Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Memoirs of being in the Saddle ❯ The indulgence ( Chapter 13 )

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

The wait for the duplicator to finish was murder. It felt like months had passed before it finally beeped and clicked off.

It was ready.

And so was I, after double checking every door and window to make sure they were locked.

This was the results of my gamble. With everything still raw and vulnerable, would Ranma do what I really hoped she would?

 

=-=-=-=

 

The camera flicked on to the sound of the bathroom door being opened.

Ranma walked in, bottle of vodka in one hand, soda in the other, empty glass tucked in the crook of an elbow.

 

Male.

 

It was only from the experience of watching him in both forms from a distance for so long that I could even tell he was drunk. That, and how the once full bottles of vodka and soda were now down to half. I'd shared a single glass with him at the table, the rest was all Ranma.

To anyone not so experienced with martial artists, he'd look a bit red-faced, but moving normally. But his incredible grace and poise were absent, ironically making him appear more like a normal human being. Funny how that works sometimes, Kimura turns into a complete slob, and me, well I get a little bit paranoid.

He stopped at the mirror and blinked. He looked down at himself, then at the drinks in his hands.

"What am I doing?" He looked up at his reflection in sullen disbelief. "This won't fix anything."

 

He hesitated slightly. "Will it?"

 

It was at this point he noticed that he still had his hands full. With the excessive care of a moderately drunk person handling something fairly fragile, he gently put the bottles down, put the glass face down on top of the soda bottle, and wandered off camera.

A bath stool slid across the room and stopped dead center in front of the mirror.

He probably did that with his toes.

He returned with my little table, which was placed by the side of the stool. The drinks were placed on top of it, and he sat on the little stool, feet almost touching the mirror when he stretched them out.

He poured himself a mix of half-n'-half like I had done and for a few minutes he quietly sipped at it and studied the man in the mirror.

 

"I'm still me." He said at last as he put down his glass.

 

Even he noticed it didn't sound the least bit convincing.

 

"I'm still me." More forcefully this time, trying to will it so.

 

After a second of glaring at himself, he relaxed.

"Of course I'm still me." He chuckled a touch nervously. His eyes though, they wandered to his right, my left, towards the bath, the water, even though it was far away and warm.

At the water he still shied away from even at this distance.

"But..."

He abruptly got up and marched towards the bath. I heard the plastic bucket get picked up. I heard a faucet squeak and water run.

Ranma returned with a full bucket... and realized he was still fully dressed in the bath.

With a sigh, the bucket was put down and he quickly undressed, tossing his clothes behind them without looking, and I swear to god, they all landed on the towel hooks along the wall, even his pants.

God damn martial artists, always showing off, even when no one is supposed to be looking.

Naked, he grabbed the bucket and, after making sure he wouldn't hit anything on the table with the water, upended the small wash bucket over his head.

=-=-=-=

This was the first time I had Ranma’s change up close on camera. All other times I'd seen it were from a very long distance, never up close. And, she'd always entered the bath as female and usually ended male.

And the change to a man is almost boring in comparison. Hot water splashes on, the body in less than a quarter second grows taller, the breasts suck in, the hair changes color, and you could practically hear the comical 'pop' though there wasn’t one. It was the same for Genma the one time I'd seen him from my room across the Tendos with a kettle in his claws, the same for Ryoga tipping a cooking pot onto himself in my empty lot.

But going the other way, turning into what you are cursed, that was much different. After today, I'd spend considerable time and effort with copies of this footage, trying to hunt down the others for comparison.

Trying to see the exact instant of their change.

=-=-=-=

What I saw, as I rewound and re-watched it, then paused it and advanced it frame by frame, was thus; As the cold water poured over him, it literally washed him away, like he was a sandcastle, and she was buried underneath the sand, just waiting to be uncovered.

Like he was just a fake shell, and she was the real thing.

If Ranma had to witness this, over and over and over, I could understand why he was so unsure about what he saw in the mirror.

She shook her now red hair and looked at herself. Her gaze was far sharper now, like the alcohol hadn't followed her. Had it been washed away with his flesh?

"I’m still me," she muttered. "Right?"

And then she looked at herself for a minute.

A minute which I greatly enjoyed.

 

=-=-=-=

 

Way back, when she first did this, I didn't understand why. Why do this? Why at my place and not elsewhere? 

The answer was, I think, because of two reasons.

First, was that Ranma had never seen herself in her entirety.

Second, was that my house was empty, and therefore safe.

Why do I think the first part? Think about it. Ranma got cursed in a remote valley in China. Not a lot of mirrors and plumbing there. She had, at best, been able to run her hands over herself, maybe studied her boobs when Genma wasn't in the tent with her.

Would she dare go near those still pools of cursed water to look at her reflection?

Then there was the Amazons.

Then the running from the Amazons.

And all the little fights and hijinks in-between there and Japan.

I know Shampoo had been hunting her in the cities, Ranma had told me stories about that, so I doubt they managed to stay at any decent hotel. So maybe she saw herself in a public washroom mirror. Maybe she saw bits of what was below with a hand mirror, sitting on the floor.

But seeing the entirety up close, with tits like those in the way? Not a chance.

To see full frontal without being ten feet away, well, that'd take a public bathhouse which had some decent mirrors, one she'd be leery of entering and going into the girl's side.

That left the Tendos, and that meant Nabiki and Akane. No peace there.

 

As for the second, Ranma knew that when I left my house, it was empty. Well, minus a certain hidden camera...

And that's when Ranma's guard went down, that's when the worries were allowed to leak out of the 'Macho' facade both he and she kept up whenever people were around even me.

Only when she was truly alone was she able to let things out in front of the mirror.

It wasn't just cats that Ranma feared.

 

=-=-=-=

 

After our shared minute of inspection, one with the wash bucket carefully blocking both our views of her groin, she sat back down, legs tightly closed and she gingerly placed the bucket beside her. It didn't help, as even alone with nothing but her reflection she tilted her knees so she, and I, saw nothing.

 

"So, I'm still me huh?"

 

She grabbed her hair in two rough bunches "I'm Yoiko! I'm Ryoga's little sister! Tee Hee!"

She tucked her hands under her chin and cocked her head to the side. "I'm Kew!"

"I'm the Pigtailed Girl!" Another pose.

"I'm... Ranko." Another, but this last one really seemed to deflate her, probably because of her mother.

"I'm still me?" She glared at herself. "I'm never me!"

 

After shouting at the glass her anger slowly faded, leaving her empty.

"Stupid curse." She muttered. "Stupid body."

Her slump made her breasts jiggle a bit, drawing her attention to them.

She hefted a breast, sneering slightly. "Whose fault really is it when they grab you? Kuno, Happosai, Hiroshi, Daisuke?"

She squeezed herself, hard. "A cutie with tits like these, who wouldn't look or grab at 'em?"

Then she faltered for a moment, just a moment. "He didn't."

Who didn't? Who was she was talking about?

"Would I?" Her gaze wasn't on herself anymore.

Oh, my.

 

=-=-=-=

 

She grabbed both her tits and started fondling them roughly.

"Did you like that?" she grilled her reflection. "When they felt you up?"

Her gaze wasn't on Ranma anymore, it was on the pretty little girl in the mirror.

She pinched her nipples. "You moaned when Hiroshi did this, didn't you?" Her gaze was resolute, but her voice was far from it. “Didn’t you!”

When she tugged at both of them, pulling them forward, she found herself biting back a tiny damning moan.

Abruptly she let go and gazed at her literal handiwork.

Both she and I watched as they swelled and hardened just a bit.

Ready for more.

 

"You're such a girl." Her voice was thick with contempt, her gaze welling with disgust.

Genma used that insult regardless of what gender Ranma happened to be at the time, but here Ranma was using it like a condemnation.

 

A judgment.

 

Abruptly her composure, her anger, it all collapsed.

She curled up and broke down again, weeping once more.

What I was seeing, the raw emotion, the raw instant, that I alone had captured on film far was better than anything I had imagined.

 

My erection felt almost painful.

 

=-=-=-=

 

Gradually, the storm of weeping slowed then stopped. Her shoulders shook silently for a minute more. And then she was still, just breathing softly.

 

I waited, matching my breathing to hers as best I could, trying to be there, at the moment, just behind the glass.

 

She whispered something. It was too quiet for the microphone to pick up.

 

Slowly her head raised. She said it again, slightly louder. I strained to hear.

 

"I'm still me." She whispered. Slowly I could see her tear-streaked eyes glance up to meet the mirror. To meet mine.

 

"I'm still me." She whispered again, just a little louder.

 

Her hands, which had curled up to clutch her shoulders, slowly lowered, revealing her breasts with the red finger marks fading, her gaze in the mirror.

 

"I'm still me." She wasn't whispering anymore as she wiped at her eyes with her forearm.

 

Then abruptly she stood in front of the mirror once more, hands at her sides.

 

Slowly she struck a pose, thrusting her breasts out and cocking her hands on her hips. Probably the same one she used on Daisuke when she left the shower.

 

Her hands, which were tightly pressed against her hips, gradually drifted up.

 

Slowly, gently, she caressed herself, her guard slowly coming down.

 

"I'm still me." Thumbs stroking her nipples, fingers kneading, caressing.

 

To my gaze, it was amateurish, clearly inexperienced. That was a quality desired in "first time" videos, and this was most likely her first time.

 

Ranma was pleasuring herself in front of me.

 

No, for me.

 

Her nipples darkened as they swelled, blood rushing in from the stimulation. Her breath started to quicken, little hitches in her breathing as her fingers caught and teased her swelling buds.

 

But she didn't stop, and after five glorious minutes of fondling her tits, Ranma let her hands fall to her sides and we both saw the fruits of her labours.

 

Her nipples were almost painfully erect, their normal pink was now a deep rose, her jutting nubs almost proudly swollen.

 

I would have given anything to suck on them, like those dipshit boys had managed to.

They looked like they were made to be in someone's mouth.

 

My mouth.

 

"I'm still me." She said, panting, her face was adorably flushed. "I'm still-"

Her words froze in her throat as she stopped breathing.

Mine did as well, for we both saw it at the same time.

 

The wetness trickling down Ranma's thighs.

 

=-=-=-=

 

Confidence again gone in a flash, she sat down on the plastic stool with a squeak and started trembling again, clutching her shoulders and attempting to hide herself from the damning evidence in the mirror.

When trying to hide them only made her squirm more as her forearms brushed against her nipples, she sought a different form of escape.

She grabbed the vodka -a pleasantly strong 88 proof I preferred- and chugged the remainder of the bottle. It had been a full one when we were started talking, and that made at least half the bottle consumed in one go while in the bathroom.

Then she found out why you really don't chug vodka as she coughed and wheezed, face turning bright red. Desperate to kill the taste in her mouth, she grabbed and downed the rest of the 7up as well.

Two bottles gone, just like that.

 

Damn, I whispered the word under my breath watching her go, it takes a lot to get her drunk.

 

Finally, the storm of coughing passed, along with a single hiccup as she regained control of herself. Finally, she looked at her flush face in the mirror.

 

Ah, the power of liquid courage.

 

Her arms lowered and she took a look at her flushed face, then her gaze went to her breasts, squeezed them briefly, and then drifted lower.

 

Her knees were still clamped together and determined as she appeared to be now, they stayed closed.

 

"I'm still me." Grimacing she took a knee in each hand and slowly forced them apart.

 

Her indrawn breath matched my own.

 

It was the tightest looking pussy I had ever seen, and I had seen so many in front of my lens.

So tight that her lips remained closed even when her legs were spread.

They were so immaculate and unused that were it not for the faint flush of arousal and the steady trickle of wetness you'd almost believe it wasn't there.

 

Truly magical.

 

As much terrified as intrigued, Ranma drew her legs further and further apart, culminating with her performing horizontal splits, all so easily.

 

Finally, at that point, her lips parted and Ranma and I saw the pink hiding beneath.

 

Casually maintaining the spread with her toes, her fingers began to inch closer and closer.  Her eyes didn't leave the mirror.

 

Fear met with curiosity and arousal battled with her pride.

 

And then her fingers touched pink.

 

And came back wet.

 

=-=-=-=

 

I drank in her grunts, her moans, her sighs. I don't think I blinked even once.

 

Instead I joined her, trying to match her pace with my own.

 

She leaned back, right hand placed down against the bathroom tiles just behind her for balance, the booze, her splayed legs, and her top-heavy figure making it both necessary and a pleasure to look at in the mirror.

Her left hand was busy exploring.

 

Her fingers traced her lips, dipping up and down but never penetrating. That was her limit, after that single touch of the pink behind her lips she explored no deeper.

 

"I-I'm still me." she whimpered plaintively, almost begging it to be so. "I'm still me!"

 

She had no real idea what she was doing, but by instinct's she shouldn't rightly have in a body that wasn't naturally hers, she just followed the pleasure.

 

"I'm still-" her proclamations to the contrary were overridden by a sudden squeak. She froze.

 

Her fingers had swept up and caught a bump that hadn't been there before. Tweaked it by accident.

Her clitoris was such a tiny thing, much like the rest of her was, well, barring her tits, but little things often had immense power in Nerima.

 

She cried out, pulling her hand away desperately even as her hips bucked and writhed. This caused her to wobble and almost fall out of her seat, forcing her to lean back with both hands, presenting everything to the mirror.

Her heaving tits, her abdominal muscles clenching, her spread legs, her cunt flushed red and dripping from her rubbing, her lidded gaze on her flushed and panting face... my cup runneth over.

 

But had she climaxed from that? This was important, and I wasn't certain despite what I had just seen, and I'd seen hundreds of women do so and many times that number pretend to do so, I should be able to tell. But Ranma was a bunch of contradictions and impossibilities with her clothes on, much less now.

 

I watched her panting for a moment, hips still twitching, before she slowly pushed herself to her feet. Once standing, her gaze flicked over her form in the mirror, seeing her erect nipples, then down at her groin. I paused in my own motions, not wanting to finish before she did.

 

What was she looking for? What would she do now?

 

Her hips twitched.

Then again a bit more forcefully.

Then they bucked hard, as if grinding against something that wasn't there.

 

Her writhing should have been erotic -it would have as a matter of fact- except for her gaze.

It stayed locked on her reflection, studying how her hips were moving, dissecting the motions.

And it was so cold.

 

=-=-=-=

 

I'd seen some girls practice moving before a shoot, but always against something, be it a pillow, a coworker, or even me once, though that girl had been coked up to her eyeballs. Never like this, against nothing but the air. Never with eyes like those.

It was an instinctive motion, a rhythm, built into us from ages past. And here was Ranma experimenting with it, like it was nothing more than another technique.

 

After a few minutes of writhing erotically with her eyes like knives, she abruptly stopped.

 

"So it wasn't them," she concluded, looking up at the girl in the mirror. "It was you."

I couldn't resist a gasp of delight.

Apparently, there were things she omitted about her time in that shower. But where- Ah, the point where Ichi, or Daisuke in her case, was on the floor looking up. I should have known...

 

Seemingly satisfied with her revelation, she turned to leave, and I couldn't help but groan in disappointment.

Still, tonight I had quite an item to add to my collection.

 

Ranma Playing with herself, Volume One.

 

Hopefully, there would be more to come.

She left the range of the camera and I heard the bathroom door slide open, then close.

 

The show was over.

 

I'd fast forward to be certain, like I did with every tape, but it looked like she had figured out what had been troubling her.

As I turned and reached for the remote, a thought came to me just as I heard the bathroom door open again.

 

Wait, what about her clothes?

 

=-=-=-=

 

Ranma apparently had the same thought as I and had come back for them.

The booze was starting to hit her hard now as she staggered over to where she'd hung up her clothes, face flushed, and gathered everything up in her arms.

 

She turned... and then her eyes flicked on the mirror.

At the girl in the reflection.

At the sticky mess between her legs.

She grimaced.

 

I hesitated, then put the remote back down, uncertain where this was leading to.

 

Cursing under her breath, she dropped her clothes in a heap on the tiles, and, leaning on the wall to keep herself steady as the alcohol was severely messing with her incredible balance, she retrieved a dry washcloth that she immediately swiped across her slit.

 

I shared her wince, considering how sensitive she was that couldn’t be pleasant. I preferred rougher cloths for scrubbing.

 

Listing a bit, she made her way back to the stool in front of the mirror and sat back down. Once seated, she wet the washcloth with a short blast of cold water from the nearby faucet then tried again.

 

The first clumsy swipe between her legs made her toes curl with the coldness of the cloth. She sucked her breath in through her teeth but didn't let up and slowly wiped again.

And again.

And again.

 

I watched as the drunken attempts to clean herself slowly became something more.

After a minute, a long wonderful minute, the attempts to drag the now lukewarm cloth up and down changed, letting the roughness of the cloth stimulate like her fingers once had.

Her gaze was unfocused and she was listed in her seat, and I wasn't sure if she was completely conscious any longer.

What was once her whole hand clutching the washcloth gradually became just two fingers and her area of rubbing focused on a distinct line. Now the cloth was the excuse.

Her breath began to quicken once more as her hips began to twitch again, and I found myself rejoining her in my own ministrations.

After all that, was she really just going to rub one out like this?

As she moaned and leaned back, pushing her hips harder and harder against the cloth, her other hand absently climbing up to squeeze a breast, the only conclusion I could reach was, yes, yes she was.

 

I found myself stroking furiously to try to keep up.

But this time she had both hands busy, leaving none to stabilize her, and when she leaned back even further, well, she was a top-heavy girl.

 

Ranma fell flat on her back, legs sprawled in the air, like out of a comedy.

 

I froze in my ministrations at the absurd abruptness of it all.

She moaned, not in delight, but of a girl who'd fallen and was terribly drunk and really didn't feel all that well.

I couldn't help it, I pulled my hand out of my pants and I burst out laughing.

 

"Shut up." Her low drawl halted my laughter. "S'not funny."

 

=-=-=-= 

 

This was unreal. It was like she knew I was there, here, watching her.

Seemingly conscious and back in control, she sat up and rubbed the back of her head, glaring at me. No, not at me, at her reflection.

At the drunk girl in the mirror.

 

"S'not funny." She said again. "You keep getting worse."

 

Worse?

Another mystery, another layer, hidden under that macho facade. I was interested again despite my arousal.

Sadly, she didn't explain that revelation to me.

Rather than struggling to her feet, she crawled on her hands and knees, making her way to her clothes.

 

Once again they were a bundle in her hands as she carefully rose to her feet.

Once again she made her way towards the door.

Once again she stopped.

 

"But..." She seemed to be struggling with something as she swayed where she stood.

 

But what? I almost whispered to the recording.

 

Suddenly she lurched over and dropped her clothes by the door, giving me a lovely shot of her ass as she bent over.

 

Then she was back on the stool, hand snaking between her legs.

 

"But is that all you got?"

 

I grinned and stuck my hand back in my pants.

 

=-=-=-=

 

I knew why she'd changed her mind. When else would everything align like this?

 

An empty house, a bit of fresh trauma, and just the right amount of alcohol in her system.

When else would she have a chance like this? A chance to experiment, alone, no one the wiser.

Well, except for me.

 

Her hand started with the rubbing as before, but then when her hips started moving again this time she didn't stop. Instead, she looked away from her reflection's face, looking lower, riveted at what she saw.

Then she gave in and bucked her hips hard against her hand like she’d practiced moments ago.

And then again.

And again.

Trying hard not to look up at her face in the mirror.

 

When she bucked so hard that she almost fell, she stopped and tried a different position, then another, before finally coming to one that solved all her problems of balance and pleasure. And she didn’t have to avoid looking at her face.

 

She was on her hands and knees, straddling the plastic stool against her stomach, facing away from the girl in the mirror and giving me a glorious view.

God her ass was amazing, you could bounce a coin off it.

 

She tipped forward, lifting herself up with her toes, briefly giving me the pussy shot to end all pussy shots, and then her hand was there blocking me, palm curved, fingers cupped and rigid.

She tipped back, pressing herself hard against her hand, drawing a low moan from her, this time not even remotely sickly.

Her hips bucked and ground against those fingers, but she didn't stick them in, keeping her teasing purely to the outside.

 

Still terrified at some primal level of crossing that line.

 

She began to pant, and between her breaths, I could hear her breasts pressing against the tiles each time she tipped her head and upper half down.

 

It was rough, raw, and on any normal girl in front of my camera, it wouldn't look at all good for a tape. Most women knew how to make it look better, how to show off what they had.

Ranma didn't, and somehow, that made it better for me.

 

Maybe I was just jaded, having been a cameraman for so long, maybe Kimura's hobbies had rubbed off on me more than I had thought, who can say?

I pushed it out of mind and resumed stroking myself.

And for three glorious minutes, there was just Ranma riding her left hand, me behind the mirror behind a hidden camera, both of us enjoying her body, and nothing but her quiet grunts and the sound of a slick hand rubbing against a slick cunt.

 

And then she came.

 

=-=-=-=

 

Her breath hitched, her thighs quivered and clamped around her hand as a shiver ran up her body.

 

An orgasm.

 

A small one yes, and clearly unexpected.

Drunk, inexperienced, innocent.

Wonderful.

 

I could only wonder at what it would be like to have her riding on top of me as she came. What if would feel like to have her quivering on top of me. Feel her sweet breath on my neck…

 

Her breath abruptly came out in ragged gasps, head bowed low and almost touching the bathroom tiles.

"I-I'm still me..." Her slurred voice was a croon, a plea, a prayer, even as her hips resumed moving, seemingly on their own.

 

And it led to a wondrous accident.

 

She was instinctively trying to extend her orgasm by riding her hand, but she'd relaxed that stiff cupped shape it had been kept.

 

Her thumb was now free, and in her riding, she inexorably ended up dragging it across her clitoris.

 

Her breath hitched again, she spasmed, clearly on the verge of her second orgasm but the spasm caused all her fingers to be splayed wide.

 

Her hips bucked... and she impaled herself on a single finger.

 

=-=-=-=

 

I have watched and rewatched the moment at least a hundred times, maybe more, and it has been placed on over half a dozen different tapes by now. Magnetic media does gradually wear out with repeated use after all.

 

It wasn't too big, just her left index finger, and her fingers were small, smaller than any of the other girls who were martial artists, like her bones hadn't thickened from all the training.

It wasn't too deep, just to the mid-joint, maybe an inch, an inch and a half, I wasn't certain.

But it was more than enough to send her off.

 

And this orgasm wasn't remotely small.

 

For ten incredible seconds, she didn't say a word, didn't even breathe as she spasmed, toes curling as her feet lightly drummed against the floor. Nor did I breathe, even as I made a mess of myself. I didn't care, there was only the moment.

 

I saw between her splayed fingers, at those tight little lips, at how hard they clamped upon that finger, trying to milk it like it was a cock.

Trying to pull it in even deeper inside her.

 

What was still Ranma fought the urge, tried to pull her hand back, out, away, but other parts of her body betrayed her and sought more.

Her thighs clenched inwards, trapping about her arm, keeping that hand right where it was.

 

What a stalemate to watch.

 

But after those ten glorious seconds, she managed to draw a breath, and with a guttural gasp breaking the silence, she wrenched her hand free.

Except the orgasm didn't stop. 

 

And that's how I found out that Ranma was a squirter.

 

=-=-=-=

 

Thanks to being behind the camera for so long, I knew nearly every trick in the book a woman could use to pull off a 'Money Shot' scene.

The faking of a squirting orgasm was actually quite common. Its popularity had been bolstered as of late by foreign tapes, especially in fairly hard play videos, where the line between pornography and abuse often blurred a bit.

In those, it was a symbol of wringing absolutely everything out of the girl, a sign of mastery and prowess.

In actuality, it was most often emulated by excessive hydration followed by careful clenching and a bit of plastic in the urethra.

Hell, thanks to certain recent medications some of the girls had been on, some were inadvertently squirting without being anywhere near a climax. We had a couple new softcore squirting stars because of it.

 

Genuine actual squirting orgasms were fairly rare, I'd seen three, maybe four real ones in all the time I'd been working.

It looked different, it smelled different, and it wasn't something that could be done on a script. It was a perfect moment of everything coming together.

 

I knew what I was seeing, even if I couldn't smell it through the tape.

Even if I didn't know what a real one looked like, which I did, why would she be faking one? For whom would she be performing for, Herself?

 

Quite the mess though, especially considering the angle. On her knees and hunched forward as she was, she narrowly missed her feet.

 

=-=-=-=

 

With a final whimper, one that was almost a sated croon, she toppled sideways, sending the plastic bath stool skidding towards the furo and out of frame.

She was short, so the fall wasn't far, and this was Ranma, who leaped off of rooftops routinely. Once on the ground, her body curled up almost in a fetal position, innocent except for her hands.

 

Her left hand crept back in between her legs, hips once again gently humping the fingers, abdominal muscles clenching, drawing out the last of the pleasure of her incredible orgasm.

Her right arm kept her breast from touching the floor and her right hand was gently teasing her left nipple with a lazy finger.

I don't even think she was aware of what she was doing.

 

But after a couple of minutes, even they stopped, and she simply lay there, dazed and drunk, basking in the afterglow.

 

She remained like that for fifteen minutes, during which time I fetched the tissues and cleaned up my own efforts.

 

What moments I had captured.

What secrets I had learned.

What a day.

 

A fine trade I figured, from what I could have done if that phone call hadn't have happened.

 

I watched her doze on my bathroom floor and tried to work out my next move, I had so much to decide upon in so little time.

She was like fresh clay now, and all too soon would she harden, and if I chose poorly, what a fragile thing I would end up with.

 

So lost in thought I was, that I almost missed sit up. I did see her stretch her arms, breasts heaving and jiggling as she arched her back, making me stir despite the fact I had just finished a little while ago.

 

Slowly she looked around, initially confused but her eyes widened as she quickly realized where she was. 

Her look turned to horror when she remembered what she had just done.

I watched her panic for a minute, alternating in leaning to grab her clothes, then to her sticky body, then to the mess she had made on the floor, before she threw dignity to the winds and crawled on her hands and knees towards the furo and the hot water within.

God her tits jiggled like crazy when she crawled like that.

The boy that hopped out a moment later was far more sober, the extra fifty pounds of meat and bone spread the alcohol far better and he was merely tipsy, not sloshed. He quickly climbed out and silently he padded towards the mirror and studied anew at who met his gaze. I looked back in return.

 

Having seen nearly as many men as women thanks to my camera, I easily cataloged the telltale signs of someone who'd had a good time in front of a camera, though I was curious to see if there was any difference when the person didn't even know they were being filmed. Nearly all the time the men were aware of the camera after all.

His dick and balls both were red and looked thoroughly used, even sore, though he'd not once touched them in front of my camera, even the odd time he bathed here entirely as a man, which meant that this was what had transferred from his female body.

Following that chain of thought, his nipples were also very red, almost raw, and quite puffy, something I didn't see often on men unless it was an S&M video and clamps or clothes-pegs were used. It hadn't looked like Ranma had done that much to them as a girl, so I chalked it up as more magic weirdness.

 

"I'm... still me."

This was said almost in surprise, almost as a question rather than a statement.

He turned his head this way and that, almost not believing it. "I'm still me!"

The relief was incredibly palpable. I'd seen that look, but usually on ladies when they found out that they weren't pregnant or tested negative for an STD.

Why? She'd just masturbated is all. I don't know nearly anything about magic, or Chinese curses, or whatever, aside from that they clearly exist. Was it a risk?

 

Questions for later.

 

Physical examination complete, his gaze flicked down at the mess on the floor and his nose wrinkled in disgust.

A reminder of what Ranma had just done, if not why.

 

He stalked off screen towards the furo once more and I watched the little plastic tub skid along the ground again, stopping perfectly before a faucet. One he turned with a flick of his toes as he strode back into view.

 

Cold water, but why? Wouldn't he be back to being a drunk girl?

 

As he upended the bucket once more upon himself, I accidentally found out Ranma's second incredible secret.