You had wanted a Kel-Tec KSG since you saw one. The thing was the most tactical, futuristic thing you had ever seen. Late in September You find yourself at a gun show looking right at one. You handle it, feel the weight, how small it was and your impulses take you away. You are now poor by the proud owner of a KSG.

Within the hour you're in the shop, plucking it out of the box and peeling away the plastic. You set it on the bench, knowing how things worked by now since you had owned and handled so many other guns. 

Materialized infront of you, a girl. She fit comfortably on the bench, she was short, probably closer to five and a half feet if she stood. Black hair, twin tails of course past her shoulders and at this level it was obvious she was.. well endowed for a shotgun to say the least. Your surprise must have been obvious. 

> "Impressed?" She asks, crossing her legs and arms at once and giving you the smuggest expression she could. 

"They weren't kidding about you being short."

> "I'm compact!" She huffed, clearly annoyed by the statement. "Anyway, you're my owner now? Sure you can handle a 12 Gauge? You look more like a 410 kinda guy." She glared up at him, a evil smirk plastered on her lips.

"Well, let's find out. Here, put this on." You say handing over a Magpul vertical grip.

> "I bet you'd need something like that, wouldn't you? Fine. But you better rack me hard.. I don't like it when people are gentle with me." She starts off in the same rough, mocking tone as before but near the end her voice drips with something else..

You shiver a bit, feeling your kin goosebump at the tease. You had read reviews saying you could easily short chuck the KSG so it seemed like a natural warning but the way it came out, as condescending and smug as she was it still took you off balance.





Ten minutes later you had hiked up the mountain with a box of Winchester white box. 

> "You're going to put -that- in me? I only like HIGH brass." She whines indigently.

"It's all I got though." You defend. "Just try it."

> "Fine." She huffed. 

You reach around her waist and haul her up to your chest, she is surprisingly light and well balanced but soon her form returns to that of a pistol gripped bullpup shotgun. For some reason you feel nervous, it's your first time after all but it never felt this way with any of your other guns.

You shoulder it, your cheek on metal feels cold, appropriately reflecting her attitude. The stock is rigid and stiff against your shoulder. You wonder what she is thinking as you push the safety off and let your finger rest on the trigger, with baited breath you squeeze tighter.. tighter. Boom!

For being light and small she punches you in the shoulder hard, but you smile all the same. What a thrill! You grab the grip and rack backwards.. and nothing happens.. You rack harder. Nothing. Harder. Nothing still. What gives? No matter what you do it won't eject the spent shell. 

You set the KSG down and she materializes, sitting on the ground and hugging her knees.

"What's wrong?" 

> "It's.. too tight."

"W-What?"

> "My chamber.. it's too tight and it won't come out." She admits bashfully, her cheeks bright red and eyes cast downward in shame.

"That doesn't seem right.. maybe you need to be broken in?"

> "It's probably your fault. I wanted high brass. High brass!" She pouts, kicking at the leaves and burying her face in her knees.

"Let's take you home and see what we can do.. this doesn't seem like it should be happening." 




You took her back to the shop and set her back on the bench where she remains, swinging her legs back and forth and looking uncomfortable.

> "It's still in me." She states flatly.

"Alright, let's see if I can get it out now." You haul her back into your arms and rack the pump hard, the shell ejects and the case slaps your wrist on the way out. "Ow."

As soon as she is placed back on the bench she looks a lot more composed. 

> "That felt good.." She sighs.

"It must have cooled off. Let me check something."

You pull up your laptop and check the KTOG. Minutes later you think you found the solution.

"Let me see inside your chamber."

She immediately shrieks and closes her legs, covering her chest with her arms.

> "Pervert! Pervert! I'm going to call the ATF!" She continues to squeal.

"No-no-no! I think your chamber is just parkerized.. all I need to do is stick a hone up there, polish it a little and-"

> "DISGUSTING! You're a sicko! Freak! I won't let you touch me. 

"Do you want me to send you back to the factory?" You ask bluntly, flustered but trying to remain in control.

She peaks around the workshop. It was well lit and spacious. She could smell silicon in the air and it felt so inviting compared to the dark, cold box she had been stuffed into this entire time.. she didn't want to go back in the box. She liked it here.

"F-Fine but just make it quick. No touching." She barks at you.



She on her side atop the bench, her face was burning red. She takes a deep breath and slowly spreads her legs.

In her shotgun form you peer into the loading port with a flashlight, you shine it up into the open chamber. Something about this feels.. wrong and, well, dirty. You feel guilt as a you carefully inspect a thick, black coating on the inside of the chamber. Sure enough she came from the factory with a parkerized and very tight chamber, she needed to be polished.

You click off the flashlight, you already feel eyes glaring at you.

> "So.. how was it?" Her voice has softened from her usual loud and condescending tone.

"I'm going to have to polish it. I can't believe they let you leave the factory like that."

> "I'm brand new.. all shotguns are like this for their first time." She knows she is telling a lie, but she has to deflect the statement somehow. 

"I'll order the stuff I'll need from Brownell's tonight. Let's head inside, it's getting dark anyway." You decide, surprising her as you princess carry her off the table and take her inside still flustered and now strangely quiet. 

> "You're not going to send me back to the factory?" She asks in a quiet, timid voice. 

You can't help but smile, her humble question was heart warming. "No, I just got you. I couldn't bare to be without you for weeks." He admits honestly. He would take care of her himself. If he shipped her away it would be almost a month before he saw her again and he was already oddly attached. 





You have this bonding ritual with new guns. Like a new car or a new electronic you have to be within eye sight at all times to be able to glance at your new purchase. In this case you let KSG sit on the couch while you make dinner. You glance up often at your new shotgun and you think you may have even caught her staring be she usually adverts her gaze, on the occasions she is unable she shoots your daggers but you shrug it off. 

"Do you want some of this?" You ask, spooning spaghetti onto a second plate. Wordlessly she takes a seat at the table and with surprising eagerness digs into the dish. "Did they not feed you?" You ask, not expecting her answer.

> "No.. The man who bought me and my Sisters kept me in the back of a trailer. We moved a lot. To the gun shows. It was usually dark and when it wasn't dark it was so loud and so hot with so many people.. all touching me and staring." She shudders.

"Wow.. I didn't realize it was like that. All my other guns I bought from a gun store or inherited." 

> Her eyes brighten up at the mention of other guns. "You have other guns? I get to meet them?"

"Well, yeah. I have a Glock 19 I keep by the bedside."

> Between the food and the mention of other guns she was clearly overjoyed. Her legs kicked back and forth happily under the table, though her feet could barely touch the floor anyway. 

> "I only had one friend, DP12-Chan. She was brat though." She seemed to be warming up to him little by little. 







Once dinner was done you notice KSG-Chan had fallen asleep at the table. Apparently the spunky bullpup tired out easily, you usually don't do it but you make the exception and carry her to the bedroom where you lay her small form on the bed and let her sleep. So what if the sheets smell like cordite, you can always wash them.

You go about your hobbies, reading up on your new KSG on the KTOG and before long you retire beside your new shotgun. When you awake the next morning you feel something against you, it feels like polymer but at a drowsy glance you see her arms around you and a peaceful expression on her face. 

The next several days you don't see much of your new shotgun. She is always there waiting for you when you get home from work though, her eyes light up when she sees you but only for a moment before she scolds you for something or another. But today her reaction is different when she sees you with the brown FEDEX package, she is oddly quiet.

> "Are you going to hone my chamber today?" She fidgets a bit as she asks, her volume unusually low.

"Yeah, I finally got the things I need. You sure it's okay? You were pretty upset earlier when I told you we had to do it."

> "I'm fine as long as it's yo- .. as long as I don't have to go to the factory." She catches herself, but you might think you know what she meant. You wonder why this gun has gotten so close to you so quickly. 




She is sitting on the bench with the florescent lights shining down on her. You can hear practically hear her gasp as you affix the polishing brush onto the power drill. 

> "Don't get the wrong idea. I just don't want to go back to the factory." She mumbles, laying on her back with her legs shut.

"I'll be gentle."

> "Pervert." She responds, but all the same she spreads her legs and.. shotgun. 

The transformation is almost jarring but it was to be expected, but all together a little disappointing. Was he attracted to guns? No.. of course not. That would be weird. They were tools after all. Even so he felt so strange as he pushed out the two pins and removed the grip.

Next the stock. He could practically hear her protest as you tap it off the receiver and set it aside. You turn to ready the drill, for a second as you turn back you could've sworn you saw black panties laying where the stock had been but with a blink you see a polymer assembly and a partially disassembled shotgun. All the same it's getting you on edge.

You lube up the hone with the polishing compound and rev it up, slowly insert it into her chamber and begin to move in a rolling sort of motion. You can feel the shotgun quivering in your hands as the drill does it's job. You work it against the chamber for a couple minutes and withdraw, wipe away the excess with a rag and run a brush through the bore to clear out any other debris. 

You notice you're sweating, you wipe it off the back of your hand and carefully reassemble the shotgun. KSG is laying on the bench, chest heaving and panting to herself, body twisting and shaking with the aftershocks of.. something. She is only vaguely aware of her surroundings and softly whimpers to herself.

> "T-That.. that was so.. amazing." She confesses. 

What. The. Fuck. This was the first time you had ever had to do this.. were all guns like this?

"You okay..?"

She seems to regain her composure, sitting up she clears her throat and with a shaky, faked confidence she speaks.

> "O-Of course! I'm a combat shotgun! I can take anything.." She boasts proudly, but not all that convincing.

> "I feel so smooth though.." She adds, almost under her breath but you hear it all the same.




The day has come. You hiked up the mountain, you even bought the high-brass shells KSG had been bugging you about. Might as well see if they work better, right? 

> "I'm so excited! It's been almost two weeks since I got to go crazy and spit some buckshot. You better run me hard this time!" 

She realizes what she said and covers her mouth as if she could take it back, but blushes when she realizes it's been heard. You just laugh. "I'm excited too." You agree.

You load her up, two tubes of seven shells each. Amazing capacity in such a small package, you're again reminded why you wanted a KSG. You rack the pump and chamber the first round and rest your cheek, peer down your sights. The metal feels warmer now. You take aim, pull the trigger and BOOM!

You pump, a hot shell ejects and strikes your wrist. It hurts, but you barely notice. You fire again, pump it. Seven shots later you switch tubes, fire seven more shots. Your shoulder hurts now, but this was what you wanted. You set her down and she giggles to herself wildly.

> "More! More!" She whines like a little girl begging to be taken on another ride at an amusement park. 

"Shit, I'm bleeding." You note to yourself, but she hears you. Your wrist is a little beat up, you'll live but it does sting. You look at her and you immediately notice you made a mistake. She has done a 180 and now she's pouting and crossing her arms, rocking back and forth.

> "It's not my fault! Your wrists were blocking my ejection port! I was just excited." 

"Yeah, yeah. I'll try to hold you differently next time." 

You dug around in the little first aid kit you brought in your range bag and put a band-aid on it. The moment of silence has given her time to reflect.

> "I'm sorry." She mumbles. 

"What's that?" You genuinely didn't hear her.

> "I said I'm sorry!" She shouts at you before resuming her pout, you can tell she feels bad. 

"I don't mind. Let's shoot some more, okay?"

Despite her trying to hide it you see her smile. 







Things were going so well. You got through the first 14 shots just fine but now you're having more problems. You rack the pump backwards, you feel the shell pop out but you rack forward and it gets stuck, like you hit something. Peaking into the chamber you see the shell is caught on the chamber lip. Is it a timing issue? Is he not racking hard enough? Surely it's his fault there is no way she's having another malfunction..

Sure enough he sets her down to do some brain storming and she is looking away from him, avoiding eye contact and looking guilty.

> "Something is wrong." She states.

"I know that. What do you think it is?" 

She shrugs and looks defeated. You sigh, might as well shoot off the rest of the ammo you brought. You can troubleshoot later but you've barely fired 50 rounds through your new shotgun. You load her up, you shoot some more but every third round the shell becomes caught on the lip. You rack harder, you rack softer, you rack faster, you rack slower but it doesn't seem to matter. You finally pack your gear away and carry her back down the mountain.

> "Are you mad at me?" She asks, pouting but clearly worried about something.

"No. I'm not mad." She may have picked up on the fact you're a little irritated but you tried so much to hide it.

> "I had fun." She states. "If you find out why it keeps happening we can come back and shoot some more.. right?" 

You glance down and see her eyes, they're pleading and you can't say no. "Sure, let's try to figure it out tonight."

Her arms wrap around your neck, you can't tell if it's just her sling or if the gesture is genuine but you were never happier to have a malfunctioning gun before.




Unfortunately the solution is not obvious. You Google it but find little helpful advice. You make threads on KTOG but they all say it's your fault for racking the pump the wrong way. You doubt yourself. Many times you ask KSG if you can practice racking her.

> "Okay! But only because you need to fix me. I don't really like it." She says, though clearly she's a lie because every time you pick her up she practically purrs in your arms. 

Eventually you find the solution. The lifter arms are probably too far apart, you need to pinch them tighter so they lift the shell higher. It's a simple solution.

"Let's get that stock off so I can take a look."

She's reluctant. You can tell she doesn't want you too.

"What's wrong?"

> "My stock is.. well.."

She submits, though reluctantly as you remove her stock you find her shell ramps have been chipped. You had read about this but didn't think it had happened to you, the pump arms had flexed when the shells got stuck in her chamber and chipped the polymer away. You look back at the rest of the gun, minus the stock and see quite the sight. She's got her legs pressed together, tucked behind her as best possible but even so it's clear she's naked from the waist down. You can't hide your surprise.

> "Don't stare. You're the one who took my stock off.. I didn't want to tell you." 

You glance back at the stock, now you see what she meant. Black panties with a big tear down either butt cheek, ragged holes with threads hanging out. How long had she been wearing them like this? They had to be replaced.

"I'll order you a new stock. They sell them on the Kel-Tec website I think."

She is oddly quiet as you look up the site and find the part number. $40 for both sides of the stock.

> "I don't want you to spend money on me. I'm already enough of a burden on you." She admits, tears practically welling up in her eyes.

"I'll get you the new stock. Don't even worry about it. I try to take care of all my guns."

> "You won't sell me? Even though I can't seem to do anything right?" 

"Nope. My Grandfather taught me to never sell a gun. You'll always regret it." 

She seemed at ease now, or as much as one could be while sitting partially naked on a work bench at least. 





The task at hand now. The lifter arms. You remove them from the stock, place them in a vice and change the angle with a pair of pliers. Definitely not precise gun smithing but you reassemble everything and the tolerances seem tighter now.

"How do you feel?"

> "I don't know.." She seemed unsure what to say, but after what seemed to be an internal struggle she finally concluded. "Maybe you should rack some dummy shells through me..?" She seemed flustered but he answered her request.

After thirty minutes of loading, racking, trigger pulling, ejecting he set her down. His arms were getting tired. He didn't expect her to be panting and smiling to herself as she laid in his lap. "You okay? You never get like that when I'd rack your pump before?"

> "I'm fine.. It's different when you put something in me though." She pinches your wrist. 

"Ow. What was that for?"

> "Don't get the wrong idea. I only let you do that because you're trying to fix me.. Don't get any ideas. Next time you do that they better be live rounds! High brass! Maybe some slugs even.."

"Now you're getting greedy." You laugh. 





The stock pieces came in the mail a week later. Work had gotten in your way or you may have taken her shooting even with the chipped shell guides, it didn't impede operation though you do notice that KSG would sit in her chair and squirm a bit sometimes. How could you blame her? It would be hard to sit comfortably with chunks of your boxers missing after all. 

You're back in the shop now. "Let's replace that stock now, alright?"

She nods, but something is different. You reach out and grab her waist, but unlike the usual routine she's still sitting there as female and human as ever with increasing awkwardness between them. "Uh, KSG? Are you okay?"

> "I'm fine.. take my stock off? Please?" She has her eyes closed, she looks uncomfortable but she is insisting. 

You remind yourself she's just a gun and this is nothing to be ashamed of even if it is KSG. You take a deep breath and you wiggle her out of her shorts, hook your fingers into her panties and begin to tug them off. 

> "Don't look." She growls, but the bite is gone from her words, no malice.

You close your eyes and by careful feel you remove her pins and wiggle the garments off completely. You have to feel around the bench to find the new pair and you have some trouble guiding her legs into them. You wonder if you're the first person to gunsmith with his eyes closed but realize you could never boast about it to another person.. something about this situation just didn't seem kosher. You pull up her shorts, pop the pins back in. 

> "You can open your eyes now."

You do and see right away she's dressed, though clearly embarrassed. Repairs were easier to do in human form but much more awkward apparently. You spot the pair of panties laying on the bench. 

> "You can keep them."

You look at her as if she had said something wild, she puffs her cheeks out red as a tomato.

> "I mean in case you need to swap them back out for some reason!" She corrected your inner thoughts, though you couldn't ever see any reason to put the ruined piece back on her. "Oh, right. Of course." You nod, but you think you may understand what the gesture really meant.






The next day is sunny, or at least as sunny as November can be. You don't usually shoot guns in this weather but you couldn't say no to KSG when she insisted you check how she functioned. You load her up, high brass just like she wanted. You have a great time for the first sixty rounds, she kicks like a mule but you ignore the sting in your shoulder and rack away, firing off seven shots in less than a couple seconds. You never fail to have a good time with KSG but like the habitual problem child she is soon you face yet another malfunction. 

You rack but when you fire nothing happens. You rack again. Nothing. Strange, you just loaded it up. You peak at the magazine tubes. The follower is gone and so is the shell. You look deeper and see it jammed inside her magazine tube. You set the gun down and try to determine the best way to clear the jam. KSG looks depressed and moody as you silently inspect her, each time you look she would move as if to avoid your gaze. 

> "I'm broken again.. aren't I?" She sounded mad, but the anger was clearly directed at herself. 

You try to assure her it's okay but even your patience has limits. You disassemble her, you even use a quarter to unscrew the mag tubes. You clear it and you can't tell if something is wrong but see the followers are cracked and warped. But they seem to glide through the tube anyway. You assemble KSG, hoping maybe you could work through this until you got home and ordered new followers but mostly you're just being stubborn now.

Maybe it was a good thing you did. Because you experience a new malfunction. The shells don't feed but they're ready to load, just pinched between the shell stopper and tube. Why could that be? You're at your wits end as you disassemble her, reassemble her and try again. More of the same. 

The day is over without any more shots fired. KSG is oddly quiet and you don't feel much like talking. 




You're about to load her into the car when you notice she's shaking in your arms. Closer inspection of your KSG and you see she's sobbing silently to herself. Suddenly you feel like a jerk. "KSG.. What's wrong?" You ask, maybe the wrong question for the situation.

> "You're mad at me. I can't do anything right. You're going to sell me." She whimpers, choking back more tears. She was balling now.

"I'm not going to sell you, KSG. I'll fix you. Like I always do." You try to convince her.

> "You only spend so much time with me because I'm broken all the time. You would leave me in the gun safe if I worked, wouldn't you?"

"Wha-What? KSG.. That's.."

> "I don't want to make you mad. I don't.. but I'm afraid you'll get bored of me if I worked. You don't shoot any of your other guns anymore, you barely talk to them. Glock-Chan told me so. She said you leave her in her holster and never shoot her. I'm afraid that will happen to me."

Suddenly you feel like an ass. Do you really not shoot yours guns all that often? When WAS the last time you shot your Glock? You'd have to do better from now on. 

"KSG, you're different than my other guns. I don't know why, you just are. Once you're working I'll probably shoot you more than any other gun in my collection."

> "Really?" She sniffles. 

You nod and she buries her face in your chest. You ride home and want to say more but she's already asleep.





You order new followers, new springs, a new shell stopper. You wait for them in the mail. In the meantime though you have something you need to do. It's early on a Sunday morning as you climb into your truck, but you're not alone. You've brought all your guns out of their holsters and out of the safe. You've laid them across the back seat of your truck, in the bed and they're giggling and murmuring to themselves. They're going on a range trip! After all this time they couldn't be happier but of course KSG in the passenger seat, still not ready to shoot again but you knew better than to leave her home alone.

> "Can we use the 33rd magazine?" The voice was from a short girl in the backseat, she wore her black hair short with a little "G" hair clip. Glock was always so reliable though unfortunately a little plain and boring but he had relied on her for years. 

"Of course." You would never deny Glock, hell you wouldn't refuse a request from any of your guns. 

You notice flashing lights from behind you, a glance in the mirror tells you everything you need to know. It's a cop and you're alone on the road. You pull off the shoulder, roll down your windows and leave your hands on the steering wheel. No big deal, all your guns are legal and unloaded. 

The cop slowly stomps his way over to the drivers window.

"Holy shit." He murmurs, lifting his aviators and glancing at the vehicle cluttered with loose firearms.

"Goodmorning, Officer." You try to sound friendly. 







"Sir, do me a favor and put your arms out the window. Just like that, alright, go ahead and step out the vehicle for me." He instructs you and you comply. You cast an unsure glance at your gaggle of gun-girls in the truck.

"Don't look at the guns, look at me, Sir. Okay, now do you have any firearms on your person?"

"No sir." You reply.

"Where exactly on God's Green Earth are you going with all those guns, Son? They unloaded?" You notice his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. "They even yours?"

"Just a range day, Officer. I haven't shot these guns in a awhile and the girls are getting lonely. They're all mine and unloaded."

The just cop shakes his head in disbelief at you. "Alright, Sir. Do me a favor, just turn around for me? You're not under arrest." You do so and feel cold steel around your wrists.

You sit in the cop car for upwards of forty minutes. There are four or five cruisers on the shoulder, a crowd of cops are whispering to each other around your truck. They're handling your guns and you feel sick at the thought of another man touching your firearms. In the end they run your name and the serial numbers of your dozen or so guns and return. 

"Sir, you're free to go. Next time you go to the range put the guns in a case. We got three calls about some maniac driving around talking to himself with a truck full of guns." He explains and you're free to go.




Your guns are not bothered by what happened, aside from the fact other people had handled them. You promise to wipe them all down with an oil rag later and that seems to assure them. At the range you shoot your guns, one at a time. You can't remember the last time you had this much fun as each girl sits on the bench and awaits their turn, even KSG who didn't get to fire a shot seems happy to be included.

"Yo, fuck dude is that a KSG? Like from dat movie, like, John Wick right? Oh sick man." You hear as you reel back in your target. You see a young man, probably 19 years old and no older wearing a basket ball jersey and pants slacking. You decide to be polite though.

"Sure is. She's pretty ain't she?" You see KSG blush, but the guy doesn't seem to notice. All he sees is a tool, an object. "Can I handle it?" 

"Actually, I was about to pack up for the day. Maybe next time?" You feel suddenly possessive, even the idea of someone handling your KSG makes you jealous.

"Just for a second, bro. Come on. I'll let you shoot my Hi-Point." He reaches for KSG and you instinctively grab his wrist.

"Don't touch her." You spit.

"Okay, bro. Chill out. It's just a gun. You're acting all crazy." He backs away. You notice that the Range Officer has become aware of the situation. "Anon, I think you should go." He tells you.

"What? Why? I haven't done anything." You defend yourself.

"Actually, two people have complained said you're over there talking to your guns. I didn't want to say nothin' but I think you should call it early."

It's clear to see you can't argue so you reluctantly accept. All your guns got shot and that's what counts and they don't seem the least bit bothered at back in the truck, if anything KSG seems to be staring at you, but like she has in the past adverts her eyes whenever you catch her. 






You drive home and feel a gun rattle off the seat and land on your shoulder, a glance down and you see KSG wither head resting there sleeping soundly. You don't disturb her and infact most of your guns have tired themselves out. It makes putting them away much easier, they would all be cleaned later but it could wait. You carry KSG to your bedside and leave her against the night stand, before you leave she stirs.

> "Thank you for taking me.. even though I don't work anymore." She mumbles sleepily, but the look in her eyes even so is genuine gratitude. 

The parts you ordered finally arrived a few days later. As soon as KSG found out they were here she practically jumped onto the work bench. 

"Someone is excited."

> "I just can't wait to shoot again." She defends, her usual mocking and teasing as gone today. "Than we can go shooting together, right?" She was giddy for some reason.

"You seem happy. Usually you get all embarrassed when I have to take you apart."

> "Wellll maybe I want you to take me apart." She honestly answers with a giggle, KSG never acted this way and it was as odd as it was.. alluring? 

"So you can shoot again." You add, as if she had forgotten to say so.

> "Maybe I just like when you poke around inside me." She bites her lip. 





Your palms are sweaty now. When was the last time a shotgun came onto you like this? Never.

You try to brush it off but as you reach to remove her stock you notice she doesn't revert, nor does she resist. She doesn't even tell you to close your eyes. You remove the pins, wiggle her stock off and bashfully she lets you see her exposed chamber. Your heart is racing.. you have to work very closely to her chamber to replace the springs and other parts but she simply spreads her legs and allows you to do so. 

You have trouble determining where the girl ends and the gun begins. Like a holographic image you see the petite, twin tailed girl naked from the waist down and a tactical bullpup shotgun partially disassembled. You wonder what it is you're actually doing but you manage to fumble around with numb fingers, all your fine motor skills are gone.

She whimpers, you realize your finger has brushed her chamber and you quickly retract your fingers but you can still feel CLP cling to your skin. You can hear your own heart beat as you let the followers slide down her magazine tube and you insert the springs.

> "Push them in.. Hurry.." She begs.

You oblige, pushing the springs into her tubes and compressing them harder and harder. You still can't screw the caps back on though.

> "Push harder.. come on. It's okay." She encourages.

With her permission you do so, you can't ignore the pleasured moans you hear as you manage to stuff all of the spring in and screw on the caps. You're done. You replace the shell stopper, but your hands are slick with oil, powder residue and silicon. Finally, you've got all the parts in and with reluctance you reassemble KSG.

> "Wow.. Maybe there was another reason I keep malfunctioning.." She purrs to herself, body quaking and chest rising and falling with her rapid panting. 

You've had enough though, you let her rest while you go to the bathroom to wash your hands..





You run your hands under the water and scrub at your sooty fingers, the scent of silicon fresh on your mind and the images of a polymer-less loli writhing on your workbench burned into the back of your eyes. What the fuck was all that back there? You're suddenly aware of more pressing physical reactions your body has adopted during that hot, oily session on the work bench.

"Keep it cool, Anon. You're not sexually attracted to firearms." You stare at your reflection in the mirror with iron resolve but it's a fragile facade. 

When you push into the shop KSG is still there, though you notice one detail about her above all others.

Her chamber.

You stop dead in your tracks, she's naked from the waist down, small form and spread legs on the edge of the table, leaning against your bench vice. The recently polished chamber glistening, shiny and chrome. 

> "Where did you go?" She asks in a pouting and pathetic voice.

"I had to wash my hands.. uh, what happened to your stock?" You ask, doing your best to avoid looking directly at her. You know for a fact you reassembled her properly before you left.

> "Oh, you must not have put the pins in all the way." She bites her lip. "It fell off." She lies to you.

"Ah.." You feel a strange tension in the room.

> "Maybe you should back and push them back into me?" She implores.




"KSG, where are the pins?" You ask, eyes frantically searching the bench for signs of them but they're no where to be seen.

She blushes before she answers, her sudden fit of confidence temporarily impeded by your question, she fidgets slightly, seems to stumble over herself emotionally before she can finally answer.

> "I think they fell down my barrel.." 

How could they have done that? You put them in properly, you remember doing it. There was no way anyone but KSG-Chan could have..

"They're in your barrel?" You repeat, unsure.

> She nods bashfully. "They're stuck in there." She explains.

That doesn't make any sense. How could the pins go down her barrel without rolling out? You take a deep breath and approach the bench.

"Let me get a cleaning rod I guess.." You mumble, not sure what game KSG is actually playing.

> "No!" She stops you with a sudden desperate cry.

"How am I supposed to get them out otherwise?"

She fidgets again, rubbing her knees together and temporarily obscuring the view of her chamber while she gathers more courage.

> "Use your fingers?" 



"You're fucking with me, aren't you?" You respond incredulously. 

> "S-Stupid. I wouldn't lie about something like that.." She pouts with a red face, crossing her arms over her chest as if to emphasis how offensive your question had been.

"Okay.. Fine." You stand infront of her, though even sitting on the bench her eyes are only about level with your neck. 

> "Don't look." 

"How am I supposed to-"

> "Feel for them." She spells it out for you.

You take a deep breath, your pulse is quickening and heart pounding away in your chest. You're just doing gun maintenance. Control yourself. With composure you look straight ahead, over her shoulder at the assorted boxes of reloading equipment on the shelf, anything to help you forget what you're trying to do. Your fingers feel metal, but despite the shop being heated by Kerosene heater the steel is anything but cold, it's practically hot to the touch.

> "Don't linger.. It's embarrassing." She whines.

As instructed you use your finger tips and feel the rounded entrance of her chamber and upon the discovery she squeaks in surprise. She doesn't stop you however as you prod the entrance with your fingers and ever so slowly begin to feel up inside the chamber and as deep into the barrel as you can, your fingers feel dirty, powder residue and oil make her barrel feel damp and warmer than it should.

"KSG I don't feel them in here.." You observe. But she's chewing on her lip, fighting back moans and doesn't reply, her light polymer frame leans against your chest for support.

> "Keep looking.. Don't stop.." She begs.



You continue to caress the inside of her barrel and chamber with your fingers but it seems hopeless. They're not there and if they were in her barrel at all they would be rolling out by now, or if they were by some miracle lodged they'd need to be knocked out with a rod. How could they even get in there anyway?

> "Maybe if you take off my pump..?" Is her next bit of advice but something about it doesn't seem sincere. 

"Your pump? How would that?"

You take a peak down her back, you're tall enough to see over her shoulder. She's wearing her usual attire, a light black hoodie with "KEL TEC" printed across her back with the fabric woven into a sort of waffle pattern. You had seen it a dozen times before. You also notice the two polymer holes there were no longer empty like they usually are. 

"KSG, I found your pins." You announce, pulling one of your fingers away to which she responds by crying out softly. You pluck one of the pins out of the hole. Interesting, is that what those holes were for on the grip? To hold the pins while you take the KSG apart? He had never realized that before.. but KSG had.

> "Ohh.. Hehe. You must have put them there before you left.." Her voice a mixture of disappointment and guilt, she had been caught in a lie and more importantly you never got around to removing her pump like she had hoped.

"Alright, well let's put these back on." You gather up her black denim shorts with "Cococa, Florida" written on the sides of them and her black boyshorts, still brand new from when you had them replaced and with new skill affix them back onto her. The pins go in a moment later to which KSG groans to herself in a pleasured sort of way.

Thus concluding the most sexually tense disassembly and repair of a firearm in your life.



"You're going to be.. okay?" You ask your shotgun still gently writhing back and forth on your work bench.

> "Y-Yeah.. I just need a minute to uh.. you know.." She mumbles breathlessly, eyeing you up for a minute but slowly but surely catching her breath and after a minute she tosses her feet over the edge of the bench and jumps down, standing on unsteady legs but pretending to be her usual confident self. "Better than ever!" She declares, leaning her back against the bench for balance like you wouldn't notice.

"Uh-huh.. So why did you hide the take-down pins from me?" You finally ask with a new strange tension between firearm and owner.

> "I didn't." She pretends to pout, crossing her arms over her chest in typical fashion. "You probably lost them yourself.. I could tell you were distracted, your hands were shaking." She giggles and points at him accusingly. 

"It's my first time disassembling you that far.. I don't think I was particularly nervous." You respond a little defensively, but it's obvious she's trying to deflect. "Why did you want me to take your pump off?" 

> "I'm hungry." She states loudly.

"What? Don't dodge the question."

> "Make me waffles." She grabs your arm and starts to tug you away toward the door, leaving you with more questions and no answers. 



You find yourself in another situation you would have never imagined a couple months ago, standing over a waffle maker waiting for the buzzer while your shotgun sits at the table kicking her legs back and forth and humming.

"Why waffles?"

> "Duh?" She shoots you an annoyed look and tugs at the waffle-pattern on the sleeves of her hoodie.

"Oh." Figures.

> "When can we shoot again?" She asks in almost giddy excitement as you plate the waffles and put them infront of your shotguns. 

"Tomorrow? I don't have to work until after five." You're still not sure how this all works. Why do guns even need to eat? 

You lean against the counter, your gaze switching between the TV on in the living room and the petite girl munching away on waffles at the table. Before long she's finished and she looks at the empty plate quietly. Was she still hungry? You made her like five of them.



> "You know.. I'll still let you take my pump off if you want.." She says with soft deliberately selected words. 

"Why would I want to do that? What's wrong with your pump that you want me to take it off so bad?"

> "It's.. a little sticky is all.." She takes a sheepish glance your direction before she takes one of her finger and slowly splits the zipper in her hoodie open down two or three inches, just enough to see her twin magazine tubes peaking from under her black Kel-Tec branded tank-top. "I just wanted you to take a look.." KSG shrugs just a bit, but enough to cause one of her tank-top straps to fall down her shoulder and give you another inch of her well endowed magazine capacity.

"Uh.. I.. I'd have to.. get the dremel I guess.. I mean.." You stumble, not expecting any of this. 

> "I'm just joking, loser." She makes a complete 180 and zips her hoodie back up. "You should see the look on your face right now." Even though she's mocking you there doesn't seem to be a bite to her words.


The next day you're sleeping in your bed as usual. You don't have to work until later in the day and as usual you're going to sleep in as late you can. You haven't forgotten about taking KSG out shooting however and neither has she. You feel something shake you.

> "Hey, you awake?" You see KSG looming over your body laid up in bed, she's crouched over you on all fours and even with the lights off you can see her form and curves highlighted from the sun shining through the blinds.

".. I am now?" You mumble. "What time is it?" You follow up with, trying to look at your clock but one of her arms blocks your view and you can't exactly sit up. 

> "Time to shoot me, Mister. Wake up." She whines and you notice you can see down her hoodie, the space between her barrel and her twin magazine tubes hanging right there and impossible to miss. 

You want her to get off now. She has to get off.. you just woke up and as if that wasn't bad enough now you had to witness this.

> "Why do you sleep with a cleaning rod, Anon?" She seems perplexed.

"Yeah.. that's what that is.. Y-You know I can't take you shooting when you're ontop of me."

She sighs and rolls off you, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

It takes you an hour to get ready, and most of the time she follows you closely around the house. She seems to keep her female form more often than her firearm form around you these days. You lock her out of the bathroom, which she almost followed you into. You gather up your range bag and finally, you gather up KSG in your arms and head out the door. 


You hike up the mountain your usual spot, kicking away the small mountain of spent shotgun hulls from previous trips up here trying to get KSG to function reliably. 

> "Let's go, let's go. You're wasting time!" She whines some more.

"Fine, hold on. You don't have to rush me." You drop your range bag, crack open a new box of shells and load her up. Unlike previous times where it didn't seem like a big deal to insert shell after shell into her tubes you can practically cut the tension with the knife today.

Finally, you shoulder her and you start racking and pulling the trigger, the stout recoil from the compact shotgun knocking at your shoulder with each flurry of buckshot pellets you let lose into whatever unlucky tree you take aim at. You shoot her dry, you reload, you shoot her some more, you reload. Finally before you even realize it you fire off your last shell and go into the box to find you're all out.

"Wow.. It looks like you're finally working as advertised." You make the light, teasing jab. But you notice that KSG is quiet as she hauls herself up onto the shooting bench you leave up on that mountain top and sits.

"What's wrong? You're not malfunctioning anymore..? That should be a good thing right?" 

> "Yeah.. It is.. actually though, I did malfunction." She observes but her voice is barely more than a whisper.

"What? You did? When?" You struggle to remember a stuck shell, a double feed or anything else and come up blank.

KSG finds an empty hull laying on the table and silently she unzipped her shorts open just enough to push the empty case into her pants.

> ".. Stove pipe." She bites her lip. "See? I think you outta break me down and clear that jam.. if you know what I mean." Her voice was heavy sultry.