Chapter 4: The Beat Of The Music
The silence after their second shared release was thick, suffocating. Only their ragged breaths and the relentless drumming of rain against the window broke it. Tomomi lay half-sprawled on the tatami, Akari curled against her side, trembling. The sapphire lycra felt cold and sticky against Tomomi’s skin, a grotesque trophy of surrender. Akari’s damp cotton shirt clung to her back where Tomomi’s hands had gripped. The crushed scrolls lay beneath them, symbols of a reversal slipping further away with each frantic coupling.
Four days. The words echoed like a death knell in Tomomi’s mind. Four days before this monstrous transformation, this horrifying need, became permanent. Thomas’s consciousness screamed silently within the prison of flesh that felt terrifyingly good, satiated, humming with stolen energy. He – she – pushed herself up onto her elbows, the powerful muscles moving with unconscious grace. Akari flinched at the movement, burying her face deeper against Tomomi’s hip.
"We need air," Tomomi rasped, her voice rough. It wasn't just the physical closeness; it was the cloying scent of sex, incense, and despair choking her. She needed space. To think. To not feel Akari’s warmth, the terrifying pull radiating from her skin.
Akari nodded mutely, scrambling back, pulling her ruined shirt down. She wouldn't meet Tomomi’s eyes. The shame radiating off her was palpable, mingling with Tomomi’s own corrosive disgust. Tomomi stood, the lycra whispering obscenely. She stalked towards the large window overlooking the wet, neon-drenched city. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to numb the frantic pulse of panic beneath her skin. The rain blurred the lights into streaks of color.
Then, faintly, beneath the drumming rain… a thump. A deep, insistent bassline. Then another. It seeped through the glass, vibrating in the floorboards. Tomomi frowned, straining to hear. It wasn't just sound; it was a pulse. It resonated in her bones, syncing with the low, satisfied hum still vibrating within her core. The rhythm grew clearer, layered with synth melodies and a driving electronic beat. It came from down the street, pulsing through the rainy night like a living thing.
"Don't you feel it?" Tomomi whispered, turning slowly from the window. Her voice was different – lower, smoother, infused with a strange energy. The panic receded, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming compulsion. The beat thudded against her ribs, demanding movement.
Akari looked up, confusion replacing shame. "Feel… what?" Her voice was small.
"The music," Tomomi breathed. A slow, predatory smile touched her lips, utterly foreign to Thomas’s sensibilities. Her hips began to sway, almost imperceptibly at first, a subtle roll responding to the distant thump. "It’s… calling." The words felt alien, yet right. The binding’s hum intensified, resonating with the external rhythm.
As she swayed, a shimmering heat radiated from her skin. The sapphire lycra began to shift. It wasn't painful; it was like liquid light flowing over her form. Akari gasped, scrambling backwards on her hands, eyes wide with disbelief. The deep blue fabric melted, reknitting itself in a blaze of crimson light. In seconds, Tomomi stood transformed.
Skin-tight, high-gloss red spandex encased her legs like molten lava, flaring slightly at the ankles above towering, razor-sharp stiletto heels. A matching, equally tight red tank top hugged her torso, plunging deeply at the neckline, showcasing the impossible swell of her breasts and the powerful definition of her shoulders and abdomen. A wide, gleaming silver belt cinched her waist impossibly tight. She looked like a disco goddess sculpted from fire and chrome, every curve amplified, every line predatory under the dim apartment lights. The red fabric shimmered with an inner light, reflecting the glow from the shrine’s candle.
Akari stared, utterly transfixed. "It… it’s like…" she stammered, her voice hushed with awe. "Those dancers… the shows I watched…" Her gaze traced the impossible silhouette, the aggressive glamour, the raw power radiating from Tomomi in waves. The fear was still there, but it was drowned out by sheer, overwhelming fascination. The models she’d admired, the fantasy figures clad in impossible, shiny spandex… they were here. Real. In her living room. Created by her own desperate yearning.
Tomomi didn’t look at Akari. Her eyes were half-closed, head tilted back, lost in the rhythm thrumming up from the street. She moved with a fluidity that was pure instinct, pure magic. A slow, sinuous roll of her hips, then a sharp, precise flick of her foot in the spiked heel. Her arms lifted, graceful yet powerful, tracing arcs through the air. The red spandex gleamed, catching the light with every undulation. The beat owned her, and the binding amplified it, channeling the frantic energy of their panic into pure, seductive motion.
Akari watched, mesmerized. The shame, the terror of the binding, the impossible deadline… it all blurred. All she saw was the impossible beauty Tomomi had become, moving with a confidence Akari had never possessed. A yearning deeper than fear bloomed within her – a desire not just for the body, but for that freedom, that power. Slowly, almost unconsciously, she rose to her knees.
Her hands went to the hem of her damp, stained shirt. She pulled it off over her head in one swift movement, letting it fall forgotten. Then her cotton pants followed, kicked aside. She knelt naked on the tatami mat, bathed in the dim, warm light, her skin pale against the dark floor. She wasn't trying to seduce; she was shedding the weight of failure, reaching for the raw, untamed energy Tomomi embodied.
Tomomi’s eyes snapped open, locking onto Akari’s naked form. The predatory smile widened. She extended a hand, beckoning silently. The command was undeniable, pulsing through the binding’s connection.
Akari rose, her movements tentative at first. She stepped closer, into the circle of Tomomi’s dance. The driving beat filled the small space, vibrating in their chests. Tomomi’s hands found Akari’s bare hips, pulling her close. The cool, slick spandex pressed against Akari’s naked stomach, the contrast electric. Tomomi began to move again, guiding Akari’s body with hers.
Akari closed her eyes, surrendering to the rhythm, to the touch. Her hands rose, trembling, to rest on Tomomi’s spandex-clad waist, feeling the powerful muscles shift beneath the slick fabric. Slowly, hesitantly, she began to sway. Her naked skin slid against the cool, shiny red spandex covering Tomomi’s thighs. The friction was delicious, alien. Tomomi’s hands slid up Akari’s bare back, pulling her tighter, their bodies aligning. Akari arched, pressing her bare breasts against the hard planes of Tomomi’s spandex-covered chest, her nipples hardening instantly against the unyielding, slick surface.
The dance became a slow, sensual grind. Tomomi’s hips rolled against Akari’s naked pelvis, the high-gloss spandex sliding effortlessly against bare skin. Akari gasped, her head falling back, her own hips answering the movement, seeking the pressure, the friction. Her hands slid lower, gripping the curve of Tomomi’s spandex-clad buttocks, pulling her impossibly closer, grinding herself against the firm muscle beneath the slick red fabric. The low hum of the binding synced perfectly with the pounding bassline, weaving a cocoon of heat and desperate sensation around them. Tomomi lowered her head, her lips brushing Akari’s ear.
"The feather, Akari," Tomomi murmured, her voice a low thrum vibrating against Akari’s skin, cutting through the sensual haze. Her grinding hips didn’t stop; if anything, they intensified, pressing Akari’s nakedness firmly against the slick red barrier. "The Tengu. Where?" Each word was punctuated by a deliberate roll of her pelvis. "Tell me while we dance." Her teeth grazed Akari’s earlobe. "Before the music stops." Her hand slid down Akari’s naked spine, fingers pressing possessively into the curve just above her buttocks, holding her captive against the relentless rhythm. The demand hung in the heated air, urgent and terrifying, wrapped in the seductive thrum of the binding and the distant, pounding beat. Akari moaned, her body answering the command even as her mind reeled, caught between ecstasy and the precipice of their dwindling time.
Tomomi’s clothes transformed
Akari moaned, her body answering the command even as her mind reeled, caught between ecstasy and the precipice of their dwindling time. Tomomi’s spandex-clad thigh pressed hard between her legs, the slick, unyielding fabric creating an intoxicating friction against her bare skin with every grinding roll of Tomomi’s hips. Akari gasped, arching into the pressure, her fingers digging into the glossy red material covering Tomomi’s back. "The… mountain," she choked out, the words tangling with a gasp as Tomomi’s teeth scraped her neck. "North ridge… ancient cedars… shrine ruins…" Her eyes squeezed shut, lost in the rhythm and the demanding touch.
Tomomi’s hand slid lower, gripping Akari’s bare hip possessively, pulling her impossibly closer. "Specifics." The command vibrated through Akari’s bones, low and urgent. "Where exactly? Access?" Her other hand traced the curve of Akari’s spine, down to the small of her back, the cool spandex a shocking contrast to Akari’s heated skin. The bass pounded, syncing with the frantic beat of Akari’s heart against Tomomi’s chest. Akari whimpered, her body moving instinctively against the relentless pressure. "Old logging trail… west face… blocked now… must climb…" Her voice was a ragged whisper.
As Akari shifted her weight, grinding down harder on Tomomi’s thigh in a surge of desperate sensation, something sharp dug into the sensitive skin just below her navel where their bodies met. She flinched, the unexpected pain slicing through the haze. "Ah!" Tomomi felt it too, a sudden intrusion against the slick spandex covering her upper thigh. Her grinding rhythm faltered for a split second. Akari instinctively pulled back slightly, her hand flying to the spot. Her fingers brushed against something thin, stiff, and utterly out of place nestled against her lower belly, partially hidden in the crease of her hip. It hadn’t been there before.
FEATHER REVEALED INSIDE HER.
Confusion warred with panic on Akari’s face. Tomomi’s eyes narrowed, locking onto Akari’s hand. With startling speed, she captured Akari’s wrist, halting the dance. Her other hand darted down, fingers probing where Akari had flinched. Akari tried to twist away, a strangled protest dying in her throat. Tomomi’s touch was firm, searching. Her fingertips brushed against it again – long, stiff, undeniably feathery. She hooked a finger around it, pulling gently but insistently.
A single, obsidian-black feather slid free from where it had been tucked against Akari’s skin. It was long, nearly a foot, its vane sleek and perfectly formed, catching the dim apartment light with an unnatural, oily sheen. The quill end was sharp, wicked. Tomomi held it up, the pounding music suddenly feeling distant, irrelevant. Akari stared at the feather in Tomomi’s hand, her naked body trembling, the flush of arousal replaced by a sickly pallor. Her mouth opened, then closed, no sound emerging.
Tomomi stared at the dark feather, then back at Akari’s horrified face. Her voice dropped, cold and dangerous, cutting through the remnants of the bass. "You had it. All along." The red spandex seemed to pulse with her anger. "You had the freaking Tengu feather. Hidden. On you." She shook the feather slightly, its pointed tip glinting. "While you made us hunt for lore. While you made us…" Her gesture encompassed the crushed cushions, their shared wetness cooling on the floor, the unbearable heat that had just moments ago consumed them. Akari flinched as if struck. "You stole it?" Tomomi demanded, the accusation sharp as the feather’s quill. "Before the binding? Before me?"
The obsidian feather felt cold and alien in Tomomi’s grip, its sleek surface catching the dim light like oil on water. Akari recoiled as if burned, scrambling backwards on the tatami, naked skin glowing pale in the apartment’s warm gloom. "I didn't steal it!" she gasped, her voice high-pitched with panic. "Before! Before the binding! I... I found it years ago, hiking! I kept it! A talisman!" Her eyes darted wildly between Tomomi’s furious face and the feather.
"You had it." Tomomi’s voice was a low snarl, the red spandex seeming to pulse with her anger. She took a step forward, the stiletto heel clicking sharply on the floor. "While you made me hunt through moldy scrolls. While you let me think we had days to find the impossible." The memory of their shared releases – the grounding, the desperate coupling on the couch – flooded back, souring in her gut. "You knew what we needed. You let this happen." She gestured at her own impossible form, the tight red fabric hugging every sculpted curve. "You let me become... this."
"I was scared!" Akari wailed, pulling her knees to her chest, trying to cover her nakedness. "The Tengu... finding it is dangerous! Taking the feather worse! I thought... I thought maybe we wouldn't need it! Maybe the grounding alone..." Her voice trailed off, choked by Tomomi’s furious glare. "And... and when the binding happened... when you changed... I panicked! I hid it! I thought... maybe I could find another way..." Tears streamed down her face. "I didn't want to face the mountain! I didn't want to risk it!"
Tomomi stared down at the feather, its sharp quill glinting. The bassline from the distant club still pulsed, a relentless heartbeat beneath Akari’s frantic sobs. The hum of the binding vibrated low in her core, a counterpoint to the music and her rage. "Risk?" Tomomi’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. She snapped the feather between her fingers, the stiff vane breaking with a sharp, dry crack. "You've already doomed us, Akari. Four days? Meaningless now." She let the broken pieces flutter to the tatami mat. "This was our only shot. And you broke it."
Akari stared at the shattered fragments, her face draining of all color. "No... no, maybe... maybe..." Her eyes darted to the pile of scrolls, hope dying in her eyes as she remembered the specific instructions. Freely given, or fully useless. "Tomomi... I..." A guttural sob escaped her.
The broken feather seemed to release a wave of energy. Tomomi felt it ripple through her, igniting the binding’s hum into a fever pitch. The distant music surged in her perception, the driving bass syncing perfectly with the frantic thrumming inside her. Anger warred with a sudden, overwhelming surge of need, the grounding’s echo amplified by betrayal and despair. She looked down at Akari, curled naked and broken on the floor. The pull wasn't gentle now; it was a riptide.
"Shut up," Tomomi growled, her voice thick. She lunged forward, not with violence, but with terrifying purpose. Her hands closed on Akari’s bare shoulders, hauling her roughly to her feet. Akari cried out, stumbling, her naked body pressed flush against the slick, fire-engine red spandex. Tomomi’s grip was iron, her eyes blazing with conflicting fire – fury, lust, the terrifying power of the binding unleashed. "Feel it," Tomomi hissed, her breath hot against Akari’s ear. "Feel the mess you made." She pushed Akari back slightly, then yanked her close again, their bodies colliding with a soft thud. "Dance."
Akari gasped, overwhelmed. The driving rhythm pounded through the floor. Tomomi’s hands slid down her bare arms, then gripped her naked hips. She started to move, not the sensual glide of before, but a hard, demanding grind. Her hips slammed against Akari’s, the slick spandex rubbing aggressively against bare skin. Tomomi’s movements were sharp, angular, fueled by anger and the binding’s insatiable thrum. Her spandex-clad thigh forced itself between Akari’s legs, the unyielding pressure brutal, undeniable.
Akari whimpered, her body instinctively responding to the rhythm and the sheer force of Tomomi’s presence. She tried to pull away, a flash of fear in her eyes, but Tomomi held her fast, fingers digging into her flesh. "Dance!" Tomomi commanded again, her voice raw. She spun Akari hard, then pulled her back, chest-to-chest, Tomomi’s ample bosom pressing hard against Akari’s smaller frame. The red fabric felt like hot metal against Akari’s sensitive skin. Akari’s hands, trembling, rose tentatively to Tomomi’s spandex-clad waist, then gripped tighter as Tomomi dipped her sharply, arching her back over one powerful arm.
The dance became a furious argument in motion. Tomomi pushed, Akari resisted, then yielded, pushed again. Their bodies moved in a desperate, almost violent rhythm, slick against bare, sweat beginning to slick Akari’s skin where it met the spandex. Tomomi’s anger bled into the movement, each thrust of her hips a accusation, each pull a demand for submission. Akari’s moans were ragged, mixed with gasps of pain and burgeoning, unwilling pleasure. The binding hummed like a live wire, connecting them, amplifying every touch, every collision.
Tomomi spun Akari again, pinning her back against the wall beside the large mirror. She pressed her full weight against her, trapping her. Akari’s breath hitched, her eyes wide, terrified, yet locked onto Tomomi’s intense gaze. Tomomi leaned in, her lips brushing Akari’s ear. "This is your harmony now," she breathed, the words laced with venom and despair. "This broken thing." Her hips ground forward, relentless, the friction on her own spandex-clad core sending sparks up her spine. Her hand slid between them, fingers finding the edge of her own wide belt, then dipping lower, pressing hard against herself through the slick red fabric, seeking the pressure, the release from the unbearable tension. She kept Akari pinned, watching her face as she rubbed herself, the grinding motion transferring through her body into Akari’s trapped form.
Akari cried out, the sensation unbearable. Her own hands flew to Tomomi’s shoulders, nails digging into the spandex, not pushing away, but clinging. She arched against Tomomi, her naked body writhing against the slick constraint, seeking her own friction against Tomomi’s hard thigh and grinding abdomen. "Tomomi!" she gasped, the name a plea. "Please!"
The "please" shattered something. Tomomi’s furious rhythm faltered. She saw the raw terror, the guilt, the mirrored despair in Akari’s eyes. The broken feather lay like a curse on the floor. The bass thundered. The binding screamed. The anger twisted, mutated into a shared, bottomless well of anguish and need. Tomomi’s hand moved from her own core to Akari’s bare hip, pulling her impossibly close. Her other hand tangled in Akari’s hair, tilting her head back. "Look at me," she commanded, her voice ragged, stripped of anger, filled only with desperate need.
Their eyes locked. The dance shifted. The hard grinding softened into a deep, rolling press, a slow, consuming wave of motion. Tomomi’s hips moved with liquid intensity now, pressing, circling, seeking the perfect alignment against Akari’s nakedness. Akari’s body melted against her, responding with matching undulations, her hands sliding down Tomomi’s back, gripping the curve of her spandex-clad hips, pulling her deeper into the rhythm. Their breath mingled, hot and frantic. The driving music faded into a single, pulsing beat synced to the frantic thrumming of the binding and their own racing hearts.
Tomomi lowered her head, her lips finding Akari’s. This kiss wasn't angry, nor purely lustful. It was drowning. It was the collapse of everything – the betrayal, the fear, the impossible body, the ticking clock now meaningless. It was shared ruin. Their tongues tangled, a desperate seeking of solace in the only way the binding allowed. Tomomi’s hands roamed Akari’s bare back, her sides, her buttocks, pulling her tighter, grinding her slick spandex-covered mound hard against Akari’s core. Akari moaned into the kiss, her own hips bucking wildly, seeking the friction, the pressure, the oblivion.
The wave built, slow and immense. Their movements became synchronized, instinctive, a perfect, desperate harmony born of shared despair. The heat was unbearable, radiating from their joined bodies, filling the small space. Tomomi broke the kiss, gasping, burying her face in Akari’s neck, inhaling the scent of sweat, fear, and jasmine. Akari’s head fell back against the wall, her eyes closed, mouth open in a silent gasp, her body taut as a bowstring. The pressure peaked. Simultaneously, like a dam bursting, release detonated through them both.
Tomomi convulsed, her powerful frame locking rigid against Akari, a choked cry tearing from her throat as pleasure, sharp and devastating, ripped through her. Wetness soaked the front of her red spandex leggings instantly. Akari’s cry was a high, sharp wail as her own climax crashed over her, back arching off the wall, legs trembling violently. The force slammed them into the mirror, the glass rattling in its frame. They clung to each other, shuddering through the aftershocks, gasping for air, slick skin pressed against slick spandex, sweat-damp hair tangled together. The binding’s hum reached a deafening crescendo, then abruptly cut off, leaving a sudden, ringing silence punctuated only by their ragged breaths and the fading echo of the distant bass. Exhaustion hit like a physical blow.
Tomomi’s legs buckled. She slumped heavily against Akari, her strength evaporating. Akari, equally spent, sagged beneath her weight. They slid down the wall in a tangle of limbs, collapsing onto the tatami mats littered with broken feathers and discarded clothes. Tomomi landed half on top of Akari, her head lolling onto Akari’s shoulder, one arm draped limply across her waist. Akari’s hand rested weakly on Tomomi’s spandex-clad back. Neither had the strength to move. The frantic energy bled away, leaving only profound, bone-deep exhaustion and the cooling sweat on their skin. Tomomi’s eyes fluttered shut. Akari’s followed a moment later, a single tear tracing a path down her temple into her hair. The rain still fell outside, a soft shushing sound against the window, as oblivion claimed them both.