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Jitters

Nagatoro stood atop a waist-high cylindrical platform as it glided through the Kawasaki Gallery's main floor toward the entrance doors of the auxiliary auction room. Contrasting the empty darkness that enveloped her, the auxiliary gallery, lit only by the bulbs illuminating her six paintings, bustled with energy. Shadowy shapes bobbed about as faint whispers of "Toro, Toro, Toro," seeped through the glass.

Nagatoro gripped the platform's translucent rails and glanced down to appraise her outfit. It matched the one her avatar wore in her viral YouTube video—the briefest of slingshot bikinis—which struggled, and mostly failed, to cover her. On the plus side, the extensions lengthening her hair created a luxurious cape that hung down to her thighs.

The weight of the extensions, ornamented with gold, created an odd feeling, as if she wore a helmet. The golden tiara capping her head added to this sensation. Her gold necklaces, and wrist and ankle bracelets suggested the illusion of clothing. A glance at the ornament decorating her pierced navel dispelled that misconception. Her outfit wasn't fooling anybody.

Her heart raced as the Splatter Battle Monarch platform meandered toward the entrance doors. Nervous shivers created ripples in her mane, teasing her mostly bare bum. No, fully bare bum, she thought to herself. The sling's butt-floss bottom left nothing to the imagination.

"Toro. Toro. Toro." The crowd chanted softly as Princess Nagatoro, illuminated by the platform's glowing bars and rails, approached. She gripped the rail and glanced at her body once again to verify the scene. The two strips of glittery gold spandex plunging from her neck to her private region barely covered her nipples. Down below, it barely covered her privates.

Two hooded men, dressed in black, pulled open the glass doors, releasing a sea of ground-level fog.

"Toro. Toro. Toro." The chant grew louder as her platform glided in.

Nagatoro, tempted to use her arms and hands for cover, fought the urge. Instead, she followed the script. She released the hand rail, took a step back, and regally stood at the center of the platform with her arms at her sides and her chin raised.

She recalled the script's instructions to smile, but her lips couldn't pierce the expression of abject fear gripping her face.

When the rolling platform's center topped the entrance line, a spotlight illuminated the Princess from head to toe. The crowd erupted in whoops, applause, and cheers, as her squinting eyes struggled to adjust.

"Toro! Toro! Toro!" they shouted. Though she couldn't make out their faces, the crowd's adoration prompted a genuine smile.

"We love you, Princess Nagatoro," one shady figure shouted.

"You're beautiful beyond compare," yelled another.

Upon reaching the center of the room, the platform turned slowly counter-clockwise—eleven o'clock, ten o'clock, nine o'clock—a few degrees at a time as the roar grew louder.

She glanced at her chest and blinked. I know that something is off. But what is it? Getting back on-script, she shook her head clear, raised her right hand, and waved to her subjects.

Seven o'clock, six o'clock.

She lowered her right hand, raised her left, and waved some more, this time while sexily wiggling her hips. Again, the lengthened hair rubbing her back, bottom, and thighs felt strange.

She squinted into the crowd, looking for familiar faces. But none of the guys had eyes. Or, if they did, she couldn't see them. Are their eyes all hidden under their bangs?

At three o'clock, it hit her. I've got no tan lines!

She continued turning. Two o'clock, one o'clock, stopping at twelve. She glanced at her reflection in the glass wall protecting the paintings. Nope, they're gone. That can only mean one thing.

"Toro! Toro! Toro!"

Before she could force herself to remember what that one thing was, her eyes fixated on a painting that had come to life—Cello-Toro. She tried but failed to suppress her grin as the hips and torso of the girl in that painting swayed, glowed, and reddened while orchestral music played.

The sudden contraction of her slingshot swimsuit startled her. She maintained her pose at the center of the adoring crowd as the bikini's fabric slid off her shoulders, then popped off her breasts. The fabric tightened around her arms, pulling her elbows toward each other behind her back.

Simultaneously, the fabric between her legs slid down her thighs, leaving her private region exposed. As the top of her swimsuit welded her elbows together, the lower part linked her knees.

She stood in shock, powerless, as the crowd expressed their appreciation for their newly unclothed Monarch shimmering in the light. The fabric encompassing her elbows, wrists, knees, and ankles extended downward and solidified into a golden stand bolting her to the platform floor. She'd become a living, breathing figurine, a toy for the pleasure of her fans. She gazed at them wide-eyed, as they pushed closer, pressing against the rails, reaching toward her through the bars, grasping hands falling inches from her feet.

As flexing muscles fought unyielding bonds, her mane swung from side to side, her breasts jiggled, and and her hips swayed. She peeped, "Senpai, where are you?"

"I'm here," came his voice from behind. "I got you."

She tilted her head when he brushed several strands of hair off her shoulder, and she moaned when his mouth gripped her neck. His left hand reached around, grasped her breasts, and squeezed them. His right hand slid down between her thighs.

The crowd clapped and chanted as Nagatoro grinded her body into the man holding her tightly from behind, as he slowly and methodically ramped his toy toward a thundering climax. She screamed as a crushing orgasm enveloped her body. Its power knocked the crowd back and warped the glass walls. Her body shook, shivered, and convulsed uncontrollably. When she screamed again, the lights flared to a blinding intensity.

Nagatoro's eyes snapped open, giving her a view of the ceiling above her bed. She lay naked atop the sheets, sweaty, gasping for breath, her left hand fondling her breast, her right hand dug deep between her legs.

Someone knocked on the door. Nagatoro yanked the sheets over her body.

"Are you okay?" her sister asked. The bedroom door opened a sliver.

"I'm fine." Nagatoro clutched the sheets to her bosom. "I just had a nightmare."

Her sister chuckled. "Those weren't your usual nightmare screams."

"I think I'm nervous about the show."

"You mean the auction?"

Nagatoro nodded.

"Don't be. You'll do fine."

"Thanks. G'nite Onee-chan."

"G'nite Hayase-chan." Her sister closed the door.

Nagatoro picked up her phone and pressed the speed dial.

Senpai answered a moment later. "Nagatoro, what's going on? It's 3 AM."

"Do I have to go to the closing with you tomorrow?"

"You mean, today."

"Whatever."

"No. Technically, I'm the only one who has to be there. It's in the contract. Though they probably put that in because they hoped I'd bring you. Didn't you promise you'd take a selfie with Takao's nephew?"

"I suppose."

"Feeling nervous?"

"I'm not sure. I just had the wildest dream."

"Tell me about it."

She giggled. "I'll tell you later. Let's just say, I having some crazy mixed-up feelings about the auction and this closing."

"Details."

"Aren't you the pushy pervert, Senpai? I'll tell you the details tomorrow if you're nice to me. I'll say this. My dream had a creepy intro and an awesome climax."

"How awesome?"

"I made a mess on my bed."

"Yikes. Was I in it?"

"Do I sense a hint of jealousy?"

"How would you feel if I had the same dream about Sakura?"

"I'd kill you." She groaned. "Okay, you have a point. My dream combined pieces of our visit to the gallery, that S-Force Twist stream, my viral YouTube video, and a certain documentary."

"Which documentary?"

"The Making of Cello-Toro."

He chuckled. "I've made lots of messes to that film."

Nagatoro bit her lip. "Hey, Senpai, do you want to do it? For real?"

"You're not kidding, are you?"

She laughed. "We could still wash each other first if you want. What do you think?"

The line went silent. "I do… want to do it with you, that is. If you're being serious."

"We'll have to be careful. You can't get me pregnant. We almost screwed up big time at the pool." She rubbed her belly. "If it wasn't for Sakura, I could be nursing a bun in the oven right now."

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't completely your fault." She giggled as her mind replayed the memory of her jumping naked on top of Senpai, wrapping her arms and legs around his body, and locking her lips to his. "Maybe one percent was me."

More silence.

She sighed. "It's late. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"I'll stop by your place at three."

"See you then. Good night, Senpai."

"Good night, Nagatoro."

She ended the call and did an Internet search on, "How to repeat a dream."

Author's Notes: I finally broke down and got caught up on the manga, hence the reference to Nagatoro's sister. It surprised me how little I missed. As for this universe, I'm pretty sure everyone caught on to this being a dream pretty early on. Will anything interesting happen at the close of the auction? To find out, tune in next week for another installment of TWN! — SK