Kitsune's Cadence: Block One balistafreak 2015/02/15 (Sun) 09:15 No. 36865 ▼ File 142399174465.png - (426.84KB, 579x819 , Towel Lip Licking Ran.png)
Disclaimer: the following wasn't given a final proofing, because I ended at an astounding 15K words - 14.5K if you don't include various author ramblings.
If there's a sudoku that truly bothers you, copy-paste this stuff into a word document and fix it yourself, and read that when you get comfy in bed at night instead of my broken English.
Tenshi a shit. Ran top-tier waifu. That is all.
<3
"Eh? No, you can't possibly!" Ran Yakumo, your most appreciative and reliable customer and part-time lover, flushes red to the roots of her nine tails as she reads the fine print of the two tickets you've handed her. it's not a figure of speech: she's laying prone on a waist-high table wearing naught but a pair of herb-treated towels over her back and legs. Her deliciously curved rear remains bare to allow her nine tails to wave free from the base of her spine, and yes, that cream-colored skin just turned a few shades darker.
As much as you would like to, though, you don't stare at her butt, lovely as it may be. Firstly for propriety's sake, although it's not like you aren't intimately familiar with the smoothness and softness of those two rounded cheeks already, having recently reacquainted yourself of their ply and weight when you'd greeted each other an hour ago with a smoldering, minutes-long embrace before she'd so much as shed her robe. To say nothing of the two abundant bosoms currently spilling out to either side of her torso, tipped with rosy nipples so sensitive she'd screamed out and squirted against your questing hand when you'd finally opened her robe to suckle and nibble at them. And then there's the pale pink treasure between her legs, its folds as dainty as flower petals, crowned with a meticulously maintained thick thatch of golden curls that's currently matted with a combination of sweat, female arousal, and your own seed from her revenge, where she'd tossed you onto your own massage table and mounted you, legs forced between yours in a parody of the missionary position. But as always during these appointments, you have yet to taste the sweeter nectar only coaxed out from deeper inside her, as she'd serviced your straining manhood only with practiced squeezes and strokes from between her cum-slicked thighs and frantic circular grinding against the palm of her hand until your non-existent resistance crumbled and you'd reached your own shuddering climax.
Where months ago you'd have to actively suppress all reminiscing of those hot and heavy moments of bliss in order to continue rational action, at this point you're comfortable with freely indulging in them, the steamy memories of half an hour past stretching a grin upon your face and slowly reviving your erection as your feet and hands continue their work. The second reason why her rear isn't the focus of your attention is because there's a frankly more wondrous sight springing from it: a light amber thicket of tails that marks her as a full-fledged, nine-tailed kyuubi of a kitsune. There's more hair on those than on twice as many princesses? heads, and what it lacks in raw length it more than makes up for in sheer volume and abundance. That's not to say it lacks for quality, especially with the professional care and grooming she pays you to lavish upon it: rare herbal and mineral blends combined with cutting edge modern chemical blends from lands of science, ancient alchemical transmutations, and a more than a little hedge magic that runs in the blood, a unique bit of spice and sorcery that'll never be completely emulated with mere technique or study.
Your ancestors, forefathers, brothers and nephews, all were and are hairdressers of nobility and royalty across the universe, paid in mounds of silver and gold, precious stones, lands, spices, titles, and every other valuable currency and commodity imaginable. But while they've been using their wealth to live lives of luxury and decadence, you'd entrusted every groat of your personal share of inheritance to a celestial bank with the qualifier ?break in case of emergency?, then retired to this rustic backwater of a demiplane to enjoy a simpler, more fulfilling life.
And who's to say that you aren't actually richer than them? Not even in the classic spiritual sense, but the single clipped and worn silver coin you ask for recompense from a village girl, the culmination of hours of weaving by hearthlight deep into the night, all in hope of at long last catching the eye of the hardworking merchant's son she's fawned over for years at the end of year festival, is worth more to her than an entire coffer of platinum paid without so much as blinking from some godling. To receive such an earnest, sincere payment almost makes you feel guilty, but you need that silver to turn around and thus support the gatherers of herbs who risk their lives on the youkai-infested mountain, the prospectors who pan the streams for trace amounts of substances already depleted on older, larger, more established planes of existence. The rest of your family handles vaults and wagons of wealth that their patrons can comfortably spare purely for the sake of maintaining appearances; your modest, battered purse, on the other hand, contains the combined livelihoods, dreams, and wishes of an entire village and mountain.
And while there are those in your family who would turn up their noses and mock your domicile, a simple second-story apartment above the studio and waiting room in which you work, surrounded on all sides by other shops and establishments in the heart of the modest village's market, even the original progenitor of your specialty would have to bow low the woman you service now. it's hard to believe that the right hand of the god that helped spin this land from the void of the aether now croons happily underneath your practiced hands as you massage a conditioner into one of those nine signal banners of unfathomable power.
You have even more trouble believing that the two of you are fucking like rabbits at every opportunity.
Truly, while you may have the privilege and boasting rights of serving outright divinity, the most valuable payment is found not in the sparing amount of credit her master deposits into your account at the moneylender, an amount you'd had to haggle downward to a mere shadow of her original offer, but in the attentions and affections of the kitsune that had grown so quickly and so naturally you still suspect sorcery at work. Those old folks may have the right to lay eyes upon, touch and handle princess's locks with combs and gloved hands, but surely they would turn green with envy if they knew that you were embracing these hallowed monuments of unimaginable fluff and softness. They'd faint out of disbelief to see you childishly diving into them like some kind of literal honey trap. And if they find out that you're all-too-regularly their plaything for unspeakably intimate acts, they just might die out of shock. Or they might congratulate you. You wouldn't know. You don't talk much these days.
You can't help but dig your fingers in a little harder at the thought, but you refrain from reopening your robe and pouncing upon her for now, only partially because despite your half-masted member, you're still mostly satiated from her sumata earlier, and also because you know full well the burning discomfort that the current soap in use will plague you with if it ends up working its way into the more? delicate parts of your body. Mere parts of it are a flower that only blooms underneath the light of a crescent moon and crumbles in that of the sun, the root of an oak tapped directly into the juncture of leylines of fire and wind, and a steeping of a breathing, healthy behemoth youkai's fang. Such esoteric and varied materials aren't merely for bragging rights, but outright required in order to drill through Ran's innate resistance, a required step in properly treating that fur of hers and coaxing it to shine above and beyond even its native state. The mornings after your appointments, she could warn boats from shore on a foggy day. Not that Gensokyo has an ocean or maritime trade, but the point stands. The sight of her makes standing on a tongue larger than you are, desperately holding up a bucket of alchemical product above your head to immerse one of a hundred fangs the size of your torso into the fluid, knowing that if you spill so much as a drop the resulting gag reflex will have you spit a hundred feet down into the forest canopy, totally worth it.
In fact, the sheer amounts of soap your current patron requires is the only reason you acquiesced to letting her master install a modern contraption of a ?shower? installed in your quarters, as it's the only sane way to bring in the sheer volume of heated water it'll take to fully rinse every sud out from those infinite waves of sleek fur. Yes, you'll need both need a second one in the morning to clean you both of other fluids both already accumulated and yet to come, but this soap in particular is caustic to the point of being a moodkiller within the hour. Honestly, though, at this point in your relationship you're almost glad it's so potent, as it singlehandedly keeps your lover from attempting any lascivious mischief while you actually do your job.
That's not to say that you don't get some splatter, though. Troubled by the tickets in her hands, she can't help but flick several her tails in thought, their shining golden fur lathered in soap, hard enough splatter those suds as she continues to try and make polite excuses as to why she shouldn't accept your all-too-generous gift. "That is the time you should be working, attending to other people's holidays, though."
You laugh nervously. From another person's standpoint, her words might seem demeaning, but for someone who keeps as little liquid funding as you do, her realization of your sacrifice warms your heart, even if it is a little embarrassing to be seen through so easily. "Well, I was thinking that this year, perhaps I'd like to enjoy the holidays myself, be one of the common folk, you know?" you say evasively. "Even a kitsune's hairdresser ? ?
"Custodian of the Ninefold," she interrupts you with mock severity, insisting on her personal, painfully stilted and formal title for you. You're sure actual ?custodians? would be mortified at the thought of soiling their charge on purpose, to say nothing if said soiling was the direct result of being masturbated into them as had happened thirty minutes ago, but after you'd first slept with her she'd told you with a straight face that a little, er, "life essence? goes a long way in boosting her tails? already palpably divine aura. You're still not sure if that's a joke or if it actually has a seed of truth within it, but you can hardly fail to notice that ever since she became a lover she makes a point of wringing a load out of you into her fur at the very start of things, whether with her hands, feet, mouth, breasts, or, in today's case, thighs. Curiously, though, she hasn't yet serviced you with them, choosing simply to blush and change the subject the one time you raised it. You haven't pushed it, but somehow you get the idea she's saving it for a special occasion.
You don't lose sleep over it, though. You need every minute of rest you can get to keep up with her body, whether professionally or carnally. After all, it's your job to make sure those tails leave your parlor more breathtaking than when they came in. A happy glow in her cheeks, though, will take a load or five of seed inside her.
?Custodian of the Ninefold," you groan sarcastically in mockery, earning a quirk in the corner of your lover's mouth, "is at the end of the day just a commoner."
"Setting aside that your expertise, both cosmetic and otherwise?, she emphasizes with a small lick of her lips and sultry glance, referencing the many feverish hours she's invested coaching you in all manner of bedtop sports for indoor types, "elevates you to that of an artist and thus makes you deserving of someone?s patronage, you forget that you were the one who asked me to balance your books and calculate your taxes and exemptions." Her voice is still velvet soft, but you note that the bold, pointed fox ears on the top of her head, far larger and expressive than her dainty, rounded woman's ears on the sides, are slowly rotating outward. You now know that that's body language as blatant as a spoken sentence, saying ?you have gone beyond playful exaggerations and clever double meanings, and are attempting to disguise the truth for the sake of deception; please do not attempt to lie to me, or else I will grow more irate?" yes, it says a sentence that long and complex, or it simply wouldn't be Ran. So chastised, you swallow your pride and resolve make your next few statements more honest, and not attempt to obfuscate and flatter like your normal banter.
However, she continues before you can get a word in, taking in a deep breath in the shortest fragment of a second to launch into her normal, overly comprehensive conversation style, her earlier flirtatious attitude evaporating. "While you only told me I had to review this year's books, you didn't forbid me from perusing the rest of them for purposes of gathering a general impression, you know." You only shrug, having nothing to hide from her in any of them. "Therefore, I took the liberty of starting from the very beginning to serve you to the utmost of my capability, as expected from someone on the path of sincere repayment." She smiles, a radiant and beautiful expression that you'd never thought would go with such needlessly long explanations, but you've fallen in love with both nonetheless. "When that hot springs inn was established and you began operating there on a special basis, your revenue sharply increased; indeed, almost an entire fifth of the entire year's earnings can be attributed to the various holiday events where you sell your services to vacationers on his premises, and half of that fifth, that is to say an entire tenth, is earned on this weekend alone, this weekend you're now telling me you plan on taking off to spend with me." She narrows her eyebrows at you, boring into you with a stern, asking stare. "Considering that you work around half the days in a year, two days accounting for eighteen days? worth of average is not insignificant; those days are, hour by hour, nine times as profitable as the mean of the rest."
Impassioned and now fully into the swing of her analysis, she presses her hands into the table and lifts her upper body up to take a deeper breath, one that you can't help but notice causes her bosom to lift and sway in such a way that draws attention to the fact that her nipples have hardened. Whether that's because of the stimulation of the smooth leather as she lifted herself up, the fact that they're bare to the open air movement even in the warm room, that your mere presence is affecting her, or even that she's excited by simple mathematical hurdles, you can't say. You try and open your mouth to slip in a word edgewise, but she's only interested in concluding her speech. "That's to say nothing of what you must be spending in order to reserve an entire wing to ourselves, not just the deluxe suite that would demand every penny of your disposable income. I know I was able to save you several weeks? worth of revenue with more exact calculations of intake and expenditure and clever reclassification to more than a few obscure and archiac building codes, but I also know that an entire wing would be more expensive than even that amount, so either you're spending savings that are being kept off the books or there's some favor you're cashing in??"
You only wish you had such financial security or political leverage, but the truth is less conniving than it is outright embarrassing. The proprietor of the inn's actually a childhood friend who sought a slightly different meaning of hospitality and service in his life's work and thought that the only fair challenge was to follow you to Gensokyo, and, having reached greater heights than you in both the financial and familial sectors - he's the full owner of the establishment you normally work in during that weekend, and where you're merely dating a youkai he's already tied the knot and had a child with his hashihime lover - he thinks that he should repay his good fortune back. You just wish he wouldn't do it by literally shoving those two priceless tickets for a weekend of bliss into your protesting hands while shouting at the top of his lungs ?IMDOINGMYPARTNOWSTARTPLANNINGTHECEREMONYYOUUNGRACIOUSFUCKOFAWANKERSOSTOPPROTESTINGANDGETYOURGAMEFACEONYOUHAVEAMAR
RIAGETOCATCHUPTOYOUFUCKINGSLOWPOKE?, conducted by his green-eyed wife's awkwardly lewd, enthusiastic hand gestures and punctuated with her bassline of insane mutterings of ?wontyoufuckingrealizethatyouhaveaninetailedkitsuneheadoverheelswithyouandthatshedfuckingbecomeyourlittlebitchandb
uttslutifyousomuchasraisedaneyebrowyouresuchashitheadseriouslyImactuallyjealousthatyouattractedherandImstraightanda
lreadymarried?.
Honestly, you wonder how they ever hit it off in the first place. If it was over anything, it would have to be over their ability to speak in boldtext without any spaces.
Not that you'd ever tell Ran about that incident at this point, given that it'd only be intensely embarrassing and not make any real progress towards ?being more honest?. She just wants you to say what you actually think, which is that you'd like to ask her if you can, contrary to your normal aversion to pomp and circumstance, make some form of official promise or commitment to one another - not like an engagement or marriage or anything, just boyfriend and girlfriend or something, because you started courting one another as casually as two dragonflies on the wing, with almost no discussion of pasts or futures between the two of you. it's entirely possible that a woman as powerful and well-traveled as she is has lovers elsewhere, maybe even a special someone she's got something actually serious going on with and you're just pleasant company? Good heavens, maybe that?s what her reluctance to use her tails on you means?
Okay, that's a bit farfetched, but you can't help but imagine the worst, most surreal scenarios and setups possible. This is something you do actually lose sleep over.
Yes, better to neglect that little one-sided shouting episode. Not because discussing a breach of the fourth wall aloud in dialogue would probably result in some kind of meta-singularity, but more because having to tell her every incident that led up to today's events is going a bit far, because the end of that road means having to start every anecdote as minor as what you had for breakfast with the history of the Dragon forming Gensokyo. Arguably the Big Bang. Knowing Ran's mystic roots, maybe even the origin of the gods themselves.
"You can call it a repaid favor, although not one I asked for, so to that end I still have a little leverage. Repaid favors out of the blue being worth less than a favor asked for and all that. I got a discount, you might even say," you clumsily explain. "I don't have anything pressing to spend the money you're sparing me on, so I'm coming out ahead, overall. I'm not allowed to treat my most valuable client?" Letting a tinge of mockery into your voice, you add, "You know, you went through all my records in a single morning, and before breakfast, no less. Are you sure you didn't cut any corners?"
A tail that was submissively taking each wring and knead your hands are applying suddenly springs to life, gently but firmly latching around one wrist to pull your hand off to the side. Automatically, you open your fingers and spread them as wide as you can, and she just as casually weaves herself in between like the warp and weft of a loom. it's like holding hands, but a lot smoother and softer. Not quite fluffy, though, not with their current sodden state. "I'd never cut corners when it comes to the affairs of my dear underlings."
You detect the hook in the tart and deftly yank it out with a snort. "Oho, "underling?, now, am I?"
"Well, you always give me the most dedicated service, I can't help but think myself a queen, you know?~? she giggles. You laugh with her even as you contemplate that. Truly, it would be the greatest honor to serve such a being as her. While you need some payment to cover material overhead costs, frankly, if she'd presented herself with majesty and demanded you to swear fealty, you would, and be happy doing so. The extra money that's classified as ?labor? costs only puts up a barrier between the two of you, even if you do share a bed all too often.
But you'd be even happier if the vows were mutual - okay, that's dangerous waters.
"If you'd just accept a little more as wages, let us fully support you, you could live a lot more comfortably, and not have to worry about this sort of thing, you know," she murmurs, her head having descended back down onto the bench, eyes closed to heighten her appreciation of your handiwork.
You sigh, wishing you could rub the bridge of your nose. "Ran, dear, we've been over this already, and you know why that's not an option." You're a bit sterner than you meant to be, and her tail retracts just a bit; she makes a suppressed whine in the back of her throat, like a scolded puppy. Chastened, you give the tail woven into your fingers a reassuring squeeze, even as you fumble to work one-handed on the rest, making sure the soap penetrates the seemingly infinite layers to the undercoat underneath.
? actually, you reflect, it made it there a while ago. Honestly, you've just been working it in and standing here to enjoy a bit of quiet time with her, knowing that the moment you retire to the bedroom things are going to get more than frantic enough.
Unfortunately for you, though, it seems she's realized you've been stalling as well, and suddenly tugs on your hand. "Fine, then. I won't question your sudden generosity. In return, then, perhaps I can repay you with patronage of? another kind??
