/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.1346209]

[Anonymous No.1346210]

[Anonymous No.1346215]

Sweet Jesus, that is some awful, awful prose!

[Anonymous No.1346418]

Wow that was hilarious.

[Anonymous No.1346421]

Muraki had never seen that flower before. I gasped in surprise and didn't say anything for a minute, but then I thought about Akana. This way, even if I wanted to have genital sex with Akana, I couldn't. I couldn't make Akana happy. Akaan had wanted to have genital sex so much. I could still have head sex, but I could never have genital sex now. But if I could never have genital sex, then I could hardly ask for head sex. I could never do anything for her. I would take and take and never give back, which was out of the question... except that that was what I had been doing all along. I had never done anything for Akana at all, just done what I wanted to do. Take take take take and never once given. And now I could never give. I mourned the loss of my penis. I felt sorry for Akana. The thing she had wanted was no longer in this world. the thought that Akana would no longer want me now that I no longer had a penis, only a hole, crushed me. She would leave me. The very thought broke my heart, and I almost burst into tears. But I didn't have time to cry. I was surrounded by adults on the Shinkansen, and the clasp on my pants was undone, and a glowing white crotch flower was sticking out of the fly of my boxers. I couldn't just sit there crying.

[Anonymous No.1346427]

So I reached down to close up my fly, but the tip of my finger brushed against one of the moist flower petals, and vvvvvvvv it felt like waves of electricity ran out across my entire body. In a second, the shock wave reached every bit of my body, numbness spreading all the way to my core. At first, I mistook it for pain. Presumably out of sheer surprise. But it wasn't. I had grown another ste of genitals. The clitoris girls were supposed to have must feel like this. No male organ was this sensitive. Hot damn! I grew a clitoris! I was thrilled. But once I thought about it a minute, I realized that a clitoris this big could be hard to handle. I couldn't close my pants. And if the hole in my head was my vagina, a clitoris at my crotch meant I was like a giant upside-down set of female genitals with arms and legs attached. But maybe my arms and legs were extra; maybe they were the large and small labia. Which made a walking... snatch. By this point, my mental image of Makoto Muraki, boy savior of the world, was a junior high eighth-grade upside-dwon cunt. I rose from my seat with my glowing white flower clitoris exposed and got off the Shinkansen, bathin everyone in the light of my beautiful clitoris.

[Anonymous No.1346429]

Maibara was in Shiga Prefecture. It was October, still early afternoon, but nice and cool. The sky was a pale blue, with only a few scattered clouds moving quickly in the wind. The breeze hit the moist flower at my crotch. It felt chilly. I walked empty-handed along the platform after the Shinkansen pulled away, heading for the walk way to the other train. The attendants and other passengers all saw the glowing white clitoris flower sticking out of the fly of my trousers. But everyone was too polite to stare, so I got carried away. It's not like anyone knew this was a clitoris. So I thought I might as well play with it a bit. I crossed the walkway, went through the gates, and across another bridge toward the platform for the express, but on the way, I touched the glowing white flower and my crotch again.

[Anonymous No.1346431]

Zap! "Aah! Hahh...!" It felt like someone had shot a bullet right down into my genitals. My legs twisted, and I fell backward, landing on the ground on my ass. Wow. No girl had a clitoris like this. It felt much too superamazingly great. This flower, like a cross between a rose and a lily, was connected to every single never in my body, to my sensory, motor, and relay neurons. The people walking behind me in the passage looked suprised as they passed me. That's when I realized my mouth was hanging open and a drool was comming out.

I wiped it with my hand and realized it wans't drool at all.

[Anonymous No.1346439]

God dammit, I don't think I can make it past:

>I could still have head sex

WTF?

[Anonymous No.1346447]

lol, I can't believe someone printed that...

[Anonymous No.1346458]

Is that Anne Rice?

[Anonymous No.1346504]

it's like the novelization of some bad hentai

[Anonymous No.1346565]

Japanese is hard to translate. With a crappy translator it easily looses its vigour and becomes really apathetic, almost sterile. Not saying that this thing here is ... you know. I'm just saying.

[Anonymous No.1346581]

>Wow. No girl had a clitoris like this. It felt much too superamazingly great.

[Anonymous No.1346584]

>>1346504
¿Where are the choices? I want to follow the Akana's route

[Anonymous No.1346629]

It's Maijou Outarou. Weird shit.

[Anonymous No.1346631]

I see your post OP and raise you...

[Anonymous No.1346635]

>>1346631
As Spikenard watched, Bronwyn slipped the transparent cloak from her shoulders; it fell with a whisper. She let her hands drop to her sides; she pulled her shoulders back and stood erect, feet apart, legs straight. This is what he saw:

Brownwyn standing pale and tall in the nervous light that simmered through a vibrating canopy of green leaves. The shifting bands of milky light and emerald shadow made her seem luminous, translucent, as though she were a tallow candle glowing beneath its own flame. Like a porcelain lantern. Like a curtain fluttering in a window at dawn. Like a ghost that came and went with the twilight and darkness, that first veiled and then revealed.

Her hair had the sheen of the sea beneath an eclipsed moon. It was the color of a leopard's tongue, of oiled mahogany. It was terra cotta, bay and chestnut. Her hair was a helmet, a hood, the cowl of the monk, magician or cobra.

Her face had the fragrance of a gibbous moon. The secnt of fresh snow. Her eyes were dark birds in fresh snow. They were the birds' shadows, they were mirrors; they were the legends on old charts. They were antique armor and the tears of dragons. Her brows were a raptor's sharp, anxious wings. They were a pair of scythes. Her ears were a puzzle carved in ivory. Her teeth were her only bracelet; she carried them within the red velvet purse of her lips. her tongue was amber. Her tongue was a ferret, an anemone, a fox caught in the teeth of a tiger.

[Anonymous No.1346637]

....

[Anonymous No.1346643]

>>1346635
Her shoulders were the clay in a potter's kiln. Her shoulders were fieldstones; they were the white, square stones of which walls are made. They were windows covered with steam. They were porcelain. They were opal and moonstone. Her neck was the foam that curls from the prow of a ship, it was a sheaf of alfalfa or barley, it was the lonely dance of the pearl-grey shark.

Her legs were quills. They were bundles of wicker, they were candelabra; the muscles were summer lightning, that flickered like a passing thought; they were captured eels or a cable on a windlass. Her things were geese, pythons, schooners. They were cypress or banyan; her thighs were a forge, they were shears; her thighs were sandstone, they were the sandstone buttresses of a cathedral, they were silk or cobwebs. Her calves were sweet with the sap of elders, her feet were bleached bone, her feet were driftwood. Her feet were springs, marmosets or locusts; her toes were snails, they were snails with shells of tears.

Her arms were a corral, a fence, an enclosure; they were pennants; they were highways. Her fingers were incense. They were silver fish in clear water; they were the speed of the fish, they were the fish's wake. They were semaphores; they were meteors.

Her spine was a snake. It was the track of a snake. It was the groove the water snake makes in the glossy mud of the riverbank. her spine was a viper, an anaconda. It was the strength of the anaconda. It was the anaconda's unknown hieroglyphic. Her spine was a ladder, a rod; it was a chain, a canal, it was a caravan. Her buttocks were fresh-bakes loaves; they were ivory eggs, they were the eggs of the lonely phoenix. They were a fist.

[Anonymous No.1346649]

>>1346643
Her breasts were citrus, they were soapstone; they were bright cumulus and the smooth fingertips of Musrum. Her breasts were honeycombs and dew-beaded windows, or soft, sweet cheese. They were sweet apples; they were glass, they were cowries. They were the twin moons of the earth. The nipples rose like mecury with her heat. They rose like monuments atop flowered hills, above deserts of hot sand; the nipples were savory morels, with the flavor of the forest.

Her ribs were a niche, an alcove, an apse; her stomach was an idol in the niche, alcove or apse, an effigy, a phantom. Her stomach was a beach, a savannah, a flagstone warmed by the sun, a cat asleep on the flagstone, a bleached canvas sail in hot southern winds. Her navel winked like a doll's eye, like the eye of a whale, like the drowsy cat.

Her pubes was a field of wheat after the harvest, a field neatly furrowed; it was a neset, a pomegranate, an arrowhead, a rune. It was a shadow. It was moss on a smooth white stone. There was an orchid within the moss. There was a drop of dew upon the orchid. It had the breath of moss-beds, of the deep seas, of the abyss, of scrimshaw and blue glass, of cold iron; she had the sex of rain forests, the ibis and the scarab; she had the sex of mirrors and candles, of the hot, careful winds that stroke the veldt, the winds that taste of clay and seed and blood; the winds that dreamed of tawny, lean animals.

"You are quite beautiful, Princess Bronwyn," Spikenard sang, with his sardonic grin and eyes as violet and hard as amethysts. "Your body is halfway between earth and dream, neither magic nor elemental, neither animal nor spirit."

His long fingers reached toward her face, brushed her eye-lids...

[Anonymous No.1346654]

>>1346421
>>1346427
>>1346429
>>1346431
>>1346635
>>1346643
>>1346649

You must really like typing, eh.