Where can we go to get a bite?

The Major always said that if things are quiet, you just haven’t spotted what’s trying to kill you.

Lilisburgh was doing a great job hiding its most deadly threat.

Sasha was going to die if he ate any more of these enormous jelly-filled pastries!

Doctor Pelletier seemed to feel the same way, slumped back in her chair, letting out a sordid moan of pleasure. Plenty of natural noonday light poured in to the establishment, thanks to its floor-length front glass windows, allowing what mild crowds formed in the village to see display shelf upon display shelf of baked wonders. What was set before them was more than enough, though; Sasha was also ready to tap out by the time the proprietor of this charming glass-and-wood bakery came back to their table.

While their fire-haired bikini-top sheriff kept shoveling, somehow. Given that trim, thin belly, she didn’t look like she was packing it in. She was incredibly active, though, moving at all times. Unlike the cloud of acrid cigarette smoke covering the doctor, Lily Spellmeyer smelled of grass and flowers and natural earthen things.

Both struck such a contrast from the rich buffet of scents coating the entire bakery stem-to-stern. Hovering most especially around its owner.

The baker bounded over in leaps, which, much like the sheriff sitting across from him, was impressive given her chest. Unlike most of the people in here, she wasn’t sporting cute little cat ears, but big floppy fluffy bunny ears. An usagi, and a lively one at that, was exceedingly rare in these parts.

Not nearly as rare as an outsider, and people were staring a lot from other tables.

He returned their looks without nervousness. His steady, unblinking gaze was intimidating. Those too old or too young to have shipped out for war made up the bulk of the population, men and women alike, though they seemed to understand without asking that he’d been in it. Something in his eyes, perhaps.

The average for nekomata women was ‘modest’, by Autumn standards. A healthy handful of breast, which some deviants even considered the optimal volume.

So the village girls he’d been introduced to had no excuse.

Except for the baker. Usagi really took everything to extremes. They either wanted to do something forever, or never. They preferred the biting cold of the mountains to the warmth and plenty of the fields.

They were kindred spirits to nekomata, along with humans. All fellow flicker-races used by the elders for everything. But usagi girls were stacked to an unfair, topheavy, entirely-out-of-proportion degree.

As a rule, not the exception.

Her short blonde hair and blue eyes shimmered in the sunlight, and her mouth was always wide open. The apron she tied behind herself contained the motion of her huge bust to some degree. “It looks like you girls are ready to pay me a whole lot of money.”

Eyes on the prize; that was the way that the aptly-named Silvia Richter conducted business.

Service with a smile, and prompt demands for payment.

That was fine for people in the village experienced with her manner, but for a boy who hadn’t even internalized yet that he should keep a little cash on hand to pay for goods and services, she was a blonde storm in bunny-girl form.

“You don’t have anything?! Then why’d ya step foot in my shop?!”

“That’s my cue to go and do, uh, doctor things. Later, kids.”

With that, the Black **** took her leave.

Lily dug deep into her purse with a sigh, producing glittering silver coins stamped with the face of the Queen.

“You didn’t have to develop such a fondness for the MegaPastry… Boys really have no self-control... morphine would be cheaper, and that woman would probably sell it to you in bulk…”

“I appreciate it,” Sasha assured her. “The Captain will be happy to repay you.”

“H-Hey! I can’t let you cover this guy’s tab! That wouldn’t be, uh, honest!”

The baker Richter panicked for some reason at the sight of the money, which wasn’t the expected behavior from a shopkeep. It caused a lot more motion from this topheavy shortstack. She didn’t have much height, but her forward dimensions were absurd; she was like a compressed version of a girl. Those curves, especially her chest, belonged to a busty girl twice her size.

“Freeloaders have to work to earn their keep, that’s just life!”

The sheriff huffed in annoyance, and withdrew her coinage. “Oh, I get it. You’re in the program too, huh? Far be it from me to get in your way~ Guess you’re gonna have to burn off those MegaPastries the old-fashioned way, boy. Good luck!”

The sheriff, content at least that justice was served on a ‘degenerate male’, left.

And then, there was one.

Completely lacking in cold hard cash.

It was obvious that he’d have to work off his debts, but luckily physical labor agreed with him. Or rather, he agreed with it. He’d been doing it all his life, and often for reasons far more pointless.

Not to mention, this setup was familiar to even him from certain media. There had been little time for stuff like that during training, sure, and the Major had a sixth sense for finding his hidden stashes… and then burning them…

But he knew what it meant when a busty girl dragged you to the back of her store, and locked the two of you in together.

It meant she wanted your help with a massive pile of dirty dishes and silverware, right?

Though when Richter undid her dough-coated apron and dropped it, revealing a pink button-up shirt with three buttons already, through sheer physical necessity, undone in the middle? That was new. She barely needed to kneel down to get to the right height, meeting her gigantic bust to his crotch.

Pushing against a big male wall, squishing in with warm softness.

“Outsider! Give me paizuri and cum a lot, and we’ll call it even.”

At his baffled look, Miss Richter ran a hand through short, tussled hair, and her cheeks lit up in a girlish blush.

“Look. It’s like that old proverb, right?”