I sprinted the last kilometer home, the slap of my running shoes on asphalt a frantic, syncopated rhythm against the roaring in my ears. The workout hadn't soothed me. For the first time in my life, the familiar burn in my muscles did nothing to quell the inferno raging in my soul. If anything, it had only stoked the flames.
I fumbled with my keys, my hands shaking with suppressed violence. I wanted to punch a hole through the front door. Inside, I could hear the murmur of my parents' voices from the living room. I ignored them, storming past the doorway and down the stairs to the basement, my own personal sanctuary and cell. My room.
The heavy bag I'd hung from the support beam years ago swung slightly in the draft from my entrance. I dropped my things and hit it. A hard right cross. The canvas groaned, but I held back. I couldn't go all out. I couldn't afford to break it, to give my parents a reason to ask questions I couldn't answer. This impotent rage was a poison, and I had no outlet.
I stripped naked and stalked into my small, utilitarian bathroom, twisting the shower knob all the way to cold. The icy spray hit my skin, but it felt distant, a minor inconvenience against the furnace of my fury. My head felt like it was about to explode. An engine I never knew existed had roared to life inside me, and it demanded fuel, it demanded release.
I can't get over it.
The conspiratorial whispers between Kaito and his friend. The image of him, naked and predatory, creeping into the showers. And then Miki. Tachibana Miki. That she could smile, that she could brag about helping him plan my rape… that a woman could so cheerfully plot the violation of another…
SHE FUCKING PLANNED IT WITH HIM!
The fact screamed through my mind, and the rage spiked, fresh and raw. The cold water was useless. I needed to think. Rage was a blunt instrument; revenge required a scalpel. I couldn't kill them. I couldn't break them, not in the way my hands so desperately ached to. The ugly truth was that this morning, I had become a criminal. Self-defense by means of rape isn't a recognized legal doctrine.
The water was freezing now, my skin numb, but my core still burned. I needed to get a grip. I drew back my hand and slapped myself, hard. The crack echoed off the tiles, and the sharp, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. A jolt of pure physical pain, self-inflicted and grounding.
My mind cleared. The red haze receded, replaced by a chilling, pragmatic clarity. I spat a pinkish stream of saliva down the drain and focused.
I wasn't a fool. I loved sports, but I was no muscle-headed idiot. My grades were proof of that. My brain was a weapon, and it was time I learned how to use it. That's why I'd let Tachibana Miki run away instead of caving in her smug face.
But the more I thought, the colder I became. The situation was dire. Miki would pressure Kaito to tell her what happened. If he talked, I was finished. The world we live in, for all its progress, would see a popular male athlete and a freakish, socially outcast futanari. He had a promising future. I had a rap sheet in the making. The video on my phone wasn't leverage; it was a confession. Evidence of my crime. Posting it would be mutual self-destruction, and his life would recover long before mine did.
The walls of my situation felt like they were closing in. I was alone in this. No friends to act as character witnesses. Just the whispers and the reputation of being 'Dick-Girl.' The grim reality settled on me like a shroud. I needed leverage. Real leverage. And I had less than twelve hours before I had to face Kaito again.
I shut off the water, dried myself mechanically, and pulled on a pair of sweats. I sat down at my cheap desk, booting up the modest PC my father had built for my schoolwork. What could I do? What weapon could I possibly forge that would be sharp enough to win this fight?
Mindlessly, I began to surf the web. I set up a VPN, spoofed my IP, and created a throwaway account on a series of anonymous forums. I posted my dilemma, cloaked in fake names and vague details. Most replies were useless—trolls calling it fake, mods deleting it for content violations. Then, one caught my eye.
Yoru_no_Joou_Sama_2466: I don't know if this is real, but I'll give you my thoughts. You sound like a strong woman, one with an unyielding spirit. I don't know the mechanics of how you 'raped him back,' but you've dug yourself a deep hole.
My advice: stop thinking like a normal girl. Stop thinking about courts and laws. You're already outside them. Think in terms of power. You said his name was 'Tommy.' Tommy can be trained. He can be broken. Have you considered making him like it? Have you considered turning his girlfriend, 'April,' against him? Make them so busy destroying each other that they forget you even exist.
But be warned. If this is real, you're swimming in shark-infested waters. You're the victim here, but the world won't see it that way. Good luck.
I stared at the message. Trained. The word resonated deep within me. It was a path I hadn't considered. Not just hurting him, but remaking him.
Footsteps on the stairs pulled me from my thoughts. I instantly Alt-Tabbed to a blank document as my father appeared in the doorway.
"Hey, Akira," he greeted me warmly. "Dinner's ready. And did your hour-long shower use up all the hot water again?" He feigned a scowl.
I managed a small giggle. "No, Otou-san. It was a cold one. To cool down after my run." I stood, stretching. "Speaking of which, I was wondering if I could get some heavier weights for my birthday…"
I followed him upstairs, letting him expertly deflect the request as we walked. My room was a gym with a bed and a desk in it, and he knew my true love was pumping iron.
Dinner was a strange pantomime of normalcy. I sat with my parents, eating a massive portion of food to fuel the furnace of my body, nodding and making small talk while my mind raced. They were good people. My dad worked an IT job from home; my mother was a moderately successful artist with a studio upstairs. They were middle-class, hard-working, and they loved me, despite my flaws and their own. This was my mistake to fix. I wouldn't burden them with it.
After thanking them for the meal, I went back downstairs, locking my door behind me. The research I was about to do was not something I wanted them walking in on. I brought up the browser again and dove into the rabbit hole suggested by Yoru_no_Joou_Sama.
In the past, my viewing habits were simple, vanilla. A means to an end. Now, I searched for different terms. Domination. Humiliation. Sissification.
I watched dominatrixes command their slaves. I saw men begging to be stepped on, women crying out as they were tortured for pleasure. The sounds, the power dynamics, the complete surrender… it filled me with a hot, coiling lust. My cock hardened in my sweats, pressing insistently against my thigh.
A new fantasy began to form, vivid and intoxicating. What if I took Miki, with her smug face and vicious words, and made her my personal cumdump? And Kaito… what if I didn't just break him, but rebuilt him? What if I stripped away his jock masculinity piece by piece and remade him into a pretty little thing that existed only for my pleasure? The image of them both on their knees before me, one presenting his ass, the other her pussy, sent a shiver of pure, predatory desire down my spine.
This was it. This was my revenge. Not just to beat them, but to own them. Body, heart, and mind. I would use them, break them, and when I left for university, I would discard their shattered, addicted shells.
A smile, the first genuine smile since the incident with Miki, spread across my face. I delved deeper, learning the vocabulary of my new-found purpose. Shame was a tool. Degradation was a key. I zeroed in on the concept of sissification. I would prefer to have Miki, yes, but Kaito's ass had been an enlightening experience. If I couldn't have him as a girl, I would make him look as much like one as possible.
The clock on my desktop showed it was nearly eleven. Time was running out. My plan needed tools. More than just my body. I needed to fuck the masculinity out of him, and for that, I needed equipment. A quick search revealed a 24-hour adult store on the outskirts of town, in one of the less reputable districts. It was perfect.
I had about ¥50,000 saved up from birthdays and New Year's gifts. I'd been planning to buy a new squat rack. But staying out of jail, I decided, was a far better investment.
I grabbed my wallet and shoes and headed upstairs. My parents were on the couch, laughing as they played Mario Kart. My mother was fiercely competitive; I made sure to give them a wide berth.
As I opened the front door, she noticed me. "Akira-chan! Going for a night run?" she called out. I nodded. "Here," she said, getting up and pressing a ¥2,000 note into my hand. "Pick up some milk on your way back, would you? I forgot at the store. Keep the change."
"No problem, Okaa-san," I said, knowing it was her excuse to give me pocket money for a late-night snack. I didn't correct her.
The cool night air was a relief. Jogging without the weights felt effortless, like flying. I reached the store quickly. It was tucked between a shuttered ramen shop and a pachinko parlor, its windows blacked out, a single neon sign flickering 'OPEN.'
I stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of incense and plastic. A girl who looked about my age sat behind the counter, scrolling on her phone. She was tiny, barely over 150cm, with her black hair in twin pigtails and a bored expression on her cute face. She had a scattering of piercings in her ears and a small one in her nose.
Her eyes flicked up and sized me up instantly. "ID," she said, her tone flat and commanding.
I walked over and slid my driver's license across the counter. She glanced from it to my face, then back again, before giving a curt nod. "Let me know if you need anything." She went back to her phone.
The store was a maze of porn DVDs—who even used those anymore?—and fetish wear. I moved to the back, to the walls of toys. The sheer variety was overwhelming. Dildos of every size and color, plugs, cages, paddles… I had no idea where to start.
"Lost?"
I jumped, spinning around, my right fist coming up instinctively, stopping just centimeters from her face.
"Whoa!" The cute clerk backed up, her hands raised. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
My face flushed hot with embarrassment. "No! I'm sorry!" I exclaimed, lowering my fist. "I… had a bad day. I was attacked earlier. It's got me on edge. I'm really sorry."
Her eyes, wide with surprise, narrowed with curiosity. "Attacked? Someone decked you in the nose and it barely hurt? They must've been pretty weak."
I actually chuckled. "Or maybe I'm just strong. I pack more punch than I look."
She smirked, a challenge in her eyes. "Bullshit. You're all soft curves. A sleeper build, maybe, but I don't see any power."
The challenge ignited something in me. "Oh yeah?" I rolled up the sleeve of my hoodie and flexed my right bicep. The muscle, usually hidden under a deceptive layer of soft flesh, swelled into a hard, dense knot.
Her eyes widened. "Holy shit…" she breathed, reaching out. "Can I…?" I nodded. Her small fingers wrapped around my arm, probing the muscle. She let out a low whistle. "Okay, that's impressive. How big is that?" She pulled a small measuring tape from her apron pocket and wrapped it around my bicep. "Thirty-eight centimeters… damn, girl."
"And that's not even my best feature," I said, lifting the hem of my shirt to reveal my deeply etched six-pack.
Her jaw dropped. "Okay, you win," she said, her professional boredom completely gone. "I'm sorry. You were looking lost. What can I get for you?"
"An excuse to do your job," I jested, feeling more relaxed. "I need some help. I need a chastity cage. For… my boyfriend. Something for long-term wear. And… some things to help him take larger insertions."
Her eyebrows shot up for a second before a knowing grin spread across her face. "I knew it. A new player joining the game."
"Game?"
"The kink community, girl. I'm a masochist, personally," she said, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "You, though… you've got Dom energy written all over you." She led me to a wall of cages. "So, how far are you looking to stretch your new sissy? We talking fisting levels?"
"No," I said without thinking, my eyes scanning the cages. "I just need him to be able to take my cock."
She stopped dead. "Wait. I thought… wow. Okay. Congratulations on your transition, then. You look amazing."
"Oh. No, sorry for the misunderstanding," I said. "I'm a futanari. I'm pretty open about it."
"Wow," she breathed, her eyes sparkling with a new intensity. "Well, that complicates things… deliciously. You have a very, very lucky little sissy." She pulled a sleek, medical-grade steel cage off the wall. "This one is for smaller guys, around eight centimeters flaccid. It's expensive, but it's safe for long-term wear, easy to clean, and won't cause infections. When you play, cheaper is almost always worse. Your body is a temple, right? That goes for your partners, too. As the Dom, their safety is your responsibility."
Her lecture was direct, but I listened intently. "Thank you," I said sincerely. "I appreciate that."
"No problem. I love educating newbies," she grinned. "Now, how big are we talking? For the stretching toys?"
I felt a faint blush creep up my neck. "Um. When I'm fully hard, I'm about… forty-two centimeters."
Her eyes narrowed. "Okay, girl. I'm used to people lying in here. I don't care. But I can't help you if you're not honest."
I shook my head. "I'm not lying. It's a real pain in the ass to hide when I get a hard-on in class, especially with this stupid skirt."
The look in her eyes changed. It became calculating, hungry. "Girth?"
"I… I've never measured."
"Gimme a sec." She walked to the front, flipped the sign on the door to 'CLOSED,' and locked it. "Follow me."
She led me to a small stockroom in the back. "I need to see it," she said, her voice husky. "I have to get a proper measurement. Mind if I… help you get hard?"
My surprise was absolute. My cock twitched. "I… am not saying no to that."
She smiled, a predatory, beautiful thing, and knelt before me. She pulled down my sweats, revealing my semi-aroused state. "Fuck," she breathed, her warm breath ghosting over my skin. "You could knock someone out with that."
Then her tongue touched the tip, and a jolt of pure pleasure shot through me. I moaned, my back hitting the door as she took me into her mouth. It was a new feeling, hot and wet and overwhelmingly intimate. Her saliva coated my shaft as her mouth worked on me, her tongue tracing patterns that made my toes curl. My cock swelled rapidly, filling her mouth, pressing against the back of her throat.
She pulled off with a gasp. "Fuck… you're huge, girl." She held up the measuring tape. "Forty-two centimeters long… and a nine-centimeter diameter. You're a cervix-destroyer. You're a life-ruiner." She looked from my cock up to my eyes, her own pupils blown wide. "Mind if I take a ride?"
The world tilted on its axis. "Sure?" I managed to say, my mind completely overwhelmed.
"Yay!" She bounced up and grabbed a box of magnum-sized condoms off a shelf. "The rest are on the house. You'll need 'em." She expertly rolled one down my shaft. "Fuck, how is this even going to feel?" she muttered to herself. She turned around, presenting her ass to me, but she was too short.
"Ass or pussy?" I asked, my voice thick.
"Pussy," she said, glancing back with a smirk.
"Who needs a chair?" I wrapped my hands around her slim waist and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. She let out a little shriek of surprise. I held her with one arm, guiding myself with the other. I pushed the tip inside her. She was slick and hot.
"Am I that light?!" she gasped, her mind still on the lift. But then her focus shifted as I slowly began to lower her onto my shaft. "HOLY FUCK! YOU'RE HUGE!" she screamed. "Go slow!"
Her tight heat enveloped me. The condom dulled the sensation, not as raw as Kaito's ass, but still incredible. I skewered her slowly, her moans escalating with every centimeter I took.
"Stop!" she cried out when I was about halfway in. "Just fuck me like this for now! I'm so full… please…" she looked back, her face flushed, "Make it rough!"
That was the trigger. A switch flipped in my brain. I take no more orders.
A dark smile grew on my face. I lifted her clean off my cock. "I'm in charge now," I told her. Her eyes widened, a flicker of fear mixing with her arousal. Before she could speak, I slammed her back down onto my cock in one brutal, swift motion. She screamed, a sound of pain and overwhelming pleasure. I began to fuck her, hard and fast, lifting her and dropping her, my pace relentless. She spasmed, her body squirting a hot gush of fluid down my leg. Her cries grew louder, begging me to slow down. I ignored her.
Her tight pussy clenched around me, milking my cock with every brutal pump. I spun her around, slamming her back against the door, and took her even harder. The memory of the day's rage and the morning's triumph flooded my mind, fueling my thrusts. I lost myself. I was a force of nature, and she was the landscape I was reshaping.
I roared as my orgasm hit, a tidal wave of victorious pleasure. I emptied myself into the condom, my whole body shuddering. I pulled out, my mind slowly returning from the primal haze.
I set her gently on her feet. She trembled violently, her legs barely holding her. "I… I'm so sorry," I stammered.
She put a shaky finger to my lips. "Don't… don't apologize," she gasped, leaning against me for support. "That was… you might have ruined other men for me. Fuck, that was so primal." She looked down at the mess on the floor. "I think I lost my bladder… I came so many times."
I noticed the condom was gone. "It came off when I pulled out," I said, spotting it poking from her swollen lips. Luckily, it was still intact, a heavy balloon of my cum. She pulled it out carefully. "Holy shit, that's a lot," she breathed, tying it off.
I glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. "I need to go," I said, hating to break the spell. "Could you help me finish my shopping?"
"Shit, that was thirty minutes," she said, stunned. She unlocked the door and limped back out into the main store. I felt a pang of guilt mixed with a surge of pride. She returned, grabbing plugs and dildos. "Budget?"
"Fifty thousand yen."
She sighed. "Your size makes this expensive. Look, take these plugs, these beads, this prostate vibrator. I'll cover the difference. Just pay me back. And give me your number. I want another ride." She winked.
As my phone buzzed with her text, she laid out the items. She explained how to use everything, the enema kit, the plugs, the cage. "You owe me thirty thousand yen for the difference. I'm Hoshino Yuki, by the way."
"Kurogane Akira."
"Good to meet you, Akira-chan," she said, her eyes drifting down with a smile. "A very… gifted woman."
I felt tears prick my eyes. After the day I'd had, her kindness, her acceptance, felt like a lifeline. I paid her what I had, took the three heavy bags of toys, and stepped out into the cool night air. A real, genuine smile spread across my face as I jogged towards the 7-Eleven to buy milk. I had a plan. I had the tools. And now, I had an ally.