Stalker in the Alley - 12
I pushed my finger into the stalker's mouth and kneaded the lubricant pouch with slow, deliberate pressure.
At first the creature flinched, visibly startled — but before long it let its body go slack and began to savor my touch.
The way a massage client happily rolls over the moment the therapist murmurs, "Turn around for me, please" — the stalker obeyed just as sweetly, opening its mouth and wrapping my fingers in its tongue, swirling them round and round.
That motion briefly made my stomach turn, and I yanked my fingers out.
"Do you have any idea how it feels to get toyed with while you can't do a single thing about it?"
The words had barely left my mouth when I seized the stalker's chest and the lubricant pouch in a crushing grip.
My hands moved as if pouring out all the frustration I'd been carrying, and the stalker's cock twitched, excited — then, as if writing it off as nothing more than a reflex, it settled back down to normal.
Hold it together...
I wanted to unleash a torrent of curses, but I swallowed them.
Thirty minutes. The rule: arouse the opponent and make them come. Swearing and snarling at a moment like that would only kill their arousal. Someone who'd been riding a wave of excitement would have the immersion shattered by a careless insult — the heat would evaporate and cold clarity would flood back in. Cursing here was basically suicide.
What, from the stalker's perspective, would be the most arousing thing I could say?
Thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant. S&M. Dominatrix. Seduction. Anger. Begging.
But the moment I factored in who I was dealing with — an entity that had lived so long in a young body — all of it dissolved into pointless noise.
There was no way the stalker didn't already know every one of those tricks.
"Just how badly have you been wanting to fuck me?"
So I decided to be honest about what I was feeling instead.
No matter how much experience the stalker had racked up, a woman who used to be a man, confessing her honest reactions while the initiative had swung her way — that, surely, was something it had never tasted before.
With those words delivered, I began playing with the stalker's chest.
One hand was sealed away handling things down below, so I couldn't enjoy myself with both, but the stalker's breasts were magnificent anyway — soft, and that cool, chilling texture reminded me of pudding.
I got briefly addicted to the feel of it, kneading and groping, before snapping back to myself and reproducing the same light, teasing flicks against the nipple that the stalker had done to me.
Infuriatingly honest, aren't you.
Just how excited had it gotten while violating me? Its nipples were still swollen and erect. It seemed delighted to hear me talk like this — the hand kneading my ass grew rougher, begging for more, and its cock twitched in cheerful agreement.
"You perverted bitch. This thing squirming its hardest to turn me on — the woman it was just pounding — does that feel good?"
As if those words were the correct answer, I felt the stalker's body tremble, just slightly.
A faint mix of contempt and arousal stirred inside me, and I gave voice to what I'd just felt.
"If I endure thirty minutes, I get to fuck you by force. So you're holding out. But me struggling like this — that just means I want to feel good, doesn't it?"
"That's so unfair. Seriously."
With that, I shifted position.
From kneeling on the outdoor compressor unit, I slowly stretched my legs out.
From that humiliating posture — kneeling, receiving semen — we became equals, chests pressed together, facing each other on even ground.
"Just how badly do you want to violate me? Is that it — you want me as your slave?"
"You want to train me to stroke down here, gently, just like this — and to hold me like this every single day?"
I caressed the lubricant pouch softly with my hand,
and with my other arm pulled the stalker into an embrace.
"I'm already stuffed full down there. You want to put more in? Do you ever think about my body?"
"You've got a body that could seduce anyone just by flaunting it — why are you so hell-bent on taking it by force?"
I understood the moment my hands explored the rest of it. My eyes had been closed until now, so I hadn't known — but the stalker had a figure only slightly smaller than mine at the chest and hips, and utterly stunning all the same.
Turn loose on any street, she could have captured every man's gaze on figure alone — the thought came to me unbidden.
"I told you, didn't I? Here is where a futanari's weak point is."
As I mapped her body, my hands traveled down her back, along her waist, and settled on her rear.
Savoring the feel for a moment, I remembered what she'd told me during my "development" earlier, and slipped my hand between the cheeks of her ass.
Circling my fingertip around her anus to announce my entry, I slid my finger in slowly.
Then, pressing in little by little, I prodded here and there with the faint awkwardness of a tourist visiting a famous landmark for the first time.
Here — a man's weak point. One knuckle deep, shallow. Here — a woman's. Two knuckles, midway. And here — a futanari's. Three knuckles, deep.
"Thank you for teaching me."
Up to the second knuckle, she seemed to be enduring it.
From the third, her reactions changed.
No longer the strained trembling of someone holding out — these were involuntary jolts, her body twitching beyond her control.
I knew it well, because I'd felt it myself. That was the body's instinct talking.
Is this the spot?
Having reached the deep place where the stalker's body responded best, I went hunting for the weak point itself, swirling my finger around like someone rummaging through a pocket full of odds and ends for the one thing they wanted.
Up top? No. Down below? Not there either. Maybe the side wall? Left? Right? Neither. Time to check the diagonals, then. Lower left? Nope. So — lower right?
There it is.
The jolts through her body were similar, but
her cock surged upward harder, and the lubricant pouch pulsed and throbbed as if demanding to be filled with more.
"Come."
I tapped at the weak point, then suddenly raked it lightly with my nail and pressed down hard with my finger.
Just like the "Cum" she'd forced on me before — this time I was the one whispering come into her ear.
Wouldn't the command keep ringing in the stalker's ears like an auditory hallucination by now?
I figured that much would be enough — then remembered that I was doing to her exactly what she'd done to me, and pressed further.
"Please come. I'm begging you. Rape me... please rape me."
This is a gamble... a gamble...
Begging her to come, I'd somehow managed to choke out. But begging to be raped... honestly, that was hard.
It required setting a man's pride down on the floor for a moment.
I hesitated, stumbled — then remembered this was a gamble and forced the words all the way out.
Come on, come already!
Outwardly I kept my composure, but inside I was desperate beyond belief.
When you're on the receiving end, you never realize it — but fondling someone properly, setting the mood and leading them through it, takes experience and knowledge. I'd never had sex as a man, so I had no idea what was right or wrong, no idea how to actually lead.
If I looked awkward even once, the immersion would shatter and her arousal would cool — so I was doing my best to act natural, but the thought kept surfacing: this was the absolute peak of every sexual experience I'd ever had, and if this didn't work, I had no idea what would.
Why... why won't she come?!
My fear became reality.
I'd lost track of how much stimulation I'd applied. Twenty minutes by feel? Or so it seemed — and the stalker was still only twitching and shuddering, refusing to finish.
And I hadn't exactly been idle either.
I entangled our tongues. There was a reaction. I pressed my chest flush against hers, nipples to nipples, and told her to move however she liked. Good reaction. I asked her just how badly she'd wanted to rape me; she told me to brace myself for years, and I confessed that hearing it turned me on too. The best reaction of all.
Through every single one of these acts, I never once stopped stimulating the lubricant pouch or driving my finger into her weak point —
and the stalker was still holding out.
After that playful little jab, a thousand thoughts crashed through my head at once.
They say a man's prostate gushes like a faucet the moment it's touched — had that been a lie all along? Had the stalker trained herself to adapt even to that? Did futanari bodies simply endure more because they were built differently? Or had the real mistake been challenging an ancient being to this wager in the first place?
The mistake was making the bet at all.
The kind of thought a person might have seconds before losing everything.
Two-thirds of the time was gone. I'd thrown every scrap of knowledge I possessed into action and none of it had worked. I had no confidence I could offer anything more — and the word defeat bloomed vivid and bright in my mind.
If I lose here... then...
Ten minutes from now, the stalker would rape me.
I'd receive her lust with my eyes closed, and then — by my own will, or drowned in extreme pleasure — my eyes would open, and from there...
I'd become her slave.
I imagined it stretching across decades.
The vertigo of being violated for a span longer than my entire life so far — and, strangely, a sense of relief that my violator would be the stalker.
She wouldn't treat me like some disposable hole. She might even treasure me — I couldn't say for sure — but I was certain of at least one thing: she'd keep me sane.
But is that who I'm supposed to be?
If I'd chosen this gender-bender myself, then yes, maybe.
But transforming out of nowhere, pickled in pleasure I never asked for, raped and broken in by a stranger — is the me who'd exist decades down that road... really me?
It's unfair, but part of me feels weirdly relieved.
Why I'd ended up in this situation, what this body even was, what had happened to my family and my friends — so many things had been holding me up, and now that defeat was all but certain, an odd lightness settled over me instead.
I'll be the one to let go.
I would pull out the props that had been propping me up, with my own hands.
It felt like it would be easier that way. Leaving the world on my own terms had to beat being dragged out of it kicking and screaming, didn't it?
And besides, honestly...
I'd already lost.
Maybe there was some secret technique for enduring pleasure, maybe some other hidden card — but as things stood, I'd lost all the same. So wouldn't it be cleaner, more graceful, to simply admit defeat?
The side that surrendered without a fight and the side that resisted to the bitter end were never treated the same, were they?
And so, thinking maybe it's better to just give up and end this cleanly —
I decided to pull off her cock, declare my defeat, and then open my eyes.
Wouldn't this be the most arousing thing of all? The woman who'd resisted so fiercely finally admitting her defeat of her own accord, begging for mercy.
It should be my choice.
If my masculinity was going to be discarded anyway, then discarding it by my own choice was right. I would accept the womanhood that could never be undone, let go of the man I'd been, and say — please treat me kindly.
But the moment I raised my leg to pull out of her — the instant I tried —
the hand that had been gripping my ass was now locked around my thigh.
It hadn't moved; I had. The realization dawned on me even as
"Haa..."
a sigh escaped my lips.
The paradox of not even being allowed to lose when I wanted to.
I didn't want to open my eyes. Something about this felt like it would only make me angry.
I'd meant to admit my defeat properly, to beg for clemency in hopes of better treatment — and even that had been blocked.
Because thirty minutes hadn't passed yet.
"Then I'll just... ugh, whatever."
I gave up on the surrender declaration too, and repositioned her hand for her.
The rule was that her position was fixed — she herself couldn't move — but taking her hand and moving it myself was allowed, so I clasped the obediently yielding hand
and guided it from my thigh near my hip to my thigh near my knee.
Easier to hold onto that way.
"Like this, you can go deeper, r-right...? Mm..."
To take her cock even deeper, I spread my legs wider,
and shifted my own body forward until I'd swallowed her to the very base.
"I lost. So I'm just going to talk. About everything."
I'd lost. I'd done everything I could.
Rather than thrash about here and lose anyway, I decided I'd simply vent my own grievances instead.
It beat going quietly out of my mind.
"When you first grabbed my chest, it was disgusting, and it panicked me."
"When you touched my ass while telling me you hated me, it was so absurd I couldn't even get angry."
"When you told me you'd rape me for decades, I felt genuine terror."
What I'd felt right after reading the rules, and what I'd felt the moment it happened to me.
"When you hypnotized me, it was like a hazy fog rolled through my mind and wrapped itself around my head. That's the only way I can describe it."
"Finding out I'd been hypnotized made me furious — but thinking back on it now, even that wasn't so bad."
"Not the hypnosis, though. That semen coating thing? I'd never even heard of something that perverted. Now that I think about it, it reeked of your sticky obsession with me."
"But announcing rape to someone you've hypnotized — where does an idea like that even come from?"
The stalker, savoring my hypnotized body while I drifted. The memories were fuzzy, but looking back now, it had been genuinely perverted.
"And then, when I'd come back to my senses and you were licking me down there with your tongue —"
"I thought I was losing my mind. My ass being spread wide while something hot pushed deep inside, and I had my eyes squeezed shut because I couldn't bear to look at your face, which only made every sensation sharper."
"If I hadn't shoved my fingers up your ass back then, it would've ended right there, you know?"
If it weren't for pure male instinct, I'd have lost on the spot. I'd jerked away on reflex, like snatching my hand off a hot stove.
"And then — I was lying there face-down, and you walked up behind me and asked if you couldn't move. I swear my heart stopped."
"You know that fear in a horror game, when you're hiding helpless in a bathroom stall and the monster comes by, asking 'anyone in here?', opening each one, one by one? That's what it felt like."
"And then you sat on top of me, rubbing yourself, begging me to let you put it in — honestly, I was relieved you were a pervert and not actually a monster."
"But with the thought of being raped for decades if I lost, mixed with the rules telling me not to let you in — the two swirled together into this... erotic terror? That's the closest thing I can name."
I confessed, plainly and calmly, everything that had happened and everything I'd felt.
No editorializing, no opinions added — just slowly, thoroughly, like someone savoring the aftertaste of sensations from the past.
And then —
Hot, pulsing release — flooding deep inside.
I felt the stalker's semen, erupting inside me.
...?
My whole body went rigid.
It went past the point of my brain whiting out and ceasing function — even the parts of me that move on pure reflex, like the heart, seemed to freeze solid.
What I felt was the sensation of a cock cumming harder than it ever had, as if this were the moment of its greatest excitement yet —
and the lubricant pouch — no, the balls — pulsing with abandon, as if to say please, let it all out, I can't hold back anymore.
What? I didn't do anything.
I'd already pulled my finger out of her ass.
The hand on the balls was just resting there, purely ornamental.
I'd simply been talking, calmly recounting the past and the feelings that came with it — and mid-sentence, the stalker had come all on her own.
Don't tell me...?
"You came from that?! And here I was holding everything back!"
"Ugh..."
Genuine revulsion welled up inside me.
Looking at the situation from the outside, I could understand the appeal, sure.
But this was... something I'd never wanted to experience firsthand.
It was like understanding that your friend masturbates to dirty videos — and then accidentally walking in and watching them do it.
"A-and then, when you laid your cock on top of my ass, all hot and bothered, and stroked my pussy to force my hips up — that's when I recognized the pose on my own. The one for offering up my pussy."
"I wanted to drop back down, but you wouldn't let me, and that turned me on a little too — and then when I was crawling away on my knees —"
"When you... h-how do I put it — draped yourself over me from behind? I liked that too. The weight of your chest against my back felt good."
I hadn't noticed any of it before, because I hadn't been paying attention.
But now I could feel the hand gripping my ass and the hand braced under my thigh, both refusing to let even an inch of skin part from mine,
and the cock, swollen even larger than before, and the balls throbbing anew as if to declare that my story was the greatest aphrodisiac in existence — and my words started to tumble out in a jumble.
"Nnngh..."
The demand was even more perverted, more explicit, and disgust rose in me — but pleasing the stalker's lust was the whole point of our wager, and my body was welcoming her cock and her cum with open arms, so
I couldn't bring myself to refuse the proposal I found so repulsive.
"I'd given up on everything by then, so being shocked and feeling hope and feeling grossed out and my body saying yes anyway... I don't know. I don't know what I felt."
Hah... ah...
Was this how a clam felt, its flesh slowly pried open?
Every last corner of me laid bare, each revelation serving as lubricant for her lust — it was humiliating, dizzying, and laced with a disgust I couldn't shake.
"Wh-what came... next..."
My head scrambled itself, righted, scrambled again, unraveled and tangled in an endless loop, until even my memory was failing me.
And the stalker seemed to love even that — the semen flowing without end, her voice calmly, precisely pointing out each next scene — and I felt like I was about to lose my mind entirely.
"C-can I... take a little break?"
"Ugh... I was desperate when I proposed that deal. I thought I was about to surrender my pussy. It felt too good and I didn't know what to do, so I just threw the offer out there, win or lose."
"After that, with all the conditions — when you came inside me, I was going to say it was fine the first time, but the number three felt wrong somehow, so I cut it down to two."
"I told you anal was off-limits too, and then you kept marveling at me and telling me to masturbate for you — I was so scared of what you were really planning, and so ashamed, that all I wanted was to run. But I couldn't run."
"And during the deal, being treated with respect — I felt like maybe I'd become someone, like I mattered. It felt so good."
"So I wanted to repay you, didn't want to disappoint you — that's why I asked you to enjoy eating me. That was... only half sincere... nngh?!"
Only half sincere.
Before the words had even finished leaving my mouth, the stalker seized my ass hard and lunged in to cover my lips with hers —
then quickly realized that kissing me would mean she couldn't hear my story, and changed course, sucking and licking at my cheek instead.
Thickly, hungrily, carrying the disappointment of an appetite denied the place it truly wanted.
"Ngh... stop my cheek... it's hard to talk..."
"Fine, fine... When you breathed into me during my... development, I was so embarrassed — but honestly, part of me wanted you to do it again. And when you caught me wearing a swimsuit and scolded me for it, I was actually disappointed you didn't do more."
"And when you showed me your weak point — I was trembling, shaking all over without saying a word, but it wasn't shame, honestly. I was feeling it, and listening to every single word. I'd never known my own body was built in such a fascinating way."
"That last thimble — I thought I was going to lose my mind. Being teased and stroked by something I used for sewing... I was so ashamed."
"But — honestly? It felt good."
The instant I admitted it felt good,
the stalker couldn't contain herself any longer and kissed me — sliding her tongue into my mouth and tasting my insides, rough and unrestrained.
Tongue, palate, the underside of my tongue, the inside of my cheeks.
She sampled every place a mouth could offer, and when her tongue finally pulled away with something like reluctance, I was gasping and coughing, the oxygen in my lungs spent —
and the stalker begged for more like a child pestering a parent for another toy.
"After that my memory gets hazy, so I'll just say what I felt... When you were stimulating me and I started squirting, there was this sense of release that I hated and liked at the same time. The release felt good — but the fingers that had been there up until a moment ago were gone, so I hated that."
"Thinking about it now, it was a childish tantrum, but I guess I wanted to come from my ass, the same way. But it was different, so it felt wrong."
"And then, during the squirting, when I felt the semen — hot, climax, I'm going crazy. Those three things were all that existed. Even those feel faded now."
"Honestly... I'd want to feel the squirting again someday. But that heat that came after — I never want to feel that again. It felt like it was breaking me."
"It was just... yeah... like that."
With those words, I paused for a moment.
I could feel a burning, yearning gaze fixed on my face,
and confronted with an utterly inhuman sexual stamina pouring out without end, all I could think was: how did I ever think I could fight this?
"That was... right here, wasn't it. I don't want to talk about that one. It pisses me off. We end here."
I remembered what came next.
The masturbation. The begging. The loss of my virginity — the forced loss of it.
Those were far too humiliating to explain.
The sorrow of that first solo session, the hymen sacrificed to a plea for lubricant — the first would require explaining that I used to be a man, and the second would be nothing but a wall of profanity.
The stalker stopped moving.
For a long while, as if retracing everything that had happened in this place,
she let out a deep sigh, one that sounded almost wistful, licked my closed eyes one last time,
and then, slowly withdrawing from me, gave her verdict.
(You won, dear.)