Meteors streaked across the skies; the morning star Venus and her twenty-three lovely cousins cartwheeled through the air; twenty-four bits of spiky metal on sticks descended in savage arcs to maul my pitiful person. Each attack was unerring in its motion. The girls had mastered the art, truly. They waited for just the right moment before unleashing a flurry of furious blows. Sickles spun; chains cavorted. I did not like my chances against this chain gang!
“What. Did. You. Do. To. Her. In. That. Dungeon?!”
“Nothing! Nothing at all! I keep telling you, you have the wrong idea! We are approaching levels of wrongness outlawed by the Geneva Convention. Let me put it simply. That’s not actually the Lamaze method. It’s just a really, really weird ‘hiiiyah’. Okay? Okay. I don’t know why she adopted that as her breathing technique of choice, but that’s her prerogative. I’m only interested in the ‘huff, huff, huff’ variety of huffin ’n’ puffin, and hers is clearly a ‘huff, huff, puff’? Big difference?”
The air was then filled with whirling sickles. The merciless blades sliced the air to tidy ribbons of gas particles. For a moment, I saw nothing but bits of flying steel. I was lost, trapped in a crucible of chains, a hell of hooks, the fire and brimstone of flying farm equipment. Behold! The lecture in all its glory.
White flashes of whirling chains crisscrossed with flying scythe heads, and I wove in and around them, slipping through the gaps between milliseconds and the cracks between molecules in order to leap across the threshold of death into life. Alas, my flight was short-lived when Lucifer himself (that’s a morning star for all you non-Bible fans) came down to block my path. The wind it raised bowled me right back into the sickle-swinging Sheol; down, down, down I fell into the Gehenna of gladiatorial girlhood. If all that purple prose was too difficult to understand, try this: the girls whipped out both the morning stars and the sickles and chains.
Trapped in the windstorm of wildly swinging spiky iron balls, unable to flee with even the powers of Qing Qigong, I was doomed to die a death of a thousand cuts.
Or I would have, had I not acquired that recent buff to my powers of sensory perception! The scytheheads gave off a very, very faint tinge of magic, and that was all my body needed for it to leap and contort out of the way. My biggest concern, truly, were the human projectiles. Oh, the ultrathin fabric! Oh, the ultratight shorts! Oh, the ultrafat boobs! I was hemmed in on all sides by short-hemmed clothing!
“Stop running! How are we supposed to hit you?!”
“You know, I always thought ‘candy-coated’ was a synonym for ‘milquetoast’…but I see now the truth is nothing so sweet.”
See, the Sense-O-Feel Ring’s sensory boost enabled me to spin ultrafine fibers and, ultimately, a new type of fabric through the help of microtentacle weavers. Like its edible counterpart, the humble cotton candy, these threads were so thin they seemed like they’d fly apart if you blew on them too hard…but they were actually sturdy, flexible (oh god, were they flexible), soft, clingy, and so light you would hardly remember they were there. They were, of course, the material for my latest offerings: short shorts and halter-neck tank tops.
I wove no end of magic sigils into the fabric and pumped the fibers chock-full of magic. Wearing these clothes was akin to wearing the latest in magic armor technology. It was just. Um. Appearance-wise, it was more like body paint?
Like it was too clinging. Curves were on full display; it was like the clothes were not even there. There was a dangerous lack of concealment. Clingwrap would’ve been less revealing!
This was bad, bad news for me. Even I, the epitome of rationality and keeping my head at all times, found it to be too much. It would’ve been less sexy if the girls were all stark naked. At least then it wouldn’t have been a clinging, rubbing, static-electricity fest of boob after boob after boob after boob after boob after boob after boob jiggling on full display.
“You can’t candy-coat the truth, Haruka-kun! And the truth is this: You’re guilty as charged!”
“Get him!”
Mayday! Mayday! The jiggling was out of control! Jupiter Eye kept pulling up multiple high res images and splaying them across my vision in one dreadful kaleidoscopic flesh display. Wisdom was pushing my hardware to the limits, parallel processing on all threads, in its effort to enlarge and save all images to storage; alas, all discs were full. Future Sight was bricked. Strategy simulations were offline. All I could do was drown in this deluge of diving damsels.
Somehow, I managed to squirm and shove my way through an empty brick hole in the wall of bodies, but my teenage boyness was reaching critical levels of overstimulation! You try getting stuck under a pile of furious females, see how you like it! What chance did I have?
Concentrate, Haruka, concentrate. Think! Think, think, think! I dipped, dived, and ducked. I tried with all my might to toggle Thought Acceleration on, but it refused to boot. I’d have to win my way free without even the luxury of slowmo!
Long legs fluttered across my vision. Snippets of bare skin swam in and out of my field of view. Plush, plump, pillowy masses shook whenever a fresh girl flung herself at me in an attempt to crush me flat. In that moment, the whole world seemed to comprise stampeding girls. Girls with generous chests leaped at me. Girls with healthy growth in the derriere department lunged for me. Danger loomed—the sight alone did terrible things to my nether regions, and that was before two perky tails attached to two equally perky rears came running up. That’s right, the twins had joined in—and that meant real danger. I was to be crushed flat as a pancake before I ever got to say a word in my defense. I had only one trick left up my sleeve, and if I didn’t use it now, my teenage boyness was never going to make it out of this hussy hell alive.
“Eat this! Yeah, I mean literally? Go, cotton-candy-no-jutsu! Candy for candy-coated girls! Just know that you forced my hand. I wouldn’t have unleashed the sweets—I know you’re trying to lose weight—but I had no other choice. I’m so turned on I can’t bend over to hide my nethers any further!”
Note to self: Certain maneuvers did not mix well with candyfloss clothing—namely, spreading one’s legs! Anyway. The threat had finally passed. The cotton candy stopped the booby bunch in their tracks and stole their attention. The girls were, in a word, obsessed.
“OH. EM. GEE. It’s soft as air!”
“It’s so floofy!!! Floof, floof, floof!”
“Yummmmm.”
This was my cue to scoot. No Re:Lecture for me! (Also, no watching the girls do one more sets in these dreaded outfits for me.)
Well…that whole event was something else. Something not fit for the public eye. Yeah, can we slap that last scene behind an 18+ wall?