Twister

After the chaos of the workout and the accidental “Heart Over Hips” incident, the apartment had finally cooled down — somewhat.

Brief sat curled up on one end of the sofa, pretending to scroll on his phone while absolutely not looking at the girls across the room. At least, not obviously. His thoughts weren’t cooperating. They rarely did.

The room was calm now. There was soft music in the background. A fan hummed gently. It was the closest thing to peace this apartment had seen in hours.

Panty had ditched her soaked gym clothes for a new outfit — if it could be called that. A cropped red top that seemed to have given up halfway through its job, and tight black shorts that left everything to the imagination… and then destroyed that imagination with each shift of her hips. She sprawled sideways across the floor, absently scrolling through her phone like she wasn’t radiating pure danger.

Stocking, ever the contrast, looked like she was dressed for a gothic-themed lounge party. Her form-fitting black sleeveless top glistened faintly under the low light, and her striped violet leggings hugged her curves with every movement. She leaned against the wall sipping iced tea, her demeanor quiet… but not disarmed.

Brief glanced up and down between them, then quickly looked away. His brain was loud. His heart louder.

Stocking broke the silence first, setting her empty glass down with a small clink.

“We’re just gonna sit around now?” she asked, tilting her head at Brief. “What, nobody here owns a board game or something?”

Panty huffed. “Everything I own is either for drinking, stripping, or drinking while stripping. I don’t do boring.”

Stocking rolled her eyes. “I meant something we can all do.”

Brief tried to open his mouth, but Kuromi beat him to it — the plush seated squarely on the coffee table, legs crossed regally like she was waiting for court to begin.

“I recommend something physical. Intimate. Improvisational.”

The trio turned to look at her.

Brief blinked. “Uh… like what?”

Kuromi’s stitched smile stayed eerily serene.

“Twister.”

There was a pause. The kind where the floor doesn’t fall out, but it thinks about it.

“…Seriously?” Stocking asked, raising an eyebrow.

Panty grinned slowly. “Oh my God yes. That game is perfect. You don’t even need to cheat to get into weird positions.”

Brief paled slightly.

Stocking folded her arms. “We’re not teenagers.”

Panty was already halfway to the hall closet. “Speak for yourself. I’ve got the flexibility of a jungle cat and the impulse control of a gremlin.”

She yanked out the colorful mat with the triumphant flourish of a villain unveiling her trap. It flopped across the floor like a banner declaring war.

Brief swallowed. Hard.

Kirumi gently rocked back and forth on the table, her voice soft, sweet, and just a little too pleased.

“The game begins. Limbs shall tangle. Bonds shall form. Boundaries shall stretch.”

Brief stared at the mat. At the girls. At his own hands, which were starting to sweat again.

This was happening.

And judging by the glint in both girls' eyes… he wasn’t going to win.

They were only a few moves in, and already things were getting… complicated.

Brief was on all fours, his palm awkwardly squished against a green dot, his leg stretched diagonally to a red. His spine ached, his pride was hanging by a thread, and worst of all — he was starting to sweat again. Not from the effort.

From the proximity.

Panty was directly beside him, face-down and facing the opposite way — which wouldn’t have been a problem, if her short black shorts weren’t practically riding up to her lower back with every shift of her thighs. Her leg hovered dangerously close to his, the warmth of her bare skin brushing against his knee as she readjusted.

Stocking wasn’t helping either. She was already muttering under her breath about how this game was “pointless,” but her movements were slow, deliberate, and much too close. Her striped thigh brushed against his arm every time she reached over. She had already leaned over him twice — and her chest, soft and lightly scented with something sugary, had grazed his neck more than once. Accidental? Maybe. Effective? Definitely.

Kuromi’s head tilted from her spot on the couch like a smug game master watching the prey flail.

“Right hand… blue.”

Brief looked down. The only available blue was under Stocking’s side. Way under.

Panty giggled. “Go ahead, nerd. Hope you’ve got good core strength~”

Brief gulped, twisting awkwardly. He threaded his arm beneath Stocking’s waist, careful not to brush her chest again—

His elbow nudged her rib. She flinched. Then smirked.

“Watch it, dork. One more slip, and you’re losing your arm.”

“Sorry—!”

“Left foot… yellow.” Kuromi sang with sadistic sweetness.

Brief twisted again. The yellow dot was right between Panty’s spread legs.

Right. Between.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

Panty didn’t even move to adjust. She just looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Take your shot, champ. Don’t fall.”

Brief closed his eyes. He very gently lifted his foot and placed it, trembling, between her thighs. Not touching. Not grazing. Just existing in a **** zone.

Stocking snorted. “You look like you’re trying to defuse a bomb.”

He was.

He was the bomb.

“Stability is crucial,” Kuromi added from her perch. “Lean closer to avoid collapse.”

Brief leaned.

He was now in a human sandwich.

He tried to breathe through his nose. Bad idea. Panty’s hair smelled like strawberries. Stocking’s shampoo like lavender sugar.

He tried not to think about the angles, the softness, the fact that one shift from either girl could set off a chain reaction of touches he was absolutely not emotionally equipped for.

This was only stage two.

And he was already doomed.

Brief was barely holding it together.

His arm ached. His legs trembled. His pride was… in shambles.

Then Kuromi, still perched cross-legged on the arm of the couch like a mischievous goblin queen, tilted her plush head ever so slightly.

“Clothing stability compromised. Initiating wardrobe malfunction protocol.”

“What—wait, what?!” Brief sputtered.

Before he could even twist his neck to protest, it began.

First: Panty. Her tiny black shorts, already clinging for dear life after all the stretching and squatting, let out the tiniest audible snap — the top button pinging somewhere behind her. The fabric visibly shifted, baring even more of her lower back and letting her crack peek out, framed by tensioned fabric desperately holding its last job.

“Oops~” Panty said with a wink. “Guess laundry day’s overdue.”

Brief was directly behind her again. He couldn’t not see it.

He shut his eyes. Big mistake. His imagination filled in what he refused to look at.

Then came Stocking.

Her deep purple tank had already been tugged half-up from all the twisting — and now, with her raised arms and arched back reaching toward the top row of dots, the tank rose higher. Too high.

“...Don’t look down. Don’t look down…” Brief chanted under his breath.

But gravity betrayed him — and so did Kuromi.

“Visual input enabled. Rewarding successful balance with... perspective.”

The tank slid.

Not all the way, but enough. A sliver of underboob peeked out, hypnotically framed by her bouncing motion as she adjusted her footing.

And Brief’s eye twitched.

“Seriously?” Stocking muttered, tugging her shirt back down. “This game is a hazard.”

“Not for me~” Panty teased, adjusting her loosened waistband… which only made it worse.

Brief tried to reposition, but now his face was practically cradled in a sweaty sandwich of inner thighs and swaying tank fabric.

It was an apocalypse of wardrobe malfunctions.

And it was only the third spin.

Panty looked over her shoulder. “Careful, Brief. If you get nosebleed on this mat, you’re cleaning it up with your tongue.”

Stocking added, deadpan, “I’ll hold him to that.”

Brief’s fingers trembled on the green dot, his right knee quivering in place, stuck somewhere under Panty’s thigh and dangerously close to her—

No. No time to think. Kuromi’s call rang through the room:

“Right hand: yellow.”

Stocking grunted. “Ugh… Of course.”

She reached, arm threading over Brief’s shoulder, body shifting forward—and in the twist of limbs and weight distribution—

Her knees slipped. Her torso dropped.

No no no—wait—

And suddenly, she was straddling his thigh, leaning full weight onto him. Her chest—large, dangerously free-moving in that tank top—crashed forward, directly against his lap.

Oh my god.

Her breasts, plush and heavy, settled right on top of his crotch.

Direct contact. Cloth-to-cloth. Soft-to-hard. Gravity-assisted.

Stocking adjusted slightly, scooting herself to regain balance. The movement made her chest drag across him again. Not a bounce. A grind.

No no no no no—this isn’t happening—this is…

Paizuri. Accidental. Fully clothed. Devastating.

He went rigid like a statue. Stocking, meanwhile, kept her balance steady, eyes focused solely on the next color dot like this wasn’t a complete erotic disaster.

“Stocking—!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

She didn’t even look down. “Don’t break position. I’m about to win.”

I’m about to ascend. Into the afterlife.

Panty, somewhere behind them, cackled. “Holy hell, he’s about to spontaneously combust!”

Brief opened his mouth, but no words came out—just steam.

“Maintain contact,” Kuromi chimed from the sidelines, devilishly calm. “Friction is how tension is released.”

Stocking subtly readjusted her footing—pressing in again, another devastating roll of chest-on-lap.

She doesn’t even know! Or… maybe she does? No, no. She’s just hyper-focused. She’s in it to win it. She’s a gamer. This is gamer tunnel vision!

“F-five seconds left,” Panty sang.

Stocking glanced back, deadpan. “If you twitch, I’m going to make sure you never twitch again.”

Brief whimpered.

I am in hell. Hell is purple and squishy and pressed right against my lap.

His hands trembled on the mat.

“Ten seconds,” Panty counted, lounging sideways with a soda like this was a live show.

Brief’s arms were trembling. His legs were burning. And Stocking’s enormous chest was still firmly, devastatingly pressed into his lap, each breath making her top shift… stretch… threaten to give way.

I can survive this. Just a few more seconds. I’ll meditate. Think of math. Taxes. Sad clowns. Anything but—

“Spell: Entanglement Surge~” Kuromi declared sweetly from the corner.

The Twister mat pulsed. The colors glowed. The air shimmered.

Wait, what—?

Stocking’s hand slipped.

Her elbow followed.

Then, all at once, gravity did what gravity does best.

THUD.

They collapsed together in a tangled heap, Stocking full-bodied on top of Brief. The mat twisted beneath them. Limbs everywhere. Chest-to-face. Knee-to-stomach. One of her legs somehow between his.

Brief wheezed.

This is it. This is how I die. Not with dignity. Not even with grace. But beneath an avalanche of goth thighs and magic plush sabotage.

Panty burst out laughing. “Poor boy is gonna need therapy...”