Stalking in the Alley - 8
"Eh...?"
I'd been so stunned by the stalker's monstrous strength that I hadn't even registered being scooped up in a princess carry.
She moved with such unnatural, casual ease that I never had the chance to protest.
The compressor unit...? It fits my butt exactly...?
Maybe it happened while she was lazily wiping the dust off it earlier, but somehow the metal had been crushed inward, molded to the precise shape of my behind.
Just how dead-serious is that pervert about devouring me?
The fear of her inhuman strength — strength that had crushed steel in the blink of an eye without me even noticing — lasted only a moment before it was steamrolled by a simpler question: exactly how long did she have to grope me to get a fit this perfect?
It was like being startled by something suddenly popping up, only to find out it was an adorable puppy. That same absurdity flushed the terror right out of my chest.
"Now then. Show me."
"Ngh..."
I sat down on the crushed compressor and hesitated, my hand hovering halfway down.
If I'd steeled myself in advance, maybe. But being ambushed like this — with a princess carry freshly added to my tally of humiliations just moments ago — I had zero confidence.
And besides...
She wasn't this bad when we first met, was she...?
The stalker's gaze had grown so predatory that the thought slipped out before I knew it. Back then it had been carnal, yes — the cold, level stare of a predator. But now...
Now it was something else. A look that wanted to bind me with sight alone, to devour every inch of me without letting a single instant slip away. Obsession and hunger, braided together.
It was... it was hard to put into words, but it scared me more than before.
"D-did I do something...?"
—was what I'd meant to ask. Wrong? But her gaze was so obsessive, so terrifying, that the question retreated back down my throat.
Before, she'd stared at my chest and between my legs the way a tongue would lick them. Now it felt like she wanted to swallow my entire body whole with her eyes.
"I'm simply looking forward to what comes next."
I flinched.
What comes next — a creampie.
The image forced itself into my head unbidden, and I jolted in surprise — yet at the same time, a part of me grudgingly understood the logic behind that hungry stare.
And yet, strangely, some instinct told me the stalker was lying.
A feeling of something's wrong with that answer. That unexplained sixth sense that fires up out of nowhere sometimes — it was nudging at me, suspicious of this whole situation.
"Did you... do something to me while I was asleep?"
"I told you already, didn't I? I made good use of you."
"...Ngh."
I'd asked because something felt off, but the wave of sexual harassment that came back shut my mouth with a click.
Maybe later, but right now I was far too easy a target to tease. Opening my mouth was pure self-sabotage.
"Uh... um..."
And so, with that brief exchange over, when it actually came time to touch myself, I hesitated enormously.
Is this really right? The feeling kept creeping in, and my mind had gone completely blank on how I was even supposed to masturbate.
It was my first time masturbating as a woman, and my eyes were still closed — I had no idea what I even looked like down there. All this time, my enormous breasts had blocked the view; I'd never once seen properly below them. I didn't even know what my own pussy looked like.
"Time flows ten times slower inside this space than out there."
"...?"
I'd been fidgeting, hand drifting down and back up, down and back up, completely at a loss — when the stalker's voice suddenly sounded and stopped me mid-motion. I listened to what came next.
It was jarringly abrupt, but talk of a different flow of time scratched at my curiosity hard enough that I couldn't ignore it.
A time multiplier. Common enough in fiction — but experiencing it firsthand, even in a situation like this, was genuinely fascinating.
"Your body has grown terribly sensitive. You could come from a few moments of caressing."
"Masturbation is the same. It won't take long — and out there, it would be over in a true blink."
"Oh..."
Remarkably, the stalker was encouraging me.
This would be over quickly, she said — and outside, even quicker. Don't hesitate over a mere instant, her voice seemed to say. It was the tone of someone bolstering my courage.
Huh... but why is she wasting wisdom like that on this...?
I sighed inwardly, genuinely baffled that such a profound-sounding line was being deployed on a woman who couldn't even bring herself to masturbate — but soon enough my tension eased, and my resolve settled.
It was something I had to do regardless. Just a necessary preparation for what awaited me... the creampie.
I told myself that what I was about to do was simply a thing I must do, even if I hated it — and braced myself.
"Th-then... I'll do it."
"Good. I'll be watching."
I slid my hand down and pushed aside the swimsuit — the only scrap of fabric standing between the world and my lower half.
Slowly, with my fingers, I slipped them into my pussy and gave a few tentative strokes.
It was awkward at first — but before I realized it, my fingers had curled into a hook shape, exactly like the stalker's had when she'd cornered me earlier, and they began to move on their own, slowly, searching out the spots that made me feel something, teaching myself by touch.
And then, in front of me, I heard a rhythmic slapping sound.
"..."
I knew exactly what that sound was.
It's the sound air makes when something heavy swings back and forth and slaps against thighs on every stroke.
I... was currently becoming the stalker's fap material.
"Hnngh..."
Between the shame and the sheer contradiction of my situation, tears spilled out before I could stop them.
Why did the me who'd fallen asleep pleasantly drunk have to wake up in a place like this? Why did the me who'd lived an ordinary modern life have to get tangled up in some rule-based ghost story? And why did the me who'd been a man have to end up here, of all places—
Why...? Why me...? Why do I have to...?!
As a man, I'd swallowed my sorrow and held back my tears.
That was simply how I'd been raised.
But now the tears came pouring down, hot and heavy, out of my control.
Maybe it was the tear ducts, the hormones, something about being female. But the biggest difference was this: what was happening to me now was sorrow on a scale that being a man could never have compared to.
"Hnngh... hic..."
Slap, slap.
My crying face was being devoured like a masterpiece hanging in a gallery — I could feel that satisfied, predatory gaze drinking in every detail. And every time that rhythmic slapping reached my ears, the sorrow inside me swelled higher.
What on earth am I even doing...
The situation itself was so humiliating it burned.
Sure, somewhere out there, maybe there's someone who dreams of becoming a beautiful woman.
A beautiful woman — and maybe someone who wants to be ravished by a futa with a cock attached.
And maybe someone who'd think, put those two together, and that sounds even better.
Back when I was a man, I might have genuinely mulled it over — and with no girlfriend to speak of, and a casual curiosity about what pleasure felt like as a woman, I might have shrugged and said sure, sounds fine.
But this situation... was different.
This... I hate this.
"Hnngh... hic..."
Ask someone with an exhibitionism fetish if they'd like to become a stunning beauty, and they'd be thrilled.
But what if, the moment they transformed, they were dropped buck naked into the middle of Times Square and told, "Survive on your own"?
For a few seconds, maybe they'd be excited.
But then they'd realize their identity, their connections, their family — all of it — was gone, and all that remained was a naked body and a crowd of people taking pictures, and the sheer hopelessness of it would crush them.
That was roughly my situation. I'd become a beautiful woman, and I was on the verge of being ravished by a futa — but the shame was unbearable, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do going forward.
What happens to me when I leave this place? If I lose to the stalker, what will be done to me for decades — maybe centuries?
A passing daydream. But the life that followed it wouldn't be a passing one, and I'd be the one who had to live with everything that came after. Realizing that now, here, made the sorrow unbearable.
I had never asked for any of this. I'd never even been given a choice in the first place — and the weight of that truth sent the tears streaming down my face.
Slap slap slap slap... sput... spurt.
"Aaaaahhh!"
It's hot.
The semen landed on me, scorching hot, as if it couldn't care less about my grief.
Physically, it was warm liquid, of course.
But to me, right now, that semen felt... cold. As indifferent as the Times Square crowd snapping photos of a naked stranger who had no idea what was about to become of her.
So cold. An liquid that only fanned the flames of my despair.
"You seem troubled. Something lost?"
"That's none of your—mmph!"
The fleeting pleasure ended, and that voice yanked me back into reality. I lashed out, snarling, but the stalker's mouth crashed over mine before I could finish — and my words were cut off entirely.
"Get off me!"
Her tongue had invaded all the way inside, supposedly to comfort me, and I shoved her away with every ounce of revulsion I had.
Because if I accepted that right now... it felt like something inside me would vanish, and I'd be surrendering to this reality in the same breath.
Because consideration with everything laid bare underneath it made me sick.
"What are you even... mmph—"
Chup... chu, chup.
But as if I had no veto to exercise at all, the stalker seized the back of my head and drove her tongue in again.
Hnn... no. Stop.
My first kiss in my entire life, and it was this.
Maybe someone would say a warm kiss like this was a good thing. But to me, right now, it felt like something being forced down my throat — like being strong-armed into wringing out grief I had no intention of releasing.
"Stop it!"
I shoved her away hard, and the stalker slowly, reluctantly, drew back.
I couldn't see her — but the feeling she gave off was unmistakably that of a predator whose hunt had just failed, muttering 'I had it just now,' licking its lips as it withdrew.
"...Next is the creampie, isn't it?"
"That's right."
The words came out of me with a chill I hadn't meant to put there.
Something in me had decided that... maybe it would be fine to just let it happen now.
The grief, the situation — all of it — if I didn't attach any pointless sentiment, it could be over cleanly. Without attachments.
"Before that, however, there is something I wish to propose."
God, I wanted to stuff that mouth shut.
In this single day, how much had that clever, wriggling tongue of hers put me through — how many times had it set my heart pounding, set it at ease, dragged me through every humiliating thing imaginable?
"Would it be all right if I put only the head inside your pussy, and came there?"
"...What?"
"Lubricant, that is. Before the creampie — lubricant."
I'd figured I'd hear whatever devil's bargain she was about to spit out, just to know — but it was such unmitigated nonsense that an incredulous, hollow laugh escaped me, and I fired back a question of my own.
"I'm asking nicely, you see?"
But at those words, I felt my mind go cold.
My grief, my feelings — none of that was the issue anymore.
The thing in front of me was a kwie — an anomaly. I had no idea what patterns it followed, something fundamentally beyond my understanding.
And there was that rule from the rulebook. Grant its requests.
"No."
But I called the rules back to mind and refused anyway.
Because direct penetration was on the list of forbidden acts.
"Hmm... Is it because of the rules in your rulebook?"
"...?!"
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Since when does the anomaly in a rule-based ghost story know the rulebook?
If an intelligence like that knew the very rules that documented its own patterns...
Wouldn't it simply weaponize the rules against me...?
"That is because of my ability. The details are a secret — but for this request, I will not use it. I have no wish to defeat you through such cheap tricks."
The three great laws written under Rule 7 flashed through my mind.
— It does not speak falsehood.
— It does not begin before the rulebook is read.
— It does not use violence not specified in the rulebook.
...Every one of them had held true so far.
The stalker had never once lied to me. She'd only started touching me after I read the rulebook. And for all her overwhelming strength, she'd never laid a hand on me in violence.
Which meant that her claim of refusing cheap tricks was true as well.
"You are a truly delectable woman. And so — I will defeat you with nothing but my full strength and the rules themselves."
But precisely because it was true, it was even more terrifying.
Because that bottomless greed I could feel radiating off her voice... was true too.
"Grant my request, and I will tell you of my ability — and of the way out."
"...!"
Her ability mattered, but what came after it mattered far more.
A way out of this space. Information about an exit I hadn't even been able to search for, because all I'd done since arriving here was take hit after hit — that promise was unbearably sweet.
Hold on...? Now that I think about it — why isn't there an exit in the rules?
Rule-based ghost stories are a genre overflowing with contrived, unfair twists.
Stories where you get dragged in against your will, and the ghost never tells you the way out — the genre is drowning in them.
Because the genre itself survives on nothing but cheap twists, kept barely in check by that minimal protection called "rules."
But judging from everything I'd felt from this being called the Stalker, the rules of this world weren't some loose, forgiving thing toward the anomaly at all.
She possessed incomparable power, yet couldn't stop me from moving forward.
She was practically the master of this space, yet she couldn't even use force on me — all she could do was sexually harass.
Everything else, I had to permit, or win through negotiation on my own.
Rules with that kind of strange internal rationality behind them... surely it would be only natural for them to reveal an exit to someone dragged here against their will?
"Why isn't there an exit in the rules?"
So I just asked.
Wringing my own brain wouldn't produce anything better than this, she was currently my only source of information — and even her silence, if she chose it to avoid the truth, would itself become precious information to me.
But her answer was nothing like what I expected.
"Limitless stamina, running excepted. Nerves that recover in an instant from any stimulation."
"What?"
"A body unharmed by external physical force. Pain that is never felt unless it is your own will to feel it."
"What on earth... wait, hold on—"
"Forbidden to propel herself faster than six kilometers per hour. If the target's true name is unknown, forbidden to choose the location at which she appears once beyond a distance of ten meters."
The stalker was speaking.
"Forbidden to use any ability save for the creampie. Prohibited from interfering with the target's forward movement."
The privileges granted to me—
"Forbidden to act upon the target with intent to force the display of its face. Forbidden to disturb the target's field of vision."
—and the restrictions she had placed upon herself.
Insane.
Every single item was brutal.
Game-like, inexhaustible stamina and a running gauge.
Nerve regeneration and pain control, and a body untouched by outside physical force.
That was the identity of whatever let me come back from countless climaxes with my mind intact, time and again.
She's bound... essentially every ability she has, hasn't she?
Her monstrous strength had been reduced to a mere decoration by my body.
She'd given up on speed too — where she reappears after straying ten meters is something even she doesn't know, unless she knows my true name.
Her abilities remain sealed unless the condition of a creampie is satisfied.
She is absolutely forbidden from stopping me when I move forward.
Even her instant-kill move — showing her face — isn't hers to control. It only works if I happen to see it, so all I have to do is close my eyes properly.
Even deceiving me with illusions to make me look at her face is forbidden. It ends only with my own mistake.
"Having bound myself so thoroughly — don't you think it would be far too unfair for me to hand you the way out as well?"
At those words, a chill crawled up my spine.
Because I had been driven into a corner by a stalker laboring under all those restrictions.
Every caress and every penalty I'd endured until now had been what I received after being caught once — off-guard, freshly dropped into this world—
"Now — have you grown even the slightest willingness to grant my 'request'?"