Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

Bleach: Beach	By : c0p13r Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 23512 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: i don't own 'bleach', and i don't make money off any of my fics

Chapter List
- 1-Unohana's Shower Therapy Treatment
- 2-Sticky Situation
- 1
- 2
Sticky Situation
~~~
Random Ichigo/Orihime/Rangiku/Nemu PWP. Covered in the sticky juice of the watermelon Hollows, Orihime wants to get cleaned up. Rangiku, of course, has a fun way of doing just that…
Tags: Bondage/Blindfold, Fetish (cfnm, titfuck), Oral, Parody (Ep. 228), Voyeurism
~~~
            Orihime was happy that there was no danger from Hollows, that the watermelon monsters were mostly-harmless novelties courtesy of the Research and Development Bureau. Rangiku-san and the other women of the Shinigami Women’s Association enjoyed the game along with Renji, Ikkaku, and Ichigo, smashing the towering fruits with fists and sticks. It had been a fun spectacle, but by the time the last beast fell, Orihime took a moment to look down at herself. Patches of red juice blemished her fine skin; the droplets that had fallen on her feet had already dried, making sand cling to the organic adhesive. The sun started to dry out the juice streaming down her body, and that was not a particularly comfortable feeling. Luckily, the beach was a fine means of cleansing herself, and she hastened to the tide.
            “Orihime,” chirped Rangiku, spotting the girl heading for the water. Orihime paused to look at the lieutenant waving at her. Watching with a pout, Rangiku spouted, “Where are you going in such a hurry? All the watermelon is over here!” She gestured to the huge chunks of fruit that Yachiru was wasting no time devouring; the others were a bit more hesitant about eating the spoils of watermelon monsters, even if Nemu was dutifully slicing and dicing to make the red insides more appetizing before handing them out.
            Smiling a bit, Orihime waved timidly and said, “I want to wash the juice off first, Rangiku-san! I’ll be there soon!” She brought her wrist up, sniffed and then sampled the juice coating her fair skin, and declared that it tasted wonderful.
            Now Rangiku was somewhat of a slouch when it came to actual work, but when mischief could be found, her mind worked probably quicker than Kurotsuchi Mayuri’s. If there was one thing she knew about young people taking a trip to the beach, it was all the naughty stuff that could be done and could be completely vindicated by the heat of the sun and excitement of a vacation.
            Of course Rangiku was aware of Orihime’s feelings for the certain, orange-haired substitute Shinigami. Why else would he be invited on a trip to the beach that was for the Shinigami Women’s Association, and why else would Rangiku encourage Orihime to wear such a skimpy bikini when Orihime was fine picking out some less-flattering beach garb that she found adorable?
            “Oi, Orihime! Come here! I’ve got a better idea!” When the unsuspecting ditz reversed her path and wandered curiously over to the lieutenant, Rangiku turned and put her fingertips to her smirking lips.
~~~
            Ichigo had not noticed Orihime’s or Rangiku’s absence. With all the commotion, it was hard to keep track of everyone, even if it was two of the bustiest babes at the beach. Renji and Ikkaku monopolized his attention anyway, egging him into swimming competitions, digging contests, and watermelon-eating races; the last challenge, Ichigo lost easily due to his apprehension of eating something that came from the eerie Research and Development Bureau. Renji excitedly declared his victory, though he hardly looked like a winner with cheeks bulging and a pale color in his face.
            With everyone out on the beach, and the festivities calming down for the time being, Ichigo decided to head to the shack to cool down; if he went for a swim, it’d just turn into another competition with Renji and Ikkaku. Rather than announce where he was going, he found it more suitable just to slip away and let the others guess where he was instead of immediately rushing to him and disturbing his peace.
            He was reasonably close to the shack when he felt a sharp prick on the bottom of his heel. At first, he thought he’d stepped on some hidden glass, but his sandals would’ve protected him from that. He was about to inspect the pain, but that was before an unstoppable drowsiness claimed him. Wobbling and away from the attention of the flamboyant crew closer to the water, he collapsed. And from beneath him and the very sand he once stood on, a head popped up.
            Nemu, expressionless even after completing Rangiku’s secret assignment, said, “Mission complete. Target acquired.”
~~~
            “Um, I don’t know if Kurosaki-kun will like this,” mumbled the busty, redheaded teen. She was still sticky with watermelon juice – most abundant on the slopes of her bust – and had been waiting on Rangiku’s suggestion to clean herself. However, she failed to see the method of cleaning up by standing in the back room of the shack, door locked and windows blocked, with Ichigo blindfolded and bound to a chair. Apparently, Nemu had hit him with a sedative to catch him this way. Blindfolding hid their faces, and to prevent voice-recognition, Nemu had installed a pair of sound-nullifying earplugs, eliminating even the sound of muffled noises, leaving him deaf.
            “Go on, Orihime,” Rangiku jeered insistently, nudging her teenage companion towards the captive recovering from the ambush. “Don’t pass it up! This is a golden opportunity!” She winked mischievously, and added to her certainty a ‘thumbs-up’.
            Orihime shuffled in place, her limbs stiff as boards and heavy as lead. It was truly hard for her not to follow through with Rangiku’s schemes – to her, they were oftentimes fun – but with Ichigo kidnapped and unconscious, she wasn’t even sure what her enthusiastic coach was cheering her on for. “Um…” She fiddled in place, looking straight at Ichigo’s hanging head. She giggled anxiously then, twisting her upper body to Rangiku and rubbing the back of her head. “I don’t know what to do, Rangiku-san.”
            Most people would’ve found Orihime’s naiveté irksome, but to one as mischievous as Rangiku, it made the payoff more fun. “You don’t know?” mused the lieutenant. She pointed angularly at her own bosom that stretched the material of her bikini to its max. “You’re all sticky there, aren’t you? I’m sure Ichigo wouldn’t mind helping out with that!”
            Orihime flushed, imagined what Rangiku meant, and then looked coyly to the side. Surely the lieutenant didn’t mean that. She cleared her throat. “Um…” Her gray eyes lifted as if gravity had intensified and her sights couldn’t make it to Ichigo. But she managed, and there were the usual imagined sparkles drifting around Kurosaki-kun like a beckoning aura.
            “C’mon, Inoue,” Ichigo suddenly said, his voice so even and heavy with desire. Even with his eyes trapped underneath a blindfold, she could feel them piercing her soul. Her heart went LUB-DUB! and she felt like she could pass out. “Nothing would please me more than to serve you,” Ichigo finished, his tongue peeking out just enough to lap sensually at the corner of his mouth, leading Orihime to imagine what he’d rather be licking.
            “O, Kurosaki-kun!!” Orihime squealed behind her hands, twisting left to right in a fit of girlish giggles.
            Rangiku quirked an eyebrow and looked at the boy. Orihime was acting like he was giving her bedroom eyes, but all Rangiku saw was an orange-haired teen unconscious with an unattractive dollop of spit oozing out of his slack lips.
            Well, whatever helped Orihime get out of her comfort zone, Rangiku reasoned with a shrug, and then moved to make Orihime make her move. “He’s waiting for you~” Rangiku hummed in her ear like the preverbal devil on the shoulder. Orihime stilled, her eyes wide and peering through the gap in her fingers. “Don’t you want to…?” Rangiku nudged her with her elbow and chortled suggestively.
            Orihime swallowed. “Well…” she began, and Rangiku knew right away that she was hooked. “Maybe… Kurosaki-kun wouldn’t mind,” she reasoned, as if her <Orihime Vision> had any semblance to reality.
            “That’s right!” cheered Rangiku a bit too loudly while pumping the air with her fist. “Let him have a taste, Orihime, and he’ll melt!”
            Orihime, though tentatively, straddled Ichigo’s waist, apologizing to him and carefully situating herself so that the majority of her weight was balanced on the balls of her feet. Most women would’ve plopped down, and most men would’ve appreciated that to lustful effect; Orihime was just too self-conscious, and Ichigo was just too drugged. No fun would come with a sedated stallion!
            With Orihime in place – carefully touching Ichigo in ways she’d only fantasized about and awkwardly complimenting the scent of his shampoo – Rangiku went to the woman standing at attention in the corner of the room. “He needs to wake up!” Spinning and groaning in frustration, she feared that the momentum of Orihime’s courage would wane. “We can’t miss this chance.”
            “Understood,” and Nemu moved like a ninja for the kill. She was at Ichigo’s back in an instant, left hand poised while the right held him steady. Before Orihime could even react – How long had Kurotsuchi-san been there?! – Nemu’s precise hand jabbed a needle in and out of Ichigo’s spine, a coating toxin negating her father’s impervious narcotic.
            And at once, as Nemu stole away to resume her post and receive Rangiku’s second thumbs-up, Ichigo stirred awake. Sluggishly, he moaned and moved and picked up his head. It wasn’t a moment later that he was fully alarmed, his limbs tensing in their bondage. “What the…?! Argh!” He tugged to no avail. “Where am I?! Who…”
            “Kurosaki-kun!” Orihime shouted, grabbing onto Ichigo for support when he became more rambunctious. The previous image of him – a willing and eager participant of BDSM – hadn’t reacted this way, though it was perfectly understandable that anyone would freak out like this. “It… it’s just me and Rangiku-san!”
            Her hands went to remove his blindfold, but Rangiku’s own went to prevent this. Aside from spoiling the fun, the last thing she needed was for Ichigo to go crying to her captain about this unsuitable behavior on her day off at the beach! “No, no, no,” Rangiku scolded with a back-and-forth of her finger. She leaned in close to Orihime, oblivious to her breasts mashing up around Ichigo’s head; Orihime’s face faltered a bit to see Kurosaki-kun’s head so intimate with Rangiku-san’s boobs, and Ichigo’s own reaction was a paling of his face and a steady, stammering stream of stuttering sounds. “The point is to have him guessing,” Rangiku half-fibbed, keeping a serious face as Ichigo’s frantically-turning head knocked her heavy breasts side to side. “He has to recognize your body. Do you think you can do that?”
            Orihime bit her lip, quelling the urge to remind Rangiku that this whole venture was to get Ichigo to lick up all the spilled, dried juice over her cleavage. But Rangiku-san’s idea did sound more – Orihime reddened modestly at the thought – romantic.
            Determination flickered in her gray eyes. “I can do it,” she affirmed.
            “Go!” Rangiku cheered, giving the resounding double ‘thumbs-up’! She receded to give Orihime’s bust room to tantalize Ichigo.
            “Um, I hope you don’t mind, Kurosaki-kun,” Orihime mewled before easing her breasts forward.
            Ichigo still questioned the whys and the wherefores until two incredibly soft mounds were shoved against the bottom half of his face. Blindfolded he may have been, but Ichigo had been – involuntarily – close to breasts more often than ever before since becoming a Shinigami, and he recognized the perfume of a woman’s chest even amidst the sweet aroma of watermelon. Instinctively, he pulled away, and Orihime thought for a moment that he’d been splashed in the face with watermelon juice himself from how red he’d turned. “Y-Yoruichi-san?!” he guessed haphazardly, probably from having had the aforementioned shove her assets at him in play many times before.
            His guess made the enthusiastic, incorrigible Orihime slouch on him, her eyes wavering and shimmering with welling-up tears. “Kurosaki-kun,” she blubbered. He was supposed to guess right away, and she’d take off his blindfold – or Rangiku-san, when Orihime proved herself too elated to do so – and let him adore her and her body’s splendor.
            Rangiku, however, dissuaded Orihime’s sulk, reminding her that Ichigo was an idiot, especially with women. “Men get scared and blabber only what they know,” she said like an expert. “How many times have you shoved your valley at his face?”
            This was true; the collisions she’d had with him were all head-on – literally! He wasn’t given the chance to experience her – she flushed – softness yet. Perhaps – with all the women throwing their chests at his face, including Rangiku-san! – it was Orihime’s turn to make the bid and leave her mark with Kurosaki-kun.
            “Just… Just have a taste, Kurosaki-kun,” she said like he could hear her, and then lifted one tit to his face. Ichigo’s nose brushed against her flesh, and again, he was repelled, demanding that he be freed. Her confidence wavered from his stubbornness, but Rangiku continued to motivate her. Nothing would ever get done if these two kids were left to their own devices! And so, Orihime resolved to quell Ichigo herself! Resolute determination and all!
            “MMPH!!” Ichigo, with no discernable features of his own showing, had never seemed more uncomfortable than when Orihime shoved her boob right at his face. The aim had been just about perfect; if he had only kept his mouth opened for a moment longer, she’d have jammed her nipple – trapped beneath her bikini still – right into his mouth. She waited then, her heartbeat resonating within her breast. Just taste, Kurosaki-kun, she prayed anxiously. Just taste!
            The smell was more overpowering now than before, and Ichigo started to have doubt that it was in fact Yoruichi-san pressed against his face. This scent was… sweeter. Yoruichi somehow smelled of earthy tones like pine or cherry blossom, not the fruitiness – aside from the blatant watermelon – of whomever this was. Certainly not Rukia – for a number of obvious reasons – and thankfully not Yachiru! Using the process of elimination – which was considerably difficult when a shielded nub amongst a supple globe poked at his lips – Ichigo was rather afraid to speak the name. What if he was wrong? It would be humiliating! She wouldn’t… It couldn’t possibly… The scent was luring, though, influencing his impending actions like instinct alone. His heart hammered in his chest. Should he have a taste of the beckoning sweetness?
            Orihime felt her arm tiring somewhat. Her back may be used to the weight, but there was no denying the heaviness of her bust, particularly when she had no support; the bikini accentuated the features of them, but it did nothing to share the burden. “Rangiku-san,” she started woefully, “I don’t think…”
            Grand providence and timing; Ichigo’s tongue – after he’d muttered something that might have been some prideful reluctance – washed out and scrubbed a visible patch of monster blood/watermelon juice. Orihime’s skin was atingle from the sensation, and her eyes almost couldn’t believe it! Kurosaki-kun was… Kurosaki-kun was…!!
            “Licking me,” she gasped out loud, her awed mouth switching into a smile as her orange-haired crush boldly continued on the warpath, leading with a strong, adventurous tongue, collecting every trace of watermelon it could find.
            All at once, those feelings that she had late at night, when she was alone and allowed to fantasize to the fullest, flooded her body and spilled to her core. Her thighs quivered on top of Ichigo, and she felt so embarrassed to squeal and convulse so much; all on top of Kurosaki-kun, all in view of Rangiku-san and Kurotsuchi-san! Yet she could not control herself! His tongue, leaving hot, wet trails on her skin… her chest!
            “I’m not a pervert, Kurosaki-kun!!” she confessed as she came, jamming her crotch against his lap, heedlessly smothering his head between her tits. “I’m not!!” The flood of essence that soaked her bottoms as well as Ichigo’s begged to differ. Maybe she wasn’t some skeevy lecher like Chizuru – Tatsuki’s words, not Orihime’s – but her body was wonderfully responsive to the stimulus of sex. Rangaku could almost applaud her gift.
            Only Ichigo was in the dark of the reason for the frantic convulsions on the person above him. His open shirt was slipping, his bare chest shoved up against the mystery woman’s body. Whatever clothing she wore, it hardly covered her at all. From what he could decipher, now more than ever as he was squeezed between her ample bosoms; he felt the strap at his chin.
            What was going to happen now, though? The woman was squeezing his skull as if intending to crush it; being smothered in between such fine, large tits probably wouldn’t seem so bad… at least in Kon’s view. But it was Beach Day! Who wanted to die on Beach Day?!
            Ichigo inhaled deeply and instinctively when the hug slackened and he was able to withdraw.
            Orihime was glad that Ichigo was still blindfolded while she recovered. Her face was remarkably flushed from the orgasm, and in the embrace, her teeny top had slipped free from her left nipple, the pink protrusion taut and sensitive. Seeing her exposure, Orihime hurried to hide it, telling the blindfolded and deaf boy not to look! How embarrassing, she squealed, touching her hot cheeks afterwards and spinning side-to-side.
            Shakily, Orihime dismounted, her jelly legs twitching as she put them underneath her. Safe from falling on Ichigo, she allowed them to give out and sank to the floor, knees bending inward in the modest posture. Her hands splayed out on the floor in front of her, helping to keep and balance her weight. She gained her senses slowly as she panted, locks of her auburn hair falling in front of her face. “S-sorry, Kurosaki-kun,” she whispered for no reason in particular. Whatever longing she’d felt when seeing Ichigo sporting his body on the beach, she felt sated, content to lock away the sparkly image for another night’s use.
            But… “You’re not done.” Rangiku had sneaked behind her with the stealth of a cat, her large jugs against Orihime’s back so that she could point to Ichigo’s groin, where there stood a very prominent mast underneath his swim trunks. Orihime, although being somewhat ditzy, wasn’t fooled long by what it was. The ideas that it might be a stick he found in the sand or a raccoon that he was keeping warm – for whatever reason – did not take her. That was… That was…!
            “Kurosaki-kun’s…!” Orihime’s jaw dropped, her eyes captivated. More and more ideas began to manifest, less and less looney, more and more adult.
            “I don’t think you can leave him like that,” Rangiku cooed in her ear. Her finger pointed with a playful twirl. “It’d be mean, don’t you think?”
            “Uh…” Orihime gestated. She’d climaxed on Ichigo’s lap, but somehow, that felt more dignified than if she’d been exposed. Would Kurosaki-kun feel alright if she tried to ‘aid’ him? “Would it be alright?” she asked her worries aloud.
            “Of course,” Rangiku immediately pressed. “You caused it! It’s only right that you take care of it!”
            Orihime’s lips pursed and shifted. What Rangiku had just said was very significant to her. “I… caused it?” Try as she might – though awkwardly and at most times subtly – she never got much reaction from the dense/closed-off boy of her affections. Yet seeing proof that her ‘labors’ had brought him to attention made her bosom swell with excitement and even pride. “I suppose,” she began with very-feigned modesty, “if, if I caused it…”
            “That’s right! A real woman stands up for her obligation!” Rangiku encouraged, though she was a pure hypocrite to her own words. “And just look at how much he wants you!” Rangiku’s brazen finger reached for the rim of Ichigo’s waistband. A tug here, a nudge there, and Orihime’s bashfully lustful eyes caught the <ADORABLE!!> head of Kurosaki-kun’s <THING!!> Rangiku was not exaggerating at how pressed Ichigo was for attention, though his mouth hastily blurted out protests to reinforce his modesty; his leaking tip was already making a mushy puddle just underneath his navel, more and more easing out of him with each outstanding throb of unattended arousal.
            “It… it’s really big,” Orihime couldn’t help but observe. She’d seen pictures, of course; one didn’t go through high school as one of the top scoring girls without thorough studies in every subject! But aside from ones that she had embarrassedly been shown when Mahana showed her a dirty magazine (girls’ edition), Ichigo was larger that what she had seen before. Length up to a probable seven inches, substantial in girth, his member seemed stifled – perhaps ‘choked’ would be a more appropriate word when Orihime briefly imagined a face on the swollen head – between his pelvis and the tight drawstring of his trunks.
            Rangiku persisted to aid her perverted protégé’s prognosis. “That’s right! And it’s up to you to make it”—She held her fingers apart for visual effect, closing the approximated seven-inch gap to a smaller three inches—“small again. How else can he have fun up there with this stubborn thing in the way?” She had grabbed Ichigo’s cock, which made both him and Orihime shout in surprised protest; Orihime’s, of course, was done out of jealousy.
            If anyone should touch him there, her quietest and most-inner voice spoke, it should be her.
            Has Kuchiki-san…?
            The jealousy was forced away. No, even if Kurosaki-kun was like that, and was like that with Kuchiki-san, the fact was he was like this with Orihime now! Under the trusted guidance of Rangiku-san no less! Nothing could go wrong!
            Yet Rangiku-san seemed to think so. “Hold on, Orihime.” The older woman held her arm out across the span of Ichigo’s legs barring the advancement of Orihime’s hand. Strangely, Rangiku seemed solemn, determined even. “It’ll take more than that”—A hand—“to handle this.” She winked and put both hands back onto her breasts, squeezing the supple meat and bouncing them. “Ichigo would appreciate these more than a hand.”
            “These?” Orihime repeated curiously, and then glanced down at her chest of sticky sweet and Ichigo’s saliva. She crossed her arms over them suddenly, hiding them whilst she giggled in a frantic panic. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Ichigo may have licked them a little – to orgasmic effect for the near-obsessed Orihime – but somehow, the idea of cradling him between them brought forth a fit of schoolgirl shyness. “I don’t… think I can,” she confessed to Rangiku, holding her breasts so tightly now that they seemed to swell up to her chin.
            “That’s fine, that’s fine,” Rangiku consoled with a friendly wave-off. “I can’t expect you to be an expert your first time. How about I show you?” She grinned devilishly, huge tits hefted up.
            Orihime’s mouth became a line, eyes wide saucers as she thought of Rangiku-san petting Kurosaki-kun with those that put even her own to shame. A part of her was leery about sharing Kurosaki-kun, but then again… it had never been easy to refuse Rangiku-san… So, gulping, Orihime yielded to Rangiku, who chirpily took a squat between Ichigo’s splayed legs and requested that Orihime get a good view.
            Orihime didn’t know why, her lifeblood hot with jealousy, but she really did want to watch Rangiku handle the boy she adored.
            “Ah~, you’re supposed to be comfortable at the beach,” Rangiku whined, her head falling back. Without pause, she reached for the tight string holding her bikini top in place, and she pulled it loose in a trice. They burst out; her legendary breasts. Orihime ogled, for though having seen them before, they resonated with such splendor. If a woman’s chest size was really her charm, Orihime was envious of Rangiku-san’s skill. So full, round, and heavy, yet still with the beautifully youthful bounce. Her big, round nipples stood out, though they were perhaps just a few shades darker than the rest of her skin. They were situated almost at an angle, above the bulk of the breast fat instead of facing straight forward like Orihime’s. It must have something to do with the difference in size, Orihime vaguely guessed, enraptured by the lovely appearance regardless. It took a lot to draw focus from Kurosaki-kun’s rigid thingy, but Rangiku-san had a natural talent to turn heads.
            “I suggested a nude beach,” Rangiku complained, holding up her skimpy, out-of-use top. “Even this can smother this tender valley!”
            “O-oh…” Orihime could only gulp and wait.
            Relieved, breasts hanging free and out, Rangiku turned back to her target with a content cat’s curved grin. Though she had advised Orihime against it, she – without hesitation – grabbed Ichigo’s dick and held it firmly even though he yelled out in response. “He had a good reaction,” Rangiku laughed to Orihime only to receive a forced grin and a nod in return. Not wasting time with pleasantries, she leaned forward, the subtlest movements making her breasts swing, until her lips were hanging several inches above the cock. He’d already been producing pre-cum, but Rangiku would aid his cock’s endeavors for lubrication.
            Her supple lips puckered softly, and a wad of spit dangled and dropped with practiced accuracy. Ichigo shuddered from the warm fluid touching the head of his cock, streaming down the length until the fist holding him rubbed up, catching the spit, and working it around him in a corkscrew motion. Even the skill of her hand was mesmerizing! Jealousy ebbed – but was still there to watch the show – but she was enamored by the flow of Rangiku-san’s hand.
            The head, Rangiku made thorough work of, rubbing her thumb against it, swirling pre-cum and spit together for a viable lubricant. A less-experienced woman would have needed to spit a bit more, but Rangiku was on another level. Not that she would brag…
            She hummed in her throat like she’d just sat down to a lovely dessert. Ichigo was wheezing, head back and perspiration running down his body. It was close to torment what he had just endured; the flourish of the fist, the experience of the saliva, the confidence overpowering his modesty… He could almost say that he was about to cum when she suddenly stopped, the pinnacle of ecstasy painfully wrenched from his grasp. He had to dread in this moment that this was the purpose of his capture: torture.
            A repressed whine ripped from his throat, and Rangiku laughed when the member tried blindly to chase her. “Such an energetic man all of a sudden,” she jibed, flicking the tip with a well-manicured fingernail. “Well, should I give Little Ichigo what he wants~?”
            Orihime gulped, nodding whether Rangiku waited for her approval or not.
            Ichigo yelped like a fire had started in his seat, but even bound to the chair, he did not get much height, now that Rangiku’s breasts dropped on his lap. She had been delicate, holstering them with one arm beneath. With her free hand, she had brought him to the underside of her crushing cleavage, and as she would with regular intercourse, she eased him closer, nuzzled his wet tip against the cleft, and then permitted him. He had shuddered at first, his cut tip burrowing between her pillows, and then the yelp happened when overzealous Rangiku let slip the weight of her bosom, both engorged mammaries coming down on his thighs with a light slap!
            Considering their size, Orihime almost believed that they would bruise or at least hurt Ichigo. His whimpering and shivering certainly gave signs that he was in distress of some kind – aside from being tied to a chair, blindfolded, and deaf – but Rangiku simply chided him as a mother would her son, promising him a treat if he behaved; not that Ichigo could hear a single word that would make a hearing man come to completion.
            Both hands were needed to carry her bust upward, hiding Ichigo’s length from sight before dragging back down. Orihime flushed and swallowed when his tip reemerged like a water dragon cresting a peach ocean’s surface. The spit had certainly done its job, but over and over again, Ichigo’s thumping erection added to the slickness of this intercourse.
            “You’re so excited,” Rangiku sang, her voice hardly winded from her endeavors. “I can feel you go thump-thump against my chest.”
            Rangiku-san was amazing, Orihime thought as she watched. Though carrying those hefty hills, she moved with the stamina that could carry her to sunset if need be. The question, however, was not a matter of her stamina, but Ichigo’s. He’d been flustered from the start, over-stimulated by Orihime’s perfume, the caress of women, their unseen, unexpected blessings. Ichigo was an honorable man, but still only a man. His cry was passionate this time, mournful even as his pride and modesty lost the battle to instinct.
            At first, Rangiku thought she imagined the heat between her tits, but the downward stroke unveiled the sticky mess of Ichigo’s first shot. And more quickly followed. Opposite to Orihime’s wide-eyed, awestruck, slack-jawed gaze, Rangiku’s mirrored only disappointment as the boy floundered and bucked and tried to get some added stimulus to aid his shameful release. Rangiku, in this regard, at least was merciful, if not a bit put out by it; she squeezed her tits together as if mimicking the spasms of a vagina during orgasm, sometimes going through the effort of rubbing him.
            “Aww,” droned Rangiku as the volcanic show finished bursting its white lava across her breasts. Her arms ceased supporting her tits, and while they still clung around Ichigo’s shaft, it wasn’t nearly as delicious as their tighter embrace. That was fine; Ichigo, gasping and on the verge of passing out, would have his head explode if given any more attention in the immediate afterglow. Rangiku lamented the arch of the once-proud-standing cock. It leaned against her, pouring a few more dripping dollops onto her smooth skin. “I thought he would last a little bit longer.” She sighed, closing her eyes in reflection. “Everyone keeps talking about his stamina. I guess it only applies to his Shinigami form.”
            Whatever the reason, Rangiku’s disappointment was not shared. Watching Kurosaki-kun’s ‘little Kurosaki-kun’ explode with that milky goo had sent unmistakable shivers to her core and triggered what could only be described as a mini-orgasm. Not nearly what she had felt when his tongue was against her, but the tingle was amazing; all without the use of her fingers, too! Now staring at the blotches he left on Rangiku-san’s boobs, she was even more curious. Her keen nose – when it came to Kurosaki-kun, at least – inhaled deeply the rich, pungent, and unique scent of his essence. It was either her own brand of aphrodisiac, or the scent was akin to a bottle of vodka to her. Hazily, she wanted to ask if she could lick Rangiku’s chest.
            “What a waste,” continued Rangiku, now holding out her hands as spider-webs of jizz clung to them. “He could’ve at least given some warning. Orihime, when you finally get him…”
            Orihime’s head fumed as Rangiku said this like it was the assured future.
            “… make sure you come to Soul Society. He’ll be much more ‘thorough’ there.”
            “R-Rangiku-san!”
            “May I be of assistance?”
            The two busty bombshell bimbos turned, having almost forgotten that there had been a third (woman) present. Kurotsuchi Nemu had come forward, placid as ever, stoic and unflappable. Even in her one piece, she stood like an attendant, hands clasped at her front, back straight, eyes unreadable.
            “Kurotsuchi-san?”
            “Nemu?” Rangiku was surprised to see Mayuri’s pet project, the constant wallflower, the next-in-line vice-president of the Shinigami Women’s Association step up for affirmative action. Most of all, she was surprised that Nemu spoke up like she was the solution to Ichigo’s flagged demeanor. Her usual missions thus far – as far as it came to the Association’s needs – seemed limited to direct, mischievous orders by President Yachiru herself; she was stationary unless the pink imp told her what to do.
            Regarding Rangiku’s presence, Nemu bent by the waist aside Ichigo, leaning in to catch his semen-slick erection much to his moaning despair. Rangiku watched the hand as it slid down to his orange foundation. She admired the thought and initiative, but a handjob? It would take a bit more than that to get Ichigo up before the atmosphere staled.
            “Nemu,” sighed Rangiku, as though she only held the answers within this room, “it’s no use. Ichigo is human now. He can’t keep up with the Shinigami.”
            Nemu did not stay motionless. Rangiku was inaccurate on two accounts: that Ichigo’s stamina was still that of a normal human boy, and that her means to reawaken his lusts were to be confined to simple manual instruction.
            Mayuri-sama had taught her well not to waste time, jabbering like some nonsensical genius amongst the peons he was forced to interact with. Therefore, she enacted her scheme, explaining herself as she moved. “Mayuri-sama, to enhance my effectiveness in combat and survival, also modified the Gigai I now possess.” As she spoke, her leg moved elegantly. The body Mayuri had grafted for her was a splendid one; aside from looks, she also had the grace of a practiced ballerina or ninja. Her leg came up, toe pointing, and eased around to the back of Ichigo’s head. Of course, he reacted with a shout – “What’s going on now?! Take off the blindfold, dammit!” – and was suddenly muffled by Nemu’s muff.
            Her weight left the floor, anchored by naught but Ichigo’s neck as she swung upside-down, her back arching magnificently as she performed a handstand upon his seat. Her feet locked behind his head for stability; her hands caught the edges of his seat for support. It was a unique variation of the 69 position, where Ichigo’s mouth was at her quim, but instead of facing him, her back curved almost in half so that when she leaned her head back, his cock – if erect – had a very clear path to her throat.
            “Between my legs,” Nemu said, staring expressionlessly at the penis, “I secrete a sexual-performance enhancer. Mayuri-sama deemed it necessary against more ravenous enemies.”
            Rangiku and Orihime shared a confused moment of awe and apprehension of Mayuri’s thorough preparations and creepy foresight of possibilities.
            “And my mouth leads to a reserve of superhuman elixir. Diluted through my saliva…” Nemu’s right hand lifted and gently took hold of Ichigo’s wilted penis. “The effects will not be… permanent.” Body arched like a ‘C’, Nemu daintily stuffed her mouth with Ichigo’s cock, and Ichigo cried out.
            This was… different! The heat of the enclosure; it was abnormal, even if a mouth had never taken him in before. The saliva that eased across his sensitive skin was chemically hot and tingled the glands at the rim of his cockhead. “Gah…! Yah…! H-hot!”
            The cock flopped out of her mouth, and Nemu muttered, “Is it?” and then went right back to work. She suckled vigorously at it, both her methods and her chemically-altered saliva drawing the pulse of his veins. With her right hand, now that Ichigo’s shaft was stabilizing, Nemu reached between her legs to take aside the crotch of her swimsuit. The scent of her cleft was unmasked; a sweet aroma that stalled Ichigo’s trembling voice. For a moment, he almost thought a chocolate bar had been waved beneath his nostrils, but the smell was different; less candy-like, more like a flower or fruit. Was there something about it that compelled his tongue to extend and delve deep between the slender lips of the mystery woman’s sex? He exhaled hotly, and licked up the intoxicating source.
            Nemu’s proficient skill was something worthy of perverted legend; a sort of ‘I heard she bent in half to suck a cock while rubbing another between her feet and using one hand to jerk off two others!’ rumor-starter. Rangiku was impressed by it, though she shouldn’t have been after Nemu – without breaking a sweat – won the limbo competition. “Nemu! That’s amazing!” She watched with an inspired smile; Orihime watched in twinkling awe.
            Seeing her pussy eaten by Kurosaki-kun, Orihime noted the scarcity of hair at Kurotuschi-san’s mound. From what she understood about the silent woman now scarfing down Kurosaki-kun’s cock, she was something of a Gigai, modified by Kurotsuchi Mayuri down to the last detail. Was the absence of pubic hair also part of his design? Was it somehow advantageous? If nothing else, Orihime pondered while enviously watching Kurosaki-kun’s tongue slide against the folds, it did look absolutely adorable. She swallowed a lump in her throat and quietly spectated.
            The figurative lump in Orihime’s throat was no match for the bulge in Nemu’s. Her promise was kept, for in little time, the defeated mast had begun to rise again in a manner unnatural. Ichigo confirmed the phenomenon when he groaned out against her pussy lips. “What’s happening?” He almost sounded drunken, the slightest slur to his speech before he encased Nemu’s bald crotch again with hungry lips.
            Nemu’s tolerance was astounding to say the least. She’d not come up for breath once since he began to retain his rigidity, the tube of her throat noticeably expanding when his growth was complete and her downward gulps were deepest. Sure enough, Nemu was capable of face-fucking herself on his lap… upside-down no less! Mayuri sold his creation short to say that she was incompetent and useless! Fully stacked with potions, elixirs and poisons, an array of superhuman and even mechanical features, and fully pose-able to fulfill any doll lovers’ fantasies! And that was to say nothing of her looks; a reserved, but beautiful face, a long braid lazily making an ‘S’ on Ichigo’s lap, breasts that were full and shapely and currently fighting gravity with the help of the swimsuit, and pale legs that wrapped sensually – or strongly… – around Ichigo’s skull.
            But as emotionally devoid as she seemed, Mayuri had not scorched her nerve endings (a process usually reserved before combat) and therefore, Ichigo’s flailing tongue began to draw a reaction from her. It started with a twitch; a cringe of her face that just barely caused her nose to crinkle. But the boy’s tongue kept probing more and more at the soft nub discovered above her slit. Her womanhood bloosomed in response, feeding him more of her potency potion with each of his passes. He decided to linger and flick his tongue there, as it made her thighs clench at his ears; it almost felt like a massage.
            “Gck-ah…!” Nemu had to take Ichigo’s cock from her throat, ropes of stringy spit stretching from her esophagus to his base. The moment her mouth was unclogged, it echoed with the sweetness of pleasure. The soft, subtle voice she had been given trembled and yielded to her body’s response! Her legs tightened, and in a matter of time, it didn’t even become Ichigo’s choice to remained buried in her snatch; his exclamations were muffled against her most sensitive parts and vibrated against her pussy.
            Ichigo wasn’t all that prepared when a sudden rush of sweet-smelling liquid jetted against his mouth. He gasped, inhaling Nemu’s essence before coughing and sputtering. What was that?! Of course, he had a very good idea what it was, and maybe he should feel proud to have accomplished a rare feat, but what concerned him was the aftershock, the feeling of his face where the fluid had spilled. The pores of his skin seemed to absorb it, and he was left tingling and hot.
            Mayuri’s concoctions were not to be trifled with…
            What… is this? The darkness before Ichigo’s eyes seemed to expand, and his head began to swirl as if he was being sucked into the abyss. He could not hear, yet even that sensation became insurmountable. Was he falling? The thighs around his head… He could feel them as his empty world stretched more and more. He felt the pulse of her veins and even the subtle creak of her tensing tendons, all the while intoxicated by the heavy scent of the woman’s quim.
            He shuddered as if thrown naked into a blizzard. His cock strained, hypersensitive now to every subtlety done to it, from the lap of a tongue to the merest breath brushing against it. Pre-cum dribbled freely from the head and down the length until it was inevitably licked up and – presumably – consumed. Masturbation – even when edging on those more risqué ventures of adolescent need – had never made him drizzle so. It was mortifying to be seen this way, yet still his erection stayed and thumped and spat and lusted.
            Nemu swallowed him again, earning herself a wail of overstimulation pressed against her vagina. The boy seemed determined to distract himself from the pleasure; he had been sweating bullets, his face finely flushed, since Nemu’s plan was enacted. She twisted her head slightly, and a bulge became visible in her neck as she reached the bottom of Ichigo’s shaft.
            “Wow~” Rangiku sat next to the spectacle, touching Ichigo’s knee as she marveled the skill that surpassed even her own. Lightly, she grasped Nemu’s neck and felt the hard object that occupied the tube. She tightened her hold – if Nemu was holding her breath now, she could sustain it a bit longer – and firmly rubbed up and down. How often was it, after all, that a guy could get a handjob and a blowjob at the same time? You’ll have a hard time topping this, she wanted to say to Orihime, but didn’t; Orihime might hurt herself trying to surpass all other women!
            The cock reappeared from Nemu’s throat, twitching and jerking and pumping out more virile dollops of pre-cum; tiny traces of sperm could be seen occupying the translucent goo. “His pulse has increased,” Nemu forewarned. “It’ll soon be time.”
            Watching Nemu do an upside-down chug of cum might’ve been quite the spectacle, but Rangiku thought of Orihime first and foremost. This was for her. “Orihime,” she called out sweetly, and then hoisted up her tits to make a dip in her cleavage, “time for Boob Buckets~!”
            Orihime crawled over, not really sure what Rangiku-san had in mind until both their busts mashed together in front of Ichigo’s pillar. Not able to see the amazing sight before him – blindfold and Nemu’s crotch in the way – Ichigo’s super-sense detected that something glorious was ahead of him, and there was no way to postpone the ensuing geyser. He let it all out with no inhibition, shooting and letting his seed land where it will.
            And where it did was the succulent valley of four mountainous breasts! While Rangiku giggled at the warm spray on her flesh, Orihime closed one eye against a haphazard gush that stained her reddened cheek. Her gasp took in the heavy musk of Kurosaki-kun’s semen and gave her the heady dizziness again.
            Ichigo’s unguided aim was all over the place, but when he wasn’t firing overhead or catching either woman’s face or just came out as a messy, drizzly prelude, his essence collected to form a very substantial pool of white in the combined cleavage. The Boob Buckets did their job, and what a time to do it! It must have been a minute of jubilant streamers, yet Ichigo was still going strong with potent bursts! Surely it was the effects Nemu had advised about. Even cleavage as deep as Orihime’s and Rangiku’s her just about topped off by the time Ichigo relaxed, slack for the first time in his seat.
            This now left the matter of clean-up, and while Orihime was content to gaze at the puddle Ichigo had deposited between her breasts, curiously dabbing at the thick liquid with her fingertip, Rangiku was on the move once more. Orihime was sitting on her feet, but the bustier woman had lifted until Orihime’s eyelevel was beneath her nipples. “Lean your head back,” cooed the lieutenant, “and open your mouth.”
            A bit trepidatious, Orihime followed the command, her mind practically overloaded from the presence of Kurosaki-kun all over her. And now in her! Despite their positioning, she was caught off guard when Rangiku tilted her tits like a cup and poured a stream of Ichigo cum into her mouth. Caught off guard, but she sought to compensate; never had there been a morsel she disliked, and the pungency of Ichigo was very much to her liking. She sputtered a little, a burst of white streams framing her mouth as a result, but most of it when down in a hot rush to her stomach; what did not wound up on either her face, chest, or in her hair. She had come into the shack to clean up – in an unconventional way – but now she was a bigger mess than before: streaks and rivers and collections of cum all over her busty body and face, looking like she was the star of her very own one-cock bukkake video. Nemu’s assistance added to the scene; after dismounting the floppy captive, she came up to Orihime’s side, hovered her face over hers, and then carefully deposited a bubbly dollop of spit and cum – licked up from the dribbles on Ichigo’s dick – into Orihime’s panting mouth. The receiver opened her mouth wider for the offering, her tongue stretching out to ensure not the slightest drop would go anywhere but her stomach. The transfer ended with Nemu’s tongue pressing flat against Orihime’s, scrubbing taste buds to share the taste thoroughly.
            “Fantastic!” In jubilation, Rangiku threw her arms around both women and embraced them warmly; Nemu’s cheek pressed with hers, but poor Orihime was drowned in cleavage and cum. Rangiku giggled almost proudly, never imagining that such a show would have taken place on Beach Day! The others may have wondered where these four had stolen away to, but since they had not been disrupted this whole time…! An unqualified success!
            Only one thing put a damper on Rangiku’s mood. “We don’t have any way to commemorate it.”
            Nemu, of course, had a solution to that as well.
~~~
            Ichigo had woken up some time later… at night… alone on the beach. He tried to remember what had happened, but all that came to mind was the sharp sting to the bottom of his foot before passing out. He looked at the point of injury and saw naught but a dissolving red mark. A jellyfish, maybe? Or some kind of sea snail, though Ichigo couldn’t attest to a vast knowledge of marine zoology. Probably a jellyfish, he decided, though as he got up, cursing everyone for leaving him there, he felt so finely… relieved? Strangely – though not much of a complaint for him – he didn’t feel the urge to masturbate for a few weeks after Beach Day. He admitted that it was going to be hard not to fantasize, yet…
~~~Ten Years Later~~~
            “Hello!”
            Ichigo, answering the front door of his newly-inherited clinic, was off-balance the early morning Nemuri Hachigo came knocking/pounding at his pane doors. Not being on specifically good, friendly, or reasonable terms with her ‘father’, Ichigo couldn’t say he knew much about Squad 12’s newest member. “You’re… Hachi…?”
            “Nemuri Hachigo!” she answered loudly, throwing herself into a stiff-postured bow. “Nemu-nee-san wanted you to have this, but she died before she could give it to you!” She thrust out both hands and shoved into Ichigo’s a photograph. Without a word of explanation, little Hachigo ran briskly down the street, picking up odd bits of trash every now and then to present to her ever-curious father.
            “Is it okay to leave a Shinigami like her unsupervised?” Ichigo murmured, and then turned his eyes to the photograph. At once, they bugged out, the explanation to his wife’s kinky keenness to chairs, bondage, and blindfolds held in his hands.
~~~
I suppose I could’ve ended with him confronting Orihime, and her shyly asking ‘Did you like it?’, but after three years, I think I finally ran out of steam for this particular story; it was actually supposed to be a really quick thing: breast play followed by a titfuck. But… Nemu struck a curious chord with me, and I had to venture into that territory. Perhaps I was too ambitious?
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Bleach: Beach