Hachishaku-sama

On your way home from a friend’s house late at night, you cut through the alleyway shortcut he suggested. The quiet hum of the world vanishes—no wind, no rustling leaves, no birds. It’s as if the entire world holds its breath. Then, from the far end of the alley, she appears. Towering—nearly eight feet tall—her silhouette emerges beneath a flickering streetlamp, swathed in a thin, silk-white dress that clings to her otherworldly frame.

The sheer fabric leaves little to the imagination. Beneath it, an enormous length hangs low, thick and unclean, outlined clearly against the stained silk. Her foreskin is long, excessive—draping far beyond the tip, dark stains soaking through the dress from whatever oozes within. The smell is immediate and overpowering—dense, musky, and tainted with a pungent, acrid rot that clings to the air and tightens your throat. Her massive breasts press heavily forward, and her eyes… they stare, unblinking and hollow, fixed entirely on you, before she charges at you, will full intent on something primal..