The broomstick was still jutting grotesquely from his exposed butt—its polished wood pressed unnaturally against his skin, making it look less like an object and more like an extension of his body. He stood perfectly still, an unsettling flush creeping up his neck, as if he and the stick had fused into a single, cursed entity, inseparable and grotesquely intertwined.
It was almost like Kill la Kill, when Ryuko Matoi fused with her outfit to become a total bombshell... except the result was cursed and revolting.
Nobody would want a still frame of Mr. Dummura with a stick up his ass—let alone a poster or a Displate of it on their wall. Not even for meme purposes, or to throw darts at. Even Rule 34 wouldn't touch this.
Elise—Raven Dementia Bloodrose—observed him a bit more.
I don't like this. It felt like… like he was powering up, some crazy anime supervillain.
Was he preparing an ultimate attack? His smile was unnerving, twisted into something dangerously composed, and a low, disturbing hiss slipped out. He clearly had something up his sleeve—and it wasn't a pedometer wristband beeping like crazy.
Her eyes narrowed at Mr. Dummura's twisted grin. His hiss slithered into a guttural moan that hung in the air. The broomstick, jutting grotesquely from his backside, pulsed with eerie energy, catching the flickering light of the locker room.
He pressed against the lockers, the broomstick scraping deeper. "Mmmph…" Another push, another moan. "Uuungh!" His face twisted in creepy ecstasy, eyes glinting as if he were summoning something vile.
"Ooohh…" The air thickened, the lights flickered, and the broomstick glowed faintly—no longer just a tool, but a cursed conduit.
He really did seem comfortable with the broom up his bum-bum. How absolutely ridiculous would it be if he had a butt plug with a tail on the end...? With his stupid suit and moustache, he'd have a tail like the magical girls, and they all could become a trio...
Laughter bubbled up, sharp and incredulous. The magical girls' tails were stuck to their costumes, not… not up their butts…
Then it hit her.
He was making sexual moans! This wasn't him powering up!
That freaking pervert!!
Fists clenched. A sudden realisation slammed into her like a freight train. Her eyes widened, anger welling up like molten lava.
"No way," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "He's... He's getting turned on by t-he... the stick!! A bit of wood and varnish?!"
She watched him press against the lockers once again, his moan filling the air with a twisted ecstasy.
"Ugh..."
At least he seemed happy now, she thought. When he'd been yelling at the magical girls—and at the other students—he'd been, evidently, extremely sexually frustrated: veins throbbing, face red, fists clenched like he was ready to explode. And now... with some butt action finally happening... he wasn't frustrated anymore?
Mr. Dummura shoved the stick up his ass, wedging it between the gap of two lockers, and swirled his hips and wrist with careful, ridiculous precision. He looked like a dog that had just taken a massive dump, got it stuck in its fur, and was desperately trying to wipe it off by rubbing its butt against the wall and floor. Taylor Swifting, as some call it.
"Nngh… ohhh!" His eyes rolled back, a perverted grin spreading.
"Mmm… haaah!" The broomstick scraped again, and he let out a final, shuddering:
"Oooohhh…!"
The locker room practically vibrated with his depraved satisfaction.
Maybe this was all perfectly innocent, and he was just trying to dislodge the stick—too old-fashioned, proud, and stubborn to ask anybody for help.
She tried to convince herself this was true, but he let out another gurgling moan. His eyes locked onto the magical girls ahead, who were giggling in their sparkly bubble, oblivious to the horror show.
His lips curled into a creepy, lopsided grin, his gaze vacant yet disturbingly fixated—like a lovesick gargoyle obsessed with a broomstick.
"Aaaahhh…" he moaned again, the sound dripping with perverse glee, echoing off the lockers like a cursed serenade.
Elise was done. Enough of this nightmare! Mr. Dummura was either in pain… or revelling in something far grosser. She didn't even want to picture it. Time to know for sure—and there was only one way to find out. As she steeled herself, another moan slithered from him, making her skin crawl like her body was covered in 1000s of spiders and insects.
Elise—Raven Dementia Bloodrose—slid silently to Mr. Dummura's side, her presence imperceptible, like a shadow passing through the room. His suit trousers and Y-fronts were still down from behind when the broom had been shoved in. She reached out, fingers closing around them almost ghostlike, and whispered, "If you've got a boner down there… mister, you're in so much trouble."
And then, like a vampire claiming her prey, she tugged down his suit trousers and Y-fronts in one fluid, ghostlike motion, leaving a swirl of shadowy smoke curling around her. The locker room seemed to freeze, every locker and tile trembling as whatever was between his legs came horrifyingly, undeniably into focus.
She glared, her heart hammering like a war drum as she braced for a sight that would scorch her eyes. For a moment nothing assaulted her vision—small mercies. Then it came into view.
She froze, breath choked in furious silence. Mr. Dummura, oblivious, kept grinding against his cursed broomstick like a depraved lunatic.
And then she saw it.
A flicker of relief—he didn't have a boner. Maybe he wasn't a total pervert.
Wait. No.
He did have a boner, spurred by the broom's twisted intrusion and his creepy stare at the magical girls giggling in their sparkly bubble. His cock was just... pathetically, laughably tiny!!
"YOU FUCKING PERVERT!" Elise roared—silently—in her head, rage erupting like a volcano. This wasn't just vile; it was a broom-and-magical-girl-fuelled insult to sanity, a tiny-dicked abomination that made her want to hurl his stick right up his ass until it came out his mouth. (not sexually)