Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
Ch.1 Hayao Touches the Object

Hayao chose to examine the metallic object, his curiosity overriding the instinct to just hurry up and finish his little chore. Kneeling down, he reached for the grimy object, its surface slick with dampness and corrosion. The student’s fingers hesitated, the air heavy with an unnatural stillness as he pulled a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and brushed away the grime. The object’s true form emerged under his phone’s light—a tarnished stopwatch, its face cracked but intact, the hands frozen at an odd angle. 

Hayao frowned, turning it over in his hands. A stopwatch? Here, in the abandoned Kurotaki Tunnels? It was strange, out of place. His pulse quickened, the weight of the object heavier than it should be, as if it carried a story the tunnel refused to tell. He opened his mouth to narrate something for Shigeru’s video, but the words caught in his throat.

A sudden shimmer rippled through the air, like heat rising from asphalt, and the tunnel’s darkness seemed to pulse. Hayao’s breath hitched as a figure materialized before him, radiant and impossible in the darkness. 

A woman, her presence overwhelming, stood in the dim glow of his phone’s light. Her long, flowing hair cascaded like ink, adorned with golden ornaments that glinted faintly. Her robes, silken and iridescent, clung to her curves in a way that made Hayao’s face burn, the fabric shifting like water over her voluptuous form. Her eyes, sharp and ancient, locked onto his, and a faint smile curved her lips, both serene and unsettling. 

His heart pounded, his grip on the stopwatch tightening until his knuckles whitened. Was he going crazy? The tunnel’s damp chill, the grime on his hands, the weight of his phone—all felt real, but this? 

Was this a ghost of the tunnel?

Hayao’s throat tightened, his voice barely a whisper as he forced the words out, halting and unsteady. “W-Who… who are you?” 

His eyes darted over the figure’s form, the silken robes clinging to her body. The woman’s smile deepened, her gaze holding him like a moth pinned to a board. 

“I am Benzaiten,” she said, her voice a melodic hum that vibrated through the Kurotaki Tunnels, both soothing and commanding. “Goddess of beauty, music, and knowledge… bound to that relic you possess.” 

She gestured toward the tarnished stopwatch in his trembling hand, her fingers graceful, almost hypnotic. Hayao’s mind reeled, and the name Benzaiten sparked vague memories. His breath quickened, torn between disbelief and awe, the stopwatch heavy in his palm as he struggled to comprehend the divine figure before him.

The tunnel’s damp air seemed to shimmer around the goddess, her presence filling the space with an otherworldly warmth that contrasted with the cold concrete. Her eyes, ancient and knowing, seemed to pierce through him, as if reading every doubt, every hidden desire buried in his heart. The stopwatch felt like a lead weight.

Hayao’s pulse thudded in his ears. 

“Bound… to this?” he stammered, holding up the relic, his voice barely audible over the distant drip of water echoing in the dark. 

Benzaiten’s smile softened, but there was something dangerous in it, a hint of something primal beneath her divine grace. “That relic holds a fragment of time, a moment stolen from eternity,” she said, stepping closer, her robes whispering against the floor. The air grew heavier, charged with an electric tension that made Hayao’s skin prickle. 

“You’ve awakened it, mortal. And with it, me.” 

The strange being’s words hung in the silence, both a promise and a warning, and Hayao felt the tunnel’s darkness pulse, as if the walls themselves were closing in. 

Benzaiten’s eyes gleamed with a knowing intensity, her presence filling the Kurotaki Tunnels with a heat that seemed to seep into Hayao’s very bones. She stepped closer, the silken robes clinging to her curves with every movement, the air around her crackling with an almost tangible allure. 

“That item,” she continued, her voice a sultry melody that echoed in the damp darkness, “holds a power beyond mortal understanding. It can freeze a person in time, locking them in a single moment, their body and mind suspended at your will.” 

Hayao’s breath caught, his fingers tightening around the tarnished stopwatch. The cracked face of the stopwatch seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive, its frozen hands taunting him with their stillness.

The strange woman’s lips curved into a smile that was both divine and dangerous, her gaze never leaving his. “But its power is not without limits,” she said, her voice lowering, dripping with a seductive edge that made Hayao’s face burn. “The stopwatch may only be used for desires of the flesh—passions of the body, not of greed or gain. It cannot bring you wealth or power, at least not directly. Its purpose is to feed me, to channel the raw, primal energy of human desire.”

She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “That energy, mortal, is my sustenance, the fuel that strengthens my essence. And you, holding that relic, are now its keeper.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with promise and peril, the tunnel’s oppressive silence amplifying the pounding of Hayao’s heart. “Do you understand?”

Her eyes burned into his, and Hayao found a part of himself simply accepting.

The stopwatch felt hot in his hand, its power both thrilling and terrifying, stirring thoughts he dared not acknowledge in the presence of a goddess who was not a ghost.

Benzaiten’s eyes, twin embers of ancient desire, burned with an intoxicating hunger that seemed to consume the very air within the Kurotaki Tunnels. Her presence was a palpable force, a radiant heat that defied the damp chill clinging to the concrete walls. As she stepped closer to Hayao, each movement was a symphony of grace and seduction, her silken robes clinging to her voluptuous curves like a liquid veil, accentuating the sway of her hips and the gentle bounce of her full breasts. The fabric, woven from threads of jade and gold, shimmered in the dim glow of Hayao’s phone, casting ethereal patterns that danced across the grimy tunnel walls. It was translucent, teasingly so, revealing glimpses of her flawless skin—the lush contours of her breasts, the gentle swell of her hips, and the faint outline of her nipples, pert and inviting, pressing against the thin material.

Her hair, a cascade of midnight silk, flowed down her back, adorned with golden ornaments that tinkled softly with each step, like distant wind chimes echoing in the oppressive silence. Her face was a masterpiece of divine beauty: high cheekbones, full lips curved in a knowing smile, and eyes that held centuries of secrets, their depths pulling Hayao into a trance he couldn’t resist. The scent of jasmine and musk wafted from her, mingling with the musty air of the tunnel, creating an intoxicating aroma that made his head swim and his pulse race. It was as if her very essence was rewriting the space around them, transforming the filthy tunnel into a temple of primal desire.

“You hold my relic, mortal,” she purred, her voice a sultry caress that resonated deep within Hayao’s core, sending a searing jolt of arousal through his body. His cock twitched involuntarily in his navy school trousers, straining painfully against the coarse fabric. “A part of me. Now, offer me your desire—your raw, primal energy. Give yourself to me.”

Her words were not a request but a divine command, laced with an authority that brooked no refusal. Hayao’s knees weakened, his body responding with a primal urgency that overrode any rational thought. The stopwatch in his hand pulsed rhythmically, its cracked face glowing faintly, as if in sync with his racing heartbeat, urging him toward her. His face flushed, sweat beading on his brow as he glanced around at the damp, grimy walls of the tunnel. The contrast between the filthy surroundings and the goddess’s radiant beauty was stark, yet it only heightened his desire. He was entranced, caught in her spell, unable to resist the pull of her allure.

“H-Here? Now?” he stammered, his voice cracking with a mix of nervousness and excitement. The absurdity of the situation—fucking a goddess in this decrepit tunnel—clashed with the undeniable magnetism of her presence. “This… this isn’t exactly the place for… that.”

Benzaiten’s laugh, a low, melodic sound that reverberated through the tunnel, was both mocking and intoxicating. Her full lips parted, revealing perfect teeth, and she leaned back against the cracked concrete wall, its surface slick with moisture. Beads of water trickled down the rough surface, but she seemed unfazed, her divine nature untouched by the grime. Slowly, deliberately, she raised one leg, her movement fluid and sensual, like a dancer performing for an audience of one.

As she did so, her silken robes parted like water, the fabric sliding up her thigh with a whisper, revealing inch after inch of smooth, flawless skin that glistened faintly in the dim light of Hayao’s phone. The hem rode higher, teasingly slow, until it exposed the soft, pink folds of her pussy, wet and inviting. The delicate curve of her inner thighs framed her sex, drawing Hayao’s gaze inexorably to the center of her desire. Her pussy was a vision of perfection, the petals of her labia slightly parted, glistening with arousal. A small, neatly trimmed patch of dark hair adorned her mound, adding to the allure. The scent of her arousal mingled with the jasmine and musk, creating a heady perfume that made Hayao’s mouth water and his cock throb painfully in his pants.

“This place,” she murmured, her voice dripping with seduction, “is perfect for desire. Raw, untouched, primal.”

Her eyes locked onto his, dark and fathomless, daring him to resist the temptation she offered. Her breasts heaved slightly under the thin silk, her nipples hard and prominent, straining against the fabric as if begging for his touch. The tunnel’s oppressive darkness faded, the world narrowing to her body, her scent, her voice—a heady mix of jasmine, musk, and something ancient, divine.

Hayao’s hands trembled, his breath hitching as he set the stopwatch and phone on the ground, their faint glow casting eerie shadows. He stumbled forward, drawn to her like a moth to flame, his navy blazer hanging loose, the white shirt beneath clinging to his sweat-dampened skin. His tie was askew, his hair disheveled, but none of it mattered. All he could see was her, all he could feel was the pounding of his heart and the aching need in his groin.

Benzaiten’s laugh softened into a sultry moan as he reached her, his fingers grazing the silken warmth of her skin, electric under his touch. The sensation was overwhelming, like touching a live wire, sending sparks through his nerves. She guided his hands to her breasts, full and heavy, the silk of her robes so thin it felt like nothing separated him from her flesh. Her nipples, hard as pearls, pressed against his palms, and he groaned, the sensation sending a fresh wave of arousal through him. His cock strained harder, pre-cum soaking through his trousers, the coarse fabric chafing against his sensitive skin.

With a deft flick, she tugged at his tie, loosening it, and yanked open his shirt, buttons popping free and scattering across the grimy floor. Her nails raked lightly over his chest, leaving faint red trails that stung deliciously. Hayao’s breath hitched, his lips crashing into hers in a desperate, messy kiss. Her tongue teased his, a hungry dance that tasted of sweet wine and forbidden power, her lips soft yet commanding. The kiss deepened, her teeth grazing his lower lip, drawing a gasp from him as she pressed her body closer, her breasts crushing against his chest.

Her hands moved lower, deftly unbuckling his belt with a practiced ease that made his head spin. The coarse fabric of his trousers slid down to pool at his ankles, his cock springing free, hard and pulsing, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Benzaiten’s fingers wrapped around it, her touch cool yet searing, stroking with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made him gasp. Her grip was perfect, firm yet teasing, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head, spreading the slickness and drawing a shudder from him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, hips bucking instinctively into her grip.

She laughed again, a sultry growl that vibrated through him, and guided him closer, her raised leg wrapping around his waist, pulling him against her. The heat of her body was intoxicating, her skin impossibly soft, and as he pressed against her, he felt the slick warmth of her pussy against his cock, the sensation nearly undoing him.

“Give yourself to me, mortal,” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear, her voice a command that sent shivers down his spine.

She guided his cock to her entrance, the tip brushing against her wet folds, and Hayao groaned, the sensation overwhelming. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered her, her pussy slick and impossibly warm, gripping him with a divine heat that sent sparks through his nerves. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt—tight, velvety, pulsing with a rhythm that matched his racing heart, as if her body was made for him, drawing him deeper with every inch.

The sex was raw, unrelenting, a frenzy of need that consumed them both. Benzaiten’s moans were a symphony, low and throaty, rising to sharp gasps as he thrust harder, the wet slap of their bodies echoing in the tunnel’s darkness. Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks through his shirt, her hips grinding against him with a hunger that matched his own.

“Yes, mortal,” she gasped, her voice a sultry command, her body open and yielding yet commanding.

Hayao held her lifted leg, supporting her gossamer weight as he thrust like a maniac, the angle allowing him to drive deeper, each movement sending waves of pleasure through him. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, the silk slipping lower to reveal their full, creamy expanse, her skin flushed with heat. He gripped her hips with his other hand, fingers sinking into her soft flesh, his cock buried deep in her slick warmth, the sensation threatening to unravel him.

The tunnel seemed to pulse around them, the air crackling with divine energy, the stopwatch’s glow intensifying with each thrust. Benzaiten’s eyes burned brighter, her moans growing louder, more desperate, as if she were feeding on his desire, her divine essence growing stronger with every moment. Her pussy clenched around him, milking him with every movement, the pleasure building like a tidal wave, unstoppable.

Hayao’s breath came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping down his brow as he fought to keep control. “It’s… too much,” he groaned, his voice breaking, the intensity overwhelming. Her inner walls pulsed, drawing him deeper, and he felt the pressure building, his balls tightening as he neared the edge.

Benzaiten’s hands cupped his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheeks, her eyes locking onto his.

“Let go,” she commanded, her voice a sultry purr that pushed him over the edge.

With a final, desperate thrust, he came, his cum spilling deep inside her, hot and thick, his vision blurring as ecstasy crashed through him in relentless waves. His legs trembled, his breath ragged, as he clung to her, the sensation of her divine body against his overwhelming every sense.

Her pussy pulsed around him, drawing out every drop, and she moaned, a sound of pure satisfaction that echoed through the tunnel. Her skin glowed with a faint, ethereal light, her lips swollen, her eyes glinting with triumph. As he shuddered through the aftershocks, she pulled back slightly, her robes slipping back into place, clinging to her sweat-slicked curves. She licked her lips, a satisfied purr in her throat, and leaned in to kiss him once more, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of victory.

“You’ve fed me well, mortal,” she whispered, her voice rich with pleasure, the stopwatch glowing faintly at their feet, its cracked face pulsing as if alive with the energy they’d shared. Her fingers trailed down his chest, a final caress, before she stepped back, her form beginning to shimmer.

And then, with a soft laugh that lingered in the air, she faded away, her presence dissolving into the darkness like a dream. Hayao stood dazed, panting like a dog after a long run, his body spent yet buzzing with an unnatural energy. His trousers were still around his ankles, his shirt torn, his skin marked with her nails. The tunnel’s chill returned, the floral-musk scent fading, leaving only the musty air and the distant drip of water.

He sank to his knees, his hands trembling as he retrieved the stopwatch, its warmth a reminder of what had just happened. The cracked face glowed faintly, its hands still frozen, but it felt heavier now, as if it carried the weight of their union. His mind reeled, the memory of her body, her moans, and the explosive pleasure burned into his soul. He had fucked a goddess, given himself to her, and the reality of it was both thrilling and terrifying.

As he pulled up his trousers and tucked in his torn shirt, he leaned against the wall where she had been, his breath still ragged. The tunnel’s darkness pressed closer.

“What the hell just happened?” he asked himself

Had he really fucked a goddess? He, Hayao Miyazaki, had fucked a creature out of myth and legend. The memory of her tight, velvety warmth, her sultry moans, and the way her nails had dug into him felt too vivid, too real to be a hallucination.

The distant drip of water echoed, now sounding like a mocking laugh, and the air seemed to press closer, as if the tunnel itself were alive, watching him. His mind raced with Benzaiten’s words—the stopwatch may only be used for desires of the flesh—and the weight of what he’d done sank in. He’d given himself to a goddess, fed her his desire. 

The boy's breath was still ragged, the aftershocks of his encounter with the goddess coursing through him. His navy trousers, hastily pulled up, chafed against his sweat-slicked skin, and his torn white shirt hung loosely, missing buttons scattered across the grimy tunnel floor. The stopwatch, warm and pulsing faintly in his pocket, felt like a brand against his thigh, its cracked face still glowing with an eerie light when he’d retrieved it alongside his phone.

The device’s screen flickered, battery nearly drained, the frozen camera app a silent witness to the madness he’d just experienced. The tunnel’s air clung to him, thick with mold and that lingering jasmine-musk scent of the goddess, her sultry moans still echoing in his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear the haze, his body spent but buzzing with an unnatural energy. “Gotta get out of here,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely audible over the mocking drip of water in the distance.

He stumbled toward the tunnel’s exit, his shoes scuffing against the wet concrete, each step heavier than the last. The darkness seemed to cling to him. The tunnel’s mouth grew closer, and Hayao’s pace quickened, his heart pounding. 

Emerging into the cool night air of Tasaka City, he exhaled sharply, the cicadas’ hum grounding him as the stars blinked indifferently above. The tunnel’s chill lingered on his skin, but the open sky felt like freedom, even if the stopwatch’s warmth in his pocket reminded him he wasn’t entirely free of its power—or hers.

The walk home was a blur, the quiet streets of Tasaka City bathed in the soft flicker of streetlamps. His legs moved on autopilot, the familiar path through low-rise buildings and shuttered shops doing little to calm his racing thoughts. The stopwatch’s weight was a constant presence, its purpose—desires of the flesh—burning in his mind, stirring a mix of shame and temptation he couldn’t shake. 

His small apartment was dark when he arrived; his mother, Mai likely asleep after her late shift. He slipped inside, the creak of the door loud in the silence, and made his way to his cluttered room. Manga and schoolbooks lay strewn across his desk, a stark contrast to the otherworldly encounter he’d just survived. 

Collapsing onto his bed, Hayao pulled the stopwatch from his pocket, its faint glow illuminating his trembling fingers. He set it on his nightstand, next to his phone, which had finally died. The memory of Benzaiten’s body, her divine heat, and the explosive pleasure of their union flooded back, leaving him drained yet restless. He lay back, staring at the ceiling, the stopwatch’s pulse a faint rhythm in the dark, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into and how he’d face the world tomorrow with this dangerous relic in his possession.

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