I Wanted to Watch a Fox Beastkin Get Tentacled, Not Experience It Myself!
The morning after wrapping up a wildly successful stream that pulled in a cool two hundred seventy thousand won in donations.
The moment I opened my eyes and saw those smooth arms, I let out a sigh of pure relief.
"I'm back as Mimi."
I'd gone from the furry state — where finding it hot basically meant you needed therapy — back to Mimi form, where anyone with eyes would proudly admit it was hot as hell.
Maybe yesterday's full day as a furry had just been a dream?
Hoping against hope, I carefully opened the streaming app — only to be greeted by a broadcast ban notice staring me right in the face. I chucked my phone onto the blanket.
"...Another loss."
I'd lost.
I'd been so confident I was walking the tightrope perfectly, but the second I drew that water-soaked shrine maiden outfit, I couldn't help myself and added a splash of pink — and boom, broadcast ban.
"This is why sharp-eyed people are the worst... wait, no. Isn't this the fault of those perverted mods who saw pink on the chest and immediately assumed nipples?"
Okay, fine. I'd drawn it on purpose.
A shrine maiden outfit absolutely drenched in tentacle slime, and no soft pink nipples peeking through to make it even more subtly filthy? That would be criminal. Not drawing them would be a sin against the person who commissioned the piece, a sin against myself for not drawing them, and a sin against the tentacles that had slathered on all that slime specifically to make an already hot fox shrine maiden even hotter.
...I just didn't get it.
Why the hell was drawing something hot a crime?
Sexual desire was one of humanity's three basic needs, wasn't it? So how was satisfying one of the three basic needs grounds for a ban? And besides, mods — you enjoyed it too, didn't you?
"...Watch everything, then drop the ban like a guillotine."
It was genuinely infuriating.
That perfect tentacle piece I'd poured my whole soul into... All the effort I'd put in to make sure every single person who saw it got turned on...!
"Fine. If that's how it is, I'm going to dance on the absolute edge of the rules. Brace yourselves, mods. Starting six days from now, things are not going to be easy for you."
Two mistakes were enough.
Now that I knew exactly how the rules worked, all I had to do was have a blast teetering on that thin line until the mods' blood pressure went through the roof.
"A stream where the viewers are satisfied, the mods are satisfied, and I'm the only one left unsatisfied."
It was a shame, honestly. But what could I do? On any other platform, drawing like this would never pull this kind of engagement.
I was mid-rant about other streaming platforms when a sharp thwack! thwack! of a knife roughly chopping something came from the kitchen. I quietly pulled the frying pan I kept hidden under the bed, ready to subdue whatever home invader had just broken in.
Ever since the Fox God's curse-that-was-also-a-blessing had turned me into a thousand-year fox, every one of my senses had sharpened to an animal's level. Someone had gotten into my house without me noticing and was cooking?
Absolutely not a normal person.
Either some other youkai had come to mess with me, just like my bald friend Hyeok-jin had warned — or...
"An Exorcist has come to exterminate me, the gumiho."
With a seriousness I almost never showed, I completely erased my presence and crept toward the kitchen. Before the intruder could turn around, I swung the frying pan in a lightning-fast arc.
But then—
CLANG!!!
A pink, glistening tentacle appeared out of nowhere and casually blocked my perfectly aimed strike. The intruder spun toward me with a bright, sunny smile.
"Oh my, when did you wake up? I didn't even notice."
"...Who the hell are you, cooking up a delicious pot of doenjang-guk in my house? This is fucking home invasion, lady."
"I am not a lady! I'll have you know I'm a bright young twenty-three with my whole future ahead of me!"
"You need to keep your bullshit within believable limits if you want me to even pretend to buy it, lady. How is that old-hag face twenty-three?"
Garish, outdated makeup that no one in their twenties would ever wear. An awkward hairstyle unique to shamans, nothing like the carefully styled looks of other women. Looking at this woman who insisted she was in her twenties while looking like that, I offered her some genuine, heartfelt concern.
"First, let's scrub off that godawful makeup. That caked-on foundation makes you look thirty years older."
"...Is it really that bad?"
"Why would I say it twice? You look old, so I'm telling you. Even this body of mine couldn't pull off that makeup and hairstyle."
Wait. Or could it?
If a beautiful fox beastkin like me or the Fox God put on that getup and worked as a shaman...
'Begone, evil spirit!'
'Why... why isn't the spell working? H-how???'
'N-no! The evil spirit is entering my bodyyy♡ Stay out of my body! I-I don't want thiiis!!!'
'Hngh?! Hnngh!!! Ghost technique is fucking incredibleeee♡ I-I'm cummiiing♡'
Yep. Just thinking about it and I was already getting wet.
It wasn't the shaman hairstyle or the shaman makeup that was the problem. The base model was the problem.
Slap fluffy fox ears and a tail on that face? Just imagining it would have been enough to handle several people's happy time.
I was staring at the shaman in front of me with a dopey grin when she beamed right back at me.
"You seem to be thinking something incredibly rude."
"Must be your imagination. No way, right?"
"Right? Even a filthy little commission artist wouldn't think those kinds of thoughts with an actual person standing right in front of them... Heh heh."
The shaman closed her eyes and let out a creepy little laugh, so I swung the frying pan at her again with everything I had — only for another tentacle from god-knows-where to coil tightly around my arm.
"Huh? Fuck?"
"Ah-ah. Nice words."
"You think nice words are coming out of me in this situation? A pink tentacle is one second away from railroading a fox in heat like a goddamn animal!"
My body was already hypersensitive, and now heat was layered on top of it — every inch of me might as well have been a weak point. One wrong touch and I'd be dripping wet and drowning in pleasure.
And now that slime-coated tentacle had a grip on my arm? This meant...
I was getting railed. A hundred percent. No — two hundred percent chance of getting railed.
...Fuck. My first time, and it wasn't even with a person — it was with a tentacle?
Absolutely not.
I'd rather do it with that bald bastard than hand my first time over to some grotesque tentacle. I'd rather die.
I clenched my teeth hard, fighting the tingling pleasure crawling up my arm.
"...Could you maybe let go of this arm? Being held like this is getting a little awkward."
"Sorry, but I don't think so. If I let go, you're just going to swing that frying pan at me again."
"Wouldn't that be the obvious reaction? If some complete stranger breaks into your house and starts cooking up a delicious doenjang stew, pretty much everyone is going to go for the pot first, right?"
A weird person had walked right into your house and was cheerfully cooking doenjang stew. What would you do?
1) She's a woman, so declare a sex battle first.
2) Suspicious person — call the cops immediately.
3) Smash the pot first, think later.
Wouldn't literally anyone in the world pick option three?
Option one was a terrible idea — high chance I'd get reverse-dominated instead. My body was in heat, defense stats scraping the floor. Whether I went up against a man or a woman, I'd almost certainly get called a "noob" and take the L. So option one was out. That left option two.
But would a home invader just sit there and let the homeowner call the police? If things went south, they wouldn't even get to eat that delicious doenjang stew — they'd be eating prison rice instead. They'd do whatever it took to stop a call to the cops or 911. Even if that "whatever" veered into R-rated territory.
Which left exactly one option.
First strike wins.
The second you see them, smash the pot and ask questions later.
"If you were me, you'd smash the pot first too. Smash it, and if they weren't dead, tie them up and call the cops. 'Some crazy bitch waving tentacles around broke into my house and is cooking doenjang stew,' you'd say."
"You've got a point. Thinking about it again, you're right. But you know..."
The shaman grinned and dropped something seed-like onto the floor. Instantly, massive tentacles erupted from below, coiling into position to ravage my body.
"If you fail at cracking someone's skull open, there should be a penalty, don't you think?"
"...And that penalty is getting grabbed by tentacles and subjected to erotic acts?"
"Obviously! If you try to crack a tentacle summoner's head open and fail, ending up starring in your own super-hot tentacle video is just common sense, right? That's how most R-rated tentacle manga go, you know?"
"I'll grant you the common sense part, but my mind is still male. And—"
I adjusted my grip on the frying pan with my free hand and brought it down on the tentacle restraining my arm with everything I had.
WHAM!!!
"I'm the type who wants to watch a fox beastkin get tentacled — not the type who wants to experience it firsthand. So put those fucking tentacles away. Now."
I snapped at the so-called shaman in front of me, irritation thick in my voice — but she just stamped her feet in place, her face melting into pure bliss.
"Haa... haa... A gender-bent gumiho girl getting tentacled until she finally accepts she's nothing but a female in heat... I honestly can't think of anything hotter than that."
Correction.
That wasn't bliss. That was a face drowning in pure madness.
That was the face of a woman completely unhinged over TS and tentacles!!!