The Demon Blade

 by Theodoric of York

            Motoko once more pulled the sword from its scabbard. Her eyes gleamed with the joy of being able to possess such a work of art.  She had acquired it on an archeological dig.  Some might have called her a looter.  She would have never have thought of such an act until she first laid eyes on perfection.  Had she not taken it the blade would have ended up in a museum or, worse yet, a private collection.  In either case those who would have possessed it could not have understood the true beauty of such a weapon.  Only a warrior who had studied the dance of the sword could begin to understand such a weapon.  It deserved to be in the hands of one like her.  This was a weapon met to be used, or to be gazed upon or studied by academic types.  Use it she would, at least during this practice session.

            She was alone in the Dojo.  She would allow no one to see her use this weapon.  This was a privilege she would keep for herself.  It was late at night.  She made sure that no one would be intruding on her as she learned to use this weapon.  She would allow nothing to bind her in this task.  That was why she had discarded the robes she normally wore when she practiced her art.  Her large, firm breast jutted out, unhindered by clothing.  It felt liberating and so natural when she wielded such an agile, nimble weapon.

            Beside her, out of arms reach was a practice dummy.  The dummy had more than a passing resemblance to Keitaro.  She had been thinking about Keitaro a lot recently.  She could not get him out of her mind and she found it frustrating.  She liked to be in control of things and she was not control of anything about Keitaro, neither her emotions nor their relative position to each other.  If she had her way she would be caretaker of the rooming house and at best he would be a janitor; even better he would not even be there.  That way she would not have to put up with his presence.

If he was not there perhaps she would stop thinking about him in unguarded moments, not have thought about one who she disliked to completely.  She was not in love with him, despite those emotions that he raised inside her.  She hated him.  She hated him even more for those desires of intimacy she sometimes detected within her.

            Well to day she was going to act out some of the frustration she was feeling towards Keitaro.  She would do what the inscription of the sword advised her to do.  She had some trouble deciphering the inscription.  It was written in an almost unheard of ancient language. It said simply “Strike thy enemy that they will be yours.” 

Motoko turned away from the effigy.  Keitaro suspected that she had the sword.  It was he that had discovered it.  He had not come right out and said that she had stolen it.  But he had hinted at it, suggesting that it would be best that experts study the sword.  It grated upon her that he should suspect her.  It was even more reason for her boiling anger.  Now she would have her revenge, at least figuratively.  She would strike Keitaro and he would be hers.

She tried to act nonchalantly in a form of play-acting.  She even pretended that she was engaging conversation.  She asked, “Have you nothing to say for yourself.  Has my body stunned you into silence?  Are your words stuck in your throat?  I will free them for you.”  Suddenly she twisted around and struck out with the sword.  Her breast jiggled and bounced as she leaned forward, thrusting her weapon forward, her blade unerringly found its mark, slicing through the dummy’s neck.  The dummy’s head flew from the body. The moment the blade surged through Keitero’s neck Motoko felt a surge of excitement and joy throughout her body.  She had to wonder if this was what sex was like.  She doubted that sex could be any better than this.

Suddenly she noticed something odd about the blade.  The tip of the blade seemed to be covered blue liquid, almost is if was blood.  The only problem was that it was not red, but a bright rubbery blue.   Fascinated, she brought the blade in front of her so that she could study what was happening.  The blue tip of the sword began to change shape.  It was becoming more blob-like.  Furthermore the blade began to get heaver. She found that she could only hold the blade with both hands.  The blade continued to dissolve into a weird pulsating mass. It withered around, snakelike, as if it was searching for something.  It was almost hypnotic to watch it.

  Her eminent action was anger.  Whatever this was it was destroying her wonderful sword.

Then the snake seemed to bee looking directly suddenly a thought occurred to her, “Let go of the sword!”

But suddenly the blob shot forward.  She gasped in surprise as the top of the blob landed between her breasts.  She did not have time to drop the hilt, for by now that was all that was left of the sword, was pulled from her hands showing incredible strength.  The blob lost interest of the cleavage of her breasts and rolled itself around her wrists, securing them tightly.

It was at that moment that Motoko began to fear, for this blob was acting with cunning intelligence, trapping her wrists like that.

Furthermore the glob was growing at an explosive rate. In moments both her hands were completely wrapped in the stuff and tendrils were working their way up, past her elbows.  A long thick stream of the stuff was gushing out of the hilt.  By the time the hilt landed on the floor there was a mass of the stuff, bigger than she was.

She watched slacked jawed as the mass of blue rubber wrapped around her waist, trapping her arms against her belly.  It had started to word down her hips and up her shoulders.  She glanced over at the pile of clothing and a pack, beside to the door to the dojo.  There was a knife there.  Perhaps if she could get to the knife she could scrape this stuff off.  If nothing else she could run out of the door and get aide. Any thought of modesty was rapidly slipping from her mind.

The blob seemed to be anticipating her plans for a second stream of glob shot out form the hilt, settling in a puddle around her feet.  She eminently attempted to step out of it, only to find that already one of her feet was anchored to the floor.  She started to kick and struggle wildly attempting to free herself from this rubbery blob. 

A thought occurred to her; many of the martial techniques she had been taught all her life had, according to legend, been developed to fight demons.  She had come to regard those legends just stories adults told children keep them in line.  Still all of her life she had wished that demons really had existed and she would get the opportunity to test her mantle against one of her kind.  She was now in the mist of just such a struggle.  It was not turning out nearly as she imagined.  For one thing this particular demon had situated itself in such a way that all those martial techniques that she had learned was proving of no value what so ever.

For another she was discovering that this struggle was entirely not unpleasureable.  Particularly when the ooze started to work its way into her tight cunt and cut the bottom of her breast she began to feel a new sensation. She began to spasmodically moan and jerk from the waves of pleasure she began to feel.  Still she began her struggle against this thing in earnest. 

But the demon had other tricks up its sleeve.  It began to harden around her freezing her body in the middle of a desperate high kick, throwing her center of balance off.  The coating was also growing heavier.  It seemed to sucking all of the energy out of her.  Her knee began to bend backwards, lowering her onto her back to the floor.  Meanwhile. The ooze continued its relentless progress of covering her.  By the time her back rested on the floor it had covered most of her body. Only small portions of skin were still visible. And they were rapidly being encroached upon.  She watched in horror as her legs and breast were covered.  She could feel the stuff seep into her, but there was nothing she could do.  She was spent.  More of the ooze was seeping out of the hilt, making the coating around her thicker.

Now her own body began to betray her. The ooze began to for her still outstretched leg to the floor.  She tried to resist but it only depleted her now meager reserves of energy even further.  Soon she found herself lying, with her thighs open and inviting, her feet flat on the floor.  Then she found her torso being forced in a crouching position, while the ooze worked its way up her shoulders and neck.  Then she felt tendrils of the ooze craw up her cheeks.  She gasped as it started to force its way into her mouth.  Then it started to flow into her ears and nostrils.  She could no longer fight its advance; She had been immobilized as it completed its coating of her.  Things went black as she felt it sliding into her eye sockets and around her eyes.  She became serine as she realized that it was over.  The ooze demon had won.  What was happening to her seemed natural now.  This was merely a transitional stage as she was prepared for her next stage of existence.

Outside she resembled something of a large breasted blue Buda that had been left in the heat too long and was beginning to melt.  All that was left of her original form was her long, black hair.  She understood that it might be useful to her new master if he wanted to transport her.  That made sense.  Beside her master might find it attractive.  It was important to be attractive for her master.  After all she was just a toy and if her master did not like his toy what good was she?

At last she started her final transformation.  As her body of hollowed out she began to suck the excess ooze inside her though her mouth, virginal and anal cavity.  As she did so the cavities became round tubes.  Her body began to take on its shapely form as the excess ooze was pulled inside her.  Just as her skin before her insides began to dissolve and become more of the ooze that was hardening and solid.  In a few minutes the being that had so recently been the girl Motoko, was now but hardening mass of soft rubber.  As the ooze was sucked from her eye cavities there was revealed a beautiful pair of blue retinas surrounded by white.

Her now mitten like hands pulled back so that they rested on her knees as her but sank to the floor.  The position she found herself in now somewhat resembled that of an obscene yoga position.   In her rubber mind she started chanting a new mantra, “Fuck me.”  Her proud erect nipples were a darker blue than the rest of her body and the interiors or her three fuck holes were red, but the rest of her body was a uniform shade of bright blue.  The Doll was ready and eager to be used.

Some time later her ears registered a familiar voice calling out the name, “Motoko!”  She remembered being Motoko once that was when she was a living being.  It had little relevance to the fuck toy now.  The doll heard a gentle knock on the door of the Dojo.  The voice called, “Motoko are you in there.  It is important that we talk!”  Slowly the door began to open.  The voice continued.  “Motoko, it is important that you do not use that sword.  I finished translating the inscriptions that were found with the sword and it is cursed!”  A red-cheeked Keitaro stuck his head in the door.  He continued, saying, “It indicates that if you used the sword either you or someone you used it on could become a….” He stopped in mid sentence as his eyes gazed upon the fuck toy that once was Motoko.  He looked upon her slack jawed.  Then he looked around so see if someone was playing a joke upon him.  But it was becoming all too apparent that the sword had already claimed Motoko.  He was too late.  Attempting to avert his eyes, he walked up to the doll and asked, “Motoko, is that you?”  The doll was content.  The one that she had been made for had found her.

Keitaro looked around the empty Dojo and was the pack and the pile of Motoko’s clothing lying by the side of the door.  Closing the door he retrieved the clothing.  He then started to dress her the best he could.  He found her surprising soft and compressible.  He realized that he could probably compress her into her pack, but that did not seem right.  Instead he continued to dress the doll.  He did not bother with the underwear.  There seemed no reason for it now.  Before lifting the doll onto his back he picked up the now empty sword hilt and slipped it into his belt.  As he carried the doll back to the rooming house it jiggled and bounced against him in an ever so sensuous fashion.  The doll did have an inviting, erotic feel to it.  Keitaro began to get hot and bothered as he walked home.  The crotch of his pants grew tight. 

He had originally planned to take Motoko back to her own room.  But instead he was drawn to bring her into his room.  He placed her on his bed and she imminently assumed her inviting position.  Sweating he stared at her for a moment, staring at the nipples forcing their way out underneath the tight fabric that was her shirt.  He reached down and began to tare open the shirt, from its collar down.  He watched with growing excitement as the bobbies popped free of their confinement.  He watched as the nipples bounced up and down.  He slid his arms around Motoko and slid his hands beneath her pants.  With each hand he began to grope and squeeze Motoko’s buns.  Suddenly he realized that Naru as right all along.  He was a pervert and he had to have Motoko.  In moments he had ripped the remaining clothing form the pair of them.  He placed Motoko onto her back.  He felt her soft, firm sensuous body yield to him as he pressed himself onto her.  The fuck-hole between her thighs felt, tight yet soft and inviting as he slid himself into her.  It proved to be an incredible experience and he started to thrust himself in and out of her and she bounced back to greet his every plunge.  The doll was content.  It was being used the way it was meant to be used.  The doll loved its master.

Tsuruko lifted the last of the boxes to carry it to her car.  Naru asked,  “Are you sure that Motoko left no forwarding address.  This was so sudden!”

Tsuruko answered, “My sister has gone on a long spiritual journey.  I doubt that she will ever return.  If she does, you can tell her that I have her stuff; that is if she even wants it.”

Keitaro watched the exchange, red faced, from the shadows.  Tsuruko knew what had happened to her sister, everything that happened to her sister.  Keitaro had discovered that it was imposable to lie to the woman, no matter how painful it was to tell the truth.  When asked if she was going to take Motoko home with her she answered coldly that Motoko was Keitaro’s responsibility now.  Dr. Noriyasu agreed.  He tried to assure Keitaro that it was for the best this way.  Motoko needed someone to look after her now, until they found a way to reverse the curse.  If someone very special was not there to look after Motoko who knew what would happen to her.  She would probably end up abandoned in a trash heap or something.  Keitaro swore to the both of them that he would find a way to return her back to her old self but even he suspected that might be imposable.  Beside a dark side of him liked Motoko the way she was.  She was certainly more agreeable now.

Keitaro showed them the sword.  It had reconstructed itself and was ready to create another love doll.  He asked them to at least take this somewhere it would be safe.  But in even this they deferred, fearing to have such an object in their possession.  It either of their hand there was too great of an accident.  Besides it was he who found the sword and according to the scriptures it would bind itself to the one who first found it and that would be him.  He would be in the least danger from it.  Secretly he was glade to keep the sword.  The next time Naru gave him an iron fist punch she might be in a surprise.  Thus far he had been able to fight such impulses.  Motoko was proving enough of a sex toy for him.  Even now he thought about that sword as the watched the delightful bounce of the three young women breasts.

Mitsumi gasped, Oh dear.  I hope Motoko will be all right!”

Tsuruko looked at the shamed faced Keitaro and answered, “I am sure she will be.  She has a good companion to look after her.  What do you think, Keitaro?”

Keitaro answered, “suppose so.”  He made quick little bow and fled to his room.  Soon he was enjoying his love doll again.

Naru watched him go.  She said, “He has become so secretly lately.  He even plugged the hole between my room and his.”

Su slipped into Keitaro’s room.  He was away studying ancient texts.  That was all he ever did now.  He was no fun.  He would not be back for hours though.  There would be more than enough time search out his room to find out why he stayed there alone so often.  Carefully she opened a box in the closet.  Inside she was delighted to see a blue-faced Motoko pop out as if she was a Jack in the Box.  In minutes she had the doll laying on the floor as Su’s tanks fought and rolled over this new terrain feature.  But she soon got bored with that.  She was again rummaging around Keitoro’s closet.  She pulled up a bright gleaming sword.  With this she could have fun!

The End?