Side Story: Bad Ending 1 — The Stalker
Branch Point: Great Anomaly — Stalker, Part 4
I lost.
That was the verdict that seized me the moment I watched the shockwave scatter my droplets of blood.
The hint had promised victory if even the smallest part of a body crossed the line. Acting on it, I'd gone so far as to shoot through my own hand and hurl the flying blooddrops — sheer madness — and I still lost.
The result was too absurd to believe. In open defiance I flung one more spray, but as though it was already too late, the Stalker came over herself and blocked it.
"Magnificent."
The tone was grave, the way you'd address a sworn rival.
I'd received a compliment, and all I felt was hollow.
I had never once settled for second best. Always the best option — in every situation, I chose only the best that situation allowed.
And yet if I lost even so... didn't that mean I'd never stood a chance of winning in the first place...?
"If luck hadn't been on your side, I would have lost. If I hadn't kept an eye on the doll... no, on your Strike Force Captain, at the very end, on the off chance — I would have lost."
...Haha... She never let her guard down. Not even at the very end.
"Thank you, truly. You made me grow."
Saying that, the Stalker began to stroke me. Last time she had petted the top of my head the way you'd pet a house pet; this time she caressed me slowly from the crown down to the nape, the way you'd touch a lover, as if carving the shape of me into memory.
It felt strangely pleasant, and that made it all the more infuriating. I had given everything I had, and the result was to end up a sex slave.
"Whoops. You almost made it to ten seconds."
...?
I'd assumed I would keep feeling that touch until the ten seconds ran out. But the Stalker, as if that wouldn't do, withdrew her hand and instead gently stroked my palm, healing the hole punched clean through it.
"What are you doing?"
"I healed you so your blood couldn't ride the water across the line, of course?"
"You know that's not what I'm asking."
"I still cannot lie, you see. The ghost story is still in progress."
"So?"
"Tell me what you want. If you will not leave my side, I am willing to grant everything."
Not ending this game — no, this ghost story — was her way of showing me her sincerity, and the promise to grant my every wish was genuine. I could feel that vast, formless thing — the prospect of living as a sex slave for longer than all the years I'd been alive — half melting away at those words.
"I..."
I wanted to demand so many things, but the moment I tried to speak, only one came out.
"I used to be a man. Then I suddenly fell into this place in a woman's body. I want to know if my family and friends are all right — and who the original owner of this body was."
"I see. Anything else you want?"
Any number of things flashed through my head. Freedom. To be treated like a human being. Happiness. The right not to be a sex slave. And on and on.
But what left my mouth was none of that.
"Take care of it however you see fit."
Trust.
After being fooled earlier, I had stupidly gone and wanted to believe again. Maybe because we'd fought each other to the bitter limit and come to understand each other's hearts, or maybe for some other reason entirely — but I had the feeling that this time, she truly wouldn't lie to me.
"Very well."
Her eyes went wide at my answer, as if it were the last thing she'd expected; then she smiled and reached her hand toward my head.
This much is enough.
As if in acceptance, I let my body sink into the feeling of her stroking my hair. There might have been another way through hidden in the hints, but I didn't look for it. I just wanted to rest, now.
So I lost.
I'd lost, but I felt strangely cleansed. Because at least it seemed I wouldn't be made into a sex slave.
"Well then — thank you for the meal."
Shlurp.
"Ngh!"
The instant the ten seconds passed, the Stalker pounced, as though she couldn't hold back a moment longer. She shoved one side of my swimsuit aside and sucked at my breast, her fingers creeping stealthily down my stomach — and I didn't pull my hips away. I tilted my pelvis slightly forward to make myself easier to touch.
Squelch, squelch, squelch.
"Ahh..."
Instinct nearly made me jerk my hips back, but then I caught those blue eyes smiling up at me, and I held it in. Those weren't the eyes of someone consumed by lust. The Stalker was playing with my breasts and my pussy for one purpose: to savor my reactions.
"That's... enough now... quit messing around..."
When her two fingers, hooked like claws, raked a weak spot even I hadn't known I had, my body jolted and shuddered without my permission, and the tongue toying with my nipple in lazy circles had my whole body going taut and slack, over and over.
"Haah... If you'd said no, or gotten angry, I'd have pounced on you right then and there. But you accepted it so sweetly that now I can't help wanting to spoil you."
It was the whine of a pouting child — a sulk thick with disappointment, like a kid asking why there's no meat dish today. I ignored it. If I answered, she'd only tease me with something perverse.
"Mmm... Technically it's our first day, so we really ought to do it in a bed, shouldn't we?"
"If that's what you prefer..."
"You're getting the special treatment. Normally I'd have fucked you senseless first and then carried you off."
Radiating disappointment, the Stalker prodded my stomach with her cock — more precisely, she jabbed it against my womb — and my womb, as if it shared the sentiment, throbbed heavily, screaming to meet it again soon.
"Let's go to bed."
"Okay..."
A touch of resignation. The Stalker as she was now probably wouldn't treat me as a sex slave — but somehow I had a feeling the end result would look much the same.
"So where exactly is this bed?"
"Over there."
The moment I asked, she pointed a finger at the wall. A soft chime rang out from the blank surface, and an elevator slid open with a whisper.
"Wh... what is this?"
"I need a home too, don't I?"
After everything that had happened, this still managed to be its own kind of wondrous — an elevator straight out of everyday life, fused with magic.
"Well then... shall we?"
With that, I moved to fix my shoved-aside top and my dragged-down bottoms before boarding —
"Leave those just as they are."
She stopped me, sounding for all the world like she liked the view, so I quit adjusting.
"I can't walk unless I fix the bottom..."
"Just slip one foot out, no?"
"What kind of... no, fine, I get it, so stop i-it..."
It was hard to walk and mortifyingly embarrassing, so I grumbled out my protest — but her fingers kept stroking my pussy in slow, unhurried sweeps, as if to say rebuttals would not be entertained, and I surrendered on the spot, boarding the elevator with the swimsuit clinging to just one side.
"Aren't you getting on?"
"This floor. Why do you suppose it's still like this?"
Utterly out of nowhere, and a finger pointing down. But she seemed to want to say something, so I followed her finger with my eyes and looked. I'd been getting used to it, and with the anti-slip pads stuck to my feet I hadn't noticed — the floor was still that mirror surface, with its thin film of water.
Why hasn't it vanished yet? She can't have summoned it just to show off that her power is permanently fixed... can she?
"I have absolutely no idea."
No matter how I turned it over, I couldn't work it out, so I asked — and the instant the question left my mouth, a familiar unease crept over me. The last time I'd felt something like this... the sigh she'd slipped in during my anal "training." The thimble. The promise to push in only the tip. Every single time.
Exactly — the moments right before the Stalker pulled one of her perverted stunts.
"I haven't heard your 'Declaration of Defeat' yet, have I?"
You insane pervert.
It wasn't a clear answer, but the moment I heard it, I understood why everything had been arranged this way. She'd deliberately dressed me in the swimsuit like this to give the feeling that it had been stripped off mid-battle, and leaving the floor unrestored was some kind of signal — a promise that it would change once she heard my Declaration of Defeat.
Ugh... damn it.
The Stalker's perverted schemes truly exceeded imagination. For a moment I nearly shouted the word "pervert" out loud, but I barely swallowed it, closed my eyes, and steadied myself with a deep breath. Right now, the absolute top was the Stalker.
This is only natural. I lost, after all.
Hypnotizing myself, I pulled my heart back into order. A loss was a loss, first and foremost. Having soothed my chafed pride and talked myself into acceptance, I opened my eyes —
...?
— and the scene before me surpassed imagination.
"Still not doing it?"
The Stalker had begun masturbating right in front of me, as if even my stunned scramble to compose myself was a delight to watch.
"You fucking pervert..."
Absolute top or whatever — this was... too much... far, far too much. Fine, a beautiful futanari touching herself — I could grant that it was a nice sight. But the situation, being forced into a Declaration of Defeat, and the spectacle of her openly using it as fuel while she touched herself — that itself was the problem.
"Haah... Yes. That's what I wanted to hear. And for the Declaration of Defeat — do be creative."
Ah...
My head spun. It wasn't rage — it was the feeling of being betrayed by something fundamental. Is this what a child feels, learning Santa Claus isn't real? The incomprehensible existence against which I had agonized, mere moments ago, over how to win — against which even my most desperate struggling had revealed no answer — was... doing... that. Truly... truly, so many emotions welled up at once.
I lost I lost I lost.
For an instant something nearly burst out of me, but I barely held it down. She'd only have said she liked that reaction too. Burying my rampaging emotions somewhere far away, I reminded myself of my position: I had lost and been stricken with the status ailment called Submission — the absolute bottom, bound to obey whatever the Stalker said. Which meant I had to make the best possible impression.
Shlick, shlick, shlick, shlick.
However much it made me want to die, I had to endure it... Reining in my emotions one more time, I turned the Declaration of Defeat over in my mind.
What words would work best?
Curses and insults? She'd probably heard plenty of those. Begging to be fucked? She'd likely heard plenty of that too — and I'd already used it. Recalling the past and my reflections, like before? I'd just tried that, so it probably wouldn't land.
"Phew..."
The wet shlicking in front of my eyes nearly robbed me of my composure yet again, but I ignored it, kept thinking — and found the best answer.
"Hurry up, pleaseee..."
I lost — so hurry up and let's go. Hurry up and ravish me. Hurry up and cum.
One phrase, three meanings.
To hide my flushed, panting face and lips quivering with shame, I said it with my hand pressed over my mouth.
—Splurt. Spurt.
The moment she heard it, the Stalker's pupils contracted in shock, and she came in an instant. As if to honor my words and hurry right along. In an instant.
"Haah... do I really have to go this far, too?"
The moment I saw her cum, I pinched the glans shut, damming the semen pouring from the hole at the tip — the urethra — and spat out the insults. Because "hurry up" alone didn't seem to hit hard enough with just one shock.
"Well? Did you like it? My Declaration of Defeat?"
As I said it, I gently stroked the glans, which was still gulping out semen. A flat tone — as if to ask how I'd done, as if to say I hoped this would please her. That much had been my plan: pleading, then insults, then a return to normal. A three-stage performance. Surely even the Stalker would be satisfied with this much?
"Ha... hahahah."
Apparently satisfied enough, the Stalker kept laughing — and just as I let a small smile slip, thinking I'd landed it properly, she looked me dead in the eye and spoke.
"Are you confident you can handle what comes after this?"
The semen I'd been feeling against my hand stopped dead.
A gaze like will-o'-the-wisps at midnight fixed on me, and a voice like a tiger's low growl clawed at my eardrums.
I'm dead.
I knew it the instant I saw her face: it had worked far, far too well.
Welp! It's been a good life!
I hadn't known it would hit this hard. At worst, I figured she'd laugh it off — "choosing you was the right call" — and that would be that. Her reaction now was violently, overwhelmingly intense.
"You've... experienced this before, haven't you?"
"No."
"I... um..."
The Stalker said nothing more and stepped into the elevator. The moment she boarded, the floor shifted back into the back alley, and I marveled inwardly for a beat —
"Put it on. The moment we arrive, I'm tearing you apart."
— and her kindly helping me into my swimsuit as she said it drove the admiration straight back out.
Ah... yeah. I'm screwed.
The classic development: provoke too hard, get disciplined by an enraged cock. I never dreamed that one lousy Declaration of Defeat would lead to this.
"You'll... spare me... right?"
At some point she had turned me around, wedged her cock between my thighs, and was kneading my ass — I asked her anyway.
She wouldn't actually go with the development I'm dreading... right? It's our first day, so she'll go easy on me... right?
"No."