Gaming session

Brief's heart was still pounding as he leaned against the doorway of Stocking’s bedroom, trying desperately to recalibrate his brain back into "normal human mode." He felt like he’d just survived an erotic boss fight on hard mode with no health potions left. His body was buzzing, his thoughts spiraling, and his pants definitely too tight for comfort.

"Okay. Okay, you need to get it together. Just... breathe. Think about... taxes. Think about global warming. Think about ANYTHING other than how her boobs felt against your hands or how she called you a pervert like she was proud of it."

He looked over at Kuromi, now perched elegantly atop the bed pile like a smug queen, perfectly quiet for once. Suspiciously quiet.

"Uh... Hey, Stocking," he said, voice cracking only slightly. "You, um... You wanna maybe... cool off? I mean, not like temperature-wise, just... in general? Maybe we could do something... safe."

Stocking raised an eyebrow at him, sitting cross-legged on the bed in just her oversized T-shirt and mismatched socks. "Safe?" she echoed, voice flat with dangerous curiosity. “Like what, pervert?”

Brief’s mouth flapped for a moment. Then it hit him—the holy grail of distraction.

"Video games!" he blurted. "W-we could play something! I mean, you love games, right? Nothing sexy about games! Let’s play something long and grindy—I mean grinding, like, RPG grinding—not the other kind of grinding! You know what I mean!"

He shut up instantly, cheeks burning.

Stocking blinked once. Then, slowly, her lips curled into something resembling approval.

"Hmm. You might actually be on to something, loser."

He exhaled like a man who'd just disarmed a bomb. He chanced a look at Kuromi, bracing for the plush to drop some innuendo-laced nuke on the fragile truce. But she remained still.

Brief almost sobbed with relief.

"I’ll go pick something fun," Stocking declared as she stood up. "And maybe something to wear while I do it." She smirked at him as she walked past, her hips swaying just enough to make him flinch like a dog expecting a thrown slipper.

She paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder.

"You stay here and don’t do anything stupid, got it?"

Brief saluted with embarrassing sincerity. "Yes, ma'am."

Then she vanished into her closet.

And just like that, he was alone with Kuromi again. Still eerily silent.

"Maybe this is it," he thought, almost giddy. "Maybe she used up all her pervert ammo. Maybe I finally have a break."

Brief shuffled out of the bedroom like he was disarming a trap, his footsteps cautious and deliberate, making absolutely sure he didn’t brush against anything that could trigger another “punishment.” Once in the main room, he beelined to the living room area and plopped himself down on the couch with a heavy sigh, grabbing the game console remote like it was a lifeline.

"Okay, okay. You’ve got at least a few minutes. Stocking’s changing. You can reset. Think wholesome. Think neutral. Think Tetris. Hell, play Tetris."

He scrolled through the game library with trembling thumbs, hovering over titles like Super Monster Dungeon V and Knightmare Heartthrob 3 before skipping past them like they were landmines.

"No visual novels. No JRPGs. No fighting games with jiggling physics. Where’s something with squares and sad music?"

He settled on a turn-based strategy game—safe, boring, slow. Exactly what he needed.

Stocking was still in her bedroom with the door closed, and Kuromi was presumably in there with her. Brief glanced at the wall beside him as if it might turn transparent. The bedroom was just next to the living room, and the thin wall between them might as well have been paper with how old this building was.

For a minute, it was quiet. Just the ambient hum of the game console.

Then he heard it.

Kuromi’s voice, muffled but distinct—its elegant, gentle tone carrying even through the wall.

“It will accentuate your shape perfectly. Yes… snug, but soft. Tight around the chest. Very appealing.”

Brief nearly choked on his own breath.

His hands froze on the controller.

“What the hell are they doing in there…?” he whispered to himself, dread creeping into his voice.

He pressed his ear a little closer to the side of the couch. The wall vibrated slightly from the sound of fabric shifting, drawers opening, Stocking’s occasional deadpan grumble. He couldn’t hear exact words from her, but Kuromi was relentless, her tone far too polished for how suggestive the sentences sounded out of context.

He pulled his knees up onto the sofa, curling into himself like he could make his boner vanish just by becoming as small and innocent as possible.

He could practically see Stocking’s silhouette in his head. Undressing. Changing. Her hair draping over her shoulders, her—

“Nope!” he said out loud, smacking himself lightly on the cheeks. “We’re thinking about pixels and terrain bonuses. That’s it. No thighs. No underboob. Just… chess but war.”

But through the wall, he swore he heard Stocking chuckle.

It wasn’t her usual sarcastic scoff.

It was soft.

Playful.

Brief flinched as the bedroom door creaked open.

He didn’t turn to look immediately—just locked his eyes on the character select screen and took a deep breath. Stay calm. Stay in strategy mode. Think hex grids. Think terrain modifiers. Do not turn around.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Stocking called out, far too cheerfully.

There was a bounce in her voice—and in her steps. Brief could hear it.

He turned his head. Slowly.

And immediately regretted it.

Stocking strutted out with a grin on her lips and the kind of smug energy that should’ve come with a warning label. Her idea of “comfy” was a black tank top stretched criminally tight over her chest, the fabric pulled so snug it looked like it might surrender at any second. In the middle of it, printed just over the most impossible cleavage imaginable, was a retro video game controller—and beneath it, in pink letters warped by the curves beneath: “PLAY WITH ME.”

And nestled in that same cleavage like she had claimed VIP seating rights… was Kuromi.

The plush looked impossibly smug in her resting place, her silver-button eyes glinting between the two plush mountains holding her in place.

Stocking held out her arms theatrically as if announcing royalty. “Look who I brought!”

Brief opened his mouth. Nothing came out. His brain short-circuited.

“She didn’t wanna stay with the other plushies,” Stocking continued, as if that explained anything. “And she fits perfectly in here, doesn’t she?” She gave her shoulders a little bounce, jostling Kuromi in place—causing her to sink deeper and tilt just enough that her tiny head peeked forward, resting proudly on the ledge of Stocking’s cleavage.

“The view is lovely,” Kuromi added, unbothered as always.

Brief choked on air. “S-she talks! She’s—she’s talking!”

“Duh.” Stocking flopped onto the couch next to him, leg folding up under the other. Her tank top shifted as she sat, the controller graphic practically moving on its own over her chest. “She’s been talking since yesterday. You just noticed? Wow, you really are slow.”

Brief stared blankly at the TV, praying for any loading screen to save him. “Y-you didn’t think that was strange…?”

“Eh. Most of my plushies talk,” she muttered, picking up her controller. “Usually after a bottle of wine.”

Kuromi nestled herself deeper between the tank top’s neckline and Stocking’s cleavage.

“Focus, Brief. We’re just getting started.”

Brief wanted to scream. Instead, he started the game.

Brief’s eye twitched. He couldn’t take it anymore.

This wasn’t just a “gaming session” anymore. This was psychological warfare. **** wrapped in tank top fabric and purple-striped thigh-highs.

“Okay. That’s it,” he muttered, standing up from the couch with sudden resolve. “You’ve had your fun, Kuromi. Out.”

Stocking raised an eyebrow mid-button mash. “Out of what, exactly?”

Brief ignored her, stepping in front of Stocking with trembling hands and flushed cheeks. “I’m not spending the rest of the day being mocked by a—by a talking boob-dwelling demon plush.”

“You’re being overly emotional,” Kuromi replied calmly from her place in the middle of Stocking’s chest. “Perhaps you should take a deep breath. Right here.”

“Shut up!” he hissed, reaching out.

He pinched the top of the plush’s tiny head between his fingers and tugged.

Nothing.

Kuromi didn’t budge an inch. She was thoroughly wedged between the most physics-defying cleavage in the city. Possibly the world. He tugged again, firmer this time.

Still nothing.

“Ugh, why is she stuck—?”

“Brief, maybe don’t—” Stocking started, but it was too late.

His fingers slipped.

His balance tipped.

And somehow, gravity betrayed him in the worst way.

He stumbled forward, both hands falling—right into her chest. Not near it. Not around it. In it. Palms-first into the softest, warmest, most overwhelming pillow of flesh he had ever accidentally fondled.

Time stopped.

Stocking froze mid-game.

Kuromi, of course, didn’t.

“How bold,” she said. “But if you wished to dive in, you should have just asked.”

Brief let out a noise that was somewhere between a dying cat and a squeaky door hinge. He immediately yanked his hands back and fell on his butt with a thud.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to—I was just—You’re the one who—!”

Stocking stared at him silently for a second.

Then, she deadpanned: “Wow. Can’t even wait until I’m asleep now?”

“N-NO!!”

She sighed, leaned back, arms behind her head, boobs rising gloriously with the motion. “Guess I did say you could stay as long as you didn’t make it weird. So much for that.”

“I didn’t make it weird! The plush is the one making it weird!!”

“I do what I must,” Kuromi replied, now slightly tilted in her royal nest, looking smugger than ever. “Also, you’re not getting that hand lotion sample anymore.”

Brief buried his face in his hands.

There would be no recovery from this.

The Angel Kart title screen lit up the TV with a hyper-color explosion of wings, weapons, and way-too-happy character faces.

Brief handed Stocking a controller, trying not to look at her tank top again. The words "PLAY WITH ME" were now partially lost in the stretched fabric between her massive breasts—made worse by the fact that Kuromi was still lodged right between them, her head barely visible, looking like the queen of Mount Cleavage.

“Alright,” Stocking grinned, clicking through the menus, “I’ll make it interesting.”

Brief blinked. “Interesting how?”

“If you win…” she said, turning to look at him with the laziest, most dangerous smirk, “you get to grab a boob.”

Brief’s controller hit the floor with a thud.

“W-What?! Are you serious?!” he squeaked.

“Dead serious,” she replied casually, like she was betting a soda. “One boob. A good handful. No squeeze though. Just a respectful pervert’s privilege.”

His brain nearly exploded. “Y-You—why would you—?”

“Because I’m not gonna lose,” she added, already picking her character. “So don’t get excited. Or hard. Or hopeful.”

Brief scrambled to recover the controller. “You’re on. I'm actually really good at this game.”

He’d played Angel Kart since the PS2 days. He knew every shortcut, every rubberband mechanic, every under-the-hood glitch. If he couldn’t win this, he deserved to never touch a boob again.

As the countdown began—“3... 2... 1...”—Kuromi’s plush voice rang out from between Stocking’s boobs:

“You’ll never win from here.”

Brief paused, sweating.

His hands gripped the controller tighter.

Stocking didn’t seem to notice. Or care. “What was that, dollface?” she asked, wiggling her chest just enough to give Kuromi a bounce.

“Nothing,” Kuromi replied sweetly. “Just encouraging the boy.”

Brief gulped. He could already feel his focus slipping—was the doll wiggling her feet now? Was Stocking subtly bouncing to the rhythm of the opening track?

No. It was fine. He could do this. He could win.

He had to.

Because at the end of the race… there was a finish line.

And beyond that finish line… a boob.

Brief’s kart rocketed forward at the green light. He leaned into the controller, thumb pressing hard on the gas, determined not to let his eyes wander off the screen.

He had a boob to earn.

But then…

“It is important to immerse yourself fully in any game,” Kuromi intoned from between Stocking’s breasts, her voice like silk and sin wrapped in etiquette.

Brief twitched.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stocking muttered as she leaned to the left with her kart, mimicking the turn like a seasoned player in a VR pod. “Gotta feel the track, ya know?”

She turned harder, shifting her whole body with the motion—and her thigh pressed against Brief’s leg.

Brief tensed.

Then another sharp turn, and she shifted again—her shoulder bumped his. Her hip followed. And just like that, he was pressed firmly into the armrest.

“Uhh—uhh—” Brief stammered, hands gripping the controller like a lifeline.

Stocking didn’t notice. Or maybe she did and didn’t care. She was all motion now, tilting and swaying with every boost and drift. Her boobs jiggled with every twitch of her arms, the tank top rising slightly each time she leaned forward. And Kuromi—perched like a smug little devil—bounced with every subtle impact against Brief’s arm.

“Gaming together promotes physical closeness,” Kuromi purred. “You two are doing quite well.”

Brief could barely breathe. His kart slammed into a banana peel and spun out violently.

“Ha! Loser!” Stocking cackled, doing a gleeful bounce in celebration.

Her hips shifted again. This time, her thigh pressed over his.

Brief's brain short-circuited.

He tried to focus on the race. On anything.

But Stocking wasn’t just gaming—she was wiggling, twisting and bouncing along with every on-screen action like a rhythm game set to full-body physics. Her hair tickled his cheek. Her breath puffed from laughter. And every now and then, her tank top rode up just a little higher.

Kuromi’s glowing eyes sparkled ever so faintly.

“Just a few more laps… I’m sure Brief will pull ahead eventually.”

He wasn’t sure if she meant the race anymore.

Brief’s kart respawned on the track—spinning, stuttering, embarrassed—and so was he.

He was trapped. His entire right side was pinned under Stocking: soft thigh over his, shoulder pressing into him, her tank top having crept up enough to expose a full crescent of her waist. One more lean forward and he'd see under it entirely. The hem of her “PLAY WITH ME” tank clung just barely to her torso, stretched by motion and volume and gravity. She didn’t notice. She was too deep in the zone—leaning, bouncing, flicking her wrists and biting her lower lip every time she dodged a projectile.

And her chest. God.

It wasn’t fair.

Every time she steered, her boobs swayed slightly with the movement, jostling the poor Kuromi plush clutched between them like it was the safety bar on a rollercoaster ride.

Brief’s mouth was dry. His kart was in 7th. His willpower was in critical condition.

And then, like a demon in his ear:

“I do hope you’re not giving up. You still have a reward to earn.”

His eyes flicked to the screen.

First place was speeding ahead. He was spinning out. And there were only two laps left.

No.

No, dammit. He wasn’t going to go down like this. Not to some banana peel. Not to the bounce physics of reality. Not with victory—and a boob—on the line.

He clenched his jaw.

Lock in, you fool.

One drift. Two. Power boost. Mushroom. He cut a corner so tight the game’s audio glitched for a second.

He passed sixth place.

Then fifth.

Stocking cheered when she landed a hit on another player. She bounced again. Her tank lifted higher.

Don’t look. Don’t look. The prize is later.

Brief swallowed hard, eyes laser-focused on the screen.

He passed fourth.

Then third. He pulled off a stunt jump over a pit and stole second by midair shelling his rival.

The kart in first loomed ahead.

Final lap.

He grit his teeth, his hands steady now. Kuromi’s smug silence loomed like a promise.

This wasn’t about the game anymore.

This was about pride. Honor. And… okay, maybe boobs.

But he was going to win.

Even if he exploded from arousal the second it was over.

The music shifted—final lap theme. The speed picked up. The stakes felt real.

Brief was in 2nd now, breathing down the neck of the leader. The kart in front of him was one turn from glory, one banana peel away from humiliation. He could taste the win. He could taste—

“Use whatever means necessary.”

The voice came like a ripple of doom from Stocking’s chest.

Brief didn’t even have time to panic.

“Wha—!?”

Stocking gasped. “Did she just say—?”

But she didn’t stop to question it. With a sudden gleam in her eyes and a wicked grin tugging at her lips, Stocking tossed her controller into one hand, twisted on the couch—and without warning, dropped her plush-weighted butt and full body right into Brief’s lap.

“G-GYAH—!?”

“You looked like you needed some motivation,” she purred, all innocent mockery, settling into his lap like a smug cat. Her knees curled beside his thighs, her hips pressing down with a little bounce, just to make sure she was comfortable. The Kuromi plush squished warmly between their bodies, an unholy third party between sin and sanity.

Brief’s entire world short-circuited.

His controller shook in his grip. His kart veered right.

“Nononono—!”

“Focus~” Stocking sang sweetly, leaning forward as if trying to get a better view of the screen… while also dragging her tank top’s neckline dangerously low in his direct line of sight. He could feel her breath against his neck. Her thighs pressed against his. Her shorts were so tiny, his lap felt skin to skin contact.

Lap to lap.

He was going to die.

And still, somehow—somehow—he kept playing.

“Don’t get distracted, pervert,” she whispered close, her chest bouncing gently with every playful movement. “Or do. I don’t care. Either way, you’re gonna lose~”

His kart hit a boost pad.

He clenched his teeth.

First place was just ahead.

This was it.

The finish line gleamed in the distance. His body screamed. His brain fried.

But his hands were steady.

The final stretch blazed into view. Brief’s kart roared forward, skidding around the last bend. First place was one heartbeat away.

But Stocking… wasn’t making it easy.

She was bouncing on his lap now—not intentionally at first, but in sync with the game, rising and falling with every jolt, every bump in the track. Her hips rolled with the rhythm, plush thighs shifting, her tank top riding even higher up her smooth stomach. Her breath grew faster, more excited.

“Hah… Haaah… C’mon, you’re so close!” she whispered, entirely focused on the screen, entirely unaware of what she was doing to the boy beneath her. “So close, perv…!”

Brief couldn’t breathe. Her panting in his ear, the jiggle of her chest with every fidget, the weight of her body grinding onto his lap—he was on fire. His vision blurred. His control slipped.

He was going to lose. Lose his mind. Lose the race. Lose everything.

Until—

SHROOM.

A golden mushroom dropped into his item box. His eyes widened.

“Yes—YES!!”

He smashed the item button. His kart jolted forward, bursting with speed. The finish line was RIGHT THERE—

Stocking shifted hard, her whole body bouncing against him like a victory drum.

Brief bit his lip.

One final dash.

His screen flashed.

“1st Place – Brief”

He did it.

He. Did. It.

Against every bodily distraction, against the weight on his lap and the breath on his neck and the sin pressed to his soul…

He crossed the finish line.

“…Holy shit,” he whispered, almost fainting.

Stocking blinked. “Wait. You won?”

Brief leaned back, trying to catch his breath. The race was over. His heart was still somewhere on the track, swerving off-road with adrenaline and… something else. Stocking was still perched lazily on his lap, her weight and warmth doing nothing to help the rapidly growing problem in his pants.

But one thing still needed fixing before his reward.

He cleared his throat. “Uh… c-can we maybe take Kuromi out of your, um… out of there now?”

Stocking raised an eyebrow and looked down at her tank top, where Kuromi was still wedged snugly into her cleavage like she had paid rent to be there.

“You want her out?” she smirked. “Then do it yourself, pervert.”

Brief hesitated for half a second.

Then he moved.

He reached up, slowly, carefully, with all the finesse of someone handling nuclear-grade embarrassment. This time, he didn’t miss. His fingers brushed along the side of Kuromi's plush form, squeezed ever so gently between the two impossibly soft mountains pressing in around her. It was like reaching into a divine, forbidden pillow fort.

He tried not to think about how much her breasts yielded around his hand.

Or how warm they were.

Or how the cotton of her tank top slid softly against his skin as he retrieved the plush.

He pulled Kuromi free like drawing a sword from the stone, immediately placing her upright on the couch beside him, face turned innocently forward.

He didn’t dare look at Stocking’s expression.

“So,” she said casually, stretching her arms behind her back so that her chest jutted forward just a little more, “you ready for your prize?”

He swallowed hard. This was it. The finish line. The moment that had haunted his daydreams through every lap of Angel Kart. One boob. One single touch.

And somehow, it felt like the stakes were higher than ever.

His hand rose… fingers trembling… inches away…

Brief’s hand hovered over her chest like it was a priceless artifact protected by invisible lasers. His fingers trembled, heart hammering like a runaway kart engine in his throat. She was sitting beside him, one arm draped over the back of the couch, her tank top already pulled slightly lower from all her animated bouncing during the game. The word “PLAY” stretched tightly across the fabric, curving over the slope of her breasts like a neon invitation from a final boss.

“Well, go on,” Stocking said with a lazy smirk. “A deal’s a deal.”

He gulped. Then moved.

His fingertips made contact first—just the softest press against the outer swell of her left breast. And immediately he was drowning. Warmth. Weight. Unbelievable give. Her chest was pillowy, plush, like memory foam that remembered his sin. His palm sank gently into the curve, barely cradling it. The cotton of her tank top was thin—he could feel the subtle heat of her skin beneath it, the hint of softness giving way to something firmer inside, like touching a marshmallow wrapped around treasure.

His thumb twitched—accidentally brushing upward. He felt the faintest, traitorous pebble of her nipple through the fabric.

His breath caught. The room blurred around the edges. His heart was pounding so hard it might shatter ribs. Was she breathing deeper? Was she letting him? Was this real life? Was he—

SLAP.

His hand was gone.

He blinked in stunned confusion, snapped out of the trance like someone had unplugged the console.

Stocking was already leaning back, arm lazily resting behind her head again, smirk wide and smug.

“I said you could grab a boob,” she purred. “You didn’t ask for how long.”

Brief stared at her in disbelief, hand still tingling.

“W-What?! That was barely—!”

“Half a second,” she confirmed with a wink. “Contract fulfilled. Next time, read the fine print, pervert.”