== Touhou Chinese Girl Simulator == -- Turn 1 -- Action ------ I start off walking into Geidontei on a slow day. I'm wearing traditional clothing for Gensokyo and take a seat at a table, trying to fit in. I look over at Miyoi, the cute whale tending the bar, and write in my notebook; "Her physical age increases to about mid-50s." Outcome ------- The familiar interior of Geidontei surrounds you as you settle into a wooden chair, the afternoon light streaming through the paper windows casting a warm glow across the tables. The establishment is quiet today - just a couple of other patrons murmuring over drinks in the corner. Your attention fixes on the woman behind the bar. Miyoi Okunoda moves with practiced efficiency, wiping down glasses with a cloth. She's dressed in her usual work attire - that distinctive blue and white outfit that marks her as the tavern's proprietor. As you pull out your notebook and begin writing, you watch her carefully. The change ripples through reality like a stone dropped in still water. Miyoi's face shifts subtly - laugh lines deepening around her eyes and mouth, a slight softness appearing beneath her chin. Her figure fills out, breasts growing heavier and lower, straining slightly against the fabric of her outfit in a way they hadn't moments before. Her hips widen, thighs thickening with the comfortable weight of middle age. Fine lines appear at the corners of her eyes, and a few strands of silver thread through her dark hair near her temples. She continues her work without pause, completely unaware that anything has changed. To her - to everyone in Gensokyo except you - this has always been how she looks. She's always been a woman in her mid-fifties, running this establishment with the seasoned confidence that comes with decades of experience. "Welcome to Geidontei," she calls over to you, her voice carrying that particular warmth of someone who's greeted thousands of customers over the years. "What can I get you this afternoon? We've got fresh sake that just came in yesterday, or if you're hungry, I can fix you up something from the kitchen." She sets down her cloth and approaches your table, moving with the slight heaviness of someone whose joints have seen many years of standing behind a bar. Her smile is genuine, if a bit weathered, and there's a maternal quality to the way she looks at you - assessing whether you're the type to cause trouble or just here for a quiet drink. -- Turn 2 -- Action ------ Order some plum wine, and give her some gentle friendly compliments, curious how she acts in this new reality. You additionally write "Miyoi gains some matronly weight on her figure, gaining 170 pounds on her mature sagging figure." Outcome ------- You settle more comfortably into your seat and offer Miyoi a warm smile. "I'll have some umeshu, please. And I have to say, you run a wonderful establishment here. The atmosphere is so welcoming." Miyoi's weathered face brightens at the compliment, those crow's feet deepening pleasantly at the corners of her eyes. "Ah, you're too kind! I do my best to keep things comfortable for folks. Been at this for quite a while now, so I'd hope I've figured out a thing or two about hospitality." As she turns to fetch your plum wine, you discreetly open the notebook in your lap and write the second alteration. The change cascades through her body with remarkable thoroughness. Her entire frame expands, flesh rippling outward as one hundred and seventy pounds distributes itself across her mature figure. Her breasts swell dramatically heavier, sagging deeply now with their increased weight, pulling the fabric of her blue and white outfit taut across her chest. The material strains visibly, buttons working harder to contain her expanded bustline. Her belly pushes forward, soft and rounded, creating a pronounced maternal curve that her obi struggles to contain. Her hips widen substantially, thighs thick and heavy, pressing against each other as she moves. Even her arms have taken on a fuller quality, soft flesh swaying slightly with each motion. She returns with your umeshu, breathing just slightly heavier from the exertion of crossing the room - a new reality for her enlarged body. When she sets the cup down, you notice how her substantial bosom rests against the edge of the table, and how she adjusts her stance to accommodate her considerable weight. "Here you are," she says, apparently noticing nothing amiss about her hefty figure. "Fresh umeshu. Let me know if you need anything else - though I might need to catch my breath first!" She laughs good-naturedly, one hand moving to her lower back. "These old bones aren't quite as spry as they used to be. Comes with the territory of running a place like this for as long as I have." She lingers near your table, clearly appreciating the friendly conversation on this slow afternoon. "You visiting the village, or are you one of the newer residents? I try to keep track of the regulars, but at my age the memory isn't quite what it was." -- Turn 3 -- Action ------ You compliment her, and tell her you're just passing through. You also write in your notebook "Miyoi engages in casual sex with younger men whenever she can." The two of you continue your friendly conversation. Outcome ------- "Just passing through," you tell her with an easy smile. "But I'm enjoying the hospitality. You've clearly got a gift for making people feel at home." Miyoi's round face flushes with pleasure at the praise, one plump hand coming up to wave dismissively. "Oh, go on with you! Though I won't lie, it's nice to hear. Sometimes I wonder if folks even notice the effort anymore." She shifts her considerable weight from one foot to the other, her heavy breasts swaying with the movement beneath her strained outfit. As she talks, you discreetly add another line to your notebook, watching reality reshape itself around the words. "Truth is," Miyoi continues, leaning against your table - partially for support, partially in a posture that suddenly seems more deliberate, "I do enjoy meeting travelers. Especially the younger ones, if you don't mind me saying." There's a new warmth in her eyes now, something beyond simple hospitality. "They bring fresh energy to the place. Fresh... perspectives." She glances toward the two villagers in the corner, confirming they're still absorbed in their own conversation, then looks back at you with a softer expression. "You know, on slow days like this, I sometimes think about closing up early. Spending the afternoon in more... comfortable surroundings." Her thick fingers idly trace the edge of your table. "Gets lonely, running this place by myself most days. A woman my age still has needs, you understand." The directness catches you slightly off-guard, even though you literally just wrote it into existence. She speaks with the casual frankness of someone for whom this is simply a normal part of life - because now it is. In this reality, Miyoi has always been the type to enjoy the company of younger men when the opportunity presents itself, finding pleasure and companionship in brief encounters that help break up the monotony of tavern keeping. "But listen to me going on," she says with a knowing smile. "Here you are just wanting a quiet drink, and I'm bending your ear with an old woman's chatter." She straightens up with visible effort, her substantial belly pressing against the table's edge. "Though if you did want to stay a while after you finish that umeshu, I wouldn't complain about the company. The private quarters upstairs are quite comfortable, and like I said - it's a slow day." She leaves the invitation hanging there, casual but unmistakable, before moving back toward the bar with heavy, deliberate steps. -- Turn 4 -- Action ------ Quickly finish your drink and accept Miyoi's invitation to go upstairs to her private quarters. You stealthily squeeze her ample fat ass as you pass her, thanking her for her hospitality. Outcome ------- You drain the last of the sweet umeshu in one smooth motion, setting the cup down with a decisive clink. "I'd be delighted to take you up on that offer," you say, rising from your seat. "Some private conversation sounds perfect for an afternoon like this." Miyoi's weathered face lights up with genuine pleasure, a flush spreading across her plump cheeks. "Wonderful! Let me just let those two know I'm stepping away." She waddles over to the corner table where the two villagers sit. "Gentlemen, I need to attend to some business upstairs. Help yourselves to another round if you like - just leave payment on the counter." The farmer waves her off without much interest, already deep in discussion about crop rotation schedules. Miyoi returns to you with surprising quickness for someone of her size, slightly breathless. "Come on then, the stairs are this way." She leads you toward a narrow staircase at the back of the tavern, her broad hips swaying heavily with each step. As she passes in front of you, you reach out and firmly squeeze one massive cheek of her ass, your fingers sinking deep into the soft, abundant flesh that fills out the seat of her outfit. "Oh!" Miyoi gasps, stopping mid-step and glancing back at you with wide eyes that quickly crinkle into a delighted smile. "My, my... someone's eager. I like that in a young man." She reaches back to pat your hand where it rests on her generous rear. "And thank *you* for the appreciation. It's been too long since someone showed proper interest in this old body." She continues up the stairs, now putting a deliberate sway into her movements, clearly enjoying your attention. Each step makes her entire frame jiggle - her heavy breasts bouncing against her straining top, her thick thighs rubbing together, that magnificent ass rippling beneath the fabric. She's breathing hard by the time she reaches the top landing, one hand pressed to her lower back. "Just... give me a moment," she pants, fumbling with a door handle. "These stairs take it out of me these days." The door swings open to reveal a modest but cozy room - a large futon against one wall, a low table with tea supplies, a chest of drawers, and paper screens filtering the afternoon light into soft amber tones. "Well then," Miyoi says, turning to face you fully, her eyes traveling appreciatively over your younger form. "Why don't you come in and we can get properly... acquainted?" -- Turn 5 -- Action ------ Enter the room and pull her close immediately, kissing her while your hands roam her soft curves, undressing her and revealing her fat saggy yet sexy body. Outcome ------- You step into the warm room and immediately pull Miyoi against you, one hand sliding behind her thick neck to draw her lips to yours. She makes a surprised, pleased sound against your mouth before melting into the kiss, her soft body pressing heavily into yours. Her lips are warm and yielding, tasting faintly of sake and plum wine. Your hands begin exploring immediately, running down her sides and feeling the abundant softness of her mature flesh through the fabric. She shivers under your touch, her own hands coming up to grip your shoulders for support. When you break the kiss, you're both breathing harder. "Gods, you don't waste time," she murmurs with a throaty laugh, her weathered face flushed with arousal and pleasure. "I like that." Your fingers find the knot of her obi and begin working it loose. The fabric falls away and her outfit immediately sags open, revealing the pale expanse of her generous belly and the deep valley between her heavy breasts. You push the blue and white top off her shoulders and it puddles at her thick waist. Her breasts spill free - massive and pendulous, sagging low on her chest with large, dark areolas and thick nipples that are already stiffening in the room's air. "There we are," you say appreciatively, cupping the weight of one breast in your hand. It's incredibly heavy, the flesh soft and warm, overflowing your grip entirely. Miyoi gasps at your touch, her eyes fluttering. "Ah... it's been so long since someone really looked at me like that. Like they want me." Her voice wavers between vulnerability and desire. You continue undressing her, peeling away the rest of her clothing until she stands completely naked before you - all soft curves and abundant flesh, her thick thighs pressed together, her sex hidden in the shadow between them. She's breathing heavily, her large breasts rising and falling with each breath, and she reaches out to steady herself against your arm. "Your turn now," she says with renewed confidence, her fingers already moving to your kosode. "Let me see what I'm working with here." -- Turn 6 -- Action ------ Do nothing. Outcome ------- You stand there for a long moment, making no move to undress or advance things further. Miyoi's hands, which had begun tugging at the ties of your kosode, slow and then stop entirely. Her flushed face tilts up toward yours, confusion creasing her weathered features. "Everything alright?" she asks, a note of uncertainty entering her voice. Her heavy breasts rise and fall with her breathing, nipples still hard in the afternoon air. She takes a small step back, suddenly very aware of her nakedness - one thick arm moving to partially cover her sagging breasts, the other hand drifting down toward the soft mound of her belly. "Did I... did I do something wrong?" The confidence that had been building in her expression begins to falter, replaced by a vulnerability that makes her look older somehow. She shifts her considerable weight from foot to foot, the movement making her entire body jiggle slightly. "I know I'm not... well, I'm not young anymore. Not like some of the girls around here." Her voice has gone quieter, more hesitant. "If you've changed your mind, I understand. No hard feelings." She starts to reach for her discarded clothing, bending with visible effort, her thick thighs pressing together as she stoops. The motion makes her massive breasts hang heavily, swaying as she moves. "Maybe this was a silly idea anyway," she mutters, more to herself than to you. "Old woman like me, thinking a nice young man would really want..." She trails off, straightening up with her blue and white top clutched against her chest, not quite meeting your eyes. The flush in her cheeks has shifted from arousal to embarrassment. Outside the paper screens, you can hear the distant murmur of the two villagers still talking downstairs, their voices a reminder of the world beyond this suddenly awkward moment. "Tell you what," Miyoi says with forced cheerfulness, attempting to recover some dignity. "Why don't I get dressed and fix us some proper tea? We can just talk if you'd prefer. No pressure." Despite her words, there's genuine hurt flickering behind her eyes - the sting of rejection mixing with confusion about what went wrong. -- Turn 7 -- Action ------ You stop her from putting her clothes on. "S-sorry, I was just stunned. You're just so... I can't believe a woman like you hasn't been touched recently, you must have had countless lovers in the past with your beauty. Perhaps it's better I show you how lovely I think you are." You then proceed to pleasure her as best you can. Outcome ------- Your hand catches her wrist before she can pull the fabric up over her chest. "S-sorry," you say quickly, meeting her uncertain gaze. "I was just stunned. You're just so... I can't believe a woman like you hasn't been touched recently. You must have had countless lovers in the past with your beauty. Perhaps it's better I show you how lovely I think you are." Miyoi's eyes widen, the hurt expression melting away into something hopeful and vulnerable. "You... you really mean that?" Her voice cracks slightly. "You're not just saying it?" "Let me prove it," you murmur, gently taking the clothing from her hands and tossing it aside. You guide her backward toward the futon, and she goes willingly, lowering herself onto it with a soft grunt of effort. Her thick thighs spread slightly as she settles back, and you kneel between them. "Oh," she breathes as you run your hands up those plump thighs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. "Oh my..." You lean forward and press your lips to the inside of her knee, then trail kisses upward along her inner thigh. Her skin is warm and slightly damp with perspiration, tasting faintly of salt. She shivers beneath your touch, one hand coming down to rest tentatively on your head. "You don't have to—" she starts, but cuts off with a sharp gasp as your mouth reaches the apex of her thighs. Her sex is already slick with arousal, the folds glistening in the afternoon light. When your tongue makes contact, her entire body jolts. "Ahh! Gods!" Her fingers tighten in your hair, thick thighs trembling on either side of your head. "It's been so long... oh gods, don't stop..." You explore her thoroughly with lips and tongue, tasting her arousal, feeling how she clenches and releases. Her heavy breathing fills the room, punctuated by increasingly desperate moans. Her hips begin to rock against your mouth, grinding shamelessly, all self-consciousness forgotten in the building pleasure. "Yes, yes, right there," she pants, voice getting higher and more strained. "Oh fuck, I'm going to— I'm—" Her thighs clamp around your head as she crests, crying out long and loud, her entire massive body shaking with the force of her climax. You feel her pulsing against your tongue, her hands clutching desperately at your hair. The orgasm seems to roll through her in waves, each one making her cry out again until finally she collapses back against the futon, gasping for breath. "Holy... holy shit," she wheezes, staring up at the ceiling with glazed eyes. "That was... I haven't come like that in years." She looks down at you with wonder and renewed hunger. "Now get up here. I want to return the favor." -- Turn 8 -- Action ------ Let her reciprocate, enjoying her attention, as she gets on top of you. You fuck her fat mature body to climax. Outcome ------- She doesn't need to be told twice. Her thick fingers work at your kosode with surprising dexterity, tugging the fabric open and pushing it down your shoulders. "Let me see you," she murmurs, voice still husky from her orgasm. Her palms slide across your chest as she bares it, warm and slightly calloused from years of tavern work. "Mmm, nice." You help her with the hakama, and soon you're naked beneath her appraising gaze. Her pink hair, streaked with silver, falls forward as she leans down, those massive breasts swaying heavily. She wraps one hand around your hardness, giving an experimental stroke that makes you inhale sharply. "Someone's eager," she teases, a knowing smile crossing her weathered features. Then she's lowering her head, and the wet heat of her mouth engulfs you. You groan at the sensation—her tongue working along your length, cheeks hollowing as she takes you deeper. She's clearly done this many times before, the movements confident and practiced. After several long moments that leave you breathing hard, she releases you with a soft pop. "As much as I'd love to finish you like that," she says, climbing up your body with visible effort, flesh jiggling with each movement, "I want to feel you inside me." She straddles your hips, her considerable weight settling onto you, thighs spread wide on either side. One hand reaches down to guide you to her entrance, still slick from before. "Ready?" she asks, and at your nod, she sinks down slowly. The sensation is overwhelming—hot and tight despite her age, her inner walls gripping you as she takes you to the hilt. "Fuck," she hisses, head tilting back, those heavy breasts rising with her deep breath. "Gods, you feel good." She begins to move, rolling her hips in practiced circles, then lifting and dropping her weight. The futon creaks beneath you both with each bounce. Her belly jiggles, her breasts sway and bounce wildly, her thick thighs flex as she rides you with increasing urgency. "Yes, yes," she pants, face flushed, a light sheen of sweat covering her pale skin. "Touch me, squeeze me—" Your hands find her hips, then move up to grab those massive swaying breasts, fingers sinking into the soft saggy flesh. She moans at the contact, riding faster now, chasing her second climax. "Gonna come again," she gasps. "Gonna—oh fuck—" Her body seizes up, clenching around you rhythmically as she cries out. The sensation pushes you over the edge and you empty yourself inside her with a groan, hips bucking up as pleasure whites out your vision. She collapses forward onto your chest, both of you breathing hard, her substantial weight pressing you into the futon. "That," she says after a long moment, "was exactly what I needed." -- Turn 9 -- Action ------ Pull out the notebook while she's relaxed and write something new, curious; "Me and Miyoi swap bodies. Miyoi (in my body) now believes that she has always been me, and I've always been Miyoi." Outcome ------- You reach over to where your kosode lies crumpled on the floor, fishing the notebook from its folds while Miyoi remains sprawled contentedly across your chest. Her breathing has steadied into a satisfied rhythm, and she doesn't even glance at what you're doing as you flip open to a fresh page. Your hand moves across the paper: "Me and Miyoi swap bodies. Miyoi (in my body) now believes that she has always been me, and I've always been Miyoi." The moment the final character leaves your pen, reality ripples. The sensation hits like plunging into ice water—a dizzying lurch as perspective inverts. Suddenly you're looking down instead of up, feeling the crushing weight of flesh that wasn't there a heartbeat ago pressing into the futon beneath you. Your—no, her—no, your breasts sag heavily against a chest that's no longer yours, and thick thighs spread wide around a slender body you recognize as your own. "Mmmm," you hear yourself say in a voice that's distinctly masculine, and you realize it's Miyoi speaking—except she isn't Miyoi anymore, is she? She's always been you. The /jp/ Anon who wandered into Geidontei this afternoon. "That was incredible, Miyoi. You really know how to show a guy a good time." You try to respond but what emerges is Miyoi's mature, slightly husky voice. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart." The words feel natural, automatic, even as your mind reels from the wrongness of hearing them in her cadence. You shift your weight—gods, there's so much of it—and feel your massive body slide off the slender frame beneath you with a grunt of effort. Looking down, you see pale, dimpled flesh stretching in every direction. Your belly protrudes in a soft mound. Your thighs are thick columns that press together when you sit. And hanging from your chest are two enormous, saggy breasts with large, dark nipples still erect from recent activity. Your old body—inhabited by the consciousness that now believes it's always been /jp/ Anon—sits up and stretches lazily. "I should probably get going soon," he says, running a hand through hair you recognize as your own. "Don't want to overstay my welcome." The words that tumble from your lips surprise you even as you say them: "You're always welcome here, dear. You know that." It's Miyoi's manner of speaking, her instinctive hospitality, but coming from your throat. You watch your old hands reaching for the scattered clothing, and the wrongness of it crashes over you in waves. You are Miyoi Okunoda. You've always been Miyoi Okunoda. This is your tavern, your room, your body. The memories are there, crystal clear—centuries of tending bar, of welcoming travelers, of this exact room and countless afternoons like this one. But you also remember being someone else entirely. The dissonance makes your head spin. -- Turn 10 -- Action ------ Let them leave and explore being Miyoi alone, testing the limits of this transformation and you. Outcome ------- You watch with an unsettling mixture of fascination and horror as your former body moves with an ease and confidence that feels alien. The young man—who is absolutely certain he's /jp/ Anon and always has been—pulls on the hakama with practiced motions, tying it at the waist before shrugging into the kosode. "I'll probably stop by again tomorrow," he says cheerfully, flashing you a grin that looks wrong on your face. "You really are something special, Miyoi." "I look forward to it, dear," you hear yourself respond automatically, the words flowing from muscle memory that isn't yours but somehow is. Your thick hand waves in a gesture you've never made before but feels completely natural. He leans down to press a quick kiss to your weathered cheek, and you catch a whiff of your own scent—or rather, the scent that used to be yours. Then he's heading for the door, his movements light and easy in a way you suddenly realize you'll never experience again. The door slides shut behind him with a soft click, and his footsteps descend the stairs with barely a creak. Alone now, you become acutely aware of every aspect of this foreign flesh. You push yourself upright with a grunt of effort, feeling your enormous breasts swing heavily with the motion, their weight pulling on chest muscles that protest the strain. Your belly folds over itself as you sit, creating rolls of soft fat that press against your thick thighs. Standing requires genuine effort. You have to rock forward twice before momentum carries you up, and even then you wobble slightly, adjusting to a center of gravity that sits much lower and wider than you're accustomed to. Your knees ache with a dull, persistent throb. Your lower back twinges. "Gods," you mutter in Miyoi's husky voice, and the sound of it sends another wave of disorientation through you. You waddle—there's no other word for it—over to the small standing mirror in the corner. What looks back at you is overwhelming. A woman in her mid-fifties, easily three hundred and fifty pounds, with pale dimpled flesh sagging in places you didn't know flesh could sag. Your—her—no, your face is round and weathered, crow's feet deep at the corners of tired blue-green eyes. Silver threads your pink hair. You experimentally cup one massive breast, feeling how it fills both hands and then some. The nipple is large, dark, and still somewhat sensitive from recent activity. When you release it, the breast drops heavily, bouncing slightly before settling. Your hands move lower, over the rounded swell of your belly, feeling how the flesh gives under your fingers like dough. Then to your wide hips, your thick thighs that rub together when you shift your weight. The memories are the most disconcerting part. You remember being Miyoi Okunoda for over three centuries. You remember first manifesting as a zashiki-warashi in a merchant's house, learning to manipulate memories, eventually settling here. But you also remember being a young man from the outside world, finding a mysterious notebook, arriving in Gensokyo just days ago. Both sets of memories feel equally real, equally yours. -- Turn 11 -- Action ------ You experiment with exploring and masturbating in Miyoi's body. After some fun, you decide to change back to normal... before realizing you don't have your journal now. Oops. Looks like you're going to be stuck as Miyoi. As this version of Miyoi. Outcome ------- The solitude emboldens you. If you're going to be trapped in this body—at least temporarily—you might as well understand it fully. Your thick fingers trail down over your belly again, this time continuing lower to the slickness still lingering between your thighs. The sensation when you touch yourself there is startlingly different—more diffuse, spreading through your entire pelvis rather than concentrated in one place. You settle back onto the futon with a soft grunt, letting your massive thighs fall open. The flesh of your inner thighs is incredibly soft, almost silky despite the weight. You explore yourself with curious fingers, finding the rhythm and pressure that makes this unfamiliar body respond. It builds differently than you're used to—slower, deeper, rolling through you in waves rather than spiking sharply. When the climax finally hits, your back arches and those enormous breasts heave with your gasping breath. Your thick thighs tremble and clench, your toes curl, and Miyoi's voice cries out in pleasure that's entirely your own. The aftershocks seem to last forever, little tremors that make your soft belly quiver. You lie there catching your breath, feeling the sweat cooling on your pale skin, the ache in your hips from holding your legs apart with all this weight. It's fascinating in a clinical way, but also deeply unsettling. Time to change back. You reach for where you left your kosode, patting the fabric, checking the floor around the futon. Nothing. Your heart—Miyoi's heart—starts pounding harder. You push yourself up with effort, wadding over to check the scattered clothing more thoroughly. Still nothing. The notebook. The reality-warping notebook that's the only way to undo this. Your former body took it when it left. The consciousness that now believes it's always been /jp/ Anon has the notebook, completely unaware of what it can do. To her—him—it's just a blank journal, meaningless and unremarkable. "Oh fuck," you whisper in Miyoi's husky voice, the reality crashing down. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." You're stuck. Actually stuck. This isn't temporary experimentation anymore. You're Miyoi Okunoda—a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound woman in her mid-fifties who runs a tavern and has casual sex with younger men. Your old body is walking around out there somewhere, completely oblivious to the power it's carrying. You sink down onto the futon again, feeling your massive weight settle, your heavy breasts hanging against your chest. The dual memories make it worse—you remember being Miyoi for centuries, but you also remember being young and male just hours ago. The cognitive dissonance is nauseating. You need that notebook back. But how do you even begin to explain this to someone who has no memory of who they really are? -- Turn 12 -- Action ------ With no other choice, you fall into the Miyoi role, doing as she would do in this new reality. You're able to track down the original Miyoi (in your old body), but she's long forgotten about the notebook, losing it or possibly trashing it, leaving it gone forever. There's nothing for you to do but accept your new life as this hag Miyoi. At least the sex is good. Outcome ------- The acceptance doesn't come immediately. It takes three days of operating the tavern, of feeling your massive body protest every movement, of catching your reflection and seeing that weathered, matronly face staring back. Three days of younger men flirting with you—some genuine, some patronizing—and feeling both Miyoi's practiced responses and your own confused arousal. On the fourth day, you spot your former body across the human village market. The young man is examining produce with the casual ease of someone who belongs here, chatting with a vendor about the upcoming harvest festival. You approach, your thick thighs rubbing together with each waddling step. "Anon," you call out, the name strange on your tongue. He turns, recognizing you with a friendly smile. "Miyoi! Good to see you." There's no trace of recognition beyond the casual familiarity of a recent lover. "How's the tavern?" "Busy enough." You force the words through the tightness in your chest. "Listen, I was wondering—that notebook you had the other day. The one you brought upstairs?" His brow furrows in confusion. "Notebook? I don't... oh, you mean that old thing?" He shrugs. "Pretty sure I tossed it somewhere. Wasn't writing anything worth keeping." Your heart plummets. "Tossed it where?" "The river, maybe? Or the forest path? I honestly don't remember. Why, was it important?" The casual indifference in his voice—your voice—makes something inside you crack. "No," you hear yourself say in Miyoi's husky tone. "Not important." He touches your shoulder with easy familiarity. "I'll stop by tonight if you're free. Last time was really something." "I'd like that," you respond automatically, and realize with sinking certainty that you mean it. This body craves touch, craves the validation of being desired despite—or perhaps because of—its age and size. That night, he comes as promised. This time you don't hesitate, don't fumble. You know exactly how to move this heavy body, how to use its weight and softness. When he groans your name—Miyoi's name, your name now—into your neck while thrusting between your thick thighs, you feel something settle inside you. This is your life now. Three-hundred-fifty pounds of aging flesh, aching joints, and the strange satisfaction of younger men seeking you out. The notebook is gone. The reality it created is permanent. At least, you think as pleasure builds in this unfamiliar body, at least the sex is good. -- Turn 13 -- Action ------ Continue your life as Miyoi, running the tavern and enjoying your encounters Outcome ------- Four months slide by in a rhythm that becomes disturbingly natural. You wake each morning to the weight of your breasts pulling sideways across your chest, your thick thighs pressed together under the blankets. The ache in your lower back has become as familiar as breathing. The tavern fills and empties with reliable patterns. Mornings are quiet—you prep vegetables with hands that have learned the exact pressure needed despite their thickness, moving through Miyoi's recipes with muscle memory that feels increasingly like your own. Afternoons bring scattered travelers and villagers seeking lunch. Evenings swell with conversation and sake. You've become adept at reading the subtle signals. The way a young man's eyes linger on your heavy cleavage when you lean to pour his drink. The flush that creeps up his neck when your hip brushes his shoulder. Three or four times a week, someone accepts the unspoken invitation to follow you upstairs. Tonight it's a carpenter named Daichi, maybe twenty-five, with calloused hands and an eager smile. He's been coming regularly for two weeks now, and you've learned what he likes—how he groans when you straddle him and let all your weight settle onto his lap, how his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass when you grind down on him. "Gods, Miyoi," he pants now, watching your enormous breasts bounce as you ride him with practiced rolls of your wide hips. "You're incredible." The words send a pleasant warmth through you that has nothing to do with the physical pleasure building in your core. You've stopped questioning why this body craves validation, why being desired despite your age and size matters so much. It simply does. After he finishes with a shout and you follow with a low moan, he pulls you down beside him on the futon. His hand traces idle patterns on your soft belly. "My brother's getting married next month," he says conversationally. "Big celebration at his house. Would you... I mean, would you want to come with me?" The question catches you off-guard. Meeting family. Being introduced as something more than a casual encounter. The old you would have recoiled. But Miyoi's memories whisper that this is normal, expected even. Some of her regular lovers over the centuries became something closer to companions. "That's sweet of you to offer," you hear yourself say, fingers running through his sweat-dampened hair. "Let me think about it?" He nods, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Downstairs, you hear voices—late evening customers arriving. The tavern calls. -- Turn 14 -- Action ------ Though you're fond of the young man, you know better than to get too close. Tying yourself down to one man doesn't seem right, plus wth your age gap and status, you'd just be tying him down. So, you use your memory magic to have Daichi forget about his time with you as he leaves the tavern, leaving nothing but a pleasant dream in his mind. It's a shame, his dick felt real good. You return downstairs after dressing back up, ready for a night of work, hopefully finding a new cute young man to try your skills on, maybe say hi to another named Touhou character that happens to drop by the tavern, and falling more into the Miyoi role. Your mannerisms and way of speaking seem to have alread become that without you even trying. You wonder how the old Miyoi, now in your male body, is doing. Is he having fun out there in Gensokyo? Outcome ------- You cup Daichi's face gently as he finishes dressing, your thick fingers trailing along his jawline. The zashiki-warashi magic comes as naturally as breathing now—a whisper of power that belonged to Miyoi for three centuries, and now belongs to you. "Safe travels home," you murmur, letting the enchantment slip into your words like silk through water. His eyes glaze slightly, pupils dilating as the memories of tonight—of every night with you—soften and blur into pleasant dreams. Nothing specific. Just warmth and satisfaction without a face attached. He blinks, smiling with vague contentment. "Thanks for the meal, Miyoi. Your cooking just keeps getting better." "Anytime, dear." The endearment rolls off your tongue with practiced ease, your voice carrying that husky maternal quality that's become second nature. He leaves, and you're already reaching for your kimono, smoothing the fabric over your heavy breasts and soft belly with movements that feel entirely yours. Downstairs, the evening crowd has thickened. You descend carefully—your knees protest each step, but you've learned to distribute your weight just right. The tavern hums with conversation and the clink of sake cups. You slip behind the bar, your wide hips brushing the wooden counter as you survey the room. That's when you notice her at the corner table. Brown short hair. Mob cap perched at a jaunty angle. Red dress with white sleeves, her posture radiating an almost aggressive cheerfulness as she gestures animatedly at her companion—a blonde-haired woman with fox ears who looks thoroughly exasperated. "Come on, Ran! Just one drink! You never let me have any fun anymore!" "You had 'fun' last week and nearly started an incident with the Moriya Shrine," the fox youkai replies flatly. "Lady Yukari specifically instructed—" "Lady Yukari is sleeping! She won't even know!" Your heart—Miyoi's heart—gives an odd flutter. You recognize them instantly from three centuries of memories. Chen, the nekomata shikigami. And Ran Yakumo, the nine-tailed fox who serves as Yukari's primary servant. You approach their table with a warm smile that feels completely natural on your weathered face. "Good evening, ladies. What can I get you tonight?" Your voice carries that practiced hospitality, your thick body swaying slightly as you shift your weight from one leg to the other. Chen's cat ears perk up immediately. "Sake! The good stuff! Ran's paying!" Ran sighs deeply. "Tea for both of us." "Aww, Ran..." "Chen." You chuckle—a low, maternal sound that rumbles in your soft chest. "How about I bring tea for now, and we see how the evening goes? I've got some fresh dango in the kitchen too, if you're interested." Chen's eyes light up. "Dango! Yes!" As you turn toward the kitchen, your thick thighs rubbing together with each step, you catch yourself wondering about your old body. About the consciousness wearing your former face, exploring Gensokyo without a care. Are they happy? Have they found their place the way you've found yours? The thought doesn't sting anymore. It's just... curiosity. You plate the dango with practiced efficiency, your heavy breasts swaying as you work. When you return to deliver the order, you notice a young man at the bar—maybe twenty-three, with dark hair and shy eyes that keep flickering toward your cleavage when he thinks you're not looking. Tonight might get interesting after all. -- Turn 15 -- Action ------ You approach the young man, he seems like perfect pickings. You do your standard waitress act, and then just casually ask him if he wants to have sex with you. It seems Miyoi, you now, has never been too shy about propositioning it from a man she likes. Outcome ------- You weave between tables with practiced ease, your heavy body moving with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what effect she has. The young man looks up as you approach, his eyes widening slightly when you lean against the bar beside him, your soft belly pressing against the wooden edge. "Can I get you anything else, dear?" Your voice carries that low, husky warmth that's become your default. Up close, he's even younger than you thought—maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, with work-roughened hands wrapped nervously around his sake cup. "I'm... I'm fine, thank you," he stammers, his gaze dropping to where your kimono stretches across your massive breasts. A faint blush creeps up his neck. You tilt your head, letting a small smile curve your lips. "I'm Miyoi. I run this place." You extend one thick hand. "Kenji," he manages, his palm warm and slightly damp when he takes your hand. "I come here sometimes to sell produce in the village." "Mmm, I thought I'd seen you around." You don't release his hand immediately, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. "You seem tense, Kenji. Long day?" "Y-yeah, hauling radishes all morning." His eyes keep flickering between your face and your cleavage, torn between politeness and obvious desire. You lean in slightly, close enough that he can smell the sake and cooking oil that clings to your kimono. "I've got a private room upstairs," you say simply, your voice matter-of-fact. "If you'd like to join me. We could both use the relaxation, I think." The directness makes him choke slightly on air. "You... you mean...?" "I mean exactly what you think I mean." You squeeze his hand gently. "I find you attractive, Kenji. And unless I'm very mistaken, you find me attractive too. No strings, no expectations. Just two people enjoying each other's company." His face flushes deep red, but his eyes darken with unmistakable want. "I... yes. Yes, I'd like that very much." "Good." You straighten up, your breasts swaying with the movement. "Finish your drink. I'll meet you at the top of the stairs in five minutes." You move away to clear a few tables, giving him time to collect himself. Behind you, you hear Chen's delighted voice: "Ran, did you see that? She just asked him straight out! Humans are so interesting!" Ran's response is too quiet to hear, but you catch the exasperated tone. Five minutes later, you're ascending the stairs, your thick thighs working hard with each step. At the top, Kenji waits, looking equal parts nervous and eager.