water, she tells you: "It's fine. I like not being able to breathe..."

"Why don't we get some subs now!" Samantha says -- even she's put off.

---

Rose tugs her dress straight in the mirror of the men's bathroom, and then checks her new application of makeup.

"I can't believe you brought a spare costume," Rose2 says.

"Why wouldn't I?" Rose snaps. "I'm surrounded by vicious rapists."

Rose2 frowns. She was so happy about the thought of ruining Rose's cosplay, and now those hopes have been dashed.

In the next mirror over, Gal is getting dressed in a maid costume. One of Cerise's? It suits her oddly well.

"how do you like it Sir"

"Cute," you say. "Cute!"

She smiles.

Noelle looks her over from head to toe. "What's with the getup?"

"we're running a maid cafe"

Noelle gawks. "No. Nooooo."

"yes. yeeees," Gal says mockingly. "scarlett and charlotte and i"

"That'd be a nice name for a picture book," Alex says offhandedly. What a sweet thought to come out of the mouth of a boy dressed like a street whore.

You check your wristwatch. "Well, we've got time. Who's hungry?"

How Mom got such prime real estate at the center of the food court on such short notice is beyond your comprehension. You realize only after you arrive with your group that she must have hijacked her spot -- stolen it from some other schlub who was already intending to run a maid cafe at Comiket. But surely your mother would never barge into a kitchen not under her management and take it over. Right?

Regardless, you appreciate the sight of your mother in a French maid costume. Like mother, like daughter. And you aren't the only one to appreciate a MILF who can barely squeeze into a black-and-white dress that leaves a little too much cleavage on display. Cerise herself is at a table close by, staring unashamedly at Mom as she cooks in the booth, when you sit across from her. You have to clear your throat to grab her attention.

"Oh!" Cerise says, startling. "I thought you ran away."

"No, I was just raping Rose."

"Tell me next time!" Cerise says, genuinely annoyed.

"What's on the menu today?" Alex asks, sitting beside you.

Cerise drools. This whole "slutty misty" thing is definitely in her wheelhouse. "Oh my goodness, Alex..."

Whitney slaps Cerise on the back. "Thought you'd get a kick of that. Perv."

"It's so cute!" Cerise says.

"I know, right!" Whitney laughs.

"It makes me wanna finger his butthole," Cerise says.

Alex blushes. You shake your head. Cerise and Whitney think way too much alike when it comes to these matters.

Gal goes off to work, and Charlotte approaches to bus your table. If Mom barely fits inside her maid outfit, then Charlotte is halfway popped out of it already. You think you can glimpse her areolae. "Welcome to Sweet Sweets," she says with a smoky graciousness, as she probably does for all the other tables. She holds a round platter down by her belly, which has the side effect of accentuating her fat tits. "Today we have tiramisu, pineapple whips, vanilla cupcakes, and handmade mochi. What would you like to sample?"

"You," you tell her.

She giggles. "Naughty boy."

You place your orders -- the real ones, this time -- and she scurries off to let the chef know.

Mom glances you way. "There you are!" She shouts, loud enough to make herself be heard over the din of hundreds of con-goers. "It's not free for you just because you're my son!"

"No special discount?" You call back.

"None! Nada! Full price!"

"I'll take a little something extra later, then," you call back. Turning crimson, Mom glances back down at her work.

At the next table over, Gal is taking an order from a group of unruly dorks who've had a bit too much to drink already.

"w-welcome to sweet sweets. t-today we have... today we have tiramisu... p-pineapple w... pineapple..."

They leer and make kissy faces at her. She stands before them somewhat similar to how Charlotte did at your table, circular tray flat against her belly, but she has no breasts to call attention to. No matter. Her admirers are tipsy, and naked in their lust:

"Hey baby! Forget the food! How much for you to suck my dick, huh?"

You'd come to her rescue, but she doesn't need it. Gal steels herself, drawing a deep breath. "Suck my dick, motherfucker."

The customers at the table are straight-up flummoxed by that one. They glance from one to the other, murmuring. "Trap...?" "No... I mean... maybe?" "What the fuck..."

Gal turns and leaves without taking their order.

Alex is certainly living up to his slutty Misty label. "Hey Ally. Did you know they sell onaholes here?"

You cough. Of course you knew that. You were intending to check them out too. "No, I didn't..." you mutter, glancing away.

"Hah," Cerise laughs. "Why do I feel like you're lying?"

"They have so many! And lots of other fun toys!" He grabs your arm. "We should definitely go shopping for some!"

His enthusiasm makes the whole thing sound almost innocent.

Rose2 comes back from a different booth with an armful of canned beverages. "Hey, check it out. I found this Japanese energy drink!"

She lets the cans tumble from her arms onto the table, barely catching a few that threaten to roll off. She picks one up then, and turns it so you can all read the label.

"Rosie..." Cerise says.

You hold your hand up, to signal to Cerise: let it happen.

Rose2 turns the can back around and peers at the label for herself. "Strong Zero... must be diet! Zero calories, tons of flavor. I love lemon... anyone else want one?"

"No thanks," you say. You can hardly get it out before you're drowned out by a sea of moans. The first customers of Sweet Sweets are now being served... and boy, are they being served. This place is about to become a downright Babylonian chorus of food-based self-gratification. Maybe it's time to roll out.

>Choose 2.

>[x] Help run the maid cafe!

>[x] Visit the Q&A with Rose and a certain notable game dev!

>[x] Help Rose2 slip into her GothLolita dress and accompany her with Vivian to the meet!

[ ] Shop for pleasure toys with Alex and Whitney, and test them out!

[ ] Ogle cute cosplayers with Noelle and Cerise, get drunk and make a scene!

"Give me the chocolate, Alabaster."

You hand Mom a few boxes of semisweet chocolate. She adds it to the mixing bowl and begins to stir it up. You're not sure why she felt the need to get you into a frilled frock like the other maids are wearing, but you're getting some praiseful comments. Should you be proud that you turn people on in an outfit like this? You feel as if you shouldn't be proud of it.

At least it's not full-blown crossdressing, though. Right?

"I can't believe you talked Gal into doing this with you," you say as you pour cupcake batter into the baking molds. You watch her zip from table to table, dutifully taking orders. It's like something from a fever dream. Over the course of the past hour or so, she's gotten so much more comfortable in her skin working as a waitress. You think maybe she's mimicking Charlotte, who's a natural -- her tone and mannerisms.

If someone had told you a year ago that you'd be watching Galatea wait tables at one of the busiest venues in the world, you'd have called them crazy. Yet here you are.

"Talked her into it?" Mom says. "I didn't talk her into anything. She asked to take part." She opens the oven door, takes the tray of cupcakes from you, and sticks it in. Space is limited in this booth, and you have to step aside so she can maneuver to get the cupcakes inside the tiny, compact little convection oven. She takes an already completed tray out and sets it to cool. Charlotte is already coming back to grab a couple up and deliver them to some more orgasming customers.

"Look alive!" Mom tells her from across the register.

"Oh, get bent," Charlotte says in an uncharacteristic show of anger, blowing a bang from her face. She looks exhausted and sweaty. If there's one thing that can make Charlotte Mallory crabby, it's the heat and rush of cooking. She shares that in common with her aunt.

"Enjoying your first Comiket?" You ask.

"First and last," she grumps. "This darn outfit is so... restrictive."

You poke the top of her tit. Both she and Mom slap your hand at the same time.

"Ow," you say, jerking back.

"Cosplay is not consent!" Charlotte says, fists on her hips. "Haven't you seen the signs?"

"You definitely consent."

"Save that energy for my daughter," Charlotte tells you. "You need to make a baby in her, pronto!"

You're not even done registering your shock at such a lewd remark when Mom adds on: "My Rose first! Or Cerise!"

You rub your forehead. Do maid costumes make girls unnaturally horny? Or have your two mommies always been this way?

Charlotte trots off. You get to work mixing up pineapple whips for the paying customers.

"As I said," Mom tells you. "I didn't have to convince Anna. She convinced me. She said she wanted to help."

"Really?"

"Yes. She knew we'd be slam-packed with customers, so she wanted to take the load off." She sighs happily. "She's such a good daughter..."

"In law."

She smacks you with a ladle.

"Fuck," you grunt. "Now I know where Cerise learned it."

All the while, Rose2 is slamming back Strong Zeros like the world is ending (well, it kind of is). Sitting by herself at a nearby table, over the course of three cans she goes from alert and boisterous, to loopy, slouched, and drowsy. She lies with her cheek on her hands, kicking her feet back and forth under her, hiccuping.

"These energy drinks are so dangerous," Mom says. "They give you a burst of energy, sure, but then -- the crash!"

You wouldn't know where to begin explaining, so you don't.

Gal stops by Rose2's table to check on her. Holding her tray flat against her stomach in a now-familiar pose, she leans to one side and peers at her. "are you okay"

Rose2 bolts upright, which in turn startles Gal back a couple steps. "Okay?! Hecky to the yeah I'm -- hic -- oh frick yes I'm -- hic -- silly! I'm fiiiine."

"maybe you should stop drinking that--"

Rose2 jerks her hand away so Gal can't take the can from her. She slams back another gulp. "Don't you boss me around, commoner! I'm not a commoner!" She takes yet another gulp, makes a satisfied "pwah" and then points at Gal with the can holding her drink, squinting suspiciously. "Hey. You look like a girl I know."

"i am a girl you know"

"Oh my gosh! ... ... ... ... ... Amber?"

"please stop drinking"

Glug, glug, pwah. No stopping the lemon vodka train.

You'd better go intervene before she blacks out.

It's a good thing you're aware of an abandoned, slightly cum-smelling bathroom in the venue that you can help Rose2 change in. She'd never be able to change on her own in this state. You help her struggle out of her outerwear. You find yourself feeling a mixture of disgust and arousal to discover that her panties are sticky, damp and stained -- she wasn't lying about that remark in line earlier this morning.

"You're the best -- hic -- best big brother ever, Ally!" She informs you as you help her step out of her skirt, and she twists to one side, and accidentally slaps your face with her tits. "Whoopsie! A-durr. I'm a real klutzo."

She takes a sip of her Strong Zero. You snatch it from her. Where the fuck did she pull that from? You were pretty sure you confiscated her only can before you came here.

You take the bag she's carrying too, the one that has the dress Vivian selected for her. You pull the dress out and take a look. It's... something, all right. Like an evening gown from hell. It's a deep, nearly ebon purple with pitch black ruffled hems on the bottom and the arms. It would be close to form-fitting on Vivian -- on Rose2, it makes her look like a succubus ready to slut it up. Her curves bulge the fabric excessively, making it look like the entire garment is ready to disintegrate at any moment. The embossed fleur-de-lis pattern criss-crossing it has some sort of sequined texture to it, it seems, because it catches the light here and there, sparkling just a bit. The arms are poofy and quite short on Rose2's body, coming only a couple inches past her shoulder blades, and the hem almost doesn't cover her ass. Seriously, if she ate a single potato chip, the entire dress would probably detonate.

You help her struggle into a pair of pumps, too. She's a shortstack all right. Even in five-inch lifts, she barely comes past your chin. She sways woozily, and you catch her from falling. She hugs you. "Thanks so much -- hic -- Ally. Do I -- hic -- look nice?"

"You do," you say.

"Would you fuck me?" She asks, whispering into your ear.

"Later."

"C'mmooooon. Fuck me noooow." She rubs your chest. "I'm your big -- hic -- I'm your big ti -- hic -- I'm your big tiddy goth imouto."

"You're gonna be late if we do that. You know how Vivian gets when people are late."

She giggles drunkenly.

When you help Rose2 stumble to the place where Vivian said she'd meet her, you gasp. "Whoa..." Rose2 breathes, equally shocked. Shitfaced or stone-cold sober, neither of you could have been prepared for what you see.

"I bow to the superiority of Gothic Lolita."

"Say it like you mean it, worm!"

"I BOW TO THE SUPERIORITY OF GOTHIC LOLITA!"

Vivian has her hands on her hips, and one foot perched on the head of a much taller girl, who's supplicating before her like a Muslim on a prayer mat. The poor girl Vivian is terrorizing has made the mistake of a lifetime: she wore sweet Lolita in Vivian's general vicinity. Apparently unsatisfied with this level of humiliation to bestow, Vivian roughly pushes down on the girl's head, grinding it into the dirty carpet of the convention floor, and demands: "Tell the world that you are nothing compared to my beauty, grace, splendor and elegance!"

"I AM NOTHING COMPARED TO YOUR BEAUTY, GRACE, AND ELEGANCE!"

Vivian mashes her heel down yet again, even harder, and her dress's hem ruffles around her knee. "You forgot the splendor! The splendor!"

"YOUR SPLENDOR, MISTRESS, YOUR SPLENDOR! I AM NOTHING COMPARED TO IT!"

As always, Vivian's laughter literally comes out sounding like "ufufufufu."

This scene would be surprising enough -- and it sure is drawing a tightly packed circle of onlookers -- but the girl Vivian torments is not the only one. There is an entire lineup of Lolitas bowing at Vivian's feet, and she's going down the line degrading each and every one of them in turn.

"Tell the world that you have wasted your life on the fripperies of Sweet Lolita."

"I have wasted my life--"

"Don't just mumble like a deafmute! Reveal your sins out loud, for us all to stand in judgment!"

"I HAVE WASTED MY LIFE ON THE FRIPPERIES OF SWEET LOLITA!"

Rose2, drunk, and easily led down the path of sadism, joins her friend. She totters her way through the crowd and steps on the face of a random Lolita in the lineup. But Ms. Angelic Pretty, beneath Rose2's foot, isn't willing to take this particular abuse lying down, literally or figuratively: "Hey -- that wasn't part of the--"

"Silence!" Vivian barks. "You will accept any hectoring from any Gothic Lolita you meet! That is your lot in life!"

Rose2 is giddy with cruelty. "Tell me that you suck!"

"I suck."

"Louder, louder!"

"I SUCK!"

(Well, she's got the spirit of it down, at least.)

Noelle comes up and stands beside you. "Is it just me, or is this kinda hot?"

"You would think it's hot." You glance at her. "Is that Strong Zero I smell? Did you guys score an endorsement deal or what?"

"No, but Cerise did," Noelle tells you. When you give her a confused wag of the head, she explains: "Furby is coming back. Apparently. Cerise is gonna be a spokeswoman. Congressional initiative and everything."

Vivian is sitting on a Sweet Lolita's back and forcing her to trot in circles like a show pony.

"You must be drunk," you say with a frown. "You're not making any sense."

"The new Furby line is supposed to have an emphasis on customizability. Is that a word? Anyway. Circuit bending's going legit -- Furbys are going to be a funducational introduction to circuitry for a new generation of kids. At least that's what the ad copy says. And they want Cerise to shill for it, because... you know."

"Giddyup! Giddyup!" Rose2 shouts. Her pony's not taking the load very well. The girl's spine bends under Rose2's weight, and then her legs give out from under her and she collapses to her tummy. Poor old mare's gonna have to be put out to pasture.

The crowd parts, and a group of four girls in Gothic Lolita come through carrying a litter like the kind used to transport Roman emperors. Each of the girls carries one handle of the four-handled carriage. It's a small purple booth no larger than an ATM, ornately gilded, with a small cushioned seat inside. The girls gingerly set it on the ground, for Vivian to climb in, and then they hoist it up onto their shoulders. Rose2 heads the procession, acting as crier: "Hail Princess Vivian! Hail Princess Vivian! Hail! Hail!" And bringing up the rear, crawling on hands and knees at a remove of about five paces (you imagine Vivian specified precisely the distance they should keep), the Sweet Lolitas follow along like scolded dogs.

"Do you think she'd step on me like that?" Noelle asks.

You frown at her. "You're too honest when you're drunk."

She smiles.

You rush ahead to catch up with Vivian. Her attendants maintain a breakneck walking pace that's uncomfortable to match even with your hands free. Vivian, as seen in profile through the litter's window, keeps her chin held high and peers imperiously forward. The carriage undulates like a boat in gentle waves as the girls beneath her carry it.

"What the hell have you done?" You ask her.

"I have demonstrated my superiority in the most decisive possible way. That is all."

"Why?" You sputter. "How?"

"Why: because it is true. How: this also traces back to the simple fact of my superiority."

"No, really," you say. "How did you get those girls to denounce their own fashion sense? To crawl around like slaves?"

She finally glances down at you. "I paid them each $10,000 to do so."

"You staged this? -- Fuck, of course you did. So they didn't actually believe what they were saying, they're just doing all of this for the money."

"A belief you would sell out for cash, and such a paltry amount at that, can scarcely be considered a sincere belief. That enticement merely allowed them to admit what they knew in their hearts to be true all along. Or if not, then they are no better than common whores, and deserve no dignity regardless."

"You are crazy. $10,000 is nothing to you, but it's a hell of a lot to most people! Anyone's going to bow at your feet if you offer them that kind of money!"

She tilts her head. "You?"

"Don't change the subject--"

"Would you bow at my feet for a payday large enough?"

"I need to get out of this madhouse," you say. "Holy shit."

Her haughty laughter rings in your ears as you depart.

---

"Marisa!" The translator says. "Very impressive. He admires the costume, and wants to know if you'll be in the contest later?"

Rose, at the mic set up between two rows of seats in the auditorium, nods meekly. "Yes."

"Good luck!" The man himself says. Then, via translator: "Everyone, watch your belongings. They may get stolen!"

Rose blushes.

"What is your question?" -- The translator.

"Uh, sure. Do you feel that the Tohuou series speaks to a theme of female empowerment, and if so, was that your intent?"

He whispers back and forth with his translator for a few long moments. Finally, the translator responds:

"He does not understand the question."

Rose looks absolutely devastated. She tries again: "Would you say the women in Gensokyo are more powerful than the men, and if so, why? And is that why we never see men in the games?"

He nods along as the translator translates. Then, after a few more long moments of counter-translation, comes the reply: "Men are very bad with danmaku. They do not have the beauty and grace of a girl like Marisa, so they would lose right away. In that sense then yes, the women are more powerful than the men. And I am bad at drawing men, so it would be too troublesome to include them."

The room laughs. He sips his pint of beer. A response like that is just going to have to do.

"Thank you," Rose says, again meekly, and sits.

You feel somehow the need to console Rose after getting a less than enthusiastic answer from a personal idol. You rub her shoulder as she settles back in next to you.

"Fabi!"

You glance up at the table where he sits with his translator. He says, again: "Fabi!"

Cerise is standing at the mic in the aisle on the other side of the room.

He speaks to his translator, who asks Cerise: "Are you the politician who sponsors the Furbys?"

"Yes."

"He saw that booth when you were staging photographs. He thinks it's so interesting!"

"Thank you," Cerise says.

"What is your question?"

"Yes, what is your favorite beer?"

He holds up his pint glass and answers on his own behalf: "Kirin."

"I like Kirin a lot too. Are there any American beers you like?"

"I hope this does not offend anyone, but American beer is too weak. It is like drinking water."

"I agree completely," Cerise says. "At least the widely-sold ones. Small-scale breweries do a lot better. Have you ever sampled a nitro stout?"

The translator seems confused by the terminology, but the man himself understands. "I have heard of them. Supposedly they are smoother."

"If you want to grab a drink after this, I can let you try one. We can always fall back to Kirin if you don't like it! We'll talk Furby, too."

"Yes! That sounds fine. I have always wondered what it would be like to know a high level politician."

She did this for Rose's sake. Cerise has never been an enormous fan of the Touhou series and could take or leave social gatherings in general. But she invites your wife and you along to the bar to drink beer and talk in-depth about the mythology, themes, and even the future of the series with its creator. Rose is ecstatic at the opportunity, and pesters the poor guy with questions until, never being one who was able to hold her beer, she's so shitfaced that she can hardly string together two syllables. (Roses of a petal flock together?) He laughs at her inability to drink and says maybe she wouldn't make such a fine Marisa after all.

You all take pictures with each other and he wishes you the best of luck in getting your company back. He thinks he's got a good concept for the next main installment: a lunatic goddess of circuit bending who takes over a country in the real world in revenge for the lunar invasion? What do you think? Too farfetched, maybe -- he's drunk, too. Well, anyway, you miss the cosplay contest -- but this was worth it after all. He declares that Rose would have easily won, so it was only fair to let the others have a chance by sitting it out.

---

Like Rome, all roads lead back to this: eating Renee Carte's pussy in a karaoke booth.

You lie on the tiny room's couch, while Renee, wearing nothing but her panties, grinds herself against your face. You keep the crotch of the panties tucked to one side so you have clear access, and your tongue is lodged inside the hot, mature hole she so loves to tease you with. You tease that hole right back. You keep a firm grip on either of her legs, and dive in without reserve. She tastes and smells so good, and has such a lovely-looking twat with all its folds and creases that drip so nicely, that you don't mind how selfish of a lover she is. She obscenely rubs her own swaying breasts as you lick her.

Samantha is still in her lewd microbikini, having never bothered to change into something more decent. Now she sits with her legs spread on the couch along the wall perpendicular to you, rubbing herself through the thin spandex. She likes to watch almost as much as she likes to play. Her eyes are glassy, and her pointy little jaw is hanging partially open, strands of spittle hanging between her tongue and her palate.

"I will see myself home," Chloe tells you, trying to fight her way upright, but the liquor in her is keeping her off-balance, and she crashes back down to her butt on the cushions beside Samantha.

"Don't you want to have fun too?" Samantha asks her.

"I have had quite enough for one day, thank you."

You purse your lips and blow a little puff of air directly against Renee's clit, making her entire body convulse. You can feel, even through the fabric of her underwear, the way her asshole twitches, and you see her pussy clench too. She oozes cream against your lips, nose, and forehead.

Chloe tries once more to stand, but Samantha intervenes. She gets her knees on either side of Chloe's lap and sits atop her. She's much larger than Chloe is, and in this position, her knockers are right in Chloe's face. Chloe grimaces, turning her head away, but Samantha gently mashes her titties against the fragile Chinese girl's cheek.

"You were walking around naked earlier today... and mostly naked at the pool... don't you want to have some fun with your pussy, too? Like the rest of us?"

"Get off of me, you mentally retarded lunatic."

Samantha giggles. "You should be more honest! I can tell how bad you want it! Having pussy fun feels good, you know?"

Chloe tries to wriggle free, but Samantha won't let her.

"Heh," Renee chuffs. "Are you going to rape that poor girl?"

"No!" Samantha says. "I could never rape someone! I just want Chloe to have fun with her pussy, that's all! Like you two are!"

As she says this, you indulge in a little "pussy fun" too -- reaching past your waistband and diddling your bean. Samantha's right, this kind of hedonistic pleasure is just too good to pass up. You're pretty much addicted now to cumming in your shorts while feasting on cunt. It makes you feel like a messy slut in the best sense of the term. Renee shutters her eyelids and grits her teeth and humps your mouth.

Chloe's attire for this little outing was more conservative than what she wore to the pool. But her blouse/skirt combo is no match for Samantha's groping hands -- she untucks the blouse, baring Chloe's thin, tan tummy. As well as the little drawing you made there.

They cut such a contrast. Chloe, the small, boobless, brown little Chinagirl; and Samantha, the tall, chesty, plump MILF with milky skin and a voracious sexual appetite. But what they share in common, now, is that brand on their crotches, that heart-shaped depiction of a uterus in dark red ink. Samantha slowly bounces up and down, rubbing their brands together as she holds Chloe's wrists in place. Chloe lets out a little grunt of frustration.

"Why don't we rub pussies too, okay!" Samantha giggles. "I can show you how nice it feels! Then we can cum lots and lots!"

Samantha might be against rape on principle, but she's got no qualms gently coercing someone.

The hard sell is winning, though. Chloe no longer has to be held in place. She's staring transfixed at the spot where their two crotch tattoos rub together. The skin there is getting slippery -- with Samantha's arousal, and her own.

"See! Your cunny is all heated up now! Let's cum!"

Chloe is breathing hard through her mouth, overwhelmed by these alien feelings. Your heart goes out. You know what she's going through.

Renee is lost in her own world right now. She digs at her twat with the fingers of both hands, rubbing herself off as she fucks your mouth. Her ass, sitting on your face, is smothering you, and it's all you can do to keep up with the volume of her juices pouring out. This is sort of like what Chloe went through when Renee nearly drowned her a couple hours ago. You understand the appeal. If you have to suffocate, there'd be no better way to go than with your face buried in Renee's cunt. The heady fumes of her womanhood, and the sweet taste of her cum are enough to make you start creaming, too. You're ruining another pair of pants, Amber -- oh well.

Samantha gets Chloe lying prone across the length of the booth's other couch. It was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it disrobing -- Chloe is stark naked. For as small a girl as Chloe is, she's got a real nice ass -- perfectly round and scrumptious looking. Samantha gently rubs both globes a little, before spreading them wide. Chloe hisses -- in surprise, and anticipation.

"Have you ever gotten licked down here?" Samantha asks.

Chloe lightly shakes her head.

"Wow! I get to be your first? How nice!"

With that, she dives in.

Chloe bites her lip and her eyes roll to the back of her head. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the noises Samantha makes as she greedily sucks Chloe are downright inhuman. Chloe surrenders to that insane pleasure for a moment or two as Samantha's extremely skillful mouth works its magic.

But Chloe goes stiff all of a sudden, and whips her head around, saying: "Samantha -- no -- that place is dirty--"

Samantha ignores her. For the first time ever, Chloe feels a tongue working its way up her asshole. She stares vacantly up at the ceiling and bites her lips again, so hard that she might bleed.

Unable to fight the bunny off, Chloe has to take it. She settles in, buries her face in a nearby cushion and tightly grips the sides of it. The sound of Samantha's cunnilingus fills the booth. Chloe's muffled screams of pleasure join it.

"Yes!" Samantha cries after a minute or two. "She's cumming! Cum lots on my face master Chloe!"

She no sooner gets that out than Chloe's cunt is squirting her face full of its translucent fluids. Chloe shrieks in unbridled joy as she ejaculates -- that's what it is, she's ejaculating -- on Samantha the cunt-sucking bunnygirl.

You and Renee, despite having cum buckets yourselves, are not quite sated. You walk over to where Samantha has her mouth latched to Chloe's backside and admire the view. Renee gropes your ass while you watch.

Samantha, less selfish than you'd expect, pulls her face back to give you both a crack at it. She keeps Chloe's butt spread open for you to see. You enjoy as always the clash of dark and pale skin there. Her anus is especially pale and pristine-looking, even though it's shiny and slimy with Samantha's drool now.

You sit on Chloe's back; Renee sits up by Chloe's legs. Samantha gets down on the floor by Chloe's butt. The three of you swap off, for what feels like hours, taking turns eating Chloe's pussy and ass. She tastes good... this is some high-class butthole for sure. Her holes get coated in your collective slobber, not to mention her own cum. She thrashes like a beached fish every time she drops a load. So cute, how she loses control when she cums. You delight in making it happen again, and again, and again.

It's Samantha who moves things along... she's a veritable maestro of conducting orgies. "My pussy is so hot right now! Will you please lick me next, master Chloe!"

Weakly, Chloe raises her head off the cushion. Her face is damp with sweat and droopy with lust. "Yes. Yes, please."

Samantha's not the only one who wants to feel this bitch's tongue strut its stuff. You and Renee line up with your pet bunny, ass to ass to ass, bending over with your hands on the couch seats. Below you, on her knees, sits Chloe, as dark as a Pacific islander, as wet and ready as an experienced hooker.

The three of you shake your hips side to side, making your butts jiggle and ripple. Chloe is a lucky girl, being presented with this smorgasbord of flesh and fuckholes. She doesn't take it for granted. She looks like she's in heaven right now, the way her naked chest heaves and her tiny brown pussy drools down her legs.

She grabs Renee's ass first, spreads it, and starts to lick. All sense of shame has been dissolved; Chloe is completely corrupted. It's not the first time she's eaten a twat, you know. But she was never so happy to do it as she is tonight. She wants you all to cum as hard as possible for her. So, you do. When her tongue finds its way past the chute of your vagina or into the tight ring of your anus, you sigh and hump back against it. So does Renee, and so does Samantha -- encouraging Chloe in all the right ways to keep making your orgasm. If homosexuality is degeneracy, as Chloe claims, then she is a wanton degenerate now, a dyke with a pretty mouth who knows how to suck up girl-cum. You spend the next couple hours using her, and by the time you're done, the booth stinks of pussy.

---

On the ride back from the convention center, with the Roses dozing in your lap, one on either knee, and Noelle excitedly showing you her doujin purchases, while Cerise vies for your attention to nerd out about all the cool chipsets and obsolete electronics she found, and Alex gushes about all the toys that he wants to share with you (these not of the children's variety, check) -- while Mom and Charlotte free the Krakens, so to speak, and sit fully tits-out in the back of the limo because the maid costumes they wore all day were too confining and they need to let those puppies breathe for goodness sake -- while Gal eats leftover pineapple whip as a well-earned reward for her hard work and Whitney nonchalantly tests a dildo with Vivian's equally nonchalant assistance while they watch random Youtube videos together on Whitney's tablet because, well, they're the Darkbloom sisters, and that's just how they roll -- you think to yourself that although today wasn't the greatest day of your life, it has to be up there in the rankings.

When you disembark from the limo and walk up the Nail House's drive, Amber intercepts you at the door.

"Daddy... something terrible happened."

---

On the flight back, Armstrong whines the whole way. "He makes me use a timecard for the love of God. Me! A timecard!"

"Welcome to the world of the working man," Kay says drily. "Enjoy your stay."

"You know the last time I ever had to punch a clock was? When I was working as a bagboy at a grocery store in high school. It's humiliating!"

"Life is full of humiliation for the working man."

"Whitney never made me punch a clock. She was a goddamned idiot, but she never made me punch a fucking clock. She trusted me to manage my time myself and get my tasks done. Fucking fancy that, huh, a CEO who trusts her executives! Isn't that a fucking novelty!"

"Do you need a tissue?" Kay says.

The pilot cuts off this little rant. He glances over his shoulder and informs the pair: "We can't land."

Armstrong clambers across the helicopter and wedges himself into the seat beside the pilot. He's livid. "What do you mean you can't land! The pad's clear!" He points at the circular H below -- the helipad on the roof of Darkbloom Analytics.

"I've just been given orders not to land. They're afraid the rioters might breach the gates. Too risky. I'm sorry, I'm turning back."

Armstrong looks worriedly out the helicopter's window. They're less than a block from the campus of Darkbloom Analytics. The streets below are swarming with protestors, waging guerilla war with police. But the gates are intact and no one has made it through. They're so close; Armstrong obviously wants to touch down and return to work. If only for one particular reason.

"Damn you, man -- who's paying you? I still run this company's finances, don't I? Land this fucking bird!"

"No can do, Mr. Armstrong."

Armstrong clutches the fabric of the pilot's jacket, up by the shoulder, startling him. The helicopter yaws precariously. Kay gasps, and holds Guy tight to her chest in her purse.

"Fucking asshole!" Armstrong snarls. "I have a friend down there! You set this bird down right now or I will toss you out the window, you hear me? That little lady back there can fly just as good as you, so don't test me!"

"I'm not threatening you!" Kay tells the pilot, leaning forward to peer at him from around his tall chair. "Just so we're clear!"

The pilot puts the chopper down on the helipad anyway. As Kay and Armstrong step out, Armstrong tells him: "Wait here. I'll be back out in five."

The pilot nods.

The C-suite is eerily quiet. The only sound is, distantly, and muffled by the thick walls, that of shouts and gunfire from outside. Armstrong strolls down the hallway's length, towards Nelson's office, but finds it empty. "Dumbass. Did he evacuate without me?"

"Should I page for him?" Kay asks.

Armstrong points at her accusingly. "You shouldn't do a damn thing. How are you even still here, anyway? Why has no one kicked you out?"

Kay shrugs. His guess is as good as hers.

Armstrong checks his wristwatch. "Might still be in the board meeting."

He goes in the opposite direction down the hall, towards the boardroom. Kay watches. She sees Armstrong open the door, and hears him say "what the fuck?" She sees the flash of gunfire and hears the pistol's deafening report.

Armstrong topples backwards. He slumps against the opposite wall, right next to the door of the CEO's office, whose name plaque still reads Whitney Darkbloom.

Armstrong clutches his blackly burbling stomach. His neck muscles strain. "Ghh-- Christ, Max! Why!"

General Pershing steps out into the hallway, the smoking pistol still in his hands. He glances first one way and then the other -- but doesn't see a soul besides the quickly exsanguinating Steven Armstrong.

Armstrong at least has the satisfaction of knowing he outlived the man Whitney so fittingly calls Muskfucker -- if only just. Mr. Punchclock is already dead, lying slumped over the boardroom table with a couple gunshot wounds to the head.

"Oh fuck," Nelson yells. He's at the threshold of the boardroom now too, watching helplessly. He was in there with Pershing and Senor Punctuality -- but he's whole and uninjured, thank God. Armstrong spits up a wad of bloody phlegm, grits his teeth, and says: "Nelson -- get out -- run. The copter..."

Nelson is frozen in place by fear. He watches Steven as he slowly dies -- before finally deciding -- and, turning, tries to run.

Pershing turns his gun on Nelson. "You're not going anywhere. Stay put or I'll kill you too."

He stops.

"Steven..." He says. He puts his hands on top of his head and turns in a circle. He can hardly bear to look. "Oh, God. Christ. Jesus fucking Christ."

"I told you not to take his name in vain, you fucking Jew," he grunts. "When are you gonna listen?"

Pershing squats down and looks Armstrong in the eyes. "Alex Best passed instructions to you. Where are they?"

"I don't have them."

Pershing jabs the muzzle of his gun into Armstrong's bullet wound. He roars in agony. Nelson covers his mouth with both hands and fights back vomit.

"Where did Kay Vera go?"

"I don't know -- GRAAHHH -- FUCK! -- I don't know!"

"So be it. We'll figure things out without you."

Armstrong's breath is becoming labored, and increasingly shallow. He turns his head from side to side. "Why, Max -- what do you get out of this? Are you taking orders? Who from?"

"I am not Maximilian Pershing," he says. "I am Alyosha Kerimov."

He shoots Armstrong in the head, killing him.

END OF EPISODE 12.