Bachri

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About Bachri

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    Dribbling
  • Birthday 07/20/1990

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    Male
  • Sexual Orientation
    Bisexual

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    bachridon@hotmail.com

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  1. Bachri

    大決壊!02~芽生え~(体験版)

    Why is this even here? The images are misleading; this is a Japanese text file, not an eroge or visual novel (not as we know them at least). Unless you know how to read Japanese, do not download.
  2. Bachri

    exhibitionist RPG

    You need to either put your system in Japanese Locale PRIOR to unzipping the file and unzip it while in that locale so that your system can recognize the kanji as valid text, OR use Bandizip's "Code Page" system to unzip it. Either method will do the same thing.
  3. Bachri

    Favorite thing to see someone wet in?

    Nothing. :)
  4. Bachri

    I Pee on Your Grave

    I legitimately gave this story an upvote strictly because KozmoFox had a moral meltdown in the very first response and it got 16 upvotes. You're all treating this as though it were some sort of war crime. Has anybody considered that people have been indirectly, and in some cases VERY directly, murdered by bullies? I'm so mad I can't even begin to list all the atrocities that bully victims have to go through. Just... Look, a neighbor of mine just died less than 24 hours ago, and I'm still gonna defend the OP. Hopefully that will help show how I feel about this.
  5. Bachri

    Amity and Selah - The Trial

    Thank you :)
  6. Bachri

    Amity and Selah - The Trial

    I'll probably write up some more when I have the time, might take a while to get it out there though. Thanks for the support though!
  7. Bachri

    Amity and Selah - The Trial

    Thanks, It's nice to see you think highly of my writing ability. I likely will write more, but it will probably take some time.
  8. Bachri

    Amity and Selah - The Trial

    Thank you, I appreciate the fact that somebody responded to it! :)
  9. So, a while back I decided to write something tuned to the style of the Salem Witch Trials. I'm hoping that this doesn't break the site's guidelines against adult-rated content, but seeing as I CAN'T FIND THEM ANYWHERE, I'll have to just wing it and hope this story doesn't break the rules. As a forewarning, this story is focused around a homosexual female couple. Detailed lesbian sex scenes are imminent. You should only stick with this if you are willing to invest yourself into a long and detailed story. Word count: 8,832 (Buckle in for a long one) Chapter One: The Trial Two naked bodies pressed together in full embrace, partaking in the most forbidden and unholy of method. In public, unwed, and- most damning of all- of the same sex. Both of these heathens had a seam between their legs, and neither a cock, yet both women bump and grind as though they had. One vagina pressed harshly against the other, sliding the moist flesh until both bloomed pink. The voices of both tried in vain to remain in silence, giving the occasional moan or whimper that even a child couldn’t mistake as pain or torment. No, both of these maidens were clearly enjoying their perverse actions- a most criminalizing tell. Had either gotten naught but suffering from this event, that one might survive the opinions of their friends, family and the Lord’s judgement. But instead, both reveled in their crime, and so both would be doomed. They had both snuck out of their beds in order to be here tonight, hiding away in the upper loft of a barn right on the outskirts of their village. They did this together on every night that they both decided felt safe. The village of Granville MA, circa 1694 AD, had little more than a set of twenty houses, two farms, a few more buildings meant to serve for storage and production, and a single Church set right in the middle. Everything was separated by thick foliage and forest, a dirt road connected the houses and farms to the Church but interconnectivity was difficult. Most people had to pass by the Church before they could visit a neighbor, or else tear up their shoes and clothes to take a shortcut. The two learning each other in the barn now, had both passed that Church earlier tonight, being reminded of whose will they broke before ignoring such warning and being with each other regardless. Amity, the younger of the pair, had grown into marrying age a few years ago, but she often refused the advances of the other young men of Granville, most usually citing petty reasons such as ‘he didn’t look like he could chop enough firewood’ or ‘I don’t want to consummate our marriage during such a hot summer.’ In truth, she never felt any attraction to the opposite sex, much to the mystified annoyance of those whom tried to woo her; for she held the greatest grace, charm and beauty of any woman that any man had ever known. Even the married men often cite the inability to compare her with their own wives in their youth. The question of why she could not feel a desire to be with a man one day solved itself when she personally met the Clergyman’s daughter. On the day she met Selah, she was immediately smitten with the desire reserved only for a Husband. Selah, the one still thrusting her hips into Amity’s groin, had lived under the watchful eye of her Father, the Clergyman of Granville’s Church. He spoke, listened and very closely watched under the authority of the Lord himself, keeping the activity and wishes of the villagers in staunch check. To commit a sin while he was aware was to grant an insult upon him as much as his Savior. His preferred method was that if someone were to take an eye, take their head in kind. So when she felt the spark of interest upon meeting Amity, the loveliest woman that she had seen up close, she quickly moved to stomp out that spark inside her heart. With paper shoes it seemed, as she didn’t think about that meeting again until two sunrises later. And then she couldn’t stop. When she found Amity invading all of her thoughts, Selah found images of perversion joining them. If her face could evoke such a will to sin, what could her body do? If her reputation for turning away men was true, what would she think of a woman like herself? She desperately tried to turn her thoughts to the Lord, pray for respite from the lust, but even during Church her face would become flustered and red from both her own traitorous thoughts and God’s lack of mercy. As both young ladies continued pleasuring each other, slit to slit with their legs crossed over, the day that they had confessed to one another flashed through their memories. Selah had been trying to work up the courage to confess her sins, but decided against it as the only person who could listen was her Father. Even if she took a confessional in secrecy, he would recognize his own daughter’s voice without effort. She dared not admit the betrayal of her thoughts willing her to be with another woman to such a strict man. Amity had been chased into the Church by one of her more persistent suitors, one whom had become irate with her many refusals over the couple of years that she had denied the men that wanted her hand in marriage. Yet even he would keep his desires in check in the house of the Lord, and one supervised by such a zealous Clergyman. When Amity entered the Church, Selah had been sweeping the wooden floor down the middle of the aisle. Both immediately looked at each other. Both blushed slightly when they realized whom they were looking at. The suitor entered close behind his desired wife to be, but appeared much calmer and pretended that he was there strictly to make a prayer and get back to work. After he left, Amity and Selah were alone together. Sitting upon a pew, Amity watched the Clergyman’s daughter work and clean for some time until Selah could no longer keep her thoughts entertained mentally and, as the more inexperienced when dealing with her emotions, sat down next to the younger. She couldn’t come up with an excuse for why when asked. Things progressed quickly. Both talked to each other until the topic of recent thoughts and desires came up, at which point neither could summon the courage to lie while sitting in the Church, both speaking in whispers for the sake of possible eavesdroppers. Amity, tired as she was of the men that lusted for her, was the first to suggest that both women make something of their newfound desires. Selah, however, expressed that she wanted nothing more than to uphold God’s Law and banish the thoughts that had corrupted her waking hours, insisting that she was merely succumbing to jealousy that her lesser attractiveness and dedication to the Lord (as well as the “protection” of her Father) had kept the young men of Granville away from her and attached to Amity. Amity herself was distraught by this result, believing Selah’s words until a few days later when the latter’s resolve was finally broken, ironically so by her own denial of the truth. She had lamented the entire time from when she had refused Amity’s request, demanding of herself that she accept the offer of companionship. It became so desperate that she had begun damning God in her heart and mind. There could be no worse sin than to damn the Lord, right? So she chose what she believed to be the lesser of two evils and finally relented. That night was their first together. They hid away in the bleak darkness and sheltered in the loft of this same barn, spending more hours than they dared to risk on intimate talking, discussing their lives, experiences, childhoods, wants and needs, what they saw in each other, what they wanted for the future. And in the end, they departed with a kiss. The following week, Amity came to join the clergy in all of their activities, if only to be closer to Selah. She joined every prayer, sat next to the icon of her affection at every opportunity, and made sure that they shared a pew during each preaching session. Their second night was at the end of that week, both sneaking out to meet at that barn again. The pair spent the evening and some of the morning speaking again, but took it a step further. They kissed, and soon after felt the desires that the Lord kept reserved for married men and women. They wanted to see each other, beneath their clothes. Both were hesitant at first, believing that they were about to reveal that which was reserved exclusively for the sight of a husband, but they also knew that by hiding away and having the intimate touch of a kiss with each other, they had already sinned in the eyes of the Lord. They couldn’t go back as easily as they could go forward. And so, they started to disrobe. Their thick garments proved as cumbersome and difficult to remove as always, but Amity was the first to get down to her skivvies. Pale moonlight streamed in through the hay hatch of the barn, illuminating the young woman’s seemingly perfect frame, highlighting all of the curves that the thin cloth clung to. If she didn’t know better, Selah would have sworn that she could see through the pantaloons and nightshirt. Eventually those came off as well, and the Clergywoman was stunned. Were she a man, she felt she may have simply passed out from Amity’s physical beauty. And by the grace of God, she was the first to witness it. It was as though a well-designed carving of all of the desires of a lustful man had come to life, a red-haired young lady with a soft, round face, clear green eyes that seemed to reflect the world, thin shoulders that simply screamed of femininity, a perky pair of breasts that fit perfectly in human hands while hanging firmly to her chest, her waist curved inward slightly before rounding out at her hips, which took a perfect curve down to the thigh. And between those thighs lay the most precious part, the place that even a husband should not get to see more than once a day. Amity’s vagina was a delicate, one might even say fragile, little cleft sitting underneath a soft wisp of red hair, framed perfectly by her thin inner thighs that left a small gap of open space. A thin fluid seemed to be seeping from it, something that neither woman seemed to understand. In Selah’s mind, this was a woman blessed with true beauty, yet here she was wasting that beauty on another woman instead of blessing her future husband with it. Selah realized it was her turn to finish undressing. In the face of such outstanding beauty, she froze up for a moment, becoming truly jealous of Amity’s body, but she overcame that feeling with the knowledge that she would be leaving the younger woman on the spot, as she was already naked. She couldn’t simply let her be the only one. Pulling off her own trousers and undershirt, the Clergywoman came to stand before Amity in her own nakedness. She had long brown hair that usually stood tied up in a bun and headdress, but in truth it went down to her shoulders, her face was a bit more pointed and gaunt, but her piercing eyes had a light brown tint that almost seemed to glow even in the darkness of the barn. Her shoulders were slightly broader than what would be considered normal for most women her age, but her breasts stood larger than Amity’s, even if they hung a bit lower because of the size. Her hips went down in a straight line, not curving in and not curving out, while her thighs stood out as a bit thick despite all of her attempts to keep fit when she had the time. Between them lay Selah’s vagina, petite and, similarly to Amity’s, untouched, though the difference lay in the fact that it was harder to see thanks to a thicker bush of hair and thicker thighs leaving no space between them. Most men would consider her beautiful, but before Amity, she felt inferior and self-conscious. Those feelings vanished when the younger lady made a move to kiss her again. Their second night ended shortly after, they had both resolved to look at and watch each other’s bodies, but not touch. They had enough respect for themselves, one another, their families and their Lord to not go that far. Yet. On their third night time affair, they could hardly keep their hands off of each other. Fear of the Lord’s judgement had practically vanished, and this became the first time they’d touch, poke, prod and break their virginity, at least in the sense that they’d never had a truly sexual encounter. This would continue for the next couple of months, a once-a-week meeting in the barn that would result in ever-increasing romantic submission, giving into their base desires over staying strong for the Lord and their respective families, risking banishment or execution as much as eternal damnation. For they had fallen in love, and would not be swayed away from each other. Even so, they couldn’t simply leave Granville, as they loved their families almost as much as they loved one another. To run away and elope would be a heartbreaking insult, a betrayal over all that had been given. So they stayed, and worked to keep their relationship a secret for as long as they possibly could. That secret remained for a time, but eventually it was a mix of fate and choice that revealed it. As autumn began, the Clergyman held a prayer that called for Fertility, citing Biblical verses that regarded the Lord’s commands to be fruitful and prosperous. This particular prayer session inspired four of the oldest men that had yet to be wed, the oldest of whom was a mere five years older than Amity, to make a stubborn bid to gain the hand of the most beautiful maiden in Granville. They all immediately seeked her out and began competing with each other in impressing the young woman. As she had been reputed to be the one that would refuse all proposals, they all doubled their efforts in a bid to convince her, more so since there was more competition for it than the village had ever seen. Initially believing that she would merely have to be patient, smile and nod, and come up with various excuses to get them to leave, Amity was quickly disappointed when they proved remarkably persistent. Perhaps they were fed up with her refusals and, eager to gain a wife, had resolved to not take ‘no’ for an answer any longer. Every attempt to get to the Church for a respite from the small horde chasing her was denied when one of the men caught her attention with questions while the others got behind her and blocked the path. To outright ignore the interest of a suitor was to spit in the face of him and his family, she couldn’t get away by simply staying silent and rushing through. In the end, the sun had been at its highest point when Church ended and the men had come looking for Amity, and by the time her true predicament had come to a head, the sky was orange and the sun was low. The young maiden had been in a dire situation for the past few hours, between the morning prayer session and the suitors keeping her company against her will, she had been holding her water from sunrise to sunset. Amity could do nothing to relieve the pressure and pain in her abdomen, as even if she were to run off for an emergency, the men would surely follow her. Even if she were married, it would not be permissible to allow even a husband to witness her in such an intimate moment. Even parents could not witness the relief of their children after a certain age, only with the very young in order to clean up after. And so she had to keep holding on until they gave up. Everybody had to sleep some time, right? Even so, she knew that she could not keep holding on. Even in her puritan upbringing, her bladder was petite and weak, at least by the standards of the other villagers. Not that she knew what those standards were. She did all she could to balance her need to pass water, the annoyance of the suitors and her patience in keeping still and allowing no signs of her need to show. But inevitably, nature won over her silly culture. Right when Amity felt that she was about to explode, and literally so as punishment from God for her infidelities with Selah, the very person she was thinking of at what she thought was the end showed up, managing to find them on one of Granville’s many paths. She called out to the men and grabbed their attention, asking why they were hounding an innocent woman in the way they were. Being faced with such accusations from the Clergyman’s daughter of all people, they were forced to turn, listen and defend themselves. Amity turned off the path, facing Selah and mouthing a thank you before she headed into the woods. Unfortunately, nature decided to pick this very moment to take the young woman’s control away. She sensed it just seconds before it happened, the slight burning tingle of a rushing liquid filling up her urethra, a sensation that she had not felt since she was very small and was reminded of recently in her night visits with Selah. Knowing she could only make it as far as the nearest bush before her dress became fully saturated, the maiden panicked and- in her puritan mindset- wrongly believed that it would be better to try to save her dress. In possibly the worst mistake she could have made at that instant, she lifted the dress and tried to hide behind the bush. She knew better than to expose herself to a group of five people however, and kept her pantaloons up even knowing that they were going to become soaked. The water was spilling out of her belly before she made it to the bush, but she was still able to squat down. Tears soon joined the various liquids that were leaving her, but even in her sadness she did all she could to keep herself from sobbing or making any other noises. It wasn’t enough to stay quiet, as it only took a few more seconds for the suitors to notice that she was no longer there and follow the sound of her urine spilling through her trousers and onto the bush. Not knowing if she was in some type of danger or simply ran off, they took off running only to find her passing water a few feet away. With a collective gasp, their discovery had doomed her. Amity was urinating, right next to the path where anyone could see, in front of four unmarried men, with her dress held high out of the way. Worse still, the liquid running through it had made the thin white cloth of her pantaloons semi-transparent. They could see it. But their puritan upbringing was just as strict and harsh as everybody else’s, and so their first coherent thought was to do something about this heathen. One of them spoke to another, “Go get the Clergyman!” The one he spoke to nodded and ran back up the path as fast as he could. Not understanding the implication, Selah followed after him, begging him to stop and wait. The other three waited until Amity finished her accident before grabbing her by the arms and picking her up from her squatting position, letting her dress fall back down. They refused to speak to her directly, but contemplated among themselves whether they had caught a witch. Amity was crying for the entire time that it took the fourth man, the Clergyman and his daughter to return. “What have we?” Selah’s Father spoke up. The first to respond was the same suitor whom had told the other to bring him. “This woman, Amity. When your daughter appeared, this one lifted her garment and began passing water right over there.” He pointed to the bush. “It seems she has distaste for this dedicated woman of the cloth and for the holy joining of Marriage, for we have all been trying to gain her hand all day, yet she refused up until now where she revealed herself to all five of us. It almost seems arrogantly Satanic.” “You believe her a Witch, boy?” “Yessir, a heathen against the Lord’s law.” “Then she shall be tried as such.” The younger men thrust Amity out toward the elder and bearded man, and as soon as he held his grasp upon her, Selah spoke out. In the opinion of all five males, spoke out of turn was more appropriate. “Father, wait, please. These four have been lusting after her all day long. The poor woman has merely not been given a chance to pass water in private; she could not escape from them to tend to herself. You know it isn’t right to judge so harshly upon a victim of such circumstance.” “No, child, this is a grown woman in my care. She, like any other, is above the creation of a mess known only to babes and the newly born. Any adult knows how to hold their water until they reach privacy, no matter how long that takes. This was a deliberate defiance. Leave us, I must take this witch to the constable.” The Clergyman had made up his mind, and he would never back down from a decision of his own. Selah knew that any attempt she made to change that decision would be met with an immovable resolve, petty insults and, if she continued to persist, a stinging “reminder” of her place. That night, Selah went to the barn and openly cried, not caring whether any passersby heard her wails. She longed for her Amity to suddenly appear and join her with the music of news for her own safety and innocence in the eyes of the village. But she knew that in truth, the implication of being a witch was as good as a death sentence as soon as the word was uttered. And it was made all the worse that she had seen with her own eyes, the humiliation and torture that those four suitors had delivered upon her beloved. With a heart tearing in two and a mind following suit, Selah disrobed herself and, with a tear-streaked face, turned her head toward the hay hatch to watch the source of the moonlight streaming through. She clasped her hands together and got to her knees, feeling more pure in her nudity than she’d ever felt in her thick garments, and began a silent prayer that begged and pleaded to preserve Amity’s life while cursing the lives of the men whom had brought this devastation upon both women. The very next day, Amity’s trial had passed in seconds. The Jury of twelve merely needed to hear the word “witch” and they all fell into an air of worry and fear, immediately passing their verdict before all of the evidence could even be discussed. Selah did not appear until the execution stage was being set up, though once she had spotted the love of her life, the distressed women could not keep their eyes off of each other. Amity’s eyes were filled with pure terror, as though she had been robbed of every sense and ability except for sight. She could not move, she could not speak, and everything was said and done so quickly that she could hardly hear it all. Brought before the Church, the entire population of Granville had to stand between the trees as they watched Amity be brought up by the Clergyman and executioner to the wooden stage. Selah had an up close view of everything, as she had been requested by her Father to join him on the stage as he gave a final prayer for Amity’s passing. It was supposed to be some kind of public display of the village’s unity or some damnation like that; the girl cared not for such nonsense any more. Her lovely Amity was about to be executed, for the crimes of horny young men, no less. In one fell swoop, the daughter of a Clergyman found herself running low on faith. Even if this were some divine punishment for their joint homosexuality, then why was the more justified among the couple being punished and not the one whom should have always been the more focused on holy purity? And why were the men whom had lusted after her until she suffered pain and embarrassment not being punished at all? Finding this lack of justice very, very disturbing, the young woman started to look for some way to fix this tragedy herself. As her Father took his place next to his daughter, Selah spied the ornamental knife sheath attached to his belt. Everybody had some kind of self-defense weaponry just in case of wild animals or a Native attack. His just happened to be a fancy and capable knife. As the Clergyman began reading out some passages of his personal bible on forgiveness of those who have sinned and submitting to the will of the Lord and Savior, Selah began to understand the full hypocrisy of this strange man standing next to her. He may still be her Father, but a man who could cast away the life of an innocent woman so very easily for something she didn’t do, and then speak to a crowd about forgiveness- she realized that she wanted nothing to do with such a man. Slowly and with a stealthy grace, she removed the knife from her Father’s sheath, and backed away. Hiding the knife behind her back, even the executioner would not be able to see the cutting tool as he was waiting at the lever for the Clergyman’s signal. If anybody had noticed her suspicious behavior in backing away from her Father, they did not speak out against it. It gave her enough room to get to Amity’s pedestal. She gave her a glance, both seeming to share thoughts and confidence and fear just through eye contact alone, but they remained silent. Through a miracle of miracles, Selah was allowed to hop down to the back of the hangman’s post with nobody making a sound about what they must have seen. Perhaps there was a general assumption that as the Clergyman’s daughter, she had been asked to check the integrity of the rope. And check it she did, as she began using her Father’s own knife to cut that rope from the knot. With that, the noose around her beloved’s neck was as threatening as a necklace. Just in time, as the Executioner pulled the lever just as the rope snapped under the blade. The wooden platform opened underneath Amity’s feet, and instead of dropping her into the lethal care of the noose around her neck, it dropped her foot-first into the dirt that kept the stage connected to the ground. Selah, as the only person who knew what had happened at the end of all motion, quickly bidden that Amity run for her life. She did so, stepping back onto the stage and breaking into a sprint with her savior directly behind her before anybody witness to this absurd resolution could come to understand that their prisoner had escaped. They made it as far as the corner of the Church’s front side before Selah heard the booming, enraged voice of her Father shout out in defiance, demanding the capture of both women. She could tell by the finality of his tone that, within seconds, he had come to terms with the concept of disowning her as his daughter. Both young women ran as fast as their legs and oversized dresses would allow, lifting them up to make more room for their legs to gain greater strides. They seemingly flew in their haste, passing through the wall of trees surrounding the Church and onto the dirt path that led toward their secret rendezvous site, the barn. However, Selah had no plan to simply stay there and wait, for the rampaging and fear-sickened mob behind their pair had kept pace and remained unshakeable. It would be impossible to simply run in and hide, for they would see and corner them. No, they headed there now only out of coincidence and a split second decision to keep running in a single direction. In the minute that it took to get there, stress and despair had played their tricks on both women, making it feel like an hour’s sprint. Amity and Selah both ran around the structure, heading straight into the more heavily-wooded area beyond. They weaved around trees, blew through the brush and kept their balance as they went up and down the variety of grade, doing all they needed to do in order to stay alive as their own friends and family seeked to take their very lives. Even with their numbers, the religious and fear-driven fervor of the Granville lynch mob allowed them to keep pace every step of the way. Despite the will and bravery of both women, the chase came to an abrupt and sudden halt when Amity’s foot caught on a tree root hidden under the thicket that she was trying to step over. Selah turned around to help her back up, reaching out a hand to try to continue their desperate escape, but when Amity tried to reach back and grab it, the slightly older woman suddenly thrust herself down next to her. When the younger opened her mouth to question it, Selah held her finger to her lips in a silent ‘shush’ motion. This compelled Amity to be a bit more aware of their situation. The bodies of both women had managed to fall deep into the thicket, a large bundle of twigs and leaves and vines camouflaging them even though the thorns ripped at their thick clothing. The sound of feet stamping the ground in a herd, a large group moving through the forest, could be heard. From two different directions. As the two women spied from out of the thicket, through the leaves and branches they could see both coming groups, the townspeople of Granville and a roving band of Natives. Both of them recognized from the markings upon the skimpy and revealing- at least, to their own standards- clothing of the savages approaching that they were Mohegan, one of only a few tribes in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Within seconds, both groups had stumbled upon each other. The Natives, having been conducting raids on villages and destroying things that the puritan settlers had been building for decades, could only have sent this group so close to Granville to seek a fight. They were prepared, unlike the villagers whom had only come with a handful of weapons if any. Despite this, the Clergyman continued to lead them all forward. Convinced that numbers and God were on their side, he shouted out “THE LORD BE WITH US!” using the religious fervor that they had used to keep up in their chase with the so-called witches. They closed the distance as Native archers drew their arrows. Selah watched her Father reach for his ornate knife, which she had taken to save Amity. When he drew his hand back and found it empty, his warlord sprint into the fray stopped short, and on his face he showed the most distraught expression that she had ever seen him wear before the other villagers charged ahead and blocked her view. The twang and whistle of bow and arrow filled their ears, seemingly deafening the cries of the villagers as they got half-way to the Natives. Many of those pushing forth suddenly found lengths of wood protruding from their chests and necks, toppling them over only for their dead or dying bodies to be trampled by those whom immediately followed. Selah drew her Father’s knife and held it in her hand, looking down upon it rather than watching more people fall. A tear was shed onto it, but just as her Father had come to terms with losing her, she was able to come to terms with what she was witnessing now. If she were given the choice to change any of this… she would still do it all over again to keep Amity. The younger of the couple kept her eyes up. Another round of arrows flew out from the Native archers, striking and killing another line of villagers. As those behind them again trampled over the fallen, she noticed a particular body come to rest, mangled with broken bones and a twisted and arrow-pierced neck. It was one of the suitors whom had harassed her yesterday. She had to resist the urge to pop out of the thicket and go over to spit on his corpse. Such a move would certainly be their death, so Amity kept her temper in check as the villagers collectively came into striking distance of the Natives. As soon as they did, the dark-skinned savages drew tomahawks and spears, taking on the people of Granville whom were mostly armed with short knives and pointy sticks thanks to their expectation of a public execution before returning home to their muskets. The Natives experienced absolutely no difficulty in countering the knives and fists with their bigger, longer weapons. The entire engagement lasted a withheld handful of minutes. By the end of it, every man who had given chase to the women was dead, save one whom the Natives had surrounded. The Clergyman, he had failed to join the men whom he had rallied once he realized that his weapon had been stolen by his own daughter. He was the only one not to charge. While every other villager was killed in the fight, the Natives merely had to nurse a few wounds. They appeared to be deliberating what to do with him when the elder man began speaking a prayer. Selah watched, unable to hear her Father’s final words, until two of his captors closed in. One of them drew a tomahawk and raised it high, and Selah closed her eyes before she heard the wet ‘thwack!’ of stone cutting through skull. When she opened her eyes again, her Father had already disappeared among the many bodies. It would only be around ten minutes later that the women would be allowed to move again, the Natives taking as they pleased and then moving on. To where, neither could guess. Once all was still and silent and no living soul could be seen beyond the thicket and trees, they slowly rose and began pulling themselves out of the mess of leaves. Both women kept their eyes and ears open, watching closely for any movement that might have represented a threat. Just as their kept their caution, they also kept their curiosity, checking the bodies of their once-fellow villagers. Amity recognized, in turn, one after another the faces of the men whom had tried to doom her. The four whom had pestered her and prevented her from getting away even just for one damned minute of privacy, just to relieve her most natural of needs. Her face flushed as she remembered the heat filling her pantaloons, her desperate move to save the exterior of her dress to hide her mistake from the eyes of anybody that would see the front of it. She remembered the sting of hypocrisy that those same men delivered upon her by calling her a witch specifically because they could not allow her just a mere moment to pass water. In an outburst, she relieved a different kind of urge by spitting upon the cold, lifeless face of each of them in turn. Selah looked down as she passed another corpse, one with a large seam in the head, starting between the eyes and ending somewhere within the scalp. It was her Father, the Clergyman. She stopped in her tracks, staring down at him. She wasn’t sure if she was glaring with contempt or gazing down with acceptance. In the end, did it really matter? She and Amity were both alive, despite his attempts to hunt them down. She remembered, just before this massacre began by his own command, the look upon his face as he realized she’d taken his knife. The despair, no, the betrayal that he had felt. She knew that it was unlike anything she had ever felt and, if she were lucky, would never feel. As much as she wondered now that she may have gone too far, she would even so do it again. Amity came first, no matter what. Even the Lord himself could not change that. His eyes were still open. After a moment’s thought, she kneeled down and placed her hand over her Father’s widened eyes, gently closing the tired lids of a dead old man. As she silently prayed for the Clergyman’s immortal soul, a thought came to her. She considered returning the knife to its sheath, leaving it with its rightful owner, but something nagged at the back of her mind. She felt that she would need it later, and so held on to it. Both women finished giving what “respects” that they were willing to give. Amity started heading back toward the village, expecting her beloved Selah to follow close behind, but instead the latter grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Amity, we can’t go back that way. The other women of the village will see us returning after ourselves and their husbands ran into the forest. With the men dead as they are now, those women and their children and anyone else whom didn’t follow us will seek vengeance against us, already believing us both to be Witches.” Amity’s face went through multiple phases of expression, starting with shock. Annoyance. Protest. Defiance. Realization. Defeat. And finally, understanding. She nodded solemnly a few seconds after her better half finished her explanation. Both of them would need to head in the opposite direction, leaving Granville forever. Assuming that the village would survive that long without the hard labor that the men provided. With neither supplies nor shelter, they left the one-sided battlefield behind and began travelling east by foot. It took hours of constant walking before the pair even broke the tree line and happened upon a clearing, but it meant nothing more than a few minutes of direct sunlight as the forest resumed about fifty meters away. It was shortly after this break in the trees that they found anything truly interesting. The dirt and rock of the forest floor broke and split open to a fast-running creek, fresh water flowing through the stone-pecked riverbed barely fit to carry a fish through. The women both rushed forward and leaned down to scoop the water out with their bare hands. Bringing handfuls of water to their lips, the pair took their fill until their incredible thirst was slaked. Throats sore from drought became refreshed, even as the scratch remained, a result of their dry stretching being repaired. The younger woman pulled herself away soon after, leaving the elder to look up at her as she continued filling her mouth. Surely she must still be thirsty; they had been walking for most of the day! Her muscles gave a fiercer ache than anything her Father had delivered upon her in childhood, they demanded more. So why had Amity stopped drinking? Selah felt it before she’d thought of it, a buildup of pressure just above her loins. In the stress of the past twenty-four hours, she had failed to notice the pressing signals that her body had been giving her. Given that Amity had been closely watched either by the Jailor, or the Clergyman, or the Jury or even her beloved ever since holding her water to the point that her bladder had failed by over-effort, it was no wonder that she resisted the urge to drink. “Amity… are you… okay?” “Hm? Yes, I am. Why do you ask?” “It’s just… you haven’t, er… You haven’t passed water, since yesterday. Have you?” “Oh, I- Um… what does it matter, Selah?” “Ams, please be wise. You’ve suffered an ordeal yesterday. Your body can’t take what you went through too often. If you need to relieve yourself, you should do so immediately.” “I… I suppose… that you are correct.” Amity shifted from foot to foot, letting her defenses down and showing her need physically. She started undoing the ties that held the dress close to her waist and kept it from becoming loose. Selah decided to join her, the full weight of her own need making itself known once she had realized her stress kept it hidden. By the time Selah had gotten herself down to her undergarments, Amity had bare herself from below the waist and appeared to be straining. Selah realized that the last thing either should be doing in such a position was straining; they should have been more relaxed than anything else. Locking up, she watched her beloved’s nethers, a spot that both women had mutually enjoyed and understood as well and as intimately as their own faces. At the end of a minute, nothing had emerged. “Amity, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you… passing?” “I… I don’t know. I know that this is nothing you’ve never seen, and I’ve done this out in the forest all my life, but my body… it simply refuses to let go.” “Here, lift up and allow me to see.” Selah spoke those words just as she had slipped her pantaloons down to her ankles. She stood back up, letting the dress cover up everything that she had exposed below the waist, and approached her beloved, holding nothing but the purest of intentions for the health of the one she cared for most. Amity obliged and bunched as much of her dress as she could lift up around her breasts. The red-headed woman watched from above the hem as the lovely brunette got an eyeful of every inch below her midriff. “Oh… oh dear.” The slightly distressed voice caused Amity to panic slightly. “W-what? What is it!?” “Your… your stomach, it looks… bloated.” “B-Bloated? What do you mean, how?” “I… I just, I don’t know! I’ve never seen something like this before.” And it was true, in a completely puritan society, a lady would normally never allow themselves to get to a point where they were absolutely bursting for a pee, and the sight of a desperate lady showing their overfilled body was all but impossible. “Amity, I think it’s your… water. You just have to relax and pass it normally.” “I… I can’t. It won’t come out, I’m trying.” Through an epiphany that she couldn’t explain, Selah somehow knew why. It had to have been the humiliation that those damned suitors had put her through, all the death she had just witnessed hours ago, or a combination of everything that had been accosted on her since she’d last gone. Surely, the stress on her body had grown to an extreme and became so deep that each of her muscles refused to relax. Remembering how she felt each time the pair spent the evening together, how she had to desperately fight the onset of sleep for what could have been an hour between their glorious finish and getting up to dress and part from each other for the good of their secret, Selah realized the key to making Amity relax. And so, with the mindset focused on perversion for the good of her lover, she approached the young red-head. “Amity, try to relax and let me work.” She crouched down next to the desperate girl who quickly looked on in confusion. She opened her mouth to respond and question the motives of the older maiden, but was interrupted as a hand flew down to cover her mound. Amity made a sound of surprise and fell backwards, not at all expecting Selah’s erotic mood. Landing upon her back and the dress and pantaloons that she had placed behind her, she groaned slightly from both the shock and the sloshing pain within her bladder. Before she could recover, she found her beloved crawling on her hands and knees into position over her body. Propped up on all fours, the young Clergywoman took on the look of something less Puritan and far more lewd, her dress hanging off her hips and draped over her rear end so as to expose both of their bodies to the open air. At first, Amity showed resistance to the sudden onset of her lovers’ lust-filled advance, not wanting to accept what was about to happen in broad daylight. Her mind had still locked in place the idea that their activities needed to remain in secret, at night, under a roof that was sure to never be visited. But that was when she realized, she had tricked herself without notice into thinking that there was still a secret to be held. They had left town for good, they couldn’t return. Even if someone saw them out here, it could not result in making things worse. And of the handful of people that had seen her sully herself last eve, only one had survived to see her now. She had seen the bodies herself; there was nobody left to judge her and the one who was still alive never would. She practically melted into Selah’s probing hand as she came to terms with the fact that their previous lives were over and done. Selah watched from above the cute face of her lover at first harden, resisting her advance, then slowly soften as she gave in. Once all of the tension in that beautiful Irish-born face vanished, the hand that she had buried between her shapely thighs suddenly exploded in warmth. The feeling came first, but the sound came in the same second- a sharp hiss that emanated from below. Surprised, the brunette pulled her hand away and changed her gaze from the girl below her up to her soaking hand. It dripped and shimmered as though she had just dipped it into the creek, but the slight coloration and scent betrayed its true nature. Amity had just peed on her fingers. Looking back down, she found Amity with eyes shut tight and visibly fighting back tears as her urethra clenched back up in direct response to the realization of what had happened. The elder of the two, feeling neither contempt nor pity for the younger, simply smiled and leaned down to kiss the desperate girl. When their lips connected, the tears threatening to streak down Amity’s face declared an immediate surrender, receding back into her tear ducts or being blinked away. She felt her body beginning that same process of surrender as her subconscious mind finally decided that she was safe to do what she needed to do. Her body began trembling ever so slightly, the show of a shift in her physiology that Selah felt through her lips. Amity’s body tensed from head to toe, only as a final step before her body began its most desperately needed function. Her mouth opened fully, pushing Selah’s lips away and prompting her to pull back, in a massive sigh of true and complete relief as her waters began flooding out, producing a hiss that would have been deafening had they not both accepted this outcome. Selah leaned up, getting to her knees to watch as a thick stream gushed out from the delicate cleft of the maiden’s nethers. By the grace of the Lord, she had somehow been given the impossible possibility to watch a woman pass water, a right that to her knowledge no man, husband or otherwise, had ever carried. Just that fact alone made her feel strangely giddy. As she watched the deluge of pent-up urine flow from the slit of the woman she cared for above all else, Selah remembered the previous evening that she had spent alone. She remembered most of all the purity and clarity that she’d felt after shedding every scrap of cloth that she’d worn. Wanting that feeling above all else at this moment, she reached down and drew her dress upward, pulling the hem above her head and revealing her own body to Amity’s gaze, had she happened to look during the stupor of her incredible relief. She pulled it up and began pushing it off, hoping to get her outfit removed entirely in one motion. Just as planned, friction drew her shirt off of her torso along with the dress, and so she was able to remove everything. In a fluid move, she kneeled sans dress, sans undershirt, sans pantaloons before her lover, absolutely bare for the sun to shine down upon for the first time in her life. When she looked down at Amity again, she had her arms and legs splayed pointlessly outward from her center, eyes pointed upward and mouth hanging open, panting as though she’d just run the length between Granville and Boston, to and back again without stopping. The dirt between her spread legs had turned to mud already, yet she had not stopped nor slowed down her long-overdue piss, still going strong enough to create a short but thick arch. Indeed, she must have been truly suffering, even though the discipline of their Puritan heritage kept her from displaying her need until Selah pointed out that she need not hide it. Even though Amity’s dress was still being worn and the hem was in danger of getting stained, the stream arched clear over it and left it entirely dry. Watching the display made Selah’s crotch dampen with another kind of fluid- one that, as she’d discovered in the time spent with Amity, equaled a heightened desire for sex- although the scene also reminded her that she too would need to pass water soon, as she had not done so since shortly before the escape from Granville. Still, seeing the awe-inspiring infinite fountain emerging below would surely put her need to utter shame. Eventually, after what felt like a certain eternity, Amity’s bladder had finally diminished, allowing her arch of gold to become short and thin before dribbling down her naked slit and marking the back of her dress with a pale yellow stain. Even with her body fully emptied and satisfied, she remained in the same position, panting and unmoving until Selah deliberately grabbed her attention. “Oh, Ams?” She’d said in a sing-song voice. It was enough to make the tired young woman crane her neck up and open her eyes again. And the sight she was gifted with was enough to take her breath away even as she panted for more air. Not only was Selah naked as the day she was born, but she had taken it a step further by taking a finger of each hand to each side of her labia, and parted them. Without the dim night time moonlight, it was easy to see the soft pink interior of her vagina, and it was only a foot or two away from her face. Before she could say anything however, that same icon of what made her woman truly a woman began leaking a clear fluid in spurts. Amity almost questioned the odd liquid until it emerged at a faster, steady pace. Just as she had a moment ago, Selah was relieving herself right before her very eyes. It was almost surreal to, not only watch someone pass their water right in front of her, but to do so out of sheer desire rather than absolute necessity- the sight that she had given to Selah just seconds ago. The image captivated the red-head, wondering if this was the same glorious, seemingly holy image that she had given to her beloved just now. Emerging with a hiss that paled in comparison to her own, Amity knew that she’d had no dire need to do this; it was purely a want to please her. That thought alone, that Selah was willing to break any taboo just to make her feel better, made her mouth go dry again. As she watched, she slowly started undoing all that was left of her own dress. It came off easily enough, leaving her in her undershirt which she pulled over her head as swiftly as she could without breaking her neck. Joining her in her jovial nudity, Amity tossed all of her clothing aside with no consideration for where it went or if she would be getting it back later. She was far too entranced to plan for what comes later. Right now, there was a naked woman before her that required, nay, deserved her touch.
  10. I'm glad you enjoyed it, but this was definitely more of a one-off. If I do more Zootopia content, it will probably be more focused around Judy and Nick if anything.
  11. “Zootopia is a unique place. It’s a crazy, beautiful, diverse city, where we celebrate our differences. This is not the Zootopia I know. The Zootopia I know is better than this. We don’t just blindly assign blame… We don’t know why these attacks keep happening, but it was irresponsible to label all predators as savages… we cannot let fear divide us. Please, give me back the Zootopia I love…” At least, that was what Gazelle SAID. She was a singer, an entertainer, someone who appeared almost every night in front of millions of other animals be it in front of the stage or over a broadcast. And when it wasn’t a live performance, it was a recording listened to on an iPaw’d or some other music gadget. Her face and voice were well known, so she used them for the best of intentions when she could. Some times that meant a little bit of lying, but who cared as long as she could steer a few minds toward a better mindset? Sure, the rate of predator attacks was rising like crazy, nearly two dozen more in the past week than there had ever been in Zootopia’s history, but that didn’t mean prey like her had to go into a mob frenzy and eject the predators from the city. Zootopia is and always has been about harmony between predator and prey, right? Right? Well the truth was that Gazelle was just as nervous as everybody else. Having predators randomly turning feral was a clear and obvious threat that spoke in grave warning to her baser instincts, making her more alert and jumpy than she’d like to be. Not knowing the cause of it was dangerous, and she wanted the predators out at least until a fix could be found, who could blame that mindset? Once the cameras were out of her face, the reporters that had until now respected her televised interview and stayed silent began bombarding her with questions. Most of them were of course along the lines of “what do you think about blah blah blah,” she couldn’t really keep up. Still, she had to pick out something or other to respond to for another half an hour until her manager came to get her. Most days were like that, it really wasn’t anything new, though she disliked having to show up at unscheduled events, even when she was supposed to be the one organizing them. Even more so when it cut into show prep time, as it forced her makeup and dress artists to work faster to get her ready for the evening show. That made them sloppy. Oh well, breaking news was breaking news. If she had to “take a stand” and let her entourage set up a peace rally- even if she didn’t get informed until the last minute- she’d do it if only because she was the best animal in the entire city for the job of getting everybody to calm down a bit. Still, she wished that somebody could have told her about all of this sooner than just ten minutes before she had to set out for the rally and let her use the bathroom. The ungulate had to focus slightly on keeping herself from shifting around suspiciously, who knows what particular bits of footage they might use later on? It was always best to avoid giving the dark side of the media the ammo they always threw themselves on the pyre to get, as they could always find some way to edit, quote-mine or outright lie their way to more readers or viewers for themselves and more grief for the subject. After half an hour and a short limo ride back to the stadium, Gazelle was back in her dressing room being prepared for tonight’s performance. This always took much longer than she would have liked, almost an hour dedicated to getting her as prettied up as possible for an audience getting in on overpriced tickets, every night of every week. Holidays were pretty much her only break from the routine, and if she happened to be sick then they’d just put a recording on the mic and let her dance anyway. Oh well, that was the cost of fame and it helped give her voice more weight when it mattered, such as at that rally. As her makeup artists did their thing, Gazelle had to very carefully manage the signals coming from her bladder. After having to skip her usual bathroom break for the peace rally, she figured that it was about six hours since her last pee. This was going to be a big problem if she had to go on stage without relieving herself first, and given the fact that her show prep was started later than usual it looked like she was going to be pushed out the second they were done painting her face. Occasionally, Gazelle would have to discreetly squeeze her thighs together while everybody’s focus was on her face. After a few minutes, one of the artists brought a tiny bottle that was a mere one-to-one with her entire gerbil body up to the much larger singer’s eyes, which quickly grabbed her attention. Nearly knocking the entire fashion application platform over just by tilting her horned head forward, Gazelle interrupted the scurrying experts with a question and the near collapse of the structure, a trolley type cart that would be pulled into place by her own hoof as she sat down, covered in tiny catwalks and makeup racks that extended to jut out over her face. “Hold on, what is that bottle? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.” The makeup artists all looked at her, not able to work as long as her face was moving. The one that brought the bottle forward, a gerbil with golden-brown fur, sporting curled hair that stood even more gold as well as an over-applied face, put the bottle down at the end of the highest catwalk and looked down at the subject of her work. “Orders from the manager, Ma’am. He, like, wants you to look like you’ve been crying, cause of that peace rally, y’know? So he ordered, like, an eyedropper thing meant to redden your eyes a bit.” Another addition from the manager that she wasn’t informed about. Oh well, at least this one made sense. Gazelle nodded as softly as she could to keep from shaking the catwalks apart with her own head, then put her head back down into her chair, letting the various rodents get back to work. A hamster continued touching up the color of her cheeks, a mouse kept applying lipstick and making sure it blended perfectly with the fur around her lips and the gerbil picked the eyedropper back up, holding the nozzle directly over Gazelles’ eyes. “Now, like, hold on, this might sting just a teensy bit. Hold your eyes open please!” Gazelle obliged the request, holding her face as still as she could keep it while opening her eyes as much as possible. She could barely see when the liquid left the bottle, so it was a surprise when her eyes suddenly filled with a searing burn that made her close them and kick her legs into the air as a reaction of pain and surprise. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, legs kicked into the air, but despite the pain she kept her head down. Within a second, the irritation passed just as quickly as it came, but it left its mark- she felt a burst of warmth against her crotch that prompted her flailing thighs to crash back together, and her eyes were reddened and slowly filling with tears when she opened them again. “P-please… do not do that again…” “Right… s-sorry, Ma’am.” The squeaky voice of the gerbil wasn’t comforting at that moment, but at least there probably wouldn’t be anything like that happening again any time soon. The manager only tried to have her pull off silly gimmicks like this once every couple of months. Still, at least the eye drops did their job and they only hurt for a second. No residual soreness, surprisingly enough, though Gazelle imagined her eyes must have been a bit red and puffy. Once the makeup was done, she heard the sound that heralded the more embarrassing part of every prep, the soft bang of a tiny, backfiring engine. The catwalks of the fashion application platform rolled back upon their rails and allowed her head to move around again, letting her look down at the floor where a trio of flatbed trucks the size of toys were pulling up to the base of her chair, using their combined surfaces to safely carry a sparkling ruby-red skirt and bra set. When she looked back up to the rodents that were handling everything, they had already removed the catwalks from the extendable rails and replaced them with small cranes. Gazelle notably disliked this part, she was grown and could handle dressing herself well enough, but she also understood the necessity for letting the makeup artists do it for her as all six of her fingers were tipped with hard and abrasive hooves that could crush the expensive crystals and gem dust that was used to make the articles of clothing being brought to her. She quickly removed her civvie blouse that she wore during the peace rally and the bra she was wearing underneath as the cranes aligned with the longer skirt that she had worn along with them. “Sorry Ma’am, time to lift!” Gazelle quickly obliged the gerbil, lifting her rump above the chair so that her weight wouldn’t keep the cranes from being able to pull the skirt off. Two of her artists rode the hooks down to her hips, using their momentum to swing the hooks and using their feet to guide them into the waistband, they skillfully did their job before the cranes slid back on their rails to guide the skirt off of Gazelle’s frame. Needless to say, the pop star’s team of artists was entirely composed of either females or, in the case of the truck drivers below, gay guys. They were also thoroughly checked for cameras before coming in on every prep as well as sworn to secrecy on what goes on in this room, but having to go naturalist was always an embarrassing hassle. Gazelle put her butt back down into the chair and lifted up her legs so that the cranes would be able to get her skirt all the way off, after which they lowered it down to the trucks. The rodents riding the hooks stepped onto the flatbeds so that they could unhook her civvie skirt and attach the red one for her show. The hooks went back up again, reversing the process until the shiny skirt was snugly raised above her waist. She didn’t wear underwear, as bold and risky as it was not to, as it saved the makeup artists extra work and her skirts were always made to hug tightly to her legs and keep people from having a chance to look up anyway. Plus, if the paparazzi managed to get a photo of her crotch, underwear or no, they would edit a black bar into it and vault the unedited picture regardless. The same steps were followed from beginning to end to get the ruby bra onto her chest, and with that she was almost ready for the show. Her crew all began scurrying off of the fashion application platform once they decided that they had done their jobs satisfactorily, the trucks getting into position behind the trolley and hooking onto it before pulling it away from the chair and toward the opposite wall of the dressing room. Gazelle stood up and walked over to the door, slipping her feet into a pair of long, matching boots. And with that, she just needed to do one more thing before she was truly ready. As Gazelle moved toward the door, one of the truck drivers below was aligned between her path and one of the parking spaces below her wardrobe, getting ready to park the miniature vehicle until it was time to remove her delicate garments again. The driver checked his mirrors as he was about to back up, made sure there was nothing in the way between the truck and the parking zone, switched on the warning lights atop the cab and held half of his body out the driver side window facing backwards to get the best possible view of his path before hitting the accelerator. The truck immediately lurched forward, the little rodent forgetting to switch into Reverse gear before moving. In the same frame that it took him to realize the mistake, the vehicle collided with something, the impact causing him to fall back into his seat. Before he could even register that he’d hit something, he heard a loud and panicked gasp coming from somewhere above him. When his addled brain caught up to the situation, he looked out the windshield to see a towering wall of sparkling red, and it was all he saw for a split second before a torrential rain of tinted water came down and blocked his sight. The entire incident took less than two full seconds from impact to the inexplicable indoor rainfall, after which the red wall had vanished and left the truck driver with a deep sense of confusion and a completely random whyboner. Gazelle, who had just run out of her dressing room in shame after a truck slammed into her foot and caused her to lose her balance and bladder control for just a moment causing her to accidentally pee on it, breathed a sigh of worry. If the driver she’d just urinated on didn’t realize what had happened, the other rodent workers would probably tell him if they saw. They weren’t allowed to talk about it outside of the dressing room of course, but future show preps were probably going to be extremely awkward from now on. She needed to head to the bathroom immediately and take care of this problem before it got any worse, but just as she’d feared, she walked right into her entourage and backup dancers, fully expecting to bring her up to the stage as soon as she left the dressing room. “Ready, miss Gazelle? Good, the crowd has been kept waiting long enough, yes?” One of her entourage, some loveable dog thing, quickly took his place with the others behind her while the two tiger dancers took the lead, intending to lead her out toward where they thought she needed to be rather than where she actually needed to go. It wasn’t entirely their own fault to be overbearing about it, this entrapping method was simply how it happened as they set out for every show and she’d never had a reason to dislike it before tonight. “Er-… A-actually, I-” Her stutters and half-attempts at making a complaint went unheeded, drowned out by the scurrying and stomping of the various crew workers making their final preparations while the stars of the show rushed right past the bathrooms reserved for that same crew. Gazelle looked longingly at the women’s room door, wishing that she could break away from the pack. As they were about to turn the corner and head out to the stadium stage, they all turned their heads towards the source of the sound of someone calling out her name. “Gazelle! Miss Gazelle!” It was some random zebra that none of them had ever seen before, running toward them with a pen and notepad in his outstretched hooves. Great, another autograph seeker had snuck backstage. “Hold it, guy!” The backup dancers both stepped forward to block the intruder while the entire entourage stood behind them, leaving Gazelle with nobody looking at her. She didn’t question the opportunity even as the adoring fan tried to juke the two tigers that were literally filling the hallway with their imposing girth to keep the zebra held back. She ran back toward the bathrooms and entered before anybody had a chance to notice her disappearance and hurry to collect her. Finally inside the bathroom, Gazelle leaned against the door in relief, enjoying her minor victory before standing back up and heading to the stalls. She stopped in her tracks however when she heard something disturbing- a grumble, or growl, coming from the last stall in the row of three. Looking under the dividers, she saw a pair of golden-brown paws tipped with razor-sharp claws. She recognized them immediately as belonging to a member of her species’ natural predator, the lion. Well… that was nothing to worry about, right? As she advanced, she heard another growl, sharper this time. It caused her to stop dead and freeze, her senses instinctively tuning up to catch every detail of the moment. She heard panting, groaning, some kind of noisy gurgle that reverberated around the enclosed room, even an agitated wail that came right before a nasty-sounding scraping of claws came grinding from the door. Gazelle didn’t know it, but that was what pushed her instincts to their limit. Immediately, her brain became saturated in adrenaline, triggering her fight or flight response. Her body rerouted all of her nerve signals into her legs and told her to run like a her. In her conscious mind, she realized that she simply didn’t need to pee as badly as she’d thought. The lioness was simply having a bad time, and certainly NOT feral, at all, of course, obviously. She’d just go ahead and give her some space and privacy. She wasn’t a bigot, she just imagined having a light accident upon a mouse-size truck earlier. She was outside of the bathrooms again before she even knew she was running, finding the backup dancers and her entourage handing the autograph seeker over to Security. It only took a few seconds for the nape of the zebra’s shirt to switch hands, after which Gazelle knew that she was expected to lead the tigers up to the stage. Still affected by adrenaline, she felt no urge to relieve herself at all, even the dull weight of gravity tugging down on her overloaded bladder had gone missing, making her momentarily wonder why she had wanted the bathroom in the first place, though her memory wasn’t THAT bad. Her chance to pee in private had passed anyway, so it hardly mattered, she would just have to hope that her urinary system remained tame. For two hours. From the rear of the stadium, Gazelle and her backup dancers stepped out onto a fenced-in walkway that led up to the lit, glowing raised platforms where the other two dancers had been doing all they could to keep the full-house crowd entertained until she was ready to start. As she watched them do their thing on the approach, she momentarily wondered why they were made to wear the ribbed and fur-tight short-short-shorts that they were sporting right now. Most of her audience was male, and one would figure that they’d be put off by the extremely generous bulges that were much more visible than anything she was displaying most of the time. As she realized that this was the first time she’d honestly considered the paradoxical nature of her performances, she also noticed that her heart, racing as it was from the earlier incident in the bathroom, was quickly settling down. It was right when Gazelle stepped onto the stage and the announcement system loudly blared her presence and the crowd exploded with cheering at the sight of her arrival that she felt the twitch just behind her crotch as the adrenaline started to wear off. Not good. Still, she knew that she’d be allowed to get away with wriggling, crossing her legs, even grabbing herself as much as she needed to so long as she made it look like part of a dance and as long as she kept the coming desperation out of her voice. Speaking of which, she realized that the viewers were likely expecting a speech or something to go with her tear-drop treatment from earlier. She held out a hoof towards one of her dancer tigers, who quickly tossed a microphone toward her. “Thank you, everybody, for coming tonight. I want you all, predator and prey regardless, to hear these songs as songs of peace and reason, and find this stadium tonight to be a place that represents Zootopia as it once was.” As the words spilled out of Gazelle’s mouth, she felt the dull pressure starting to build back up just below her stomach. She shifted her weight slightly, her natural grace managing to pass it off as a motion displaying body language of sincerity. “Tonight will be a night of peace and fun among all of us again. Please, if you are a prey standing next to a predator, or vice versa, look to them now, and tell yourself that they are not what you imagine them to be. Not a threat. Not a bigot. Just… another animal. As I am, and as you are.” She opened her eyes as widely as she could, to sell the image of her slightly damp and puffy eyes, helping to sell her message even though she still wasn’t sure that she bought it herself. Once she was finished with her short speech, the lights on the stage dimmed sharply, drenching her and the dancers in near-total darkness before the loudspeakers started playing the first tones to the first song of the show. Gazelle recognized what it was from the first few notes, quickly taking up the dance pose needed for it and recalling the lyrics from memory. A sharp tone played and the spotlights- which were programmed to dim, brighten and change color according to the music- lit up for a moment. It was a slow-starting but energetic song that kept the stage dim and suspenseful for the first half-minute. Gazelle took every moment of darkness to hide her escalating desperation, but once that was over, it was time to dance and sing. It was nearly an hour later before her bladder started to give in. Gazelle was no longer able to discreetly grab herself during a spin or some other dance move, she had made it to the point where her voice was starting to crack on the few high-notes that she had to make, keep moving whether the song called for it or not, continually squeeze herself with a paw going straight up her skirt- since her hooves prevented her from pressing against the front of it- to fight off the contractions of her body as it tried against her will to void the sloshing mass of liquid. The animals below the stage largely seemed to either not notice her or not care, but their noticing was irrelevant as all of her shows were televised anyway. Assuming that this show wasn’t pulled off the air for possible “lewd conduct,” though that seemed unlikely due to the ever-present tigers who were all eyeing her suspiciously as they danced. Gazelle was losing the battle, and she knew it. The air between her long and shapely thighs was noticeably colder and more clammy than around the rest of her body, her movements were amazingly exaggerated and showed her desperation for all to see, causing a wave of confused muttering and accompanying staring to slowly encroach the crowd as those closest to the stage stopped dancing along while those further back followed suit with those in front. It was right at the last few seconds of a playing of her smash hit “Try Everything” that she felt a contraction in her bladder that threatened to rip straight through a thousand steel sphincters and she actually froze in place and closed her mouth entirely, that she caught something in the corner of her eye. One of the tigers had stopped dancing altogether and turned toward the back of the stadium with his paw raised to his neck, making a cutting motion with it. He was calling the show off, something that he wasn’t supposed to do. At all. As the last notes of the song passed, the music over the loudspeaker was replaced with the same voice that had announced Gazelle’s earlier arrival. “Sorry folks, but we’re going into an unexpected intermission, Gazelle will be back soon!” Gazelle looked up at one of the loudspeakers above the stage, questioning what had just happened for only a second before her brain caught up to the fact that it didn’t matter. She turned to run backstage, but her legs couldn’t spare the strength to run or even walk, leaving her to desperately hobble while another non-vocal song started playing. Three of the dancers, no longer distracted by the poor lead of their pop star, took up their moves once again while the fourth escorted Gazelle down the stage stairs. She didn’t make it even half way. Once she was at the base of the steps, the weakness in her legs finally overwhelmed her, and she had to make a choice right then and there- keep holding and fall to her knees, or relax just to remain standing. She knew that no matter which she chose to do, she would end up being seen by at least half the stadium and three different cameras, and falling to the ground would cause her skirt to either ride up her waistline or get caught in the puddle. Neither of those outcomes were acceptable considering the live show and the cost of this skirt, so she stood as steadily as she could as she felt her fingers exponentially grow in warmth. For all that she held back, the end of it all didn’t start with a trickle or anything initially weak. The moment her control failed, her urine absolutely exploded out of its containment. Drops burst in all directions as a torrential, pressurized spray squeezed through her fingers and hooves, saturating them and her thighs instantaneously. The tiger turned around in a heartbeat, the hiss and splashing audible even over the music and cheering in the background. Once Gazelle realized that her accident was happening, she pulled her fingers away and widened her stance to make sure that nothing stained her heavily-gemmed skirt and looked around to see how bad the damage to her career was going to be. The stadium was set up so that the patrons all stood around the circular stage, with a single walkway connecting the stage to the backstage area separated from the crowd by barriers. Right now, every single animal standing by the barriers were either staring blatantly at her or recording her with their phones, while those three cameras had their entire focus on her. The only creatures in Zootopia not watching her as she pissed herself were the ones that were seated at the other side of the stadium or not watching TV. And beyond just them, there was the tiger in front of her that had just gone above and beyond the other dancers to try and help her. Somehow that made it even more humiliating than simply peeing in front of half of the city’s entire population. She liked this guy, even though she was close friends with all of the dancers- they had to be friendly with each other to get their moves as synced and complimentary to each other as they were- she always felt that this one in particular was her closest friend of all. She loved his sense of humor, introducing the “Dance with Gazelle” app to her by putting his face on his own body. The irony and his self-mocking fanboyism had made her laugh harder than she had in quite some time. Her and him having a slightly closer relationship than what she shared with the other three dancers was probably what prompted him to risk backlash from her manager just so that Gazelle could go and pee, but it ended up being too little too late regardless. No doubt the cameras, both stadium-mounted and hand-held were getting her thick and forceful stream from every angle as it impacted the concrete floor below. Possibly some of those phones were making some streams of their own, turning it into a live event as hyperlinks flew out and about. Gazelle looked down, trying to keep the distress off of her face, but she couldn’t help but look up at the tiger who had tried to get her off the stage in time. He was staring, blatantly, openly at her puddle as it rapidly expanded around her boots- Thankfully, the soles were not nearly as expensive as the legs- which actually surprised her. She’d figured him as the kind of guy that would look away out of respect, yet here he was, absorbing every detail that his eyes could take. Her mind raced, even as the seemingly deafening hiss and splash tried in vain to interrupt her thoughts. She wondered what had gone wrong enough to cause her to involuntarily relieve herself in front of an entire stadium of people. The rally, the makeup, the lioness that had frightened her into skipping her only chance to avoid it… And just like that, she felt a spark of ingenuity that could help her salvage this incident. Just in time for it too, as she felt her stretched bladder finally starting to empty. After nearly an entire minute, her torrential stream was finally starting to dwindle. Gazelle felt far too intimate with herself when the slight numbness of muscular exhaustion passed, enabling her to feel her own womanhood again, extremely sensitive and echoing each drip that rolled off her lips with a resounding shockwave up her spine. She wasn’t sure whether to be glad or annoyed that she refused to wear underwear underneath her show skirt, as if she had then she’d have to deal with the fabric clinging to her crotch and keeping it wet and clammy rather than allowing herself to drip dry. It hardly mattered now, though. With a slow crane of the neck, Gazelle looked up once more toward the tiger, only to see that he had fled backstage, leaving her to simply deal with it on her own. Oh, he would be getting a talking to later. But that doesn’t really matter now, she had to head back up and fix her image before it got any worse. She turned, went back up the steps and held a hand out to receive the microphone again. Catching it with just the use of her peripheral vision, she let out a rough sigh before bringing it up to her mouth. The music that was playing for the dancers, who had long since stopped bothering to dance thanks to the show that Gazelle was already giving everybody. She took only a second or two to force the correct expression onto her face, she needed to look confident and deliberate. “I’m sorry for the disruption everybody,” Gazelle spoke in the same steady, calming tones that she always did when addressing an audience, “But I’m sure most if not all of you are already aware of what just happened. And no, this was not a mistake. This was a point.” Noises of confusion quickly spread throughout the crowd, but nobody dared to speak a question. “I know that there are some out there, among us now or watching from home, that would ignore the message that I and others are trying to give. There is always someone like that, unwilling to listen or change, no matter the proof. But there are also those who need just the right kind of proof. And I can think of nothing better than a prey, me, exposing their most vulnerable and candid moment to a predator. So, will you listen now, or are you more the former?” She didn’t wait for anything to happen, she simply tossed the microphone toward another dancer, who fumbled the catch slightly. The other two simply tried to look like they had been in on the plan the whole time as Gazelle walked back down the steps and refused to stop for anything as she headed backstage. She wanted to get straight back to her dressing room and deal with the outfit crew getting these expensive clothes off of her so that she could go straight to sleep. She didn’t want anyone to pull her into a discussion of what had just happened, or anything to get between her and that bed. But of course, it seemed that tonight was the night that she wouldn’t get anything she wanted. As Gazelle was about to pass up the crew bathrooms again, the female side door swung open forcefully, revealing the lioness that had been growling and scratching at the stall door earlier, causing the whole incident on the stage. Gazelle visibly jumped at the sudden sight, her baser instincts still reacting harshly to a perceived risk. Her mind immediately related the lioness to an active, feral predator, but this time she was actually able to SEE the threat rather than only hear her. Seeing that the lioness was dressed in a t-shirt and overalls rather than going naturalist as the reports implied, Gazelle was able to convince herself not to run away this time. “Ooohh, jee-… M-miss Gazelle! Er, h-hi! I, I don’t-“ Of course, she was fangirling, just what Gazelle didn’t need right now. It was interrupted though by a slightly squelchy grumble coming from the predator’s midsection, to which she quickly applied a paw and moaned gently in apparent pain. “Errgh… sorry, miss Gazelle, just… Ugh, please, no more…” The last part was more of a pleading whisper to herself than anything, and after muttering such, her head snapped back up. “W-wait, if you’re here… Oh hell, how long w-was I in there? Is the show over already? I-I’m supposed to-” A remixed version of Gazelle’s “Try Everything” suddenly filled the hall, prompting the lioness to reach into a pocket and pull out her Anthroid phone. Looked like she had gotten a message. For whatever reason, Gazelle couldn’t bring herself to take the opportunity to break away and escape to the dressing room; she felt like she was going to have to make an apology very soon. Fingers swiped across the screen a few times until both heard the start of a video clip. Oh no, somebody must have sent her a recording of Gazelle’s accident. Sure enough, her expression went from neutral to surprised to horrified as the video progressed, and her eyes switched rapidly between the screen and Gazelle’s face. When the sound from the phone abruptly ended, the lioness carelessly dropped the phone to the ground and held her paws to her face with what seemed to be sincere despair. “Oh my god… Miss Gazelle, I… I am so, SO very sorry! I heard the bathroom door open earlier but whoever came in left right away, that must have been you. I know, the smell must have been horrible, so you couldn’t use it and then that happened out on stage! Oh- …” Gazelle’s ears drooped slightly as she realized that the lioness was blaming herself for it. “N-no, it’s-” “Yeah, it was really bad, but I swear it wasn’t my fault. The other members of the crew, the Prey ones, they threw all the meat and bean rations in the trash. The boss pays for catering so that we don’t have to bring out own lunches, you know? And with all the edible stuff thrown out, all that left the predators was… berries and nuts and salad. All plants and no protein, it doesn’t go down well with us…” Gazelle’s moment of self-kicking was replaced with anger as she heard this. The stadium crew had been forcing a Predator to effectively poison herself? And the other Predators? “I’m so sorry that it caused you to have THAT happen to you, right in front of everybody no less. I would have stood up to the abuse, but I figured they were just doing some sort of hazing thing, like how the police put their newbies on parking duty. Maybe I shouldn’t be that naïve.” Gazelle gave a heavy sigh. Trying to be polite, she gave a simple thank you and “nice to meet you” before trotting off back to her dressing room. She instructed the awaiting crew that she didn’t want to talk and pulled out her own phone as she waited out the process of letting them get her naked again. She sorted through all the news sites. Each one that she came across were all doing exactly as expected: cannibalizing each other for views, trying in vain to be the first to announce Gazelle’s public urination, each and every single one claiming to possess the exclusive story. But one headline made her stop and actually pay attention. “Erection on Live TV!” Okay, that was surprising enough to actually take the clickbait. It featured an image of the incident from a different angle, one of the cameras that had caught and broadcast her accident. But instead of focusing on her, it had instead zoomed in on the dancer that had tried to escort her offstage. He was staring blatantly at Gazelle as she released all over the ground, and right in the center of his showy super-shorts was the expanded bulb of a chub that he could only have gotten from watching something very taboo. Did that mean her friend was turned on by watching her piss? She figured that she will have to look into that later. But for now, she had to worry about what to say on her next public appearance. Whatever she was going to say, this time she knew that she will mean it. No more lies.
  12. Bachri

    Anthro PokeGirls/Boys Art Requests

    Perhaps now you can stop making an *** of yourself, Ninja?
  13. Bachri

    Anthro PokeGirls/Boys Art Requests

    I think that what Lugia is getting at is that this is not a commission thread. It's specifically labeled as a "requests" thread.
  14. Bachri

    Inuyasha

    Yeah, as a (Edit: very slight) weeaboo, I'm pretty sure the little brother's name was Souta. Or, more accurately, Sōta