title: "Tsunoda's Step Down" aliases: [] tags: [FA] author: [Kyrm] id: [47860650] date: 星期四, 十一月 10日 2022, 1:37:15 凌晨 modified: 星期四, 十一月 10日 2022, 1:39:28 凌晨

[TOC]

Tsunoda's Step Down

Author: Kyrm Source: Tsunoda's Step Down [Commission]

Series: Next

Clout-hungry deer gal Tsunoda turns to her forgettable red panda coworker Retsuko for help livestreaming kinky content. Tsunoda insists she's doing it for the views, but the longer she spends under (and in) her meek coworker, the more apparent it is she has ulterior motives.

With one tap of a hoof-tipped finger to her smartphone, a close-up of Tsunoda’s beaming face filled her audience’s screens.

“And hel-loooo, all my beloved perverts… er, subscribers!” She batted her best doe eyes for the phone’s camera to make everyone forget that faux pas. Doe eyes in the literal sense because she was a doe, figurative because far as her ego was concerned she was the most adorable woman on the planet. “This is ItsyBitsyTeensyWeensyLittleDoeGirlOne-One-Three ready for her first biiiig stream, or should I say ‘little?’” Tsunoda’s signature mile-a-minute speech allowed her to belt that sentence out in one hurried breath. When she covered her mouth to giggle, an explosion of hearts reacted onscreen.

“I didn’t say I was ready to go live.” Even at a whisper, her colleague’s protest bellowed overhead.

“Hey!” Feigning a scowl, Tsunoda wagged a finger up at the sky. “You’re going to spoil the surprise!” Her expression brightened on returning to the phone’s camera. “To all of you it might look like I’m standing next to a truck.” She patted the firm black surface behind her. “But actually…” She took a brief walk around the side of the object. Arriving at its front she backed up further. As she did, it became clear this wasn’t a bus—though it was the size of one.

She stopped after creating enough distance to give her audience proper perspective of what she had been posing in front of:

A woman’s dress shoe.

Skeptical subscribers in chat dismissed it as a movie prop. Even to Tsunoda it looked like one. The camera caught her reflection in a varnished toe tip tall as the cheval mirror she used when dolling herself up each morning.

But panning the camera skywards revealed it was indeed occupied. Above soared a pair of pillar-like legs covered in short brown furs. Between them, a striped brown-and-orange tail swept the dusty floor like an anxious, hundred-foot pendulum.

Higher hung a navy blue office skirt with the circumference of a circus tent. Beyond that a matching business casual vest hugging two unimpressive bumps. Usually unimpressive, that is. Right now they looked like twin hills.

The hike up this living, breathing office building of a red panda concluded at her button-nosed, sky-high face. Big enough to belong on a billboard. Her eyes contrasted Tsunoda’s by being beady, coal black, and furrowed thanks to a severe lack of self-confidence. The giantess wore an obvious earpiece tuned into the stream. Without it, any words squeaked up from her bedroom floor were difficult to understand.

“…it’s my Tokyo-sized costar, KaijuPan!” Tsunoda cheered.

Retsuko wasn’t Tsunoda’s first choice. Nor her second. Not the third, either. When it came to influencer status, her coworker lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. But when you shrank yourself down to two inches tall using an illegal ray gun purchased off the dark web for the sake of making it big in the kink sphere, well… a trustworthy pushover beat a sexy monster any day.

Besides, Tsunoda brought the sex appeal on her own. She couldn’t have someone too hot stealing her stardom.

“Say ‘hi’ to your fans, Kaiju!” she yelled up.

Retsuko raised a hand, waggling tree-sized fingers in a halfhearted wave. “H-heeey, everyone,” she croaked. Then, quieter, though still easily heard by the bug-sized doe on her tatami mat, she murmured: “That cannot be a flattering angle.”

“Don’t be so sure. The viewers are loving it.”

“They are?” Something bright gleamed in Retsuko’s eyes; a wallflower at work, not a lick of confidence to speak of. But somewhere inside lurked a girl hungry for attention—otherwise she wouldn’t have agreed to this.

“Sure are! Probably because we can see riiiight up your skirt. Cute panties, btw!”

“Gah!” Retsuko clapped her hands over the skirt’s crotch to cover the view of her heart print underwear. “Knew I should’ve changed out of my work clothes.”

“You’re a natural Rets—er, Kaiju!” Tsunoda giggled at the username.

Retsuko puffed her cheek out in annoyance. “I thought we agreed on something that didn’t sound so… big.” She had been conscientious over her size since the start. Relative size, that is. To the rest of the world she remained Retsuko, mild-mannered accountant.

To the doe in her shadow, she was so much more.

“Big? You’re the hugest most massive colossal towering gargantuan woman in the woooorld from down here!” Each word emphasizing her stature sent a mini-tremor flinching through Retsuko like she had been pelted with machinegun fire. “Come on, give the audience a fierce roar!”

A hint of red blushed beneath the white furs covering Retsuko’s cheeks. “I did not agree to that,” she grumbled.

“Come ooonnn! The viewers are begging for it!”

Hips that weighed tons to tiny Tsunoda did a robotic fidget overhead. After throating a sound of protest, Retsuko lifted one arm close to her chest and hooked her fingers like t-rex claws. “R-raaaar…”

Tsunoda sighed. “We’ll call it a work in progress.”

“Sorry,” apologized a woman who could have flattened her in a single step.

“What did we talk about? Con-fi-dence!” Tsunoda coached. “You’re a big scary giant and I’m your helpless little damsel!” As the comments poured in, she smirked for the camera. “Don’t get impatient, you pervs. We’re getting to it.”

“What are they saying?” Retsuko’s voice rumbled like antsy thunder.

“That they’re ready for the real show to start.”

“The real show.” That blush upgraded to a scarlet beacon. She bobbed a tunnel-sized throat that could down Tsunoda like the world’s cutest pill. “…right. Guess… I… should…” Retsuko’s mattress creaked as she eased herself onto the bedside. The bus-sized shoe ahead of Tsunoda lifted into the air as if it were weightless. Slung over her thigh then pulled off and discarded onto the bed. She inspected her bare foot with a grimace. “I, uh, made sure to wash…”

“I know you did!” Tsunoda said.

“And soap it down… a lot.”

“I’m sure your foot will smell just rosy.”

“And, and, and, ah, I’ve been using that lotion like you asked to make sure it’s extra sof—”

“KaijuPan, sweetheart,” Tsunoda chimed in. Only Retsuko was meek enough to let a bug interrupt her. “Could you put your foot down now? Pretty please?” Cheeriness masked her growing impatience. “Your fans can’t get a proper view from all the way down here.”

Retsuko lowered her right foot towards the floor with the utmost care. The tatami mat rustled underfoot, a sound so gentle it threw Tsunoda off. Something this gargantuan deserved to hit the floor with the force of a bomb. Except, as she had to constantly remind herself, it wasn’t massive. It didn’t belong to a monster of any sort. It was a little red panda’s dainty foot.

“Well…” Retsuko raked the mat by scrunching those brown-furred boulders she called toes. “Here it is.”

Tsunoda was always, always on the lookout for the next big thing.

She hadn’t expected it to be so literal, of course. Where most people browsed media sites for fun, she did it for research—disregarding clickbait thumbnails and video titles. She sought out raw viewer counts.

A million views in a day? She clicked without even checking what the video was about.

…and fell right into a rabbit hole of softcore fetish porn.

“People enjoy this stuff?” Tsunoda scoffed aloud in her own home, as though to assure some invisible audience that she could not be counted among them. “But it’s so amateurish.”

Yet she couldn’t stop clicking through.

She had no clue this “size” stuff was such a popular kink—view counts were through the roof. Bug-sized women getting stepped on. Eaten. Teased. Abused.

“I could do better than this,” she decided at last. “And I wouldn’t half-ass it.” No photo edits. No green screens or self-inserting after post. If she was going to do this, she would do it right!

Only for the money and attention, of course. No other motive behind favoriting those videos and watching them in secret at work. That was purely for research purposes. And she definitely didn’t catch herself sneaking peeks at her coworkers’ feet fantasizing over what it would be like for them to step on her. Nor did she spend her lunch breaks half-listening to coworkers babble about nothing, mesmerized by the movements of their mouths and wondering what it might be like to wrestle with their tongues.

A popular, put-together lady like Tsunoda? Never in a million years. And those thoughts definitely, absolutely, 100-percent did not ev-er make her blush.

…just like she definitely wasn’t blushing now.

A pleasant soapy peach smell perfumed the air, wafting from glossy brown furs each the length of Tsunoda’s forearm. They matted the top of Retsuko’s gigantic foot, tapering off around the sides and partway down each toe to reveal bald black skin. At this height it should’ve been easy to spy even the subtlest imperfections, but Retsuko had devoted herself to having an immaculate foot.

Even the pinkie toe looked downright heavy: a hundred-pound yoga ball. But it was the big toe that had Tsunoda’s attention. She could vanish underneath its king-sized mattress of an underbelly. Its toenail measured chest-height, painted an alluring ruby red that reflected her stunned expression.

“Is everything alright?”

Retsuko’s deep voice startled Tsunoda back to reality. “Never better!” she squeaked. Remembering her subscribers, she whirled around to record herself with Retsuko’s foot as the background. “All you weirdos must be suuuuper-duper jealous right now. Oh well, you can live vicariously through your plucky heroine: me! Because in a couple seconds, Retsuko—” A cleared throat overhead made her hastily correct, “Er, forget I said that… KaijuPan is going to bury me under her foot. And she might seem nice, but between you and me? She’s like, super merciless.

“I don’t want to know what’d happen if I wasn’t this adorable. I bet she’d stomp me flat!”

“That’s right.” But Retsuko didn’t sound particularly merciless. Or confident in her stomping capabilities for that matter. Her toes drummed the mat as she wiggled them apart, showing off gaps shoulder-width to Tsunoda. “So, ah, dig in? I guess?” Mumbled: “Can’t believe I just said that…”

“No, no, no,” Tsunoda hissed—like a director unhappy with her actor. “Make me beg. You’re in charge here, remember?”

“I’m in charge,” Retsuko repeated. The power of life and death over Tsunoda yet she didn’t sound convinced. Her gaze shied away. “This is really embarrassing.” After clearing her throat a few times she looked down again. “Bow at my foot, bug, and… and, er… give my toe a kiss?”

“A kiss?” The stream would chalk it up to good acting when Tsunoda chirped with enthusiasm. Her heart had skipped a beat at being called bug.

Retsuko stooped forward until her concerned face poked her knee. “Was that too much?” she whispered. “Calling you a ‘bug’ and all. You don’t have to kiss my toe if you—”

“I’d kiss it a thousand times for the privilege of being underneath you, my massive mistress!”

“Mistress?” Retsuko retreated upright with a look of surprise. “I mean, yeah, mistress. You’d better do that. Or I’ll… squash you?” While she talked, Tsunoda knelt down in front of her big toe. “It doesn’t smell too bad, right?”

“I love whatever soap you’re using, mistress!” Tsunoda let her cheek sink into Retsuko’s toe pad and smiled for the camera. It looked as though they were good friends putting their heads together.

“You don’t have to call me mistress.”

“Yes I do.”

Another throat clear. “Oh. Yes, you do. But what is it that you’re doing?”

“Following orders, of course! I have to show my devotion for your big…” Tsunoda let her viewers watch as she gave Retsuko’s toe skin a tender kiss. “…huge…” And another. “…godly…” And a third; this time met with a faint whimper from above, the compliments were getting to Retsuko. “…self!”

“Okay, speck. Is speck good?” Receiving a nod, she continued: “You’ve proven yourself worthy of… oh, you’re going at it again.”

Her skin was so warm. Soft, too. Doughy with pudge even Tsunoda’s dainty hands could dimple. Which she did, arms thrown wide as she nuzzled and kissed with increasing fervor.

“L-LittleDoe? Hey, LittleDoe!” Mid-nuzzle Tsunoda froze, eyes squinting open. She pushed herself away as though she’d woken up after a night of drinking next to someone she’d rather not. “Sorry for startling you. I just didn’t think our audience could see much, with you pushing the phone into my toe and all.”

“That?” Tsunoda found herself a little winded. “Oh. I was just helping you get in the mood. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” Retsuko didn’t look convinced.

“I mean, you might be a plain-looking woman at the office to everyone else…”

“Plain-looking?” A twinge of annoyance flexed through her brow.

“…but to me you’re like a god! You could do anything you wanted to me and I’d be helpless to stop you. If you lifted your big toe and dropped it on me, I wouldn’t be able to budge you by even an inch. I’d be totally helpless, mistress!”

Bedsprings creaked against the fidget of Retsuko’s hips. For some reason her blush had returned. “Are you… asking me to do that to you, LittleDoe?”

“I—” Tsunoda’s words caught. The doe who always had something to say found herself caught off-guard. “I guess this is the part where I take off my clothes, chat!” She found confidence by addressing her audience.

“What?” Retsuko’s shout exploded through the room.

Tsunoda giggled with secret relief. She was the experienced one here, she reminded herself. The star. The director. Retsuko was a… a prop. A sexy prop. Or—no, not sexy. Where had that come from? Just a prop. “It is an 18-plus stream,” she cooed. “Now hold still.” Popping out the stand on her cellphone’s case, she shelved it horizontally atop Retsuko’s big toenail. After that she backed away, watching herself shrink in the camera feed until it captured her from hoof to tiny nub horns.

Hands to her hips, she struck a flirty pose for her adoring fans. “What do you think, chat? You wouldn’t step on a bug who looks this good, wouldja?” Article by article she shimmied herself bare. The bedroom’s draft perked her chocolate-colored nipples. Shrunken clothes that wouldn’t fit the average doll heaped around her bare hooves.

“Feast your eyes,” she boasted—her fashion model confidence went out like a light as the shadow of Retsuko’s head fell over her.

“Gosh,” Retsuko muttered. “I thought I’d feel inadequate seeing you of all people get naked in my own room, but you’re like a little toy.”

“Great acting, Kaiju!”

“Oh.” Retsuko blinked. “Yeah. Acting.”

“Okay, chat.” Tsunoda sashayed nude to Retsuko’s big toe and retrieved her phone. She brought it in close until her face filled the screen. “I’m going to leave you in KaijuPan’s capable hands, while she covers me in her capable feet.”

“Is that my cue to turn on my phone?”

“My everything is going to be a little preoccupied, big gal.” Tsunoda set her phone onto the tatami mat, taking note of where it was in relation to Retsuko’s sprawling bedroom.

Retsuko retrieved her cellphone and fiddled with it like the amateur she was. This left Tsunoda to wait at her foot—shifting from hoof to hoof. What had her so antsy? Performance anxiety? Her? No, never.

It was that feeling…

That funny little queasiness she got in her gut at work sometimes. It only happened when she watched one of her coworkers step on the floor and wondered what might happen if she had been tiny and in their way.

She ogled Retsuko’s enormous foot. All its size. Its careless weight. Usually a moment like this would come with a gleeful thought like, I’m going to get so so so soooo many views for this! Or, I wonder what sponsors I’ll get on my OnlyFurs?

Tonight something else popped into her head, and it almost made her heart stop:

I’m going to be under there.

“Got it!” Retsuko boomed triumphantly. “Hey, chat! Nice to finally meet you from an angle that doesn’t make me look like a monster.” She got out half a stilted chuckle before cutting herself off. “Almost forgot. Aallll the way down there? That’s LittleDoe.”

Tsunoda must have looked a lot different to her viewers now. Like a pedestrian on the sidewalk snapshotted from the rooftop of an apartment complex. No wonder her nudity hadn’t affected Retsuko, she had all the sex appeal of a bug.

And the longer she spent bug-sized, the more Retsuko seemed to creep out of her shell. A peeling sound came from the tatami mat as she lifted her foot until only its heel touched the floor. Angled upwards, her lotion-polished sole hovered like a black marble ceiling.

“So, like you instructed?” Retsuko asked, immense toes scrunching in the air.

“Yeah,” Tsunoda answered breathlessly. “I mean… yeah! Let’s do this. I’m to-tally ready. Let me lie down.”

“You’d better. We don’t want me to accidentally flatten you, right?”

“N-no, of course not!”

“Aw, I’m sorry. That was a joke. Was that too intimidating?”

Tsunoda’s cheeks burned. “I’m never intimidated!” No sooner than she got down on her back did shade fall upon her, cast by Retsuko inching her sole overhead with all the weight of a construction vehicle.

“Just… stay still, okay? I’m probably pretty heavy to you.”

She brought her foot down with such sluggishness that it constituted a form of torture. Tsunoda couldn’t think of anything cute to say for the audience as she began disappearing from their sight. For once in her life viewers were the last thing on her mind. Retsuko’s sole weighed upon her thoughts. Her lungs, too—air thickening with the scent of peach.

The mattress-soft ball squished down. Smeared into her face, she resisted an unexpected urge to taste it with her tongue. She shivered. Her fingers curled, grasping the mat’s rough fibers as she braced for the brunt of Retsuko’s weight.

“Is this too much?” Her coworker’s concern flooded through the sub-inch gap to find Tsunoda’s ears.

“Rougher,” Tsunoda said without a second thought. Or tried to. It came out “Rfffrrrr,” with her lips smothered.

“Rougher?” A tremor ran through the foot, as if Retsuko were debating pulling it back. “I can feel your whole body down there. You’re so fragile. I’m afraid I might—”

“Rfffrrr,” Tsunoda sounded desperate; the way she might beg a guy to go harder in bed.

Retsuko protested with a whine, but then…

“I… don’t feel any kissing down there. Shouldn’t I?”

The viewers couldn’t see Tsunoda down here, only hear her—and very faintly at that. Muffled voice detected by her tiny cellphone, placed just beyond Retsuko’s toes. They were supposed to play-act this scene out. Retsuko could pretend Tsunoda was worshipping her foot and just grind on her a little.

But she didn’t.

She expected Tsunoda to play the part.

Her lips flexed in fast fluttering kisses, tiny tongue not far behind. Darting out to wet the smooth, flavorless surface.

“I can feel her, chat,” Retsuko murmured to her cellphone. “She’s r-really going at it, wow. What do you all think? Should I, er, give her the rough treatment she wants?” A pause. Tsunoda stopped kissing, rigid as she listened for her sentence by jury: “Well, alright. I’ll try to be careful.” Then her foot clapped down without any ceremony. Soft as a cloud, heavy as a tank—Tsunoda couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe; she felt flat as a sticker, bare helpless body molded into velvet skin.

Retsuko started with an unconfident grinding. Less than an inch forward, less than an inch back. Testing Tsunoda’s body, looking for a breaking point to retreat from. But the tiny doe’s tickling tongue encouraged her to keep pushing.

To drag.

To grind.

To twist.

Little Retsuko was doing all this. Plain-Jane unassertive Retsuko. Drowning her thumb-sized coworker in flesh. Marking her fur with the scent of peach. Playful bounces interspersed these moments, the ball of Retsuko’s foot lifted off the ground then brought back down.

Something hot built inside Tsunoda. She tried to hold it in. To gulp the powerful emotion down. But the next time Retsuko lifted her foot up, a shrill moan erupted past Tsunoda’s lips. Mid-step, the foot hovered—then reeled backwards, sighing atop the mat.

Tsunoda froze beneath Retsuko’s look of confusion.

“Did you just…” Retsuko trailed off.

“I… I, ah…” As Tsunoda propped herself by her elbows, she spied movement behind her. She peered over her shoulder and saw herself. Inches away sat Retsuko’s cellphone. It was propped to stand horizontal, theater-sized screen facing Tsunoda. It must have been recording her the entire time. Showing everyone on stream each doe-smothering stomp.

For the first time in her life, she wasn’t the picture-perfect influencer caked in makeup. Fur mussed, saliva streaked across her face—she was a tiny, gasping wreck. Like a porn star at the end of a shoot, except instead of some hot stud fucking her, it had been Retsuko’s foot.

Look how turned on she is!

woah I thought she was just acting but she’s really into it

lintdoe cant even stand after that

Comments in the chat flew by, flustering Tsunoda further with each one she read. A pleasant ache throbbed between her legs, she was close to—

“I think it’s time we moved on!” she piped, leaping to her hooves and collecting her own tiny cellphone, insignificant at the foot of Retsuko’s. As the stream’s moderator, Tsunoda regained control with a button press; the feed cut out on Retsuko’s much larger phone and reactivated on her own. “We have a… a big finale to get through, folks.” Her speech was still breathy, and up close she only looked more frazzled.

“That sound you made—”

“Come on, KaijuPan!” Tsunoda interrupted Retsuko. “Pick me up. I really, really need—uh, our audience really, really needs to see this.” She squirmed under Retsuko’s discerning frown, but at last the red panda leaned forward. The back of her hand settled on the floor ahead of Tsunoda, palm presented like an elevator platform.

The moment she boarded, upward momentum throttled her into a kneeling position. When Retsuko was done lifting her, she had the impression of being stories high on some precarious rooftop. In reality she was only at the height of Retsuko’s chest.

“Well?” Tsunoda asked, craning her neck to meet Retsuko’s gaze. “Chat is getting antsy again.” A lie. She had been ignoring chat’s comments. She was getting antsy again. The ache between her legs only growing worse. They had recorded their first foot scene as planned.

Now, the mouth scene.

“Tsunoda.” Retsuko’s face scrunched; she looked conflicted about something. “Did you… talk me into this because you’ve got some kind of interest in being small?”

“What? Who? Meee?” Tsunoda tried to play the accusation off with her usual bubbliness. “I told you already: this is just so we can get our viewer count up. See?” She held the tiny phone skyward as though Retsuko could make out anything on its crumb-sized screen. “We’re already at a viewership of…” She hadn’t actually been keeping track. Turning the screen back so she could check, she jerked her head back in shock. “Wait, what?”

“What?” Retsuko raised her palm until she held Tsunoda level with her face.

“Fifty,” Tsunoda said in disbelief.

“Fifty subscribers? Wow. That’s like a week’s paycheck for us.”

“…thousand.”

“Eh?” Retsuko mirrored Tsunoda for rigidity. Not only was that a small fortune—a career-making fortune—but it was also extremely embarrassing. As their encounter became more intimate, it had turned less so without either of them realizing.

They might as well have been doing this for a packed stadium.

“We better get this show on the road.” Tsunoda couldn’t even keep up with chat anymore, a blur of horny comments. “You have to put me in your mouth.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” After literally putting her foot down on Tsunoda, Retsuko seemed to be comfortable doing it in conversation as well.

“Come on.” Nervous laughter rang in Tsunoda’s voice. “Are you implying an innocent doe like me would ever take advantage of a good, dear friend’s pushover attitude to safely explore a dangerous kink?”

Retsuko’s stern expression tightened.

Sweat beaded around Tsunoda’s brow. The office babe everyone wanted a piece of, flustered by Retsuko? The girl with a follower count of, like, ten on Instagram? And at least five of those had to be pity follows. “If I say yes?” she whimpered.

Yet she had never felt this way before.

“Wow. You of all people,” Retsuko murmured. Then, surprisingly, she smiled. “To tell you the truth, with how powerless I feel at the office sometimes, being called mistress, all the flattery, it’s… nice to have control over something.” Her blush warmed the air for Tsunoda. “I guess what I’m saying is… get in my mouth?”

Humid breath rolled in like fog from the edge of Retsuko’s palm. Drool-slicked teeth the size of fence posts hung expectant. Tsunoda set the camera to a selfie pose in front of her mistress slash coworker’s maw. “What do you think chat? Ready for some cave exploring?”

On all threes—one hand always reserved for her all-important phone—she crawled over Retsuko’s sturdy teeth. The temperature skyrocketed to a hundred-degree summer swelter. Cloying moisture dampened Tsunoda’s fur, weighing heavier upon her by the second.

Squelches sounded out where she relied her dainty weight upon Retsuko’s tongue; it rested flat, a smooth and squishy bedspread.

“Woooow,” she whispered, her cellphone flashlight shining dim in this cavern. It caught on the backs of teeth like pearly rock formations, reflected in accumulated wads of spit. At the rear gleamed a winking, flexing esophagus—the entrance to a living slide.

“I guess I should do some poses,” Tsunoda said. Her voice was meek. Quiet, as though she were in a place of worship. “Y-you should totally get your phone out, Rets… er, mistress. Then you can see what it’s like in here, and, y’know… watch me pose? On your tongue?”

Outside her shaded cage of teeth, in the bright of the bedroom, she saw Retsuko holding her phone up. Watching a stream local to her mouth.

The sexual tension was palpable as her breath. For Tsunoda, at least. She felt herself growing frustrated. She was a lady. She didn’t just beg for what she wanted. Others gave it to her because she was too cute and hot to be denied.

She wanted Retsuko to overpower her. To use this tongue to put an end to the ravenous feeling between her legs. So she pulled out all the stops to make it happen. Not to titillate her viewers—at least, not most of them. These salacious selfies were for one viewer in particular.

Saliva left her fur matted and dripping with that fresh-from-the-pool look. She was trying to seduce Retsuko, she didn’t deny that any longer. Doing pinup poses on a tongue, each thirstier and more shameless than the last: legs up and parted; a hand cupped to her breast; fingers grazing her crotch.

Rolling over and getting on her knees, she wagged her butt in the air. Shown off center-frame while she peeped over her shoulder and winked for the camera. That triggered a flustered breath from the depths of Retsuko’s gullet. Hot wind gasped in a droning bellow that threw Tsunoda facedown. She laid there, waiting for the inevitable. For Retsuko to shed her meekness and have her way with the helpless doe squirming in her mouth.

But no matter how much Tsunoda hoped, no matter how long she laid there… nothing happened.

Resting a spit-smeared cheek against the tongue, Tsunoda gave her camera a faint smile. “You’ve been such a good audience.” Her words had lost their cheery façade. They were hoarse from exhaustion and husky with desperate lust. She rubbed her chest up against the slippery surface. “You deserve a show you’ll never forget.”

She caressed the tongue like a lover, raw emotion spilling out. Yes, she had used Retsuko. The viewers. The stream. Flimsy excuses to fulfill this fantasy. She smeared her lips in red panda spit by peppering the tongue with fevered kisses.

As if to kiss back, its narrow tip curled back to slap her face. “Keep your tongue up like that, Retsuko!” Tsunoda gasped, struck with inspiration. “I… I have an idea.” On her knees, she clenched the tongue’s wet tip between her thighs. It remained pointed towards the roof of the mouth while she grinded her crotch against it. She threw up a peace sign and stuck out her tongue for the camera. For her audience.

For Retsuko.

A single twitch of the tongue bucked Tsunoda off. She pitched forward and landed with a splash in the murky basin beneath the tongue. It hovered overhead, poised like a snake ready to strike; in that moment, she realized with a mixture of glee and terror that she had done it.

She had provoked Retsuko.

The tongue tip crashed down and forced itself between Tsunoda’s legs. The moaning doe needed a death grip to keep her phone from slipping. With the other, she caressed the spit-lathered sinew fucking her with the force of a battering ram.

It bludgeoned her crotch, each time causing her to shudder. Beating her against the back row of Retsuko’s teeth. Everyone on stream, Retsuko included, got to watch her thrash helplessly—movements growing more fevered by the lash.

Hearts exploded onscreen at climax, and they exploded across Tsunoda’s vision as well.

Retsuko licked her crotch for every drop of doe cum. After a lifetime of being pushed around, she seemed to like the taste of her new dominant role. Seconds later, she furled her tongue back and poked two fingers into her mouth.

“Wait!” Tsunoda gasped.

Retsuko hesitated.

Glancing to her cellphone, to viewers still obsessed with what they had seen, Tsunoda gave them a grateful smile. “I… wouldn’t mind staying in a little while longer. Just a few minutes… hours… all night? You know, give my fans a few more shots?”

Those fingers still hovered, reluctant to let Tsunoda endanger herself.

“You can close your mouth!” she assured. “I have my phone light. And plenty to keep myself entertained. I’m so small, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

The fingers remained.

Tsunoda let out a whimper. “Aaaand you can have any proceeds I make tonight. Think of it as a rental fee, for using your mouth as my venue. How’s that… mistress?”

Soft laughter rumbled through the hollow cavern. Retsuko withdrew her fingers and let her teeth clack shut. Tsunoda’s surroundings dimmed near black, limited to whatever the light of her camera hit. She brought her phone close to her face; in the dark, she looked like the last survivor of a found-footage horror flick.

“He-eeey, chat,” she managed shakily. “Guess we’re going to be here for a while. I hope you’ve enjoyed our stream. And my grade-A acting. I’ve got this funny feeling we’ll be doing plenty more shows for you.”

More hearts showered the screen. They liked that idea.

Though it shamed her to no end to admit it, Tsunoda did too.