The sky shimmered a sickly orange, drowned out by brown clouds as Walpurgisnacht loomed overhead. The world was ending and there was nothing that they could do about it. Homura lay there in a puddle amidst the rubble of the city, her arm crossed with Madoka’s, the girl she loved, the girl that she was doing all of this for.
“Homura… You can go back in time, right?”
Homura laid there, feeling dazed and distant.
“You can go back and change history so that it won’t end like this, right?”
“Yeah…”
There was a pause in the air. “Then would you… go back and save stupid me before I get tricked by Kyubey?”
Homura turned her head to face her beloved, meeting her gaze, soft and pleading, searing pink pupils, lined with tears. All the feeling came rushing back to her, she surged up, grasping Madoka’s hands in hers. “I swear it! I promise I’ll save you!” Homura shouted, impassioned, more devoted to her love in this moment than she had ever been before. “No matter how many times I have to go back and try! I swear I will protect you!”
Madoka smiled. “Thank you.” It was all that Homura needed. Madoka was suddenly seized by a wave of agony as her fall began. Homua bit her lip, a knot forming in her stomach. The sight of her beloved, closest, and only friend in the world facing a fate worse than death, and knowing that there was nothing that she could do about it drove her mad.
Madoka looked up, trying to smile through the fear that was plain on her tear-streaked face. “Can I ask one more thing of you?” Homura nodded fervently. “I… I don’t want to become a witch…”
The implied request hung heavy in the air, Homura felt a lump forming in her throat. A dam burst inside of her as her tears began to flow now.
Madoka pulled away from Homura and proffered up her soul gem in the palm of her shaky hand. Homura hesitated before she readied her gun. She aimed the long, black, trembling barrel at Madoka’s gem and cocked the hammer, the click rang like a thunderclap in her ear. She forced herself to look down the barrel, meeting Madoka’s eyes, wide and trusting, once more before she snuffed out her flame.
She felt the blowback of the gun, sending her frail arms up. She did not remember forcing herself to pull the trigger, did not hear the sound. Homura let her arms fall to her sides as she began to sob. Pink dust hung in the air, Madoka’s soul, if they even had souls in this cursed state. Madoka’s body lay pathetic and discarded, a gaping, gory hole where her serene face had been a second before. Homura knelt there, entranced by the horrible sight, gazing into the pit, like a dark mirror of the fate that all magical girls shared.
There was a second click and Homura felt the all too familiar pull of time slipping back into place as it always did, as she feared it always would forever.
Homura paced down the lonely, damp city street, her hand in her hammerspace, idly thumbing the hammer of her revolver. The very same gun that killed Madoka-sama… The image of her gaping head where her lovely, wonderful face was supposed to be hovered in the girls mind, haunting her thoughts. Something stirred deep within the girl, feelings she had no way of beginning to understand.
Thoughts raced through her still developing teenage mind. The inside of her beloved’s skull. It looked so wet and moist and… inviting? Her hands in her gore her tongue lapping up her brains what does my love taste like, what did it feel like to die what would it feel like to join her…
Homura stopped, looked down. Had she… had she wet herself? The stoic perfectionist blushed furiously. Just like the first day of class, all those years ago. She looked up. No one was near. With an uncertain hand, she reached down and touched a fingertip to her soaked black nylons. A sticky string followed it back.
Suddenly out of breath, the unraveling magical girl peeled off into a side alley to compose herself. Checking again to ensure she was alone, she hiked up her skirt. Her legs trembled at the exposure to the crisp evening air. Sure enough, her thighs were thoroughly soaked. A bundle of strange emotions, Homura choked back tears. What’s happening to me?
She pulled her pantyhose down and tentatively examined her plain white panties, dark and soaked through. As soon as her fingertip grazed the cloth, a mighty shock of electricity blew through her tiny frame like fire. Her knees buckled, jelly as she fell to the ground, a sharp shrill cry escaping her.
Her head darted around for the second time in a half minute, her face crimson now. She propped herself up on wobbly legs and leaned against rough brick to try and regain some semblance of dignity and composure. With trembling hands she pinched her panties by the hem and puled the down slowly, terrified of what she might find.
The sodden fabric clung to her tender, underage flesh, a huge pool of what appeared to the virgin to be an almost snot-like goo glued her panties to her untouched privates. She marveled at the sight for a moment.
Finding her inhibitions gone, as well as any reason to resist her new, deviant urges, she reached a fingertip out to touch the stuff. Bringing it back to her lips, she let her tongue dart out to lap up the mystery substance. She pondered the taste for a moment. No, definitely not urine. It tasted sweet and slightly musky. The scent and taste lit a warmth in her petite breast. Her heart-rate hiked, and Homura questioned why she should fight this beast. Why not give into it? She reached back down, scooping some more of the ample panty slime with two fingers, then greedily sucking it off. She had no idea what she was doing, only that she was surrendering to this exciting new stranger inside herself.
Knowing that her cunny was the source of the juice, she traced her fingers along the edge of her outer lips. The feeling was twice was powerful this time, and she had lost the desire to fight it or to maintain decorum. Her legs gave out again, her bare snow pale ass slapped into the dirty, pebbled alley floor. The fifteen year old warrior mewled like a cheap whore, letting the noise echo, not caring if anyone heard her, secretly in her deepest recesses, relishing the idea that someone might. What does it matter? I can leave this reality anytime I wish.
Panting now, not knowing how to handle the raw power of this wonderful new sensation, the devious voice in her psyche urged her to plunge deeper, deeper, deeper. To ride the lightning and go wherever it took her. She surrendered to it.
Following some preternatural, primitive urge, the little girl plunged her fingers into her sopping snatch. Her whole body tensed up, back rigid, she threw her head back, silky pristine hair, rubbing against the rough brink and pooling under her on the filthy ground, soaking in a puddle of, she had no clue what. Part of her reveled in this, sinking to such animal levels. She understood on some level, she was surrendering herself to her basest lusts and was really no better than a dog now. Her cunt twitched at the thought as her tiny, lithe fingers plumbed it with unpracticed, but eager devotion. She was panting and heaving now, not daring to slow down, hips pumping with desperate lewdness into her small hand, knowing only the all consuming desire form release.
With less than a minute of rubbing herself Homura found herself on the brink of the very first orgasm of her life. She let out a high ear piercing scream of ecstatic agony as her legs kicked and shook, her little hips pumped out, and her tight, plump little cunt spewed its juices all over the dark backstreet she found herself in.
She fell over onto her side, laying there, panting, little chest rising and falling as she tried to inhale enough air to compose herself. She lay there limply, head resting contentedly on the pavement, as she basked in her first afterglow.
After a minute, she pushed herself up, still sitting bare-assed on the pavement. She thought this would have brought release and contentment, but now she was even more excited than she had been before. She was so pent up, there was no thought in the child’s head, save for further release.
She bounced up and down on her hand, instinctively pantomiming an act she had no knowledge of. It didn’t feel right, she wanted more somehow. She wanted to do something with her hands. She reached into her hammerspace, finding her hands wrapping around the grip of the very gun which she had snuffed out her dear Madoka with. She removed it, admired the piece. Something about the barrel made her heart pump even faster. Without thinking, she brought the tip up to her mouth and kissed it.
Then she thought of the gaping hole, the image seared into her mind permanently now, she knew. A terrible, deranged thought crossed through her brain and she flushed again. She swung open the cylinder, letting the bullets clatter to the ground with a series of satisfying clinks. One chimed lighter. The empty casing. The bullet that tore a hole through Madoka Kaname’s skull. The bullet that got to taste her delicious gray matter…
She leaned down, picking it up with her dripping wet finger and kissed it, permitting herself to peck it with her tongue. The taste was sharp and brassy, but just knowing that it was an artifact of her death made it taste sweet. She placed it back in the gun and put another of the unspent bullets in the chamber next to it. She spun the cylinder and clapped it shut, promptly returning to pleasuring herself.
Feeling as though she was in a dark, hazy dream, she slipped the tip into her mouth with one hand and probed her hungry cunt with the other. The thought of joining Madoka. The thought of blowing her own head off, exposing what gore was inside to everyone in the world except herself. The thought of life ending, having served no purpose. just meat. Just meat. Just meat.
Her finger slipped. click The vibration traveled from her thin lips, wrapped around the cold steel barrel, to her cunny, wrapped around her desperately probing fingers. Every nerve in the fourteen year old’s tiny body fired off, celebrating and lamenting the brush with death. The gun fell to the ground and clattered as Homura Akemi writhed and screamed on the ground, hand still buried in her virgin snatch, in a display that would make a seasoned whore blush. She writhes and squirmed, rubbing mud and soot all over her pristine white schoolgirl uniform. She carried on like this for over a full minute, her mind existing as a white hot poker, stabbing her every sense with senseless, depraved pleasure.
As the orgasm faded, Homura began to sob, full body wracking sobs of miserable, hateful self pity. Black tears ran down her face as the last vestiges of her steely cool facade slid away. She did not recognize herself. She did not know what this was. She did not want to continue it, nor could she imagine stopping it. She couldn’t return to normal. She was this thing now. The only thing to do was to continue.
She picked her gun back up and returned her pruned hand to her crotch. She winced as she brushed her swollen, sensitive flesh. Her clit was overstimulated and badly inflamed. She bit her lip and closed her eyes as she forced herself to keep rubbing it. She brought the gun back up to her head, placing the barrel against her temple. The sensation brought lubrication back to her pussy and her fingers found their rhythm again. She tensed every muscle in her tiny body and click The sound, the relief, the bite of disappointment sent a thrill of arousal through her, her cunny spewed a gush of juices in a micro orgasm.
Homura continued to rub herself silly, a dumb grin of numb contentment crossed her face. She was getting close again. She let her body relax, bouncing lightly, squated on her heels, she closed her eyes. She imagined Madoka coming close to embrace her. Her mouth lulled open, captivated by the fantasy. In her mind, she could almost feel her leaning in to kiss her. She jammed the gun into her mouth, pumping it in and out, in and out, fellating it zealously. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. She began to gag and sputter as the metal phallus rammed and battered the back of her throat, her now ravenous cunt sucking her entire hand into its shallow depths. She pulled back the hammer, relishing the click. She was close, she let her dainty finger rest on the curve of the trigger, felt the tidal wave of pleasure cresting to consume her completely. She knew on the other end of this wave, there would be nothing left of her. what would it feel like to join her? What would it feel like to join her? What would it feel like to join her? What would it-