Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Memoirs of being in the Saddle ❯ The first tape ( Chapter 7 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

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I left only after double checking the camera and the window circuit. And making sure there wasn't so much as a single fingerprint on the mirror.

 

As I did I noticed the clouds rumbling above.

 

The gods were on my side today.

 

Work was pretty typical, and I drove thoughts of Ranma from my mind so I could focus on the tasks at hand.

The photo-op had no problems, though the rain did mean we couldn't do anything really outside as being soaked drowned rat and looking 'artfully' damp were two very different things. 

Nor did the couch interview have any problems, it wasn't thundering too much where we were at, and I had no fear of lightning ruining the take with flashes or noise. 

Nor did what happened after on the couch, but I was on the camera and the man guiding her knew what he was doing.

And I didn't have to clean the couch, I'm just the cameraman after all.

 

=-=-=-=

 

It was near eleven at night when I finally returned, umbrella overhead to catch the light drizzle.

I could hear the feminine snoring ten feet away, evidently, Ranma had trained regardless of the inclement weather.

I went home, put my leather shoes by the heater to dry off, popped on my slipper-foot, and took a breath. 

 

Time to see what I had gotten.

 

I decided to get changed first, a damp suit is no fun at all to be in, and as I walked towards my room I did a sweep of the doors. The clear, thin, scotch tape I had cut into tiny strips and had placed on each one was intact. 

 

Good. That meant no one had gone inside.

 

Not that Ranma wasn't an honest lad, but when one is alone in a strange house, there is the temptation to snoop. Not that he'd find anything dangerous, I was too careful for that and had stored it away in some very hard to find spots. 

 

But he hadn't, which meant he kept his word, even when no one would be the wiser.

Excellent.

 

That left the bathroom. 

 

I fished the stick from out of the broom closet and went to the mirror. The latch popped open and the mirror swung open on quiet hinges. Kimura had done some fine work.

 

There was the camera, just as I had left it. I lifted the soft black cloth draped over it. 

 

I lifted the cloth to see three green lights, and one red.

 

My breath came out in a rush. It had worked!

 

With trembling hands I took the cassette out and replaced it with a blank I had stacked to the side, automatically tapping the red light green.

 

And then I closed it off, taking care not to touch the mirror with my hands.

 

It would take an hour for the duplicator to finish its copy, there was no way I was going to ruin the original after all.

 

=-=-=-=

 

I think I'd best explain for all you youngsters out there. Before the digital age we now live in, we used magnetic tape for a lot of recording. Cassettes for sound in our large Walkmans for example. You might recall there being VHS tapes stored somewhere in your parent's house. 

 

VHS, pah, that was for the common chump. Now Betamax may not have had the popular success that VHS did, but its quality meant it was used more by the professionals.

And if you think Betamax was good, then SuperBetamax was simply great. And I went one further.

Extended Definition Betamax, capable of 500 lines of resolution, rivaling DVD quality, which had only 480.

 

You do not want to know how much I spent on getting this. It was one of the reasons why my work was in high demand and I could take my pick of jobs. 

 

Nowadays I have long since transferred the film to digital copies, and have watched many compact discs and DVD's die, kept immaculate in file cabinets and yet still perishing.

 

While the Beta lives on.

 

The problem of magnetic tape media though was repeated use would wear it out. Thus making copies was paramount. Many an English bootleg of Alf or the A-Team had kept me going in the early dry spells of my career, and I had an excellent duplicator on the ready.

 

=-=-=-=

 

The anticipation was killing me, watching the copy progress, so I went and fixed myself a drink.

 

The tape was still intact on the glass doors of my booze cabinet as well. I'd expected this, but if it hadn't, I'd have been checking to see what Ranma had sampled. 

 

Finally, after midnight, it was done. I took the original and enclosed it in a protective case. Unlike the Tendo surveillance I had going, I didn't intend to ever reuse these tapes ever. Only if I wore out my copy.

 

And so I made my way to my TV, placed the copy-tape in the player, plugged in my headphones, got good and comfy on my couch before I hesitated.

 

No, I had to be on a cushion right by the TV, like I had actually been there. I flicked off the lights and got a small stool in place.

 

Only then did I press play on my remote.

 

=-=-=-=

 

The camera flicked on to the sound of a window being opened.

Since I was sitting on the stool, so close to the TV, it was like I was in that dark room, hidden and peeking into where I shouldn't.

 

Maybe Kimura was onto something here.

 

Ranma leapt in with a grace that was startling, despite being a veteran Nerima resident and seeing the fights all the time.

Maybe it was the closeness that did it.

Ranma was female and she was sopping wet from the rain and she was very dirty. Looks like she had been training nonstop, weather be damned.

Not too injured, though her knuckles looked rough.

She took her shoes off and placed them on the table I had so helpfully provided by the window. 

 

I hadn't even thought of that.

 

She had a plastic bag in one hand, dry clean clothes were my guess. Her expression was, when no one could see it, surprisingly vulnerable. I doubt training had helped her as much as she thought it would.

 

She strode past the mirror without a glance. Then there was nothing but noise. 

 

The toilet flushing.

The sink being used.

The washing machine starting to take in water.

 

Then the door to the bathroom opened, amplifying the sounds briefly before the door shut with a wooden click. I leaned forward in pure anticipation.

 

Her tits entered the frame before the rest of her did.

That's how big they were on her.

 

As she walked past the mirror, I nearly forgot to breathe. 

Naked save for a towel around her waist, she was absolutely incredible.

Despite bruised knuckles and grass-stained and dirty limbs, she was the finest thing I had ever seen. And I had seen so many thanks to my skills with a camera.

 

As she sat down on the plastic stool and reached for the soap I drank in her form, searching for a flaw, cellulite, a wrinkle, a mole, even an errant freckle. 

 

Nothing. 

 

She was almost too good to be true.

 

She scrubbed her arms first then her legs, though she kept those close together while she did, denying me any deeper glances. Her tits jiggled as she scrubbed, helping my erection along, and as she shampooed her hair, her shoulders drew them back, pronouncing them even further, and made them dance a private show for me.

 

I was in bliss.

 

A small washcloth was used to wash between her legs gingerly. The angle didn't let me see anything, and it was a few quick swipes at best as she pointedly looked away. A bit disappointing, but she was running out of places to clean, and was leaving the best for last.

 

She filled a small washing bucket and rinsed off, then gingerly soaped up her chest, drawing a rasp from me and a quiet indrawn breath from her. Despite the lightness of her actions, her nipples hardened ever so slightly, jutting forward almost proudly through the creamy soap. They crinkled slightly when she rinsed them with cold water.

 

Then she undid the towel around her waist, raising herself slightly to let the towel pass her bottom, before sitting back down. 

 

I was in absolute bliss.

 

Now she was completely naked, and though I still couldn't see her crotch with her legs kept carefully together and tilted away, I did get to enjoy the sight of her heart shaped ass as she turned and started scrubbing her back. Even three quarters turned away from the camera, her breasts still spilled enough past her frame that I saw them clip her arms as she scrubbed.

 

God, they were big.

 

All the work I had done thus far had been so worth it. It was everything I had ever wanted, needed. 

And yet, it only made me want even more of her.

 

Ablutions done and fully rinsed, she stood with her back to me and went to the hot furo. Towel free, her firm ass and narrow waist was a delight to behold. She moved nearly out of camera range when she stepped in.

And became a he once more.

 

I let out the breath I had been holding, off an on, and reached for my drink with a sweaty, shaky hand.

 

That had been incredibly intense. 

 

I had filmed little soap dances like this before, often it was the slippery slope, pardon the pun, for some of the shyer and poorer girls to get used to the camera on their body for money.

That the money only stayed good if they went a little further each time was just good business.

 

Though I never would sell it, I know this one would be one of the all-time greats if I did.

 

You see, there's a difference between ignoring a camera and not knowing it was ever there. The girls knew they were putting on a show, and even if they had phenomenal acting skills or were incredibly innocent, even if there was no camera in seemingly sight, just a mirror like Kimura's plan, they couldn't resist doing things just a little differently, turn just a bit slightly to where they thought the camera was. They had their pride as well. A pity that voyeurs didn't want that pride.

 

Every seemingly artful thing Ranma had done was just natural, a byproduct of her martial arts training. No doubt though she would have acted differently if she knew the camera was there, hell, if I was even in the building at the time. But everything lined up to produce something sublime.

 

The film ran on as a male Ranma sighed and relaxed for a good fifteen minutes. Finally, he got out, towel tossed over his shoulder.

 

He stopped in front of the mirror, noticing the size of it for the first time and giving me a good look at the boy.

While I would be trimming this portion off for my future copies, what I saw was extremely informative.

 

I wasn't squeamish, being the cameraman meant I'd seen nearly as many different men as women. But… thank fuck he didn't do anything overly juvenile in front of the mirror like helicopter dick.

Mirrors, particularly large ones like this, brought out the worst in people, especially when alone.

 

He was examining himself carefully. Not for injuries, not with pride, not even narcissistically -which Akane had often accused him of- but almost like...

Almost like he was looking to see if something had gone missing. 

 

And I examined him back.

- For someone named "Wild Horse", he certainly wasn't. He was, for lack of better term, average-sized. Unless he was a real grower and not a show-er, I had a fair bit more than him, length and girth.

- He wasn't bulky, or overly muscled, nor did he look extremely cut or ultra-defined. He was in very good shape, yes, but it was a functional shape, not one that was for the sake of looking good. That was a stark contrast to his female form, which looked almost too good to be ever practical.

- And what was really odd was that from the neck down he was hairless. Now Japanese men aren't exactly the types to look like wooly bears, but there was a difference between little or sparse body hair and absolutely none. Nothing on the chest, armpits, arms, legs, or groin. No stubble, no signs of shaving, just... nothing. 

 

It had to be some weird side effect of his curse or some other magic. Maybe the hairs he had had fallen out?

But why not his head then?

Bah, magic makes no sense.

 

After a minute more of worriedly looking at himself, he strode out of the bathroom to dry and get dressed, leaving me to my thoughts.

 

I can't imagine that the curse made it easy, turning into an animal was probably easier as it was incredibly obvious it wasn't really you. Wait... were they still themselves? A human with the brain the size of a cat's, can it even think human thoughts? 

 

My musings on thinking pigs were interrupted with the sound of the sink being briefly used. 

 

Odd, had Ranma brought a toothbrush? If so I didn't think I heard any brushing noises, and that wasn't nearly long enough to properly-

 

And then the door opened once more. And Ranma came back. 

 

Dry. 

Naked. 

And very female.

 

The drink fell out of my hand and made a mess in my lap. I paid it no mind.

 

It's obvious now in hindsight as I write this why she came back, but at the time I just didn't understand.

 

Ranma stopped in front of the mirror and faced it squarely, hands loose at her sides. She wouldn't move for almost a minute, just her eyes.

 

This time there was no towel. I saw everything this time.

 

Her breasts were less than three feet away from the mirror, and even though she tried to stay still, they jiggled, just a little bit, as she breathed.

No, she was trembling, ever so slightly. 

 

Despite their large size and her seemingly relaxed posture, they pointed straight forward, directly at eye level thanks to the camera and the TV.

 

From my spot on the stool it was like I could reach out and touch them, feel those nipples in my palms. Hear her moans.

 

My gaze swept downward and I was delighted to confirm that her hairlessness remained constant between forms. Not that I minded a girl with hair, but it did get caught in your teeth at times, and it could obscure so much. 

 

My eyes dipped lower and my breath stopped.

 

Her cunt was magnificent. 

 

Sometimes mirrors, particularly large ones like this, brought out the best in people, especially when alone.

 

=-=-=-=

 

You must understand, I've pointed my cameras at many over the years, panning across, zooming in.

I've seen ones that have been surgically modified, famous ones, virgins, "virgins", all the way to ones that had been so used and worn and battered that could truly be called meat flaps. From "sixteen-I-swear" to near forty-five.

And all of them, young and old, used and virginal, all have the mark of wear, of time.

After all, they've been stuck between the legs of the women for their entire lives.

Hair grew on them, they peed through them, they bled through them, some had children. They rubbed, they wiped, they shaved, they pawed at them, they stuck things in.

 

Not so here.

 

Ranma's figure was literally impossible. Despite being sixteen she hadn't had her body for nearly that long, and it showed.

She hadn't had the skin long enough to mar it. 

 

She literally sprung from magic.

 

After that, any doubt, any hesitation at all was gone. Like so many others I wanted to possess the young Saotome, to bend that magnificent being to my will. The fact I had something in common with the Kuno scion was a bit unsettling to me, but I soldiered on regardless.

 

But Tofu's mother -oh what was her name, Kin? Kin was right. 

 

Ranma did have perfect hips.

 

And that gap, were she taller she'd have the highly desired "three-finger gap", the one that models cursed and exercised and pestered surgeons to attain.

 

Though with her diminutive size, I think I could fit two fingers, tops.

 

I almost caressed the TV.

 

Finally, the minute passed and she sighed. Whatever it was she was looking for, I don't think she found it.

 

I looked up and our eyes met through the camera.

 

And then she left to get dressed, leaving me alone in the darkness.