Stalking in the Alley - 9
'Asking whether I've developed a willingness to grant the favor?'
Having received the Stalker's question, I turned it over in my mind once more.
The answer was split fifty-fifty.
On one side: the Stalker's restrictions were so severe that the moment I escaped them, I could exist with infinite stamina—that was the confirmed promise—and so part of me wanted to find that exit.
On the other: I was going to see this through to the end anyway, so what did a little more matter? Powers handed down by a Great Anomaly plus the rules of escape made those conditions so tantalizing that accepting felt inevitable.
The faction for and the faction against collided in my head with nearly equal force.
(As you well know, I am a Great Anomaly.)
Just as I was swaying between yes and no like a reed caught in a typhoon, unsure which to choose, the Stalker offered up this new piece of information: that she was a Great Anomaly.
'Great Anomaly? What kind of title even is that?'
It sounded like one of those epithets for a realm of mastery or a supremely powerful being, but I had absolutely no grasp of what caliber of existence it was supposed to describe.
If it had been something flamboyant like Swordmaster, I'd have assumed the rank was astronomically high—but this was such a plain, unremarkable modifier that it only deepened my confusion.
(The value and rules of abilities personally revealed by a Great Anomaly... you know that well enough, don't you?)
'...?'
The conversation seemed to have slipped its gears.
It felt like a screw had popped loose mid-turn, like a mechanism spinning back into place with a piece missing. Right now, the Stalker spoke as if it were only natural that I would recognize the title—as if the worth of the reward she'd offered should be self-evident to me.
'Could it be... she doesn't realize she's the first anomaly I've ever encountered?'
If that were the case, everything made sense.
Her faith that I would know what a Great Anomaly was, her puzzlement that I couldn't grasp the value of her compensation—if the Stalker had mistaken me for a veteran who'd survived countless anomalies, all of it fit.
'But... early on, no matter how I look at it, wasn't she a total rookie?'
She'd frozen solid, letting three whole minutes slip by without realizing it.
She'd had semen smeared across her lower half, wiggling her hips and begging for more, cooing about how good it felt.
That was, unmistakably, the flustered panic of a complete beginner caught off guard... wasn't it?
'Ah! The status window!'
It was then that the ability I'd forgotten came back to me.
The status window had played a huge role in freeing me from the Fear condition.
If the terror I'd felt had been the kind that would make even a veteran cower, then the Stalker rating my mental fortitude so highly made perfect sense.
Normally, I would have cowered right there, three minutes would have passed, and being taken would have been the expected outcome.
'Then... what if she finds out I was just an ordinary person who knew nothing?'
The thought surfaced out of nowhere, but the mere imagining of it raised goosebumps.
All this time, the Stalker—a Great Anomaly, some towering existence—had been praising a veteran who hadn't fallen under her spell.
It was the same feeling as a veteran gamer complimenting a rival of equal skill.
But if she learned that the very being who'd managed to put up a fight against her was a newbie holding the game for the first time... if she found out I'd fought using nothing but raw talent, split-second improvisation, and luck?
And if that newbie were something she could own and use however she pleased...
'She'd want to possess me. Without question.'
I must never forget that I myself was the main prize in this negotiation.
The intelligence the Stalker rated so highly, and my capacity to keep resisting—those two things weren't born of experience. They came from intuition and luck, and from the visceral revulsion I'd carried back when I was a man. If she discovered that...
If she discovered it, my value would skyrocket beyond measure.
I had no idea how the gender swap would factor in. Who knew how an anomaly would weigh the fact that a woman had once been a man?
But intuition and luck would be rated unconditionally, gloriously high. Even by my own assessment, it was uncanny.
'If she finds out... something incomparable to now might come my way.'
Nobody would cut off their own arm for a hundred million won.
But at a billion, they'd hesitate. At ten billion, they'd form a line.
That's what value does—it makes people gamble with danger.
And yet the Stalker hadn't even discarded her own pride.
All she'd done was declare that she rated me highly and would give it her all. That was all.
(Have you deliberated long enough?)
Tap.
"Hyaaak?!"
The Stalker brought her cock down with a light tap against my pussy, and with my swimsuit pushed aside, I felt it make direct contact—and I jolted in shock.
Lost in deliberation, I'd completely forgotten that I was still sitting there with my legs spread.
(I'm going inside here.)
Shhk. Shhk.
'Ngh... ah...'
With the swimsuit no longer shielding me, the sensation of her glans touching my pussy bare came through with startling clarity.
I could feel the Stalker's cock with perfect vividness—gripped in her hand, stroking up and down, gliding over me as if licking my slit.
Blind to everything in front of me, my imagination filled in the scene all on its own.
Me, legs splayed, offering up my pussy—and the Stalker, unable to resist a moment longer, rubbing her cock against it in slow, slick strokes.
And then it hit me—that was just like the scenes in porn videos and manga where someone whines and begs to be allowed inside.
And thinking of how I was the one enduring that right now, another memory surfaced: the female who finally relents to that whining usually ends up utterly, mercilessly ravished.
'If back then... I'd said yes...'
When she'd been rubbing insistently against my pussy, begging to put it in—if I had surrendered myself right then...
By now I'd have already been taken, the rest period would have ended, and afterward... wouldn't I have gone to her willingly, face bared, to be fucked senseless as her slave?
'Don't think about it. Don't think about it.'
Adding stimulation on top of a situation already more stimulation than I could endure was tantamount to suicide.
My uselessly vivid imagination barely managed to stop itself from recreating that scenario in full.
"W-wait... just a moment..."
(Yes, do think it over.)
"Haaah... y-you said to think it over...!"
(It's not your sweet spot, but I can still play with your tongue, can't I?)
I felt like I was about to lose my grip on sanity from the relentless assault.
The Stalker caught my tongue between her fingers and spun it around and around like a toy.
Unlike the kiss earlier, which had carried the deliberate intent of conquest, this was the idle delight of a child playing with a fascinating new plaything.
And down below... her glans slid slickly along my pussy, whispering open up and surrender right now with every stroke.
The earlier daydream resurfaced, and my lower abdomen clenched tight and released, again and again, entirely of its own accord.
'Ngh...'
I felt like I might come apart at the sheer strangeness of it, the sheer perversion—but I made my decision. I would accept her favor.
Unlike a moment ago, when my heart had split clean down the middle, the realization that I had to hide my newbie status tipped the balanced scales decisively toward yes.
"I-I'll do it. That... the thing you just said."
(Which thing?)
"The favor you mentioned earlier."
(You've kept me waiting so long... won't you say it once more?)
The Stalker asked with feigned innocence.
The words dripped with reproach, as if my having kept her waiting all this time were some grave offense.
'You want ME to say it out loud...?'
That absurd proposal—that she'd come with just the tip and finish inside my pussy. That perverse, ridiculous request I'd never seen in any medium anywhere... she wanted me to say it... with my own mouth...?
"Uh... th-the... the one where you come with just the tip and finish inside... that one."
(I can't quite hear you.)
"The favor where you said you'd come with just the tip inside my pussy!"
(Mmm~ yes, that was it, wasn't it?)
She had clearly wanted to hear those words from my own lips, and my teeth clenched hard at her coy feint.
Being forced to spout such humiliating things had made me furious for an instant—but I understood it soon enough.
I had been a man once too, after all. I knew exactly how much it turned a man on to make a woman say those things with her own mouth.
No—what had made me angry was the attitude. The assumption that I would naturally, unquestionably grant her request.
I had no idea how much value powers and rules personally taught by a Great Anomaly actually held, but the way she said it—you've been paid plenty, so of course you belong to me—that attitude was what lit my temper.
It made me feel like I'd been reduced to a mere object... and that made me furious.
"Just put it in already..."
And then, mid-fury, the anger simply deflated.
Not a single thing in this situation was going my way, and somewhere along the line I seemed to have mastered the art of resignation.
(What was that?)
"I'm sorry, what?"
But then came that baffling question—why would you say something so strange?—along with hands that seized me firmly, and a dazed answer tumbled out before I could stop it.
THUD!
"Wh... what—?!"
The Stalker lifted me up,
then kicked over the outdoor compressor unit I'd been sitting on, toppling it flat, and set me down on top of it.
(Lubricant needs to reach as deep as possible, you see.)
While I stood there bewildered, not quite comprehending what she meant,
the Stalker gripped my hips hard, applied pressure, and moved me exactly as she pleased—
then stripped my swimsuit off entirely and pressed her cock against my pussy.
(It fits perfectly now, doesn't it?)
There wasn't much difference in height between the Stalker and me.
The kind of difference where an onlooker might guess five centimeters, maybe. I didn't know my own current height, but when we stood facing each other our chests met flush, our faces at nearly the same level.
And now, with me bent over the toppled compressor unit—
the Stalker's thirty-centimeter erection sat... positioned with surgical precision directly beneath my pussy.
"Wh... what kind of perverted...!"
Cock standing rigid, angled so that the moment of release it would drive straight down into my pussy at a perfect vertical—an angle and height engineered for one purpose.
And then...
(Just right for playing with your chest and hips, no?)
With a happy growl, the Stalker bit into my breast, suckling and lapping noisily while kneading my rear in her hands.
Stripped of my swimsuit's last shield, I squirmed my waist against every raw sensation on bare skin, and the Stalker, savoring even that, blocked me from retreating as she carried on.
'Ngh... what on earth... what kind of perverted position IS this?'
I never could have imagined such a position existed.
And the fact that the side of an outdoor compressor unit was roughly thirty centimeters—almost exactly the size of the Stalker's cock—was even further beyond imagination.
This stance was... Stalker-exclusive. A position whose sole purpose was to slather her cock-juice all over the entrance of my pussy while enjoying every other part of me she pleased.
(Well then... time to add the lubricant.)
Chip.
"Huh...?"
At the Stalker's probing fingers, I felt something inside me give way—a sensation so faint it was barely there, as if something had torn.
What... what was that...?
(Your hymen would only get in the way of the lubricant, so I removed it.)
'Wh... what?'
My mind went pitch black, drowned under an overwhelming flood of words.
What had I just heard?
She treated my hymen as nothing more than an obstruction and tore it with her fingers?
As if it were worth nothing at all, just like that?
In every story I'd ever encountered, a torn hymen meant pain—so why didn't it hurt even a little? Was something wrong with my body? Was I feeling so much that even pain registered as pleasure?
(Fufufu... did you think it would hurt when your hymen tore?)
The Stalker spoke the way an owner might, bringing a kitten to the vet for the first time and finding it adorable as it hissed at the unfamiliar surroundings.
The fond, indulgent tone of someone cooing over a baby cat terrified of a harmless little injection.
(The hymen matters only as proof that you were a virgin—the membrane itself has no value whatsoever.)
(And surely you knew that from the moment you permitted me to finish inside you, it was destined to disappear?)
Her words came muffled against my cleavage, murmured as she nuzzled into it—and the darkness swallowing my mind settled, just slightly, into order.
'She tore my hymen... to put her semen in?! To push it deeper...?'
Common sense crumbled even as my womb gave a startled clench.
There was a reasonable arrogance in it—your hymen was mine all along, so of course I'm the one who harvests it—
and beneath that, an obsession that seemed to say: I want even one more drop of my seed buried deeper. Anything that stands in the way, I will not tolerate.
(What a delicious body you have.)
Still at my breast, the Stalker pinned my hip with one hand as if I might bolt—
and with the other gripped her cock, took aim at my pussy, and pushed the glans inside.
'Wh... what is this...'
I lost my hymen in a position I couldn't have imagined, for a reason I couldn't have imagined.
And yet the sensation of that forearm-thick glans sliding in—the entry of something so enormous that any normal circumstance would have made it agonizing—
...I hate to admit it, but it was unbearably arousing.
(I'm going to pour my seed inside you, just like this.)
(If you dislike it, by all means—try to run.)
Even as she said it, the Stalker's hands
gripped my hips tight, making it plain that running would not be tolerated.