Bonus chapter

Kuromi had just said it.

“You’re acting like a baby, so you should be treated like one.”

Stocking's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. She spun toward Brief, her voice shooting up several octaves into a high-pitched, mocking tone. "Bwiefie’s just a wittle baby boy, huh? A tiny wittle stinky baby that cawn’t stop twemblin’~!"

Brief instantly shrank back into the sofa cushions, his face turning beet red. “Stop that!!”

But it was far too late. Stocking was already crawling onto him like some deranged daycare monster, her striped socks sliding seamlessly across the carpet. "Does da baby need a diapee~? Or a bubba? Or… maybe he wanna nap on Mommy Stocking’s chesty-westy~?"

With an impish grin, she grabbed a plush pillow and stuffed it under his hoodie, creating a faux-baby belly. Then she straddled him on his lap—facing him—her dangerously short, impossibly baggy shirt riding up to reveal even more of her body. Her breasts, seemingly defying gravity, pressed against his chest in a teasing manner.

“Boop!” She tapped his nose playfully. “You’re officially grounded until you learn not to pop boners during naptime.”

As she leaned forward in full mock-mommy mode, her massive chest squished against his face for real this time. Her oversized shirt gaped just enough for him to catch a whiff of vanilla-scented body spray and shampoo. His hands instinctively tried to find purchase on her hips but slipped—one landing awkwardly on her bare thigh.

“What was that?” Stocking demanded playfully. “Did you just grab my leg, pervert baby?”

“I didn’t mean—! You fell forward! I was trying to stabilize—!”

“Mmm-hmm.” Her face was inches from his now. “You’re just lucky this is part of the punishment.”

She began to shift her weight back and forth rhythmically—lightly rocking on top of him purely to tease. The combination of soft pressure from her breasts against his face, her deadpan expression hovering over him, and the warmth radiating from her body made Brief's mind threaten to blue screen.

Kuromi’s voice chimed in sweetly from somewhere above:

“Nap time is crucial for emotional regulation. Skin-to-skin contact improves baby behavior.”

Stocking tilted her head with mock innocence. “Guess we’d better follow the science.”

That’s when she hugged him for real—her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, pulling his head flush against her chest again, but this time she didn’t move. She stayed still, quiet for once.

Inner Monologue (Brief):

Okay, I know this is a joke. I know she’s being ridiculous.

But her heartbeat’s kinda fast. And she’s warm. And…

Wait. Is she blushing?

He didn’t dare lift his head to check.

Stocking still sat on his lap, maintaining an air of smugness far too calm for someone who had just fully smothered him with her chest.

Still bright red and stiff as a broom handle, Brief looked like he’d aged ten years in the span of a few minutes.

Clearing his throat with difficulty, he managed to croak out, “I think… I think I should go cool off.”

Stocking sighed dramatically and flopped back beside him on the couch. Her chest bounced heavily like two marshmallows trying to escape her shirt’s confines. “Ugh. You’re such a mess right now.”

“I wonder why.”

“Seriously.” She propped her head on one hand, her elbow resting casually on her thigh as she stared at him. “You know what you need?”

Brief didn’t answer; his soul had practically fled from the sheer absurdity of the events.

Stocking pointed directly at her own chest with both hands.

“Boob therapy.”

He sputtered in disbelief. “W-what?!”

She nodded matter-of-factly like a doctor delivering a serious diagnosis. "Stress toys, dummy. Mine are premium grade." She jiggled one lazily, displaying it as if it were on sale. "Go on. Give ‘em a squeeze. It’s like popping bubble wrap but with more bounce and the crushing weight of shame."

“Scientific studies confirm the effectiveness of boob-based stress relief,” chimed Kuromi helpfully from her perch.

Brief’s brain made a soft Windows error sound. “I—I can’t just—!”

“Why not? You’ve already face-planted into them like, twice today.”

“That was an accident!”

“Exactly,” Stocking said, leaning in, arms folding to push her cleavage up like a shelf. “So this time, do it on purpose.”

Brief raised his hands slightly—trembling, unsure if this was a test, a trap, or his final exam in self-control.

Stocking rolled her eyes and reached for him. “Ugh, fine. Lemme help you.”

“W-wait, you’re not actually—?!”

But she already had his wrists. With the calm authority of someone organizing her sock drawer, she guided his hands directly onto her chest.

Squish.

His fingers sank into softness like gripping two sentient clouds stuffed with cursed marshmallows. There was give… resistance… heat—and a heartbeat. Or maybe that was his; it was impossible to tell over the mental screaming.

“Wow. You’re like… squeezing an orange like you’re afraid it’s gonna sue you,” Stocking muttered. “C’mon. Commit.”

Kuromi's advice sounded a little too enthusiastic. "Apply even pressure. Rotate gently. Don’t forget to breathe."

Brief gulped and tried to adjust his grip. It didn’t help that her tank top wasn’t exactly made for industrial handling—his thumbs brushed fabric and skin interchangeably.

"Mmph~" Stocking let out a sound that was definitely not a giggle and definitely not helpful. “Okay, okay, you’re trying. B-plus effort.”

“I’m not doing this for fun!” Brief hissed through gritted teeth.

“Oh, sure, Mr. ‘I’m Only Touching These For Therapeutic Purposes.’” She wiggled slightly just to watch him squirm harder. “It’s okay. You’re just my licensed boob therapist now. Billing starts at five hundred dollars an hour.”

Brief’s head was spinning. “I—This—! We shouldn’t—!”