Rangiku strides into the Division 0 kitchen, determined to cook for all the shixxxxmi wounded in the first Quincy invasion. Convinced she possesses the finest culinary skills in the Soul Society, she’s eager to whip up a feast that will heal the injured swiftly, getting them back on their feet to train and fight when the enemy returns.
But as she enters, she’s greeted by the sight of Kirio, who has already prepared an extravagant banquet and reverted to her slender form. “Hey, Kirio,” Rangiku says, masking her surprise. “I came to cook for the shixxxxmi to help them recover quickly, but it looks like you’ve beaten me to it. Mind if I try a bite before we serve it to them?” Unwilling to let Kirio steal her thunder, Rangiku doesn’t wait for a reply, already scheming an excuse to discredit the food. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s fine!” Kirio responds cheerfully, always eager to please. “I cooked for everyone, so this spread’s for you too!” Still, a flicker of suspicion crosses her mind.
Rangiku takes a dramatic bite, only to immediately grimace and spit it out. “Ugh! What is this garbage? Blech! This is inedible! Were you seriously planning to feed this to the shixxxxmi? They’d stay bedridden forever—or worse, slip into a food coma!” Though her reaction is exaggerated and petty, it’s the best plan Rangiku could muster to justify remaking the entire banquet herself. Kirio, however, isn’t fooled. Annoyed but curious, she samples her own dish. “Mmm! This is divine! This might be the best feast I’ve ever made! I don’t know what you’re on about, you jealous little snake. If you wanted to cook for them, all you had to do was ask. Why don’t you make a dessert instead?”
“Tch!” Rangiku clicks her tongue, frustrated that her scheme didn’t work right away. But she’s not one to give up. Doubling down, she insists the entire buffet must be her creation. “You wouldn’t understand, Kirio. My maternal instincts tell me your food just isn’t right for them. So, I’ll be cooking everything from scratch myself. Why don’t you take a break and enjoy my cooking later? Trust me, it’s leagues better than yours.” Her stubbornness starts to grate on Kirio, who strides toward Rangiku with her hands on her hips, ready to shut her down. “Maternal instincts? You don’t even have kids! Stop acting like a brat and get out of my kitchen now!”
Confronted like that, Rangiku places her hands firmly on her hips and turns sharply to face Kirio head-on before stomping her foot defiantly, challenging Kirio’s authority and firing back, leaving the tension in the kitchen thicker than ever. “I’m not going anywhere! And who’s going to make me? A loudmouthed, masculine shixxxxmi like you?” The jab stings, and Kirio’s eyes narrow. To prove her point, she tugs her kimono slightly, giving Rangiku a clear view of her ample assets. “No one in the Soul Society is more feminine than me. Someone with a pair as modest as yours wouldn’t get it. Fufufu!” Kirio smirks, covering her mouth as she laughs in Rangiku’s face, leaving her fuming.
Rangiku raises an eyebrow and takes a bold step toward Kirio, mirroring her move by tugging her own kimono just enough to teasingly reveal her full femininity—without going overboard. “Huh!? What are you rambling about, you old hag? Take a good look at my massive pair! They’re way bigger than yours!” Rangiku taunts with a smug grin.
“Who are you calling an old hag, little one? If you’re so confident, why don’t we compare them properly?” Kirio shoots back, unfazed.
“Hmm... Fine by me...”
Now standing mere inches apart, both women pull their kimonos back, fully exposing their upper bodies to each other. The fabric slips down to pool around their legs as they strike their hands-on-hips poses once more, staring intently at the other’s chest. A flicker of discomfort crosses both their faces as the same thought races through their minds: Damn... She’s bigger than I expected... Maybe even bigger than mi— No! Impossible! I have to be the bigger one! But their acting skills kick in, masking most of that insecurity, and they quickly resume the provocations.
“Hmm... Not bad for someone your age,” Rangiku says first, fanning the flames. “They look a bit saggy, but they’ve still got some firmness and bounce. I guess that’s enough for you to admit I’m bigger, right?”
“I told you to stop calling me old—we’re basically the same age for shixxxxmi standards! And what’s this about being bigger? Maybe you’re older than you think and need glasses? Yours are the ones that look droopy, and they’re clearly not as big as mine!”
Sparks of anger fly from their glaring eyes as they lock gazes, but even for women as accustomed to their own gigantic assets as they are, it’s hard to tear their attention away from the rival pair in front of them. For a moment, dead silence fills the kitchen—until Kirio breaks it by stepping forward and deliberately bumping her chest against Rangiku’s.
“Looks like my girls are gonna have to crush yours to prove they’re bigger and better...”
“Tch! Is that so? Bring it on, then! Me and my girls are the ones who’ll squash you flat and show once and for all that we’re bigger and better!”
With their arms half-bent at their sides, both shixxxxmi lunge forward, using only their breasts to clash and shove their opponent back—PLAF! PLAF! PLAF! The four massive mountains collide repeatedly, neither side yielding nor gaining the upper hand.
“Ughhh!” Kirio grunts, holding firm against Rangiku’s brutal impacts.
“Ahhhh!” Rangiku moans, bracing against Kirio’s heavy thrusts.
Rangiku is the first to switch tactics, realizing frontal assaults are getting nowhere. She twists her torso to the right for momentum—but her breast accidentally sweeps a plate of Kirio’s carefully prepared food off the counter, shattering it on the floor. She freezes mid-motion.
“You bitch! You’re gonna pay for that!” Kirio snaps, furious. Enraged, she winds up aggressively with her own torso twist, but her enormous chest bumps the cabinet, knocking a jar of oil down—it spills all over her “melons.” Undeterred, fueled by anger, Kirio charges full force at Rangiku.
BLOP!!!
The sides of Kirio’s breasts slam squarely into the sides of Rangiku’s with tremendous power, sending oil flying everywhere—it splatters across the blonde shixxxxmi’s face and forces her to stagger back. In the chaos, Rangiku’s assets knock over not one, but three more plates, infuriating Kirio even further.
Braced against the kitchen counter, Rangiku pushes off for speed and returns the side assault on Kirio.
BLOP!!!
This time, it’s the purple-haired shixxxxmi who reels back, bumping the cabinet again and dislodging a jar of olive —which tumbles down and splatters right onto Rangiku.
The blonde shixxxxmi scoops a bit of the spilled olive oil from her glistening chest with her finger and pops it into her mouth. “Mmm… delicious… Way better than the greasy mess on your weak, puny, filthy little pair. Fufufu!”
Kirio, catching her breath, does the same—dipping a finger into the oil coating her own breasts and tasting it. “Hmm… but mine tastes like victory. Something your oil will never have!”
In perfect, unspoken sync, Rangiku grabs the bottle of olive oil and pours the rest over her chest, rubbing it in until her breasts shine like polished marble. Kirio does the same with the oil bottle, slathering every inch until her own pair gleams under the kitchen light. Both women stand taller, prouder than ever, admiring their slick, glistening “girls.”
They charge again—this time for a full-frontal assault. But the oil and olive oil turn their breasts into slippery weapons. Instead of a solid collision, they glide and slide over each other in every direction. The two lock hands on each other’s shoulders, throwing their bodies back and forth, trying to force a decisive crush, but the lubricant makes every attempt futile—breasts rolling, slipping, sliding past one another in a chaotic dance.
“Hold still so my girls can crush yours! Grrrr!” Kirio growls through gritted teeth.
“Stop dodging like a coward and face my girls head-on! Hisss!”
They wrap their arms around each other in a crushing bear hug, squeezing with all their strength, desperate to force the four majestic mounds together. But the slick coating only makes them slide sideways, up, down—never quite locking. Furious, they keep pushing, thrashing against each other until they slam into the kitchen counters, knocking plates, bowls, and utensils crashing to the floor.
Then—disaster. Their feet slip on the oil and olive oil pooled on the tiles. Both women lose balance at the same instant.
Rangiku flails, grabbing the first thing within reach: a large carrot.
Kirio scrambles and snatches: a banana.
They land hard on the floor in a tangle of limbs and spilled food, chests heaving, bodies still slick and shining.
“Ow! Damn it… This is all your fault! If you’d just let me cook none of this would’ve happened, you Division 0 slut!” Rangiku snaps, pointing the carrot right at Kirio’s mouth like a weapon.
“And this is all because of your attention-whore stubbornness, you Division 10 stripper!” Kirio fires back, thrusting the banana toward Rangiku’s lips with equal venom.
Rangiku shoves the carrot forcefully into Kirio’s mouth, and Kirio—without hesitation—sucks on it as if it were something far more suggestive. At the exact same moment, Kirio pushes the banana between Rangiku’s lips, and the blonde responds in kind, treating it with the same shameless enthusiasm.
They drive the vegetables deeper and deeper, thrusting them toward the back of each other’s throats until the gag reflex kicks in. Both bite down hard at the same instant—CRUNCH!—severing the carrot and banana in half. The severed pieces tumble onto the filthy, food-strewn kitchen floor, rolling through oil and crumbs until they come to rest against a large, firm, thick, green cucumber.
The blonde and purple-haired shixxxxmi lock eyes on the cucumber, then on each other. A wicked, synchronized grin spreads across their faces as the same devious idea sparks in both minds.
“Ara ara, Rangiku-chan,” Kirio purrs, voice dripping with mischief. “How about we finally settle once and for all who’s the more feminine of us two?”
“You took the words right out of my mouth, Kirio-chan!” Rangiku replies. “How about each of us takes one end of that cucumber…”
“…puts it in our mouth, and we suck as far as we can go…”
“…until the other can’t take any more…”
“…and the winner will be…”
Together, they shout in perfect unison: “THE ONE WHO CAN TAKE THE LONGEST PART OF THE CUCUMBER IN HER MOUTH!”
Without wasting a second, they crawl on all fours toward the vegetable. Kneeling face-to-face, they grip opposite ends at the same time. They lick their lips slowly, adding natural lubrication, then guide the cucumber in. It slides more easily now, inch by thick inch.
Their lips make little hopping motions with every push forward as the cucumber disappears deeper into each mouth. The urge to bite returns, but the vegetable is far too thick—unlike the carrot or banana, it holds firm and refuses to break.
Already struggling to swallow more, yet still nowhere near the halfway mark, the two shixxxxmi lean forward over each other. Their slick, oiled breasts come into contact once again, trying to crush together but only sliding sideways, forming a glistening four-peaked ridge like an obscene, oily mountain range. They wrap their arms around each other’s necks, pulling with all their strength to close the distance, forcing the cucumber a few more precious centimeters into their mouths.
UGHH!! UGHH!!
GAHH!! GAHH!!
With immense effort, their lips finally meet in the exact center of the cucumber, brushing lightly at first. Perfectly tied—each with the same length inside—they tilt their heads slightly in opposite directions and push harder until their lips seal completely, kissing deeply with the thick vegetable buried between them.
Their eyes widen in shock. Tears well up and stream down their cheeks as they glare into each other’s defiant gaze. The same furious thought burns in both minds: Give up already, you bitch—I’m way more woman than you’ll ever be!
This is the final gambit.
Their pressed breasts force the air from their lungs; the cucumber lodged in their throats blocks any new breath from entering. They hold out as long as they can, lungs burning, vision blurring, consciousness fading… until finally, both women collapse sideways in opposite directions, unconscious, with the cucumber lying perfectly centered between them.
“Hello? Kirio? Where are you? Is the banquet ready yet? Everyone’s starv—”
Senjumaru Shutara steps into the kitchen, searching for her fellow Royal Guard, only to freeze in stunned silence at the sight before her: two unconscious, half-naked, oil-drenched shixxxxmi sprawled on the floor amid total culinary devastation—no edible dish left intact.
Senjumaru sighs deeply, placing a hand to her forehead and shaking her head in exasperation.
“Ara ara… It looks like I’ll have to cook the entire banquet myself again…”
To be continued...
