Working on the architectural details of a Gremlin Bank remained tedious. Honoka wasn't lead designer, that architect worked in a posh office on a floor high above the plebes. Architects fresh off the assembly line begin working in large firms like BAS, taking abstract art and translating them into functional blueprints. The exact procedures are different for every company, but at BAS, lower-tier architects spent most of their days with a CAD program open in one window and a collection of notes, revisions and memos filling dozens of others. Her desk was an explosion of other handwritten notes, stickies, piles of books for city, state and federal building regulations cross-referenced with company compliance and SOP packets. It sounds confusing because it was.
The short of it, architectural design is less let me design for you a magnificent building! and more can this outlet be three feet from the window, or is that against code?
*click* *clickclick*
*clackclack* *click* *click*
*page turn* *click*
“Honoka?”
*click*
*clickclick*
“Honoka?”
“Hmm?”
“Honoka, you need to go home.”
Honoka blinked, her eyes gummy from staring at computer screens for so long. The young woman was surprised to find quiet cubicles, the faint sound of a vacuum in the distance and the soft whoosh of AC the only noises in the building. Spinning her chair around, she found a haggard Meredith looming outside her cube, a concerned look wrinkling her eye.
“What?” asked Honoka, obviously not yet fully back in the real world.
“Girl, it is ten o’clock. We are the only ones here, and your last bus leaves in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh.” The addled woman turned back to her computer. “Just a minute, need to finish this track lighting layout…”
“Now.” Meredith grabbed Honoka’s bag and gently looped it over Honoka’s shoulder with one giant hand. “Save the file and go home. It's alright. We’ll finish it tomorrow.”
Honoka didn't say anything, just stood and walked out listlessly. She didn't want to tell Meredith she - maybe unconsciously - was trying to finish in time to arrive at the FBB tournament. It was impossible, she knew, but desperation makes people do stupid things. Despair, or something else, her emotions were a jumbled mess at the moment.
“Stupid bills, making me job all day,” Honoka spat quietly, alone at the bus stop. “If I won the tournament tomorrow, I'd earn sponsors and become a professional esporter. No more Gremlin Bank, no more Steve, no more…” Her head was still a bit hazy. She mumbled the rest of her rant distractedly, feeling as if she forgot something important.
Between her legs, stretched velcro popped loudly while her bus pulled up.
Uh oh.
She'd forgotten to clean the gun, jerk the johnson, pound the fudge, slap the salami, wax the carrot, choke the chicken, slay the one-eyed dragon. As her mind forcibly reminded Honoka of what she ignored all day, her second pair of pelvic floor muscles contracting with a vengeance. The strength of her erection shifted the straps of her harness out of place and made Honoka wonder if the Beast would break free under its own pulsing power. She entered the bus, dizzy and clammy, hunched over and thankful there were not many people riding with her this late at night. Picking a seat in the back and throwing her bag on her lap, the anxiously dread-filled hermaphrodite pulled out her phone to distract herself.
A wall of texts flooded her screen, lots from her team, but also a surprising amount from concerned family. Even her father, notorious for his unloquaciousness, sent two texts. None from her mother, but yesterday’s was enough and still the most urgent. Pausing with her finger over the screen, she bit her lip and called her kaa-chan.
*ring*
*ring*<“もしもし?”
“Hi, mom.”
“Hono-chan, why are you calling so late?”
“I’ve been busy, got a big project I’m working on.”
“You should be in Orlando. Your friends were worried. They found me on social media, so I said I would talk to you.”
Groan, Honoka internalized, pulling the phone away for a moment before replying. “I’m sorry they did that, I’ll tell them they shouldn’t bother you.”
“Nonsense, they have every right. You promised you would be apart of the team to achieve victory, and on the eve of battle, you abandoned them.”
Honoka shouldn’t smile - the subject was severe - but the young woman gained comfort through the normality of her tiny mother burning with bushidō passion. The daughter of a daimyō (a Japanese samurai lord apart of the aristocracy hundreds of years ago but is today just the head of a wealthy family with historical significance) in the Honda Clan and a direct descendant of Honda Tadakatsu, arguably one of Japan’s most famous samurai, Uzume Honda Jefferson was as much a warrior as her ancestors. With a Doctorate in Japanese History, she taught Asian Literature and coached the woman’s kendo team at the University of Florida. No one doubted the 148 cm woman could demand the respect she expected from the tip of her shinai.
“Hello? Are you still there?” Honoka’s mom pulled the distracted daughter away from her daydreaming.
“Y-yes, I’m here.”
“You sound sick, Hono-chan. Is there something else going on you didn’t want to tell your friends? Are you pregnant?”
Honoka gulped, her abdomen cramping from supporting her erection. “Mom! No! I am fine.”
“Did you get someone else pregnant?” Honoka’s mom was one of the few people who knew everything.
“No!” Blushing furiously, Honoka glanced around to see if anyone paid attention to her. Thankfully, no one was as she lowered her voice. “I don’t…I haven’t done anything like that. This is a work thing.”
“That is a shame. I would like more grandbabies.” A traditional Japanese woman Honoka’s mother might be, yet she moved to Florida thirty years ago. When she made the transition, Uzume promptly converted to many American cultural norms. “However, you gained a special problem when the Change happened: being alone is not the solution.”
“This isn’t about my…physical problems. I’m talking about work!” Honoka grew agitated while impotent anxiety jostled her emotional controls.
“Your problems are not about work, that is an excuse. You have gotten offers elsewhere, and your father wouldn’t hesitate to hire you for his crew. You have worked at that sweatshop for over five years, and you always turn down every promotion they give you. Never complaining, making excuses when they work you sixty, eighty, a hundred hours a week to build other people’s designs. So don’t tell me this is about work.”
“I…” Honoka didn’t know when she started crying, but her throat choked her off before she continued, sobbing silently in the back of a bus, alone. “I was scared I’d win.” This last was the barest of whispers.
Honoka’s mother said nothing, patiently waiting for her daughter to cry and realize for herself what she wanted. Honoka sobbed, trying to piece together all the reasons she let Steven keep her in Boston instead of joining her friends in a chance to become a professional gamer.
“I am scared I’d win,” Honoka continued, her voice shaking only a little now. “How am I supposed to do something if I don’t know what I’m supposed to do? Playing an Amazon Druid on Fantasy Build n Brawl is so much fun, I become someone else for a little while, someone who isn’t me!” Pausing to catch her breath, Honoka tried to put everything into words. “Then I started winning, I joined a guild, and we won more games. When we entered the tournament, I realized it was no longer an escape. Everyone expected me to be someone. It grew harder and harder to do…anything. When my boss told me to cancel my plans I was so relieved, I guess. I was terrified. I felt like I let my friends down. If I spoke up, maybe they would never talk to me again. However, I no longer felt an oppressive force upon me, so I did nothing.
“Because I know everyone is supposed to get on with their lives after the Change, no matter your Class or even if you switched to a new Race, but I can’t.” Honoka took a shuddering breath, pushing the last of her sorrow out of her system. “I understand you and dad don’t use your Classes much, and everyone else in the family stayed human but me. I can’t help thinking if I can figure out what I am and what I can do I wouldn’t feel so ugly and disgusted with myself. I’d be happy.”
“Hono-chan.” There was so much love in the pet name, Honoka felt a warmth spread from her heart. “You are beautiful, and you are my daughter. While your transformation into another Race was unexpected, you are still beautiful, and I still love you. You are welcome home any time and your father would be overjoyed for you to design his projects. Your brothers would be happy to have their little sister back, most likely because you would become the perfect babysitter for all your nephews and nieces. Yet, if you want to stay in Boston and design buildings or play games or whatever, we will all still love you and support you, even if we will all miss you.”
“ありがとう, 母ちゃん.”
“Now.” Honoka heard the change in the conversation, her dread rising sharply. “This is good, I’ll text your friends and let them know you are sorry you can’t make it and I’ll also talk to your brothers, but this doesn’t solve your sexual problem.”
“Mom!”
“Nope, I invoke my Embarrassing Mother Powers and insist you have sex regularly. If it were five years ago, this wouldn’t even be a conversation, yet you possess different bodily urges than humans and, therefore, those urges need…unique solutions. Remember, I’ve been to your apartment and no amount of toys will ever be enough. Your father and I talked about it and it is the only sensible thing to do.”
“I’ve died,” Honoka replied, shaking her head in bemusement. “Truck-kun finally killed me, and this is some crazy isekai I’m stuck in.”
“I’m not saying to do anything inappropriate or irresponsible. No fooling around with married or under-aged people and use protection if you put your male member in another girl. Or guy.”
“Uuuuuuugg!”
“I’ll give your cousin Kuon a call: he’s been leveling his Alchemist Class. Maybe he can make you some discounted potions. I can’t imagine a condom would work, you ejaculate…”
“Lalalalala, I’m not listening!”
“Regardless, marriage is your longterm goal. No one ever found lasting happiness in a one night stand. But you should see about getting married to multiple partners now that the Supreme Court ruled outlawing polygamy as Racist.”
“Goodbye, mom!”
Honoka quickly hung up, her breathing erratic. Looking up, she found a few curious looks pointed her way, shooting her embarrassment through the roof. Hunching farther into her seat and hoping no one would realize the furious blush under dark skin, Honoka shoved her phone into her bag and wished she could disintegrate.
Pulling her hand out of the bag, she held the card from earlier, its succubus outline even more enticing with her current male problem. It was impulsive and entirely outside of her comfort zone, yet like walking off the high-board at the community pool, Honoka stepped forward and grabbed her phone again, dialing the number.
“This is Diane,” That familiar voice brought everything from yesterday back, teasing unknown experiences to the virgin woman, ramping up her insistent need. In the background, Honoka heard music and a crowd, maybe a club of some sort.
“H-h-hi.” Honoka gulped, her mouth dry, the words hard to speak past her anxiety. “Y-you don’t know me, b-b-but we met on the bus yest-yesterday.” She couldn’t stop it, Honoka couldn’t control her voice at all. “Y-you s-s-slipped me y-your card.”
“Oh, isn’t this just delicious.” It sounded like she smacked her lips.
Honoka regretted the call already.
********************
Solomon’s looked like an upscale restaurant someone would expect downtown. It perfectly blended the aesthetic of the historic district’s colonial with tasteful modern touches. If it wasn't sandwiched between two strip clubs and sitting next to the railway - or had all the windows completely blacked out - tourist might mistaken it for a three-star Michelin. It was huge, though, at least four stories and a football field’s worth of acreage. Nothing about it outwardly advertised its business, a small sign above the front doors simply reading Solomon’s in a tasteful font back-lit with soft blues, but the line crowding the front guarded by a two-headed, nine-foot-tall ogre with four massive arms in a sharp black business suit said Solomon’s was doing just fine on word of mouth.
“I have a bad feeling about this.” As instructed, Honoka walked to the front of the line, receiving a few catcalls from the mostly male crowd. She did her best to ignore them, yet all the same, Honoka was grateful for the subdued street lighting hiding her flinches. The ogre, one of its heads bending down, gave her a withering glare while motioning silently to step to the back of the line.
“H-h-ho-honoka Je-je-jeffer-fer-ferson.” Not only did she stutter, but it came out as a whisper, her head down as she used her long hair to try and hide her embarrassment, arms stiff at her side while she gripped her skirt like a lifeline.
The ogre heard her, its large fleshy ears more than for show apparently, the other head looking at a datapad that seemed like a small phone in its wide hand. With a few taps of his meaty fingers, one head nodded to the other and two arms opened large metal doors while two lower arms motioned her in. Groans and exclamations of disappointment painted a pretty picture of how long people waited outside, but Honoka tried to ignore it. Smoke or mist wafted heavily into the street from the entrance, like the gateway to another world, inside appearing darker even than the street. Honoka ignored the foreboding and quickly walked in, more scared of people than a mystical entry.
As she paused inside, Honoka snickered while Elfman’s Tales From The Crypt theme played in her head. The entry was a closed hall, reds interwoven with dark oak a prominent motif within. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and other floral scents, Honoka discovering it wasn’t smoke but small oil diffusers spraying from the ceiling. Doors lined each wall, the hall going deep into the building. In the center of the hallway near the front entrance, standing behind an ornate lectern, stood an old matron in an elegant bright white dress, what little light shown in the building seemingly sucked into the dress and giving her a radiant glow in the darkness. The effect was stunning and it left Honoka gaping as the doors behind her closed, the hall becoming as silent as a tomb.
“Do you have an appointment?”
It took a couple of seconds for Honoka to realize the woman spoke to her. “Y-yes. Diane Long invited me…?” She trailed off with it sounding like a question, uncomfortable and not knowing what would happen here. She had an idea, but so far this wasn’t playing out like any books or movies she was familiar with, everything felt so surreal.
“Very good, your companion is this way.” The matron stepped back and glided across the carpet, her white train softly shimmering behind her. Honoka tried to keep up despite how difficult it was to walk at the moment. Chaffing was proving too much for the suffering girl. She felt so uncultured with her hunched and sweating gait, like Quasimodo trying to keep up with Esmeralda, yet they didn’t go far. Stopping at a door identical to all the others in the hallway, the elegant lady opened it, sounds and light erupted into the hall. The matron gestured inside with a slight bow. “Enjoy your experience here at Solomon’s. May your desires be fulfilled.”
Honoka gulped and stepped in, not really expecting…this.
The first thing she noticed was the chandelier. The room burst with flickering light going off at odd intervals and a mix of hissing, bubbling and what sounded like orchestra music. There were dozens of people dressed in the most curious of period costumes mingling either in the center ballroom-style floor or seated at discrete booths lining the walls. In all this, it was the chandelier capturing Honoka’s attention. Not a traditional cluster of crystals and lights or the more gothic metal and candles, the focal point of the whole room was a hundred tiny copper and brass pipes of all sizes stretched down from the vaulted ceiling and collided together in a random mess, gouts of steam pouring from all around and each steam blast spinning a little cog that would light a tiny lantern while it turned, dimming as it slowed. The absolute chaos of the chandelier mesmerized Honoka and was easily the thematic centerpiece of the room.
“Milady, might I inquire if you are alone this evening? For no exotic woman of your obvious beauty should ever be alone, and I would find myself honored to make your acquaintance better.”
Honoka jumped, a tall gentleman in classic steampunk attire stood well within her personal space. His voice sounded like Darcy made flesh, an adorably hesitant cultured British. Tophat with goggles held in one hand, his uniform looked faintly Victorian with too many buckles, watches hanging off pockets and cuffs. What Honoka did notice and forced her into a stare is that the clothing appeared immaculately tailored and - despite being fully clothed - left nothing to the imagination of the horny woman. He might as well wear a light coat of paint instead. The garments outlined his masculine body so well it was enough to make a girl properly drool. His face sported the period mutton chops and well-coiffed brown hair, with a jaw sharp enough to cut her dress off and a natural smile under hooked nose and deep, turquoise eyes.
“I’m, ah…”
“Honoka!”
The young woman in question was ready to faint, too many assaults to her anxiety about to give her a literal heart attack. She decided to throw in the towel and turned around when gloved hands grabbed her and spun her about, bringing her into a tight embrace and - due to the difference in height - getting her first experience as an awkward anime MC, Honoka’s face planted firmly between Diane’s breasts.
“This is going to be fun!” Diane laughed, letting go enough to give Honoka some freedom and air, her legs trembling and needing to steady herself on the freckled temptress. Diane pointedly looked at the steampunk gentleman and shooed him with one hand. “Go away, Brad. She’s mine, and I’m not sharing tonight.”
Brad did not look pleased, stepping back and giving Diane a dirty look as his accent dropped. “At least try to stay in character.”
“Pfffft!”
Diane went for one of the private alcoves, pulling Honoka along behind her. The seductive woman, as far as Honoka determined behind her wings and tail and bright red hair with green horns peeking out under loose wavy locks, was dressed in a long, bottle green dress with lots of black lace topped in a tight corset with bare shoulders and matching green gloves. The clacking of her steps said heels, yet Honoka couldn't determine before getting pushed into a booth with Diane leaning over their intimate table to plant a kiss directly on Honoka’s lips.
Two proton torpedoes plunging into the Death Star’s exhaust port, pointing the Elements Of Harmony at Nightmare Moon, crossing the streams into Gozer’s gate, Angel Investigations in an alleyway arguing over who gets the dragon, letting the xenomorph queen take the shoe to fall into space, thunder thunder thunder thunder cats HOOOO!!
“Mmphht?!” Virgin lips met succulent plumpness in a lightning bolt of sensations Honoka had not braced herself to experience. Her vision swam in barrages of color with twin green eyes looking deeply into hers. When Diane pulled back after what felt like forever, the tiniest thread of saliva hanging between them, Honoka inclined forward with her lips out, needing more.
“Wowza, you were more pent up than a Catholic priest in the Playboy Mansion.” Diane licked her lips, savoring something she stole from the kiss. “Still need to finish the job, but now we gained a little time.”
What? Honoka did feel relaxed for some reason, if tired and slightly nauseas. Alarmed, reaching under the table, she was shocked to find herself soft, no strain of any kind at the moment. Looking up at Diane in amazement, Honoka thought the other woman appeared more casual, less intense, more accessible than she was on the bus last night.
“If you haven't guessed, I'm a succubus,” Diane said with a Vanna White flourish to herself. “We can control arousal. Mostly, we use it to make someone hot and heavy, but we can also turn the knob in the other direction.” She leaned in closer, almost going back for a kiss but only stopping an intimate few inches between them. “Do you want something to drink before we…go someplace private?”
“…milk?” Honoka had become listless, this whole night a roller coaster. She felt exhausted and spent, the aftereffects of coming down from such high arousal like lead weights on her shoulders. “Raw, unpasteurized if you have it. By the gallon.”
“Isn’t that interesting,” Diane replied, pulling out her phone and tapping it a few times. “Milk, I expected, but not the quantity. Two plus two equals four, and I wouldn’t peg your creature a giant subrace.” She grinned, her eyes twinkling as her tail flicked around behind her wings. “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?”
Raw milk became the stereotype for giant related Races over the years. Yes, most Races craved the stuff - opening a significant market for raw milk and putting the dairy industry into overdrive - but giants needed it. Also, while not polite if said by humans, creature was accepted slang for Race and gaining ground as a unique label for the new fantastical System progeny. Despite all that, even if not quite in the realm of Honoka’s profanity trigger, it was in the ballpark.
“I know I’m not a social…person,” Honoka began, her posture timid and slumped in the chair yet her eyes gained a certain intensity. “And I’m also not explicitly sure what’s going on here. I…like what is happening between us and want to continue, but I have a hard rule. You might think it silly and stupid. Nevertheless, its a deal-breaker for me: no profanity or blasphemy. Ever.”
“Ok, this goes down as the weirdest kink I’ve ever gotten, even more than the orange slices guy.” She grimaced, shaking her head. “Maybe not the orange slices guy, but definitely in the top two!” Giving Honoka an odd glance, she pulled out her phone and took notes. “I’m going to need specifics here.”
“Only a couple of dozen words are off the table; I’ll text them to you.” Honoka took her phone out of her bag and pulled up her list she prepared for this very type of conversation. “Certain words can be used in proper context, even those considered crude so long as everything follows proper rhetoric. I am also a Christian and I take my faith seriously, so I don’t appreciate any disrespect to my God and faith.”
“What about sex? Isn’t there a commandment or something?” Diane hurriedly waved her hand before Honoka replied. “Not trying to offend, just trying to understand.”
“Its…complicated,” Honoka said with a resigned sigh, putting her phone away. “My Race came with a unique problem: my sex drive is many, many times more…potent than when I was human. If I don’t take care of it multiple times a day, it will…seize control, forcefully and painfully, sometimes knocking me out. I legitimately fear, backed by my doctor’s prognosis, that if left alone for more than a few days, it might kill me.”
“Informative, but not an answer to my question.” Diane looked somber, and the smile dropped, background sounds of the room a white noise at this point making the two women feel privately alone right now.
“I hate it!” Honoka snarled, hissing the words out. “I hate what I’ve become because I can no longer control myself. I feel like God hates me because He let this happen to me and every time I touch myself I feel like He is disappointed I didn’t try harder to keep His commandments!” Breathing to regain control, the young black woman distracted herself by smoothing her skirt and blouse. “I don’t mean to infer I think God doesn’t love me: I know He does. The hangups and problems are on my end. Along with my oppressive sex drive came an inability to control my emotions anymore, so I can sometimes appear a bit…passionate.”
Their drinks came, Diane’s looked like a rootbeer and Honoka’s came in a pitcher sized glass with a straw and cocktail umbrella. They drank in silence, Honoka taking some time to peer around the room. It felt huge, but that was a deception from the tall ceiling, the width of the room much tighter than the length. Gilded mirrors on either wall increased the illusion of depth, copper pipes giving off puffs of steam in twisted and random patterns making it hard to get a feel of the room’s actual dimensions. The costumes were thematic but hardly uniform, everyone wearing something different. And while she spotted a few customers in casual clothing, most of the people probably visited this room for the experience and were just as dressed up as the hosts.
“So, what’s your Ten?” Diane asked with a thicker Boston accent, slanting over with a cheesy smile while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Honoka snorted her milk, chuckling at the groan-worthy pickup line. A person’s Ten were their ten central Attribute values, the numbers from their Status for such things as strength and intelligence. While not comprehensive, systematic testing in the last few years determined they were accurate in a broad sense and it became an easy way to determine a person’s qualifications. Some younger people even tattooed their Ten on themselves - never mind the values would change over time - wanting to flaunt the perfect description of themselves. Modern sitcoms started the trend of the one-liner what’s your Ten? and it became the go-to cheese in bars across the world.
“You’d think - almost five billion people alive today - we’d uncover a cure for bad pick up lines!” Honoka laughed now, her sides hurting and tears squeezing out.
“It's only bad if it doesn’t work.” The succubus finished her drink in one long pull and slammed the glass down. “And I think the time has come we get down to business. I’m normally a thousand dollars but seeing you are a first time customer I can go as low as five hundred.”
Honoka’s eyes bulged, laughter fading away. She might expect…she didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t five hundred dollars. She complained she wasn’t making a lot of money working for BAS, but in reality, she was middle class at this point, mostly from overtime. Her rent was below average for this close to Boston and she didn’t own a car, but she was still paying off the loans for her bathroom renovations and her computer rig. Between those payments, her excessive water and power bills and her abnormally large food bill, this night would cut her bank account in half and force her to finish the month eating cup ramen for lunch and dinner.
“I guarantee, once you go succ, all you’ll want to do is f—”
“I get it,” Honoka cut her off, pulling out her phone again to check her bank balance. Yep, little more than a thousand. Diane slid her phone across the table, set up for a bump transfer, $500 large on the screen. Honoka wondered if she was going to regret this, touched phones to confirm payment.
With a ding, Diane slipped her phone away and stood up, gently leading Honoka to follow. “Let's see what we can do about your complicated problem.” Taking Honoka by the hand and wrapping her tail around the woman’s waist, the succubus guided them to a hidden nook in the back and some stairs going down.
Working on the architectural details of a Gremlin Bank remained tedious. Honoka wasn't lead designer, that architect worked in a posh office on a floor high above the plebes. Architects fresh off the assembly line begin working in large firms like BAS, taking abstract art and translating them into functional blueprints. The exact procedures are different for every company, but at BAS, lower-tier architects spent most of their days with a CAD program open in one window and a collection of notes, revisions and memos filling dozens of others. Her desk was an explosion of other handwritten notes, stickies, piles of books for city, state and federal building regulations cross-referenced with company compliance and SOP packets. It sounds confusing because it was.
The short of it, architectural design is less let me design for you a magnificent building! and more can this outlet be three feet from the window, or is that against code?
*click* *clickclick*
*clackclack* *click* *click*
*page turn* *click*
“Honoka?”
*click*
*clickclick*
“Honoka?”
“Hmm?”
“Honoka, you need to go home.”
Honoka blinked, her eyes gummy from staring at computer screens for so long. The young woman was surprised to find quiet cubicles, the faint sound of a vacuum in the distance and the soft whoosh of AC the only noises in the building. Spinning her chair around, she found a haggard Meredith looming outside her cube, a concerned look wrinkling her eye.
“What?” asked Honoka, obviously not yet fully back in the real world.
“Girl, it is ten o’clock. We are the only ones here, and your last bus leaves in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh.” The addled woman turned back to her computer. “Just a minute, need to finish this track lighting layout…”
“Now.” Meredith grabbed Honoka’s bag and gently looped it over Honoka’s shoulder with one giant hand. “Save the file and go home. It's alright. We’ll finish it tomorrow.”
Honoka didn't say anything, just stood and walked out listlessly. She didn't want to tell Meredith she - maybe unconsciously - was trying to finish in time to arrive at the FBB tournament. It was impossible, she knew, but desperation makes people do stupid things. Despair, or something else, her emotions were a jumbled mess at the moment.
“Stupid bills, making me job all day,” Honoka spat quietly, alone at the bus stop. “If I won the tournament tomorrow, I'd earn sponsors and become a professional esporter. No more Gremlin Bank, no more Steve, no more…” Her head was still a bit hazy. She mumbled the rest of her rant distractedly, feeling as if she forgot something important.
Between her legs, stretched velcro popped loudly while her bus pulled up.
Uh oh.
She'd forgotten to clean the gun, jerk the johnson, pound the fudge, slap the salami, wax the carrot, choke the chicken, slay the one-eyed dragon. As her mind forcibly reminded Honoka of what she ignored all day, her second pair of pelvic floor muscles contracting with a vengeance. The strength of her erection shifted the straps of her harness out of place and made Honoka wonder if the Beast would break free under its own pulsing power. She entered the bus, dizzy and clammy, hunched over and thankful there were not many people riding with her this late at night. Picking a seat in the back and throwing her bag on her lap, the anxiously dread-filled hermaphrodite pulled out her phone to distract herself.
A wall of texts flooded her screen, lots from her team, but also a surprising amount from concerned family. Even her father, notorious for his unloquaciousness, sent two texts. None from her mother, but yesterday’s was enough and still the most urgent. Pausing with her finger over the screen, she bit her lip and called her kaa-chan.
*ring*
*ring*<“もしもし?”
“Hi, mom.”
“Hono-chan, why are you calling so late?”
“I’ve been busy, got a big project I’m working on.”
“You should be in Orlando. Your friends were worried. They found me on social media, so I said I would talk to you.”
Groan, Honoka internalized, pulling the phone away for a moment before replying. “I’m sorry they did that, I’ll tell them they shouldn’t bother you.”
“Nonsense, they have every right. You promised you would be apart of the team to achieve victory, and on the eve of battle, you abandoned them.”
Honoka shouldn’t smile - the subject was severe - but the young woman gained comfort through the normality of her tiny mother burning with bushidō passion. The daughter of a daimyō (a Japanese samurai lord apart of the aristocracy hundreds of years ago but is today just the head of a wealthy family with historical significance) in the Honda Clan and a direct descendant of Honda Tadakatsu, arguably one of Japan’s most famous samurai, Uzume Honda Jefferson was as much a warrior as her ancestors. With a Doctorate in Japanese History, she taught Asian Literature and coached the woman’s kendo team at the University of Florida. No one doubted the 148 cm woman could demand the respect she expected from the tip of her shinai.
“Hello? Are you still there?” Honoka’s mom pulled the distracted daughter away from her daydreaming.
“Y-yes, I’m here.”
“You sound sick, Hono-chan. Is there something else going on you didn’t want to tell your friends? Are you pregnant?”
Honoka gulped, her abdomen cramping from supporting her erection. “Mom! No! I am fine.”
“Did you get someone else pregnant?” Honoka’s mom was one of the few people who knew everything.
“No!” Blushing furiously, Honoka glanced around to see if anyone paid attention to her. Thankfully, no one was as she lowered her voice. “I don’t…I haven’t done anything like that. This is a work thing.”
“That is a shame. I would like more grandbabies.” A traditional Japanese woman Honoka’s mother might be, yet she moved to Florida thirty years ago. When she made the transition, Uzume promptly converted to many American cultural norms. “However, you gained a special problem when the Change happened: being alone is not the solution.”
“This isn’t about my…physical problems. I’m talking about work!” Honoka grew agitated while impotent anxiety jostled her emotional controls.
“Your problems are not about work, that is an excuse. You have gotten offers elsewhere, and your father wouldn’t hesitate to hire you for his crew. You have worked at that sweatshop for over five years, and you always turn down every promotion they give you. Never complaining, making excuses when they work you sixty, eighty, a hundred hours a week to build other people’s designs. So don’t tell me this is about work.”
“I…” Honoka didn’t know when she started crying, but her throat choked her off before she continued, sobbing silently in the back of a bus, alone. “I was scared I’d win.” This last was the barest of whispers.
Honoka’s mother said nothing, patiently waiting for her daughter to cry and realize for herself what she wanted. Honoka sobbed, trying to piece together all the reasons she let Steven keep her in Boston instead of joining her friends in a chance to become a professional gamer.
“I am scared I’d win,” Honoka continued, her voice shaking only a little now. “How am I supposed to do something if I don’t know what I’m supposed to do? Playing an Amazon Druid on Fantasy Build n Brawl is so much fun, I become someone else for a little while, someone who isn’t me!” Pausing to catch her breath, Honoka tried to put everything into words. “Then I started winning, I joined a guild, and we won more games. When we entered the tournament, I realized it was no longer an escape. Everyone expected me to be someone. It grew harder and harder to do…anything. When my boss told me to cancel my plans I was so relieved, I guess. I was terrified. I felt like I let my friends down. If I spoke up, maybe they would never talk to me again. However, I no longer felt an oppressive force upon me, so I did nothing.
“Because I know everyone is supposed to get on with their lives after the Change, no matter your Class or even if you switched to a new Race, but I can’t.” Honoka took a shuddering breath, pushing the last of her sorrow out of her system. “I understand you and dad don’t use your Classes much, and everyone else in the family stayed human but me. I can’t help thinking if I can figure out what I am and what I can do I wouldn’t feel so ugly and disgusted with myself. I’d be happy.”
“Hono-chan.” There was so much love in the pet name, Honoka felt a warmth spread from her heart. “You are beautiful, and you are my daughter. While your transformation into another Race was unexpected, you are still beautiful, and I still love you. You are welcome home any time and your father would be overjoyed for you to design his projects. Your brothers would be happy to have their little sister back, most likely because you would become the perfect babysitter for all your nephews and nieces. Yet, if you want to stay in Boston and design buildings or play games or whatever, we will all still love you and support you, even if we will all miss you.”
“ありがとう, 母ちゃん.”
“Now.” Honoka heard the change in the conversation, her dread rising sharply. “This is good, I’ll text your friends and let them know you are sorry you can’t make it and I’ll also talk to your brothers, but this doesn’t solve your sexual problem.”
“Mom!”
“Nope, I invoke my Embarrassing Mother Powers and insist you have sex regularly. If it were five years ago, this wouldn’t even be a conversation, yet you possess different bodily urges than humans and, therefore, those urges need…unique solutions. Remember, I’ve been to your apartment and no amount of toys will ever be enough. Your father and I talked about it and it is the only sensible thing to do.”
“I’ve died,” Honoka replied, shaking her head in bemusement. “Truck-kun finally killed me, and this is some crazy isekai I’m stuck in.”
“I’m not saying to do anything inappropriate or irresponsible. No fooling around with married or under-aged people and use protection if you put your male member in another girl. Or guy.”
“Uuuuuuugg!”
“I’ll give your cousin Kuon a call: he’s been leveling his Alchemist Class. Maybe he can make you some discounted potions. I can’t imagine a condom would work, you ejaculate…”
“Lalalalala, I’m not listening!”
“Regardless, marriage is your longterm goal. No one ever found lasting happiness in a one night stand. But you should see about getting married to multiple partners now that the Supreme Court ruled outlawing polygamy as Racist.”
“Goodbye, mom!”
Honoka quickly hung up, her breathing erratic. Looking up, she found a few curious looks pointed her way, shooting her embarrassment through the roof. Hunching farther into her seat and hoping no one would realize the furious blush under dark skin, Honoka shoved her phone into her bag and wished she could disintegrate.
Pulling her hand out of the bag, she held the card from earlier, its succubus outline even more enticing with her current male problem. It was impulsive and entirely outside of her comfort zone, yet like walking off the high-board at the community pool, Honoka stepped forward and grabbed her phone again, dialing the number.
“This is Diane,” That familiar voice brought everything from yesterday back, teasing unknown experiences to the virgin woman, ramping up her insistent need. In the background, Honoka heard music and a crowd, maybe a club of some sort.
“H-h-hi.” Honoka gulped, her mouth dry, the words hard to speak past her anxiety. “Y-you don’t know me, b-b-but we met on the bus yest-yesterday.” She couldn’t stop it, Honoka couldn’t control her voice at all. “Y-you s-s-slipped me y-your card.”
“Oh, isn’t this just delicious.” It sounded like she smacked her lips.
Honoka regretted the call already.
********************
Solomon’s looked like an upscale restaurant someone would expect downtown. It perfectly blended the aesthetic of the historic district’s colonial with tasteful modern touches. If it wasn't sandwiched between two strip clubs and sitting next to the railway - or had all the windows completely blacked out - tourist might mistaken it for a three-star Michelin. It was huge, though, at least four stories and a football field’s worth of acreage. Nothing about it outwardly advertised its business, a small sign above the front doors simply reading Solomon’s in a tasteful font back-lit with soft blues, but the line crowding the front guarded by a two-headed, nine-foot-tall ogre with four massive arms in a sharp black business suit said Solomon’s was doing just fine on word of mouth.
“I have a bad feeling about this.” As instructed, Honoka walked to the front of the line, receiving a few catcalls from the mostly male crowd. She did her best to ignore them, yet all the same, Honoka was grateful for the subdued street lighting hiding her flinches. The ogre, one of its heads bending down, gave her a withering glare while motioning silently to step to the back of the line.
“H-h-ho-honoka Je-je-jeffer-fer-ferson.” Not only did she stutter, but it came out as a whisper, her head down as she used her long hair to try and hide her embarrassment, arms stiff at her side while she gripped her skirt like a lifeline.
The ogre heard her, its large fleshy ears more than for show apparently, the other head looking at a datapad that seemed like a small phone in its wide hand. With a few taps of his meaty fingers, one head nodded to the other and two arms opened large metal doors while two lower arms motioned her in. Groans and exclamations of disappointment painted a pretty picture of how long people waited outside, but Honoka tried to ignore it. Smoke or mist wafted heavily into the street from the entrance, like the gateway to another world, inside appearing darker even than the street. Honoka ignored the foreboding and quickly walked in, more scared of people than a mystical entry.
As she paused inside, Honoka snickered while Elfman’s Tales From The Crypt theme played in her head. The entry was a closed hall, reds interwoven with dark oak a prominent motif within. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and other floral scents, Honoka discovering it wasn’t smoke but small oil diffusers spraying from the ceiling. Doors lined each wall, the hall going deep into the building. In the center of the hallway near the front entrance, standing behind an ornate lectern, stood an old matron in an elegant bright white dress, what little light shown in the building seemingly sucked into the dress and giving her a radiant glow in the darkness. The effect was stunning and it left Honoka gaping as the doors behind her closed, the hall becoming as silent as a tomb.
“Do you have an appointment?”
It took a couple of seconds for Honoka to realize the woman spoke to her. “Y-yes. Diane Long invited me…?” She trailed off with it sounding like a question, uncomfortable and not knowing what would happen here. She had an idea, but so far this wasn’t playing out like any books or movies she was familiar with, everything felt so surreal.
“Very good, your companion is this way.” The matron stepped back and glided across the carpet, her white train softly shimmering behind her. Honoka tried to keep up despite how difficult it was to walk at the moment. Chaffing was proving too much for the suffering girl. She felt so uncultured with her hunched and sweating gait, like Quasimodo trying to keep up with Esmeralda, yet they didn’t go far. Stopping at a door identical to all the others in the hallway, the elegant lady opened it, sounds and light erupted into the hall. The matron gestured inside with a slight bow. “Enjoy your experience here at Solomon’s. May your desires be fulfilled.”
Honoka gulped and stepped in, not really expecting…this.
The first thing she noticed was the chandelier. The room burst with flickering light going off at odd intervals and a mix of hissing, bubbling and what sounded like orchestra music. There were dozens of people dressed in the most curious of period costumes mingling either in the center ballroom-style floor or seated at discrete booths lining the walls. In all this, it was the chandelier capturing Honoka’s attention. Not a traditional cluster of crystals and lights or the more gothic metal and candles, the focal point of the whole room was a hundred tiny copper and brass pipes of all sizes stretched down from the vaulted ceiling and collided together in a random mess, gouts of steam pouring from all around and each steam blast spinning a little cog that would light a tiny lantern while it turned, dimming as it slowed. The absolute chaos of the chandelier mesmerized Honoka and was easily the thematic centerpiece of the room.
“Milady, might I inquire if you are alone this evening? For no exotic woman of your obvious beauty should ever be alone, and I would find myself honored to make your acquaintance better.”
Honoka jumped, a tall gentleman in classic steampunk attire stood well within her personal space. His voice sounded like Darcy made flesh, an adorably hesitant cultured British. Tophat with goggles held in one hand, his uniform looked faintly Victorian with too many buckles, watches hanging off pockets and cuffs. What Honoka did notice and forced her into a stare is that the clothing appeared immaculately tailored and - despite being fully clothed - left nothing to the imagination of the horny woman. He might as well wear a light coat of paint instead. The garments outlined his masculine body so well it was enough to make a girl properly drool. His face sported the period mutton chops and well-coiffed brown hair, with a jaw sharp enough to cut her dress off and a natural smile under hooked nose and deep, turquoise eyes.
“I’m, ah…”
“Honoka!”
The young woman in question was ready to faint, too many assaults to her anxiety about to give her a literal heart attack. She decided to throw in the towel and turned around when gloved hands grabbed her and spun her about, bringing her into a tight embrace and - due to the difference in height - getting her first experience as an awkward anime MC, Honoka’s face planted firmly between Diane’s breasts.
“This is going to be fun!” Diane laughed, letting go enough to give Honoka some freedom and air, her legs trembling and needing to steady herself on the freckled temptress. Diane pointedly looked at the steampunk gentleman and shooed him with one hand. “Go away, Brad. She’s mine, and I’m not sharing tonight.”
Brad did not look pleased, stepping back and giving Diane a dirty look as his accent dropped. “At least try to stay in character.”
“Pfffft!”
Diane went for one of the private alcoves, pulling Honoka along behind her. The seductive woman, as far as Honoka determined behind her wings and tail and bright red hair with green horns peeking out under loose wavy locks, was dressed in a long, bottle green dress with lots of black lace topped in a tight corset with bare shoulders and matching green gloves. The clacking of her steps said heels, yet Honoka couldn't determine before getting pushed into a booth with Diane leaning over their intimate table to plant a kiss directly on Honoka’s lips.
Two proton torpedoes plunging into the Death Star’s exhaust port, pointing the Elements Of Harmony at Nightmare Moon, crossing the streams into Gozer’s gate, Angel Investigations in an alleyway arguing over who gets the dragon, letting the xenomorph queen take the shoe to fall into space, thunder thunder thunder thunder cats HOOOO!!
“Mmphht?!” Virgin lips met succulent plumpness in a lightning bolt of sensations Honoka had not braced herself to experience. Her vision swam in barrages of color with twin green eyes looking deeply into hers. When Diane pulled back after what felt like forever, the tiniest thread of saliva hanging between them, Honoka inclined forward with her lips out, needing more.
“Wowza, you were more pent up than a Catholic priest in the Playboy Mansion.” Diane licked her lips, savoring something she stole from the kiss. “Still need to finish the job, but now we gained a little time.”
What? Honoka did feel relaxed for some reason, if tired and slightly nauseas. Alarmed, reaching under the table, she was shocked to find herself soft, no strain of any kind at the moment. Looking up at Diane in amazement, Honoka thought the other woman appeared more casual, less intense, more accessible than she was on the bus last night.
“If you haven't guessed, I'm a succubus,” Diane said with a Vanna White flourish to herself. “We can control arousal. Mostly, we use it to make someone hot and heavy, but we can also turn the knob in the other direction.” She leaned in closer, almost going back for a kiss but only stopping an intimate few inches between them. “Do you want something to drink before we…go someplace private?”
“…milk?” Honoka had become listless, this whole night a roller coaster. She felt exhausted and spent, the aftereffects of coming down from such high arousal like lead weights on her shoulders. “Raw, unpasteurized if you have it. By the gallon.”
“Isn’t that interesting,” Diane replied, pulling out her phone and tapping it a few times. “Milk, I expected, but not the quantity. Two plus two equals four, and I wouldn’t peg your creature a giant subrace.” She grinned, her eyes twinkling as her tail flicked around behind her wings. “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?”
Raw milk became the stereotype for giant related Races over the years. Yes, most Races craved the stuff - opening a significant market for raw milk and putting the dairy industry into overdrive - but giants needed it. Also, while not polite if said by humans, creature was accepted slang for Race and gaining ground as a unique label for the new fantastical System progeny. Despite all that, even if not quite in the realm of Honoka’s profanity trigger, it was in the ballpark.
“I know I’m not a social…person,” Honoka began, her posture timid and slumped in the chair yet her eyes gained a certain intensity. “And I’m also not explicitly sure what’s going on here. I…like what is happening between us and want to continue, but I have a hard rule. You might think it silly and stupid. Nevertheless, its a deal-breaker for me: no profanity or blasphemy. Ever.”
“Ok, this goes down as the weirdest kink I’ve ever gotten, even more than the orange slices guy.” She grimaced, shaking her head. “Maybe not the orange slices guy, but definitely in the top two!” Giving Honoka an odd glance, she pulled out her phone and took notes. “I’m going to need specifics here.”
“Only a couple of dozen words are off the table; I’ll text them to you.” Honoka took her phone out of her bag and pulled up her list she prepared for this very type of conversation. “Certain words can be used in proper context, even those considered crude so long as everything follows proper rhetoric. I am also a Christian and I take my faith seriously, so I don’t appreciate any disrespect to my God and faith.”
“What about sex? Isn’t there a commandment or something?” Diane hurriedly waved her hand before Honoka replied. “Not trying to offend, just trying to understand.”
“Its…complicated,” Honoka said with a resigned sigh, putting her phone away. “My Race came with a unique problem: my sex drive is many, many times more…potent than when I was human. If I don’t take care of it multiple times a day, it will…seize control, forcefully and painfully, sometimes knocking me out. I legitimately fear, backed by my doctor’s prognosis, that if left alone for more than a few days, it might kill me.”
“Informative, but not an answer to my question.” Diane looked somber, and the smile dropped, background sounds of the room a white noise at this point making the two women feel privately alone right now.
“I hate it!” Honoka snarled, hissing the words out. “I hate what I’ve become because I can no longer control myself. I feel like God hates me because He let this happen to me and every time I touch myself I feel like He is disappointed I didn’t try harder to keep His commandments!” Breathing to regain control, the young black woman distracted herself by smoothing her skirt and blouse. “I don’t mean to infer I think God doesn’t love me: I know He does. The hangups and problems are on my end. Along with my oppressive sex drive came an inability to control my emotions anymore, so I can sometimes appear a bit…passionate.”
Their drinks came, Diane’s looked like a rootbeer and Honoka’s came in a pitcher sized glass with a straw and cocktail umbrella. They drank in silence, Honoka taking some time to peer around the room. It felt huge, but that was a deception from the tall ceiling, the width of the room much tighter than the length. Gilded mirrors on either wall increased the illusion of depth, copper pipes giving off puffs of steam in twisted and random patterns making it hard to get a feel of the room’s actual dimensions. The costumes were thematic but hardly uniform, everyone wearing something different. And while she spotted a few customers in casual clothing, most of the people probably visited this room for the experience and were just as dressed up as the hosts.
“So, what’s your Ten?” Diane asked with a thicker Boston accent, slanting over with a cheesy smile while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Honoka snorted her milk, chuckling at the groan-worthy pickup line. A person’s Ten were their ten central Attribute values, the numbers from their Status for such things as strength and intelligence. While not comprehensive, systematic testing in the last few years determined they were accurate in a broad sense and it became an easy way to determine a person’s qualifications. Some younger people even tattooed their Ten on themselves - never mind the values would change over time - wanting to flaunt the perfect description of themselves. Modern sitcoms started the trend of the one-liner what’s your Ten? and it became the go-to cheese in bars across the world.
“You’d think - almost five billion people alive today - we’d uncover a cure for bad pick up lines!” Honoka laughed now, her sides hurting and tears squeezing out.
“It's only bad if it doesn’t work.” The succubus finished her drink in one long pull and slammed the glass down. “And I think the time has come we get down to business. I’m normally a thousand dollars but seeing you are a first time customer I can go as low as five hundred.”
Honoka’s eyes bulged, laughter fading away. She might expect…she didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t five hundred dollars. She complained she wasn’t making a lot of money working for BAS, but in reality, she was middle class at this point, mostly from overtime. Her rent was below average for this close to Boston and she didn’t own a car, but she was still paying off the loans for her bathroom renovations and her computer rig. Between those payments, her excessive water and power bills and her abnormally large food bill, this night would cut her bank account in half and force her to finish the month eating cup ramen for lunch and dinner.
“I guarantee, once you go succ, all you’ll want to do is f—”
“I get it,” Honoka cut her off, pulling out her phone again to check her bank balance. Yep, little more than a thousand. Diane slid her phone across the table, set up for a bump transfer, $500 large on the screen. Honoka wondered if she was going to regret this, touched phones to confirm payment.
With a ding, Diane slipped her phone away and stood up, gently leading Honoka to follow. “Let's see what we can do about your complicated problem.” Taking Honoka by the hand and wrapping her tail around the woman’s waist, the succubus guided them to a hidden nook in the back and some stairs going down.
