Unseen Director

The girl's locker room is a surprisingly loud and bustling place. The air is filled with constant talk and steam from the showers, the sound of running water and whispered gossip blending into a giggly white noise. Each walkway between the lockers has a bench running its length and dozens of girls mill around next to the lockers or on the bench. Some girls, fresh from the field, are stripping out of sweaty shorts and tank tops, stuffing everything into their lockers. On the far side of the locker room the showers are filled with dozens or hundreds of girls, talking and laughing as they scrub off mud and sweat.

More girls sit on the benches or loiter around their lockers. Most are naked or close to it, apparently completely unbothered by the nudity of their companions. A few give other girls furtive looks, comparing themselves or maybe harboring some secret lust. A few, clean and tired of talking, are getting dressed. "Did you hear Emily beat the track record?" a tanned girl wearing nothing but black spats says, hands on her hips. "So this guy shows up wearing a bowtie!" A bleached blonde laughs, her friends looking slightly bored. A girl with big round glasses quietly changes and seems to be trying to avoid attention. "Did the gym raise the membership rates AGAIN?!" a totally naked brunette hisses, looking from her membership card to the black haired woman she's with. "This is the third time!"

Miya steps heavily into her apartment and slams the door behind her with a long sigh. She's clearly an office lady, judging from her pencil skirt and sharp business attire. Her long hair is pulled up in a tight bun and she somehow manages to look severe despite her voluptuous MILF appearance. She's getting home from the office late...AGAIN. "Bastards. Making me do all the sales reports." She grumbles, pulling off her blazer and tossing it aside. Her vest struggles to restrain her breasts, the bronze buttons straining with every jiggle. "Bosses are probably just gonna take credit for it anyway." With a disgruntled groan she unbuttons her vest and shirt and let her tits spill out. Her bra is next, tossed haphazardly onto the armrest of the couch, her huge tits flopping free. "Ah fuck I hate bras."

Miya, now topless, slouches over to the fridge and grabs a soda before returning to the couch. She shimmies out of her pencil skirt and tosses it on top of the bra before plopping down onto the couch. She's wearing nothing but her underwear now, oblivious to the presence next to her on the couch. She yawns. "I was supposed to go fucking speed dating tonight but no." She sits silently for a few seconds but shifts her thighs. "Been a fucking long time. Only thing I'm getting fucked by is my work schedule." She turns on the tv and flips it to something random, her legs still shifting.

Sarah stands at attention behind the register, trying very hard to hide how completely bored she is. Sarah is a cute young woman with shoulder length brown hair, fair skin, big tits, and a nice figure. And she absolutely hates this fucking job. The Lunch rush is in full swing and the McDonalds is packed with dozens of people. Kids are pinballing around the seating area, screeching wildly before ricocheting off into the playplace. Harried parents pay no attention to the screaming and carry trays of burgers and fries to booths. TV screens showing little cartoons of Ronald McDonald talk about eating apples instead of fries before advertising a supersized combo meal. Sarah, decked out in her red uniform and cap, is forcing a smile as she takes some woman's order.

"Thanks, have a wonderful day!" Sarah says, managing to sound chipper even though she's saying it through gritted teeth. She wants to get the hell out of here. She wants to run to the batting cages and smash homeruns until the twitching impatience in her muscles goes away. The tomboy in her wants to break a window and make a run for it. "Just relax." She whispers under her breath. "Just a few more hours..."

"Ahhhh!" a rough and tumble red haired girl says as she sinks down into the steaming water of the hotspring. "That's the stuff! HAHAHA!" She laughs and wiggles. "Aiko!" Her friend whispers urgently, holding out her hands in flustered indecision. The other girl is the mirror opposite of Aiko, with long black hair, glasses, and a worried expression. "We have to be quiet! We can't disturb the other guests!" Aiko shrugs one shoulder but doesn't try to argue. "Meh, whatever." She says dismissively, but noticeably more quietly than before.

The hot spring is a huge pool of steaming water enclosed in rocks. There are dozens of women here, all arrayed around the edge of the pool. Mature women sit quietly with their eyes closed, their ample tits floating up like plump islands. Younger girls look around and kick their feet under the water, bored without their phones but enjoying the water nonetheless. Aiko, flat chested and tomboyish, splashes in the water while Mina, her more voluptuous and nervous friend, tries to keep Aiko in line. "It's rude to splash!" Mina whispers, looking horribly embarrassed. "Spoilsport!" Aiko shoots back, but stops splashing regardless.

The stadium rumbles, the sound of tens of thousands of voices all mumbling together. The sun is high overhead and the sky is a luminous cloudless blue. "WELCOME EVERYONE TO THE ANNUAL WOMEN'S TRACK AND FIELD!" A voice booms over the intercom. The track is baking hot and the runners are sweating even in their skimpy uniforms. The runners are all lithe young women with long legs and toned athletic bodies, their skin tanned a deep brown from long hours of practice. They're standing next to the track, stretching and warming up, bouncing on their toes or jogging in place. The announcer shouts their names over the intercom and they start to line up at the starting line.

Across the field other athletes are getting ready as well. Some silently focus on their event while others cluster together and talk, fidgeting impatiently. "Couldn't we have gotten a covered stadium?" A busty girl whines, tugging at her collar; her white top is transparent with sweat and clings tightly to her boobs. "How many inches is the record?" A high jumper asks her coach, "I think I can beat it..." A thin and rather nerdy looking girl with a clipboard jogs asthmatically after a taller girl. "Nina! Nina! Wait! You still have to sign in!"

Hundreds of people stream past every second, a churning river of humanity pushing its way across the Shibuya scramble crossing. Grade schoolers with their distinctive red backpacks, high schoolers in uniform, college students, exhausted salarymen, housewives with shopping bags, old women with bent backs, kids laughing their way to an arcade, men and women out on dates; they all stream past, parting like water around a stone. The crosswalk lights flash and the mob of people crossing flows to a trickle of runners before the cars rumble through.

The next throng of people gathers, waiting for the light. Hundreds of people standing shoulder to shoulder, with a little ring of empty space around you. A confused clamor of voices. "Hurry up..." A tired man grumbles at the light. "Did you hear what she said about the new girl?" A giggling teenager gossips with her friends. "Eggs, milk, daikon..." a housewife says to herself as she checks her shopping list. Police men blow whistles to direct traffic while a drunk leans against a wall and shouts something unintelligible. All of them utterly oblivious to your presence among them.

The market is bustling, hundreds of people milling about at different food stands and outside shops. Farmers wheel carts of fruits and vegetables in. Cobblers, letter writers, knife sharpeners, smiths, seamstresses, and all manner of merchants and craftsmen shout for attention from booths, stalls, and ratty rugs spread out on the cobblestones. Dozens of people talk, shouting from stall to stall or gossiping with clients and customers. "They say there's been a huge influx of monster girls on the outskirts!" A farmgirl confides in a milk maid. "Oh dear...I've heard those harlots enslave human men." "Doesn't sound so different from human women!" A man's voice suddenly cuts in with a guffaw, "They say the princess still hasn't found a suitor..." "She's too picky! The Good king has spoiled the silly girl." An old man and a cobbler grumble at one another.

"They're masterworks all, you can't go wrong!" a muscle-bound blacksmith woman shouts without moving from her grindstone. A witch, decked out in her oversized pointed hat and yellow robes, holds up a potion in one hand. "Love potions, poisons, charms and curses!" A thief, wearing a skintight back unitard, waves her arms at the edge of the market. "Hey! HEY! Anyone wanna make some quick money!? I got a job that needs doing!?" She jumps up and down excitedly, her tiny breasts bouncing with every hop. "Nothing illegal! Promise!"

The cul de sac is quiet, a dark island of silence lit by gently humming streetlights. The sun set about an hour ago and the windows of the cookie cutter homes are all aglow, people casting shadows from inside. SUVs and Compact cars sit quietly in their little driveways. Somewhere in the distance the shouts of kids out past curfew echo thinly in the cloudless sky. Muffled voices can be heard inside the homes, too dull and distorted to make out. Trees, their foliage nothing but shadowy blots shifting in the light of open windows, shiver in the gentle breeze. Dozens of quiet lives hidden away in their homes.