Boku No Waifu Part 1 (Commission) free porn video

'You will not believe how happy this game make you! Play now!' The awkwardly translated banner ad emphasized the command with a perky purple haired anime girl bouncing up and down, inflatable breasts gyrating weightlessly in a way that was both hypnotic and absurd. Matt was bored. The numbing drudgery of high school was over. The specter of college loomed at the end of summer. In between, he had little to do. He'd never exactly been a social butterfly. Which was why he was sitting at his computer late on a Saturday night, seriously considering downloading a porn game that may or may not be a virus. The anime girl continued bouncing in her improbably cut school uniform. Her eyes were broad crescents squeezed shut in excitement or ecstasy. Her hair, long and straight, fell to her knees. An impressive length, especially given the girl was all legs beneath the short skirt of her sailor fuku. Well, maybe not all legs. There was a lot of chest there too. He felt a stirring in his pants. Oh, what the hell. He clicked on the banner. Straight to his download manager. No website in the way. Was that a bad sign? The bouncing girl had stopped. Her face was now empty of expression; huge flat grey eyes staring straight at him expectantly. Matt hovered his cursor over the red X that would cancel the downl- Finished. That was fast. Already a menu screen had popped into existence on his desk top. Some saccharine synth music blared from his speakers as a rainbow haired array of busty girls in fetish-tier school uniforms appeared before him. Above, text in Japanese resolved itself with no small fanfare before being subtitled 'Boku no Waifu.' He snorted back laughter. Well, if the game was riddled with malware, his computer probably already was too. He was still horny. Might as well press on. He selected "New Game". A giant text window in Japanese appeared. The game's audio skipped a beat and the screen glitched, tearing. Matt cursed and reached for the power button of his PC only for the program to recover at the last minute. The Japanese text had been replaced with broken English similar to the banner ad. It appeared to be an EULA. "Yeah yeah, whatever, I agree." Of course, the fucking 'I agree' button was greyed out until you'd 'read' the thing. He scrolled through it, eager to get to the game. At least the Engrish was amusing; from the bits he caught skimming. 'Consent to information agreement', 'Liabilities for waifu make', 'Virtual for reality game', 'Consent to transformation agreement', 'Plivacy statement.' What kind of budget translation job was this? Even if it wasn't any good for a fap, it should be good for a laugh. Finally, he was through it. Another text box popped up. 'Please to be put hand on screen.' They had to be kidding. Matt pressed enter. Nothing. Escape. Nothing. Well, here goes. He put his hand to the screen, feeling like an idiot. Oblivion. ----- Matt woke up flat. It was still his room, as seen from the bed he had somehow managed to reach after passing out at his computer screen. Yet when he kicked off the covers and got to his feet he found himself swooning, dizziness and nausea battling over his sensorium. There was no depth to anything. Objects. Shapes. Even colors and light. Flat. Two dimensional. He grabbed two fistfuls of blanket, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It bunched up in his hands and its colors bled, darker spots shifting like stains across the fabric as he moved them. No part of the blanket actually appeared any further or closer than any other. It was just...shaded, in places. Darker splotches gave the illusion of light and depth where there was none. It made his head hurt. Wait. Shit. His hands... The effect wasn't restricted to objects in his room. His hands were just as flat, lifeless, robbed of dimension. He felt his chest tighten. This wasn't happening. This was a hallucination. Matt closed his eyes, took several deep breaths. Opened them. Still flat. But calmer now. He moved his hands back and forth in front of his face. The shading changed as the blankets' had, but there was more to it. As his hands got closer, they actually became more detailed. This wasn't like something resolving in his vision. It was more like they were being redrawn as they got closer. If he kept them close to his face, and squinted really hard, they almost seemed real. Several minutes of this was making muscles behind his eyes tense painfully. It reminded him of wearing 3d glasses, even if the effects were very much the opposite. But Matt was beginning to get under control. One step, then another. No more dizziness. The disorientation was passing rapidly, his brain adjusting to the lack of a third dimension despite the way the room redrew itself around him. He needed to see himself. It may have been a dimension less than it was yesterday, but it was still his home, he saw. The layout was the same. Every surface was just...cartoonified. The bathroom was still located conveniently across the hall from his bedroom. He walked with increasing confidence, reaching a bathroom mirror that showed a two dimensional figure with messy dark brown hair, curiously devoid of individual strands; huge grey eyes, a tiny mouth, and a nose that was a barely-present nub. Anime. That was the word that summarized this situation. With that realization came another. He knew what he was here for. What he had to do. All the panic that had been welling in him subsided. Matt was going to get an anime waifu. ----- Stewart woke as he usually did, with a heavy heart and a sigh. He didn't remember falling asleep, which was a bit odd. But he'd slept unusually soundly, at least. He felt well...not energetic. He was never energetic. But less exhausted than sleep usually left him. More ready to face another dull, empty day of listless gaming, eating, masturbation, and loneliness, at least. Though something felt...off. Like he'd fallen asleep with two pillows strapped to his chest. He swung his legs out from under the blankets and over the bed. Shit. It wasn't his heart that was heavy. Tits. Big, milk white tits rose up to greet him with the motion of his rising. And he could feel them, not just see them; as they bounced supernaturally against him, like water balloons on the end of a tether. Stewart shrieked, ran bouncing for a mirror. He was not himself. Instead of his usual chubby, unkempt reflection; a pale, frightened anime girl in lacy white underwear stared back at him. A girl that was, frankly, gorgeous. Even the obvious fear in her face somehow worked for her. A long flow of straight, raven black hair hung all the way to the knees of her infinitely long, shapely legs. Warm brown eyes framed by two long locks that fell past the side of her head looked at him pleadingly over a too-small nose and mouth gaping in shock. A mouth that shrank to no more than a tiny line when he finally picked up his jaw. He was shocked, emasculated, and embarrassed all at once. He was also sweaty and grimy. Shower! Wait, what? Where had that thought come from. But he did feel rather grungy suddenly...no, no. He wasn't stripping out of his clothes. Not while he looked like this. But you need to. Why? Why did he need to? "Sakura, sweetie? Are you getting ready for school?" a matronly voiced called from the hall outside the bathroom door. Oh. ----- Zach was a chick. A cartoon chick. An unreasonably sexy cartoon chick. His cheeks burned as he looked at himself in the mirror, even as he felt a strange fluttering in his stomach...and a growing dampness between his legs. Oh God, no way. There is no way I'm getting turned on by this. But this chick was gorgeous, and he was seeing her right on schedule for his morning wood. She had long, red-gold hair that contrasted strikingly with her lightly bronzed skin; hair messy from sleep yet with a disarray that appeared perfect for all that. The hair looked (and indeed- he noticed, flipping it with a gracile hand- moved) like it was a solid mass; save for where it fell spectacularly almost to the perfect heart shaped ass that crowned two pairs of legs that went on forever. Smaller locks split from the ends there, and from the short, cutely cut bangs that framed gigantic ocean blue eyes. Zach cringed at the realization he looked like something his friend Matt would have fapped to. Hell, Zach wanted to fap to this. But he didn't want to be this. Nonetheless, he soon found himself getting far more acquainted with the girl in the mirror after a strangely insistent woman began pestering him about showering and getting ready for school. If it hadn't been for his current circumstances, that by itself would have seemed like a nightmare. He'd just graduated. He'd thought he'd already survived high school. Doing it all over again as a hot chick was something that would put him in therapy. Of course, so would all the sensations he was currently experiencing. Damp strawberry blonde hair, deepened to copper by the moisture, stuck to glistening bronzed skin; erect pink nipples poking out from a mound of soap suds, a moist ginger slit, a full, apple shaped ass being sensuously rubbed down with perfumed body wash...it was like something out of one of his wet dreams. But he was the wet dream, now. He hated it. He hated how feminine and weak and vulnerable he felt. He hated how hot he was. He'd rather be anywhere, anyone else right now. Even his old hard- up, single self. Then he felt it. A soft aura, on the edge of his vision, lightly caressing his skin. All he had to do was...push. It began to yield, distance itself from him. It was the mental equivalent of running with a football through a vat of tar; but as he strained, his body changed. ----- Pink. That was the word that summarized his situation. Kevin had awoken to a pink curtain in his eyes. Brushing it away, he found he was lying in a pink framed bed littered with fluffy pink pillows, pink and white blankets, and adorable pink plushies. Pastel Pink carpet. White and pink wall paper. Fuchsia dresser. Hot pink hair brush. Pink, pink, pink. He was even wearing a fuzzy pink nightie, tented with two ripe breasts with perky pink nipples. 'Panic' was another word that could summarize the situation. Not in the classical Greek derived sense of the word. More in the holyshitwhatthefuckwhereamIisthisreallyhappening brain freezing heart pounding sense. A look in the mirror of his(?) pink vanity told Kevin he was in an anime. That he was an anime. Instead of the painfully average teenage male he was used to seeing; his reflection was a painfully pink teenage anime girl. Her cotton-candy colored hair was impossibly long, Rapunzel long; as was mandated in certain subgenres of anime, and curled improbably back upward against gravity where it almost met the floor. The big pert nipple peeking over the fuzzy pastel pink lining of her conveniently askew, hot pink nighty was pink. Soft pink skin flushed pinker in embarrassment. Even the eyes gaping at the girls gargantuan ripe melon breasts were pink. Her skin likewise glowed pink in the not-quite-scalding sudsy hot bath his similarly pink haired 'mother' had already drawn for him before he woke up. It was there, at the height of his embarrassment and frustration that he'd learned how to change himself. Initially, this pink nightmare of a body was petite (well, short at least. His exaggerated curves were anything but small) and hyper-busty, with a massive cascade of wavy pink hair that after a soak in the bathtub felt like it weighted fifty pounds. With an effort of will, he found he was able to amend that significantly. Though it only went so far. Even after he figured out how to change this absurd body, the humiliating color coding remained. Now his still-pink hair fell to the middle of his back instead of past his knees, he was (estimating by his height relative to the medicine cabinet) a nice average five feet and six inches tall, and the cartoony cantaloupes were reduced to a more sensible but still enormous d-cup. 'Stop staring at yourself and get dressed, silly!' The strange thoughts and compulsions seemed to be immutable, however. If anything, it felt stronger. Like a voice inside his head. A sickeningly sweet voice. Sighing in his new alto, Kevin wrapped a towel gingerly around his inflated chest and returned to his fluffy pink cell. ----- Stewart's hair was more manageable now. He'd been lamenting how long it would take to dry before willing his silky black mane into a shorter, shoulder length style that he had to admit still managed to look cute on her. Either he was numb from shock, or shape-shifting was tiresome, because he felt like nothing more than collapsing back into this Sakura girl's bed. But he couldn't. He had to get dressed. For school, apparently. The anime-girl whose body he currently inhabited, Sakura, looked like she enjoyed school. Her neat little room was richly decorated with saved report cards, trophies, medals, and photos of various scholastic events and extra-curriculars. All the things Stewart had taken great pains to avoid in his real life. Stewart had always been an avoidant personality. Which was why he couldn't help but be bewildered as he bulldozed straight ahead in his bizarre circumstances, going through the girl's closet at the insistence of the two motherly voices; one unseen and coming from out in the hall, the other equally unseen but seemingly originating inside his head. Yet when he found his goal, there was still enough of the old Stewart to balk. No fucking way was he wearing that. This kind of outfit was called sailor fuku, he remembered. A white blouse with navy blue collar and ascot-thingy, short flouncy sleeves that ended in little poofs, and a scandalously short pleated skirt. Not to mention the lacy bra and panties. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to try to dress up in this school girl fetish outfit. He didn't think he even knew how. He didn't want to go back to fucking high school. Didn't want to go outside. He needed...he needed... Help? It was back. That strange feeling. That outside force. But different, now. He could feel it in his mind, not his skin. A hand being offered. Grazing his consciousness with spirit-light fingers. It tickled. He'd just have to let it in. Then he'd know what to do. Maybe, could even change things. Like before, when he shrank his new hair. ----- Zach had mixed feelings about the uniform. Sure, he could have ended up in worse anime-chick bodies, he guessed, and yeah he'd been able to at least somehow psychically shorten his hair into a cute if dyke-ish bob. But nothing about the lean, athletic girl he seemed to have become would look anything but feminine in that get up. Cute. It was still mortifying on some level, knowing that cutie was him. But damn, she looked good. The girl kept herself in shape. Muscled but shapely legs, tight ass. It explained the athletic trophies scattered around her room. 'Enough stalling. Get it done', the voice growled. Sighing, he gathered up the wad of girly clothing. Zach cursed in his huffy new voice, struggling with the bra and panties. How did girls do this? Another helping hand later, and he knew. ----- Stewart acquiesced to the thing in the back of his consciousness. Electricity. Numbness. A thick, pink cloud. Tingling. In his brain. He knew how to put on the bra and panties. The sailor fuku. The school's dress code. What classes he had. The name of the town. This girl's name. His name (Yamamoto Sakura). Which boys were cute. No. No, he didn't want that there. But it wasn't like before. The fingers were in his mind, not of his mind, and they weren't his. They ran roughshod through his skull. Probing, reaching, groping, molding. 'Mamoru-chan is so kawaii~' NO It took every ounce of will he had, but slowly, as before, he found he could push against whatever was altering him. The digits in his mind retracted. But this time, not without leaving traces. He could feel them. Parts of his mental landscape gouged, cut into place. He was not who he was a moment ago. It terrified him. ----- Zach knew who mirror-chick was. Kawahara Suzume. That was how the Japanese did their names. Family name first, given name last. In fact, he was pretty sure he could even speak Japanese now, which was kind of cool. Almost made up for having to wear a fucking bra and panties. The woman that was apparently his mother was calling him again. He gave himself one last look. Yep, this chick was definitely cute. The skirt showed a lot of leg, but he couldn't complain. He knew he'd have appreciated seeing it from the outside. He liked the knee-high socks especially. He'd always had a thing for chicks in school-girl outfits. Although... Strange. He was no longer arousing himself. Not that that was an unwelcome change. Being attracted to your own mirror image was an inconvenient and uniquely disturbing experience. Of course, so was dressing up in drag. 'At least it's what everyone else will be wearing,' the voice in his head chimed in. Why did it sound so familiar? ----- Kevin cleared his throat again. The pink haired creature in the mirror looked miserable. Her huge, starry pink eyes had tears welling at the corners. "Damn! Shit!" she exclaimed. It didn't matter. Even screaming expletives sounded ridiculously girly with his newest voice. Before he'd let whatever happened happen, his voice was unmistakably feminine. But now? He sounded like something out of a bad dub. Kevin didn't think there was a register higher than soprano, but if there was one, this girl was in it. On top of that, he seemed to have little control over the tone or timbre of his words. It was high, energetic, and increased in pitch at the end, making every statement sound like a vapid question. Trying to lower his voice was impossible. His throat just jammed up when he tried, leading to a high pitched coughing fit that sounded more like a kitten sneezing than a girl choking. "Fuck! CUNT!" he let out in a cutesy shriek. No good. The frog in his throat had inhaled an entire tank of helium. That was his voice now. The price of accepting whatever help had been offered. Not only high but so...perky. So...stupid. He tried to summon that weird presence again, to push against whatever was doing this to him. But either the chance was gone, or he was just too mentally exhausted. All he'd wanted was to get dressed. 'You shouldn't swear.' The voice from nowhere, again. The very perky, saccharine, familiar voice from nowhere. 'Who are you?' Kevin thought back at it. Dully, he was aware that he was on the verge of some kind of breakdown. In fact the situation was insane enough that he wouldn't be surprised if it was just some psychotic break and he was, in reality, back at home, screaming obscenities and talking to himself. 'Duh! I'm you, silly.' Ah. Talking to himself after all. That was why the voice was so familiar. It was the voice he was now stuck with in the 'real' world. Kevin pushed on. 'Did you do this?' 'Do what?' The voice was infuriatingly clueless. 'Turn me into you!' The girl in the mirror was fuming. Well, pouting was probably the better word. The tiny jaw line and huge eyes took the sting out of any bodily expression of anger. 'What do you mean? We've always been us.' The clear implication in her voice was that 'Us' meant Saito Kiku. The girl whose cleavage he'd awoken to a POV shot of. Of course. That made perfect sense. He wasn't a guy enjoying his last summer before moving to a prestigious out of state college having a psychotic breakdown and imagining he was an anime girl. He was an anime girl having a psychotic breakdown and imagining she used to be an adult male. Kevin began to laugh hysterically, the water in Pinky's eyes leaked down her cheeks. A waifu in desperate need of a hug or a flower or whatever token gesture would make her heart meter for the designated protagonist go up. That thought was funny too. Him, not a male chem major with a serious girlfriend, but the ditzy girly-girl object of some otaku's unsatisfied lust. Sure. That was him. It just made sense. He smiled at the mirror. A jagged, brittle smile that still managed to look cute. "Hi. I'm Kiku. Kawaii desu ne~!" He giggled vapidly. "Kiku, what are you doing?" 'Oops. It's mom.' Somehow, that snapped Kevin out of it. ----- Stewart was running in a less than dignified fashion. Granted, he'd never been much of an athlete. He avoided physical exertion whenever possible. But at least when he'd run in his own body it hadn't been so...girly. Arms out, wrists limp, hands flailing like some disturbed damsel in distress, short skirt swirling as he speed- minced down the streets of 2-d world. But Sakura, the voice in Stewart's brain in Sakura's body, told him he was going to be late. That was absolutely unacceptable. Sakura had many duties at school, and an impeccable reputation. She was, apparently, class president, head of numerous clubs, and all-around annoying preppy. That was almost as bad as the fact she was a woman. Of course, he really did want to run. In the opposite direction, to hide in his room until he woke up from this nightmare. But Sakura had to get to school. So here he was, in a skimpy school girl outfit, in public. The voice had even made him wear makeup. He kept waiting for someone to call him out, to know he was a fake. Between his own distress and that of the voice in his head, he didn't see the figure in front of him until collision. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" The exclamation came out of Stewart by reflex, and he immediately regretted it. His voice was a soft, demure alto that he'd have found enchanting in other circumstances. Now knowing it was coming from him just made him blush. "No problem." The man was already rising, dusting himself off. "Need a hand?" 'Matsumori Mitsuo.' Great. Apparently, Sakura knew him. The man was really a boy. Well, maybe. It was hard to tell when everyone was an anime character. But he was wearing a school uniform, albeit a much less embarrassing one than Stewart's. He had short dark hair and a face that was...No. Stewart didn't want to go there. That wasn't him. The hand hung unaccompanied in the air, waiting. This Mitsuo guy looked incredibly happy to have been knocked to the ground. His grin was almost literally ear-to-ear. Stewart felt his own hand, delicate and long fingered, rising up to meet Mitsuo's. But...he didn't want this. Stewart's hand slowed but still inched upward glacially. Stewart was sweating, wincing, trying to stop this moment. 'Just pull your damn hand back,' he pleaded internally. The moment passed. Mitsuo withdrew his hand and watched, amused, as Stewart gathered himself up. "I'm fine," Stewart finally said, to fill the dead air. "Hard to get, huh? You didn't look like the tsundere type. Oh well. See you later." Without explanation, the boy jogged ahead, still looking bizarrely pleased. 'Weird,' thought Stewart and Sakura, simultaneously. ----- Zach was supposed to meet someone here. He had been assured of it, by the voice that was claiming to be him. Well, him and Suzume. Harried by the voice, he'd found himself waiting on the sidewalk next to a familiar apartment complex. If he didn't know better, he'd swear it was a cartoon version of where Matt lived. Suzume however insisted that it was the home of her childhood friend, who she always walked to school with. 'I can't believe this. Mitsuo would never get up so early he'd miss me. We're going to be late,' the voice complained. Dazed, still half convinced he was hallucinating; Zach had been content to let the voice lead the way. He'd been almost on autopilot. He didn't even need directions from her. His feet just knew where to go. In fact, except for her insistence he do his makeup (something he'd found oddly hard to resist, though he'd managed to get her to shut up about it in the end), it was all quite easy. He could almost just let himself relax, and ride out whatever was happening. 'I guess we should get going then?' Zach thought at his headmate. 'Ugh. Fine,' she huffed. Moody chick. She only got moodier when, nearly at their destination, Zach saw a hot brunette walk headfirst into a guy that proved to be Suzume's Mitsuo. 'That jerk! He left early to make time with the class pres.' She fumed. 'That is so like him. He probably deliberately stopped so she'd run into him.' 'So do we talk to him or...' Oddly, Zach was beginning to share Suzume's annoyance. 'No. Screw him. Thinks he's too good for us. I ought to...' This continued for some time. Zach tuned it out; let his feet carry him forward. Yep. He was going back to high school. ----- "Are you carsick sweetheart?" Kevin's 'mother' asked from the driver's seat. Truth be told, the motion of the car combined with the false perspective of the two dimensional anime environs they were currently driving through was making him a little nauseous. Nausea was the least of his problems right now though. "I'm fine," he lied, trying to keep that cringe-inducingly sugary voice barely above a whisper. It was just too grating otherwise. "But you're so quiet. Is something wrong at school?" "Nothing." If anything, school was part of the problem. Kevin had been out. He was going to move on to bigger, better things. Freedom. Money. Maybe even classes that were actually interesting. His girlfriend was going with him. Everything had been planned out. It had been perfect. Now he was sulking in a car as a 16 year old anime girl, trying not to go insane again. "It's about a boy, isn't it?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother's mouth curve into a knowing smile. That made him yelp, a sound so high he was afraid it might hit the resonance frequency of the vehicle's windows. The woman's smile deepened. "I thought so. Don't worry, sweetheart. You're a beautiful girl. No boy could resist my Kiku-chan." Sadly, those 'reassuring' words might prove correct. At least, assuming all the anime boys didn't mind anime hair colors. Kiku...he...was clearly animated to be waifubait for a very specific kind of otaku. While his earlier efforts had reduced the more outsized parts of her anatomy, that much was still impossible to deny. And those efforts had cost him, he knew. After the effort of the previous changes, he seemed powerless to resist Kiku, who Kevin was convinced was somehow responsible for this perverse joke of a reality. Kiku could do with them as she willed. As it turned out, as far as Kiku was concerned, they had always been a perky bubble- gum and flowers anime girl, and damn it they were going to spare no effort to look the part. After putting on the tiny uniform, Kevin found himself primping and preening in front of the big pink vanity. He didn't want to do it. Yet neither was some external force moving his limbs. He felt everything he was doing. He willed everything he was doing. Kiku spoke, and for reasons he couldn't explain, he felt compelled to follow. So he sat, blushing as he applied powder and blush (which disappeared into the uniformity of his animated face), bright pink lip gloss (which simply served to give him lips, where before his mouth had just been a dark line), and mascara (which had actually made his eyelashes physically longer, as far as he could tell). And even though he knew it wasn't his will that he do these things, that somehow it had to be Kiku, the anime girly girl, not Kevin the future biochemist; he still felt that every brush stroke as he applied his face was his own. Some part of his brain simply couldn't disown the actions, and he hated it. Kiku wanted to be pretty. Kiku wanted to be admired by girls and looked at by boys. And until he could figure out how to dispel whatever influence held him, to some extent, so did he. At least he didn't have to be the chatterbox Kiku was apparently considered. Hearing that voice coming from his mouth was more than Kevin could stand right now. He continued his stony silence until Kiku's mother pulled into a stereotypical anime high school. He opened the door without a word in response to her well wishes, and trudged into a crowd of uniformed figures. He was blushing, shaking. Embarrassed and scared at the kind of spectacle he felt he should make. But everyone around him seemed to take his bizarre coloring and anatomy in stride. He followed the crowd. "Hi." Kevin jumped, shrieked, and fell forward at the sudden feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Somehow the strap of Kiku's backpack managed to snag itself on a door handle. RIP His books went flying in front of him. Everyone stopped. Stared. A forest of giant eyes and small flat mouths peered straight at Kevin. He scrambled to gather up the textbooks, felt tears in his eyes. The backpack had a huge rent in its side. It couldn't hold the books. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," condescended a self-assured, indulgent voice from behind him. "Here, let me help you." Suddenly a boy was crouched on the ground next to him. Their hands touched as they reached for the same book. Kevin turned to look straight into a pair of warm brown eyes, shrieked again, and tore his hand away as if it had been scalded. Inside him, Kiku was bouncing off the walls. "Heh, so I guess you're the shy one." Kevin didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. "Look, your backpack is ruined, and I have the feeling we have all the same classes. Why don't you let me carry those for you?" With a sinking feeling, Kevin began to understand exactly the kind of anime he was in. ----- "A-all rise," Stewart squeaked out, staring out at a veritable rainbow of bowed, unnaturally colored heads. Every eye in the room had flicked to him expectantly when he entered. Which...wasn't actually that many, as he realized that the vast majority of the students he was nominally in charge of as class president shared the same eyes. They weren't just similar, they were exactly the same three pairs, copy and pasted over and over again into slightly different faces. Their hair was also no more than a bunch of palette swapped templates mixed and matched between them. As were their cheeks, their jawlines. For the most part, even the male and female students were only differentiated above the neck by the length of their hair, the width of their eyebrows, and the girls being the only ones with visible eye lashes. That detail was freaky enough it helped him forget he was standing in front of the class feeling like an idiot, until their teacher cleared her throat behind him and he took his seat. She, at least, was unique. All the girls were pretty busty, but teacher took the cake. 'I hope I look like that when I fill out.' Sakura's commentary was always useful. 'Kiku's so lucky to have had a growth spurt. Though maybe she won't feel so lucky when she's Ms. Ishikawa's age and they're even bigger than teacher's!' Taking his seat ('Cross your legs!', admonished Sakura) and turning his head, Stewart found that not quite all his class mates were copy-pasted. There was the boy he'd run into earlier, still on the good looking side of average but not sharing any of the recycled shape of his male peers. A tall, leggy girl with strawberry blonde hair (or maybe red, it was hard to tell with the shading) and the only tan in the room stood out as well. Craning further, Stewart even saw a girl with conspicuously bright pink hair and a pair of breasts that were second only to Ms. Ishikawa's melons. "Ms. Yamamoto, please call roll." 'That's us, remember.' 'Sorry.' Stewart tried not to think about how much he was talking to himself. He recited names off the clipboard in front of him. Or he thought he did, anyway. Most of them blurred together. He was aware of saying something, but moments later it was gone. As if it simply wasn't important. Yet again, there were exceptions. Kawahara Suzume, Matsumori Mitsuo, Nakama Mamoru, Saito Kiku, a handful of others. It was like everyone else was just background. Filler. Like they were the NPCs and the others were the players. That thought made him freeze in the middle of roll. He licked his lips, felt waxy lip gloss, tasted cherries. Could they be like him? ----- Matt didn't know if he was tripping, or if he'd died and gone to heaven. He wasn't sure he cared. He'd been a man whose days were numbered, he realized. He'd coasted through high school, made a few friends, even almost gotten laid once. But college was coming up. Things were actually expected of him. He wasn't ready for that. Instead, he woke up in this glorious place, as the protagonist of a fucking dating sim. He'd already met four hot anime chicks, and it was only now lunch. He picked at a rice ball, daydreaming about where this would go. There was the girl he'd run into on the way to school, that he'd almost thought was the tsundere from the standoffish way she'd behaved. But now he was thinking she didn't fit the archetype that well. Too pale, demure, motherly. Still, great legs. Way better than a real woman could ever have. Must have taken up almost two thirds of her height. Then there was the one that the animators couldn't seem to decide if she was a ginger or a hot blonde. Tall, lean, but with a huge bubble butt that was just begging to be squeezed. She was probably the real tsundere, he'd decided, noticing the dirty looks she'd been shooting him and her pointed refusal to speak with him. Either that or he'd somehow already screwed something up on her path. Of course, there was teacher, if it was going to be that kind of game. He wasn't into age play but she was a stunner. Long, purple hair and the biggest breasts he'd ever seen squeezed into a tight white blouse. Just imagining motor boating those things was making the hard-on he'd been sporting all morning even harder. Finally there was the pink haired one. He was pretty sure if he got to bang any of them, it would be her. Helping her carry her books...smooth. Such an obvious, clich?'d scenario. But no reason to argue with the classics. She'd been stuttering and blushing the whole time. She must be the shy one. Still, that body. Unf. A bit short for his tastes, and her breasts weren't quite as big as the teacher's, but they were still huge, at almost the size of her head. Even the hair was kind of a turn on. He wondered if it was dyed, or if she was sporting a little pink bush under those panties. Matt popped the rice ball in his mouth. The food wasn't bad either. He almost choked when a fist slammed on to the table in front of him. All three of the unique female students he'd encountered earlier in the day stood in front of him; ginger-blonde in the middle, appearing particularly angry. "We need to talk," she growled, glaring.