41: Turn Around
“You’re pregnant.”
Honoka tried really hard not to roll her eyes. “We gathered that. Could you tell us how far along she is?”
This time the doctor tried really hard not to roll his eyes. Glancing at Diane sitting on the table, strapped in a pair of stirrups, displaying her sopping pussy in a clinic manner with a tummy too large for the one-size-fits-most hospital gown, then stared back at Honoka. “I can’t be sure without running more tests, but I’m confident she’s at least thirty-eight weeks. More likely into week forty. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was dilated.”
Brutally honest with herself, Honoka didn’t understand what Doctor Doyle just told them. She knew the basics of baby making, but there were terms in there that flew over her head. Honoka planned on there being more time to research everything. She could, however, grasp sarcasm weighing the doctor’s words.
Narrowing her eyes, she suppressed instincts to bite back and held her breath, letting it go after a moment. “Thank you, doctor. Before the ultrasound, could you give us a few minutes to discuss things?”
“Of course.” Doctor Doyle gave them odd looks while leaving the small room, but he’d been giving them odd looks for the last hour so it was par for the course at this point. Which left Diane on the bed/table, Honoka pursing her lips and holding Diane’s hand.
It was almost noon, the entire morning a whirlwind of activity. Banda needed milking, so Pad took up the task while Dolly and Quinn finished a delving assignment with an assist from Aruna. The ticket was for a large batch of Transmutation Crystals Becoming Monsters had to deliver by end of day. Eve decided she wanted to pick up Miaka from the airport, so Eve allocated human (allowing her feet to reach the pedals) and Padmava experienced the bizarre combination of a goblinaga. Which left Honoka to manage the hospital visit. Not difficult, because while Diane wasn’t moving under her own power today, a few points in Strength princess carried Diane to the large Harvardtown Hospital in the Shiny District.
“’K, before he gets back, now that we know I don’t have some kind of disease, we might want to scoot out of here,” Diane announced, sitting up and ready to leave.
“We don’t know you aren’t sick, not completely. What about the ultrasound?” Honoka asked, her ears twitching as she paranoided eavesdroppers all around.
“Can we risk it? Dr. Suspicious already put me through the ringer with questions I couldn’t answer honestly, though Racism worked in our favor for once because succubi pop out unexpected kids all the time.” Diane was on her feet now, wobbling while she leaned onto Honoka for support. “We devil whores are notorious for evading questions like who’s the father? and why didn’t you see a doctor sooner?”
“I appreciate you wanting to keep my secrets, but is it worth it?” Honoka asked, not moving and speaking so softly Diane hardly heard. “What if my Race did something to you, or to our child? What if…”
“Three moves ahead,” Diane assured Honoka, tapping away at her phone. “Your mother called your Uncle Akisame. He’ll arrive from Gainesville tonight, and he’s already sent request forms for Service Privileges at this hospital. Uzume also said because everyone is coming up to Boston anyway, he’s bringing his entire family.”
Honoka breathed in to grumble further, but she let it out in a yelp as the door flew open and Eve burst in like a Michael Richards’ impression.
“Maternity Taxi, at your service,” Eve said with a bad New York accent, her face turned up in a cheesy grin. “You preg ‘em, we leg ‘em.”
Eve received a double dead pan, which she graciously accepted as proper payment. Eve still humaned from her earlier trip to town, shooting the joker up to six feet three inches (191 cm), looking like an ebony athlete decided to dress like a rave bunny. Usually wearing fishnet like strippers wore glitter, today she slinked into a tight white body stocking that was more transparent than a time traveling Scotsman’s aluminum. To keep within the bounds of modesty (or within the legal limit of indecent exposure), a black latex micro skirt rested on her hips and her prominent Ds slapped thick Xs of electrical tape over the nipples. A bright red thong looped over the top of the mini, then two matching flats finished the ensemble. Her hair, usually a kinky mess whenever humaning, was in a bunch of tight dredds and tipped in gold colored rings on the end, hair clinking in the middle of her back whenever she moved. Thick lips under a broad, flat nose was shaded the same red as the thong while her eyes were brushed in the same gold as the hair ringlets.
It was a smoking outfit, and if Honoka wasn’t so worried about Diane, the futa-girl might have shoved a chair under the door and went for a threesome. That didn’t stop her dick from bonering inside the jock strap under her crimson skirt. However, other concerns plagued Honoka. After stuffing all her anxieties into a tiny ball, Honoka sighed and stood.
“Why are you here?” Honoka asked, shifting to give Eve a resigned hug and a lingering kiss, likely getting lipstick all over her face. “Not that I don’t love the outfit, but we still have an ultrasound and…”
“Your uncle is bringing special equipment, no worries,” Eve replied, striding to Diane and peering her up and down. “Hmm, gonna need at least ten Strength. Pass the six from Pad and another six from Diane to me, should be plenty to get this girl back home.”
Honoka stifled a growl, realizing mischief was afoot but not ascertaining what or where. Glaring at the two women, Diane had the decency to duck her head in guilt, but Eve spun her hand to get on with it. Pursing lips, Honoka summoned her Status and allocated the Strength and also some Endurance. “Until we know more, Diane’s off the allocation table; however, Banda is finished milking by now and can spare the points.”
Maybe Honoka shouldn’t allocate angry, because Eve had muscles grown into her within a fraction of a second. The force alone of suddenly muscle mass at such a velocity flung the tall black woman first into the wall and then onto the floor. Normally a masochist, without her goblin pain/pleasure receptors, Eve stayed on the ground for a full minute groaning (not in a sexy way).
“That wasn’t nice,” Diane chided, causing Honoka to flush and fiddle with her Status, moving the goblin Racial Feature Painz Gone! back to Eve, instantly turning the groans into moans.
“I wonder if there’s a way to do that again, but with chains,” Eve said, licking lips as she stood back up. The body stocking fit her tightly before, but going from a fitness model to Jen Walters burst seams all over, the sheer fabric now running like destroyed pantyhose. Eve’s hips didn’t widen much, her glutes getting a double dose to make up for it and exploded to shove the micro up onto her waist and completely expose her thonged crotch. Breasts didn’t grow any bigger sadly, though thrusting forward as pectorals major and minor rippled underneath. Popping her left bicep in a sharp curl, the black and veiny softball swelled into a hard melon, tearing completely through the stocking, Eve reveling at her strength.
Honoka struggled keeping her own clothing from tearing over a swelling of another kind, gulping and wiping sweat off her forehead.
“Well, time to get you home,” Eve said suddenly, scooping Diane into an easy carry, briskly walking out the door. She only stopped for a moment to grab Honoka’s pink bag stuffed with Diane’s clothing and loop it over one shoulder.
“Wait!” Honoka cried, worried about Diane, yet more worried over some kind of plot the wives plotted against her. This entire thing was far too connived for Honoka’s suspicious nature. “What is going on here?”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Diane spoke over Eve’s toned, rounded shoulder as the ebony ungoblin strode through the hospital hallway, dodging doctors and nurses and people in gurneys and wheelchairs. The succubus threw an enthusiastic thumbs up. “You just have fun.”
“Wha—?”
It happened too quickly for Honoka to react. Clawed talons clasped around Honoka’s arms and yanked her backwards. Before the surprised futa brought up her Status and allocated, she spun around in a utility closet no larger than a bathroom stall and witnessed Miaka locking the door behind her back.
“Miaka? I...” Honoka trailed off, other things becoming clear in the light of a single bare bulb.
Miaka’s breathing rasped deep and loud, as if the former MMA fighter recently fought a few rounds in the ring. Her overly large hazel eyes glowed with intensity, gazing not on Honoka’s face but down lower. Bright red and blue plumage was matted with sweat, giving the woman a stark appearance. She wore a long white tank with a stylized sketch of Toni Jaa on the front, hang down to her hips. Which is when Honoka realized the shirt was the only stitch of clothing on the owlish woman.
“Heya, Hedwig,” Honoka said slowly, raising her hands in a placating and also defensive manner, gulping as she tried to regain control of the situation. “Happy to see you’re excited to get on with harmonizing, but why don’t we cool off a bit and mosey home first. I mean, not a lot of room in here for anything exotic.”
“Don’t care, need to f…screw.” Miaka stalked forward a step, putting Honoka in reach of long, feathered arms and wicked talons.
“I see that,” Honoka mumbled, her own resistances wearing down, eyes locked on the neon blue skin of Miaka’s clit and labia underneath the soft red down of her mons. Those bits of blue were swollen, moist and oozing with feminine desire. Musk stank up the whole small room, smacking Honoka in the face and putting her hormones into overdrive. Hormones she fought a losing battle against. The futa girl backed up as much as she could, her back jostling the shelves of TP and other bathroom supplies behind her. “Still, not the best place for a first time.”
Miaka didn’t answer, instead taking another step and pushing her body against Honoka’s. Hard muscles of the kikiyaon’s erotic body squeezed Honoka against the shelving and elicited a squeak out of the smaller chocolate Ymirian. Winged arms shot up sharply, grabbing the shelves on either side of Honoka’s head while moving her taloned feet under the shelves, essentially locking Honoka into place. All Honoka saw was red feathers, the rapid heartbeat of the Japanese owl beating hot blood through flesh underneath. With Honoka’s recent growth, they were almost the same height, Miaka leaning in the last inch to plant her beak inside Honoka’s mouth and lick the other woman’s teeth with her long, thin blue tongue.
“Mmmm!” Honoka tried to say, tasting the rancid flavor of Diane’s C&A potions while Honoka struggled to pull her head away. Miaka wasn’t letting Honoka escape, leaned farther in. And despite poor timing or place, it wasn’t as if this was unwelcome, resistance crumbling away inside Honoka. Heat rose inside her breast and her own tongue joined Miaka’s, the rest of her body slowly untensing.
Breaking off, Miaka reached to undo Honoka’s skirt, keeping pressed close and even grinding their pelvi together. Miaka fumbled blind, and after some frustrated seconds, she reached a talon around the band and sliced a few inches, using her other hand to roughly shove the fabric down Honoka’s bare legs. Exposed to the air, Honoka’s XXXL custom jockstrap strained to hold her meat in place, inner thighs soaked from her own womanly juices. Another claw more gently shifted the support out of the way to spring the chocolate cock into the open, premen dribbling along the shaft.
“You are now going to stick that in me and pound me until we both can’t see straight,” Miaka stated with husky force, crawling up the shelves with arms and legs to suspend her pussy just above the tip. Those shelves must have been heavy duty to support this much weight, but Honoka didn’t care at the moment as the owl woman rubbed blue lower lips across Honoka’s turgid glans, pushing the tip in far enough to bring dark foreskin downward. “If you don’t want anyone finding us, you better nookie quickly and quietly.”
That reminder they were in the middle of a hospital, in the middle of a busy hallway, surrounded by people, brought all kinds of anxiety ratcheting throughout Honoka’s body. The very thought of getting caught in flagrante pushed the air out of her lungs in panic, a living nightmare to Honoka. Desperate again to escape, Miaka put a stop entirely to Honoka’s egress, bending knees and falling down upon Honoka with the force of a Judo throw.
“I said,” Miaka forced past her gasping beak, holding a foot (30 cm) of Honoka’s sixteen inches (41 cm) inside herself with as much force as she could vice vaginal muscles, “we are either going to finish or get caught in the act. Which is it going to be?”
Panic dissolved in an instant when the threat registered. She was no longer the mousy pushover that slaved thanklessly in a cubicle. Honoka’s anger flared up like an inferno, Status in front of her and about to allocate enough points to push the horny woman off of her and possibly break the hospital in half. Honoka didn’t like being told what to do, didn’t like being forced to do anything. She wasn’t some cuckqueen, and her glare turned on full force into the hazel eyes of Miaka, waiting for a response before finishing this.
It didn’t take long, only a few seconds for the change to happen. Some of the energy bled out of Miaka as she turned her head with eyes tearing up. “Please,” she whispered, the tough fighter exposing complex mental issues at play, more than just some need to domme.
Can I honestly say I don’t have my own kinks? Honoka thought, pursing her mouth as she reigned in her emotions. Will I be the one to cast the first stone?
Besides, as a growing expert in the enveloping tightness of Racial pussy, Honoka admitted silently never experiencing anything as soft and smooth as Miaka’s snatch.
Nodding, Honoka thrust up with her hips and toes to penetrate farther in, Miaka immediately reciprocating by quickly syncing into rhythm. Soon Honoka found herself not needing to move at all when the frantic owl woman rode Honoka’s rod like a madwoman.
Someone rattled the handle of the door to the closet.
“[Locked?]” Honoka and Miaka heard outside, a sweet soprano sounding like the voice from a music box, forcing both women to come to halt and hold their breaths, wondering if they were about to get caught. “[Guess I better find a key.]”
Honoka felt about to die, her heart beating painfully in her chest. And as much as she would regret stopping partway, there was no helping it. Easing back, Honoka tried pulling out when Miaka rounded her eyes upon the frightened futa and grinned the rictus of someone unhinged.
“Better hurry,” Miaka hissed in Honoka’s ear with the distinct huff of breath and strain that came from the woman’s own orgasm, doubling her efforts and pumping Honoka’s stick for all she was worth, vag pulsed in the contractions of release. For a few seconds Honoka fought back, needing to be out of here before the girl returned, but Miaka’s savage attack proved effective as they felt the last hardening of her dick and the base of her urethra gather the cumming flood.
Miaka spied it on Honoka’s face through her delirium and reached a hand up, covering Honoka’s mouth as the young hermaphrodite tried and failed to stifle vocal ejaculation accompaniment. Inside Miaka, a torrent of cum released, filling the tight space quickly before spilling down between both their legs and splashing over the ground like a white waterfall. While Honoka had improved at modulating her seminal output, the room quickly filled up with over twenty gallons of jizz before Honoka released a final shaking breath and fell to the ground, splashing in her own spunk.
“No time for sleeping, Kintamusume, gotta skedaddle!” Miaka hopped off the shelving and nabbed a stack of paper towels, tossing them to Honoka. “Hopefully no one ventures close enough to smell us.”
“Did you call me…Golden Girl?” Honoka wanted to curl on the floor of warm goo and fall asleep, ick be darned. Nevertheless, she stumbled up and vainly toweled hot gloop from her clothing and skin. “How am I anything like that Japanese folktale?”
“How are you not?” Miaka dug around on the floor, the dungeon apparently working overtime and most of the floor nearly clear of the white love gunk, allowing Miaka to find her white (now more white) gym shorts. “Super strong, tiny, fights monsters, mother is a yōkai impregnated by a clap of thunder.”
“Knowing my father’s sense of humor, he’ll agree with you and call himself Thunder Head.” Honoka’s skirt was torn and soaked, but she was not about to prance around the hospital and city in only a jockstrap. Hiking it up and tying the torn waistband into a knot to keep it on, Honoka idly noted the last semen chunks sucked away by the dungeon already - including the wadded and soaked paper towels. She noted it because it was an abnormally short amount of time for one of her ejaculations to get cleaned up.
“Sounds like my kind of man,” Miaka replied, jumping into her shorts, flipping the lock and throwing the door open.
When both women quickly stepped out and merged into the traffic of the hall, they passed a young aelf girl in blue scrubs holding a key who must have jumped out of the way of the door when it opened. Although Honoka tried to play it cool, she blushed furiously and peeked behind her to glance at the aelf. At first, the young woman appeared about to reach out and stop the fleeing culprits, but then she took a whiff of the room and her face blossomed bright red, her own embarrassment at realizing what was going on freezing her in place and allowing the two to make their exodus.
********************
During the walk home, the two women stayed silent, the rush of adrenaline wearing off and leaving them lethargic as they strolled. Honoka gave her Status a looksee to appreciate how everyone was doing, first resetting all the allocations to normal.
The changes in her Status were small, almost minuscule. A normal person working out over a period of months or changed their diet or took college classes would find similar changes in the same amount of time. The fact Honoka never witnessed any growth over fifteen years made her giggle every time she brought up her Status nowadays. A single point of Strength, a single Charisma point, a single Health, two more inches of height, another whole inch to her breasts! No longer a dream, it was actually happening: Honoka was growing into the woman she always prayed to become.
It also terrified her.
Honoka shook her head, moving past an ambiguous future and focusing on now. The greater change was how fast everyone harmonized this week. Before, Honoka abused her poor penis more than Deuce Bigalow to cum a wife up a single level. In seven days, following the marathon they set themselves to raise up their levels to save Dolly, most of the girls causally gained as many levels. Perhaps harmonizing really was as simple as how well two women connected with each other? And the closer they grew, the easier it became.
Browsing over the numbers, she paused at the bottom of the listed section marked Collection. There was something there: it looked broken, flickering for a moment before disappearing.
What the...? Honoka blinked, pulling her Status up again and again, but the glitch didn’t reappear. Did I imagine it?
Honoka was no expert. Yet she knew at least the basics of how a Status worked. It represented the numerical values making up a person, it was how people reacted and understood their Race and Class. In Honoka’s case, it was how she utilized her Class, taking desires and placing them upon the wives she collected. So a glitch at the bottom of her Collection was a big deal because it meant she might have collected someone or something else. Or it could be nothing, proof Honoka was tired and worried about Diane.
On impulse - maybe a little scared of losing her mind - Honoka decided to focus on her Class Feature, getting the menu choices:
The bottom remained unreadable, though another letter had appeared. Regardless, Honoka wasn’t desperate enough to choose something she couldn’t read. Gleipnir’s Binding had the opposite problem, she couldn’t pick something so clearly made to enslave her wives. Which left Vǫlur’s and Útangarðr.
AiU is new, Honoka thought, thinking hard about what she knew of Norse mythology. Útangarðr is the opposing force to innangarðr, or the philosophies roughly meaning “without the enclosure” and “within the enclosure.” Law and Chaos, útangarðr is the side of chaos, but in ancient Norse thinking this wasn’t a bad thing, seen as a form of letting loose from the structures of woman to embrace nature. Hmmmm.
Honoka still picked Vǫlur’s, thinking it might give her access to magic, then dumped her four Attribute points into Intelligence. Just as Wisdom increased how quickly she regenerated MP, Intelligence increased how much MP she pooled and MP is what powered allocation powers. Closing everything down, Honoka returned to thinking towards her feathered paramour, only at a faster rate as her mind sped up from the new Intelligence.
Miaka and Honoka didn’t say anything throughout the Shiny district, maybe wary of the normal prejudice permeating the section of Harvardtown dominated by human men. Once they crossed over into the Lair, though, they relaxed amid the Racial families living down here in a place where people didn’t have to worry about being something else and the only thing universal was acceptance.
Honoka wanted to talk to Miaka about what happened at the hospital, but she had no idea how. Unwilling to let things stand unaddressed, she blurted out the first thing she could think of. “How was your trip?”
“Tiring,” Miaka replied, glancing absently around, then guiding the pair towards a smoothie shop. “My extended family collectively own and operate a chain of konbinis throughout the southern prefectures and into parts of the Philippines. It sounds like a giant business empire, but the reality is a bunch of individual families running small mini marts are all poor together, each zealous about small time retail. Every time I visit, it turns into my mother and father suggesting they can get me my own store at a great location in Osaka and they know a hardworking local boy. And then every other conversation is some kind of passive aggressive jab at my life choices.”
“Hmm,” Honoka replied noncommittally, waving Miaka to order for her. “And now that you’re married?”
“Unfortunately, not much different.” Miaka picked two HoneyDewies, paying and handing off one cup to Honoka as they continued home. “You are my third marriage, my parents think you will soon be my third ex.”
Silence returned, a tension between them as Honoka rehearsed over and over in her head some way to find to the real conversation. “Miaka...”
“I know I have a problem,” Miaka replied quickly, cutting in with a beaked clack.
“Not a problem, I don’t think.” Honoka wasn’t sure what to say, back pedaling.
“It started with my second husband, the abuser.” The kikiyaon paused, finishing her smoothie in one long draw. “It wasn’t like it was one day he was a caring person and the next he turned into a wife beating scumbag. We were both in the circuit and a sparring match would eventually turn into other kinds of matches. I wasn’t helpless, but he outweighed me: in a brawl, an extra hundred pounds matters. At first, he was caring, mindful to make sure I wouldn’t suffer an injury. Then he started to get off on it. It was so subtle, I didn’t realize what was happening. Unconsciously I was trying to find ways to regain control, I think. I got it in my head that if I couldn’t win a fight, I’d control by adding the thrill of public sexual matches. Then the Change happened.”
Honoka stayed silent, finishing her drink absently. In a cynical part of her head, she wondered if she was a broken woman magnet or if all women were actually this broken to begin with. They reached the compound, but they paused in front of the temporary plywood gate leading inside, this conversation important for both of them.
“I don’t think my husband hated me at first, but it wasn’t a few months before I found him making more and more excuses to not spar or spend time with me. I grew desperate, finding myself waylaying him in public more and more. My final act to try and save my marriage was a child, which is when he let me know how much of a Racist douche he actually was. Everything became clear, all the little things suddenly obvious. I broke his arm and walked out.”
Miaka looked away while she talked, her face hidden. Honoka moved close and gently pulled her around. The normally strong and sure woman wept, unable to meet Honoka’s eye, turning away again when Honoka tried.
“Do you hate me?” Miaka asked, sobbing strongly as she wiped eyes with a winged forearm.
“No, I love you,” Honoka replied, reaching for a hug. “I’m suicidal and have an addiction to grow myself and others through magical numbers. Diane has an actual psychosis from being chained in a basement for years. Banda felt useless for so long and lost in the large crowd of her family that now she has a chance to contribute, she’s overworking herself to death. Quinn hates failure so much she might actually self-destruct if she ever does something wrong and Padmava’s husband died less than a year ago. You saw what Dolly went through.” Honoka turned Miaka’s head again and this time their eyes did meet. “Eve, for all her Racial masochism, might be the most well-adjusted one among us.”
Miaka chuffed a laugh, blinking her tears away and hugging Honoka back with a smile. “So you aren’t mad?”
“Didn’t say that,” Honoka replied, keeping the hug going. “Would have definitely preferred you told me all this before today. And…” Honoka grimaced, though Miaka couldn’t see it, “I may be willing to indulge this side of you, but some compromise will happen along with ways to mitigate the damage. And something else.”
“What do you have in mind?” Miaka asked, the smile clear in her voice.
Honoka explained her idea with a leer.
Shrugging, Miaka was game. “I’ll get some rope.”
********************
Harvardtown existed within the third Floor of the Harvard Dungeon. A wide open cavern hundreds of feet underground, twenty thousand city inhabitants often forgot they were anywhere other than a hot and sweltering rainforest, so convincing was the dungeon’s magic. The city itself spread out over miles, but only a third of the entire floor was domesticated. The other two thirds were still a dungeon, a typical forest growing in a cavern lit with ambient and unending light.
Other than a few training expeditions for newbie delvers, the jungle outside of Harvardtown remained empty except for the low-leveled monsters dwelling there. Which is why those monsters perked up when the faintest sounds of music sounded in the wet air.
♫ …around… ♫
Used to being prey, the weak monsters went into instant alert, trying to locate the new threat.
♫ …what you seeeee… ♫
Whatever this was disrupting the forest, it was loud and coming in fast. Some of the more skittish of the monsters were already scrambling for the safety of their dens.
♫ …believe I’m everywhere… ♫
Now the forest heard flapping, causing the few monsters brave enough to peer up and find where their doom would come. What they saw caused even brainless monsters to pause and wonder.
♫ Is the answer to a Neverending Stooooryyyy ♫
Miaka, naked - boosted with all the attributes to spare between Banda and Padmava - turned the five foot five inches (165 cm) tall owl woman into a human luckdragon. Now over ten feet tall (305 cm) with a wingspan to match, arms like cannons keeping the large avian girl aloft and speeding through the jungle, mist parting in her wake. Over the speakers strapped to her back, two voices cried out in pure joy.
“YEEEEAAAAHHH!!” Honoka and Miaka roared, Miaka diving to scatter monsters that hadn’t fled away fast enough. Honoka - taking the opportunity to wear Banda’s boobs for the afternoon - had her cock deep inside Miaka and hung free except for various ropes strapping them together, her arms tightly holding onto Miaka’s thighs and breast boulders resting on Miaka’s tail feathers.
Death never came to those monsters of the third floor, though many were surprised to be rained upon by a white deluge that plopped onto the ground behind the flying red terror, like the most sexual of crop dustings. Some monsters with the capability to think past their animalistic selves dreaded the return of such a terrible creature.