Damp: A Vendettta (1/2)
Title: Damp: A Vendetta
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters and or events mentioned may coincide with reality but are not mine. I own only the plot.
Warning: Mild to explicit depictions and or implications of violence, gore, rape, underage sex, and character death(s). Be warned.
Summary: A king, an anarchist, an officer, a spy, and an orphaned boy all have something in common- bad blood. Two vindictive souls take revenge to a whole new level.
The King
The capital is in a quiet slumber, a dark restless sleep that waits for the slightest bit of sound to combust into flames like a black panther in the night. Torches will be lit and drums will be rolled. Within a 10 mile radius, a man geared in pitch black and absolute in his convictions, hides with the dancing wind and swaying grove, armed and ready to strike.
That man will come for my head tonight.
For a decade and a half, I have not gotten a wink of sleep once the waning moon shows its omnipresent face. Every time I close my eyes, I see his soft sloping childlike face looking at me with those cold unnerving eyes, orbs like the moon hatching in a feline’s claws. Cold sweat would cover my brow and lip. Somewhere in the deep confines of my twisted heart I knew I should have just let the child die alongside the rest of his treasonous bloodline.
It does not matter now. He’s coming for me and I can feel his body presence growing warmer and warmer until the tip of the sword I once taught him how to swing lay on the valley between my head and shoulder.
“I have been expecting you,” I slowly reply, taking my eyes off the meticulous sword at my throat to look at the man that now stands before me.
“I’m honored,” His voice is stoic in lack of the soft melodic huskiness I remember from when we were children free of the burdens now caging our hearts.
“This is you’re third and last attempt,” I stated like the voice of the throne mattered now at such time of peril, “Make it quick or it will be last I see of you.”
His face might be masked in black fabric but amusement is evident in his eyes. “I will decide that for myself, your highness.” He paused and sharpened his eyes. “Why did you take me that night and then let me live with such shame for the remainder of my life?”
“You have risk your head thrice to ask me that very question,” I held a steady gaze against his painful glare. “I’m afraid I cannot give you an answer you want to hear.”
Footsteps from the courthouse were becoming more and more audible. The assassin glanced at the shadows of torches gradually surrounding the room through the bamboo door. Immediately, he tightened his grip, bringing the sharp steel closer and closer to my neck. The edge scrapped at the thin skin of my throat, forming a small cut.
“Tonight you will die, tyrant!” he cried through his teeth, “A million of your death would not even cover the caliber in damage and suffering you and your dynasty have caused our people.”
“I’m sorry-"
“You’re never sorry! You weren’t sorry that fucking night and you aren’t truly sorry now.”
At that I could only lower my head in defeat. He was correct. Truthfully, I still did not regret the night I had taken him. A king could have chosen anyone he wanted and I had chosen him. To him I am a true disgrace to the history of my people. His story would be one written of pain and agony on bloodied scrolls.
The chains of my ponderings are suddenly severed as I begin to notice the footsteps outside has halted, the soldiers guarding my chambers and their torchlight are no longer making a sound- that could only mean one thing.
“Junsu watch out!” I shouted as I made an attempt to push him to the ground but he had taken my advances as a threat, thrusting the piece of steel through my heart. The next instant an arrow pierced his left arm. Several more soon made its way through the paper filled entrance.
His liquid brown eyes held a pain that I could not quite distinguish from my nebulous state but as he retracted the sword from my heart the pain only magnified.
The man was graceful with his sword, simultaneously dodging and slicing arrows in half as it gravitated towards him, almost like he is dancing in a field of summer. Blurry images of he and I horseback riding along a mountain spotted my vision. The memory of his triumphant smile flashed on and off in a palpitating tempo, intensifying the throbbing of my head. It was an old memory. His hair had been shorter then.
Struggling, I tried to reach for his retreating back - it was growing smaller and smaller and smaller- as my heavy heavy eyes weighed me down closer to accepting my fate. I didn't want him to lose him but I knew he would somehow make it out alive. I must have called forth his name for he had stop on half a step.
The whisper of an apology was the last thing heard on my dying breath.
The Anarchist
Joseon was a little nosier than usual. The colorfully dressed women at the whore house gossiped in their loud booming voices- ‘The prince is coming, the prince is coming!’ -as they apply white powder to their cheeks and red to their lips. The butcher had been more attentive to his garment and hair, making sure he looked as dashing as his many slaughters. The innkeeper was also happier than usually, giving out free drinks to the poor and homeless who always beg for a sip but never received -that is until today.
I sat with myself as the commotions dancing around me accumulated more and more in to a deafening ruckus. While the citizen of the capital waits for the prince to ride into the city on his white horse I busied myself sharpening iron arrows. The prince is hoping to choose a bride soon and as it is told, he wishes to open his playing field to the capital where anyone with any ounce of affluence and a daughter of age could propose a deal.
Joseon had eaten up the news with delight. Magistrates, warriors, wealthy families of all sizes have come to put forth their best foot, leaving the city crowded with more visitors than ever. The prince, as heir to the throne, promised that he would not discriminate upon choosing a spouse. I had laughed at all the dumbfounded females who envisioned a fairytale romance with their handsome prince charming.
Little did they know how despicable the lines of royalties really are.
The sun was an apex hole in the sky when the prince and his fellow entourage made their grand entrance, a few hundred soldiers (some mounted on horsebacks and others on their toes) guarded their safety. Women dressed in their fanciest articles flashed their pearly teeth and waved their flashy translucent handkerchief at him. The young prince nodded with a small smile but did not take the offering.
It was time that I avenge the forgotten heroes of our country- the very same ones that were murdered in cold blood by their own ruler. Betrayal is nothing and it is everything. A Confucius proverb made its way out of my lips as I arched my lethal bow, the noble truth was in the text and I am nothing short on the truth. On top of the tallest edifice in the city, with the sun directly overhead, I was resolute in my conviction as the arrow was released from my fingertips.
The iron went mercilessly through the hand that was shielding his face from the sun. The stallion went wild with rage, stomping its hooves and making erratic sounds as it was struck with my second arrow. Panic ensued as the crowd pushed past one another in vain attempt at safety. The soldiers surrounding him looked pathetic as they watched him bleed- useless little dogs.
My third arrow did not miss. I had drilled a hole straight in the center of that large arrogant forehead of his. Let this be a warning. The people will always win.
The officer
The winter right before Korea was forced to sign an annexation treaty to Japan, my mother had exiled me from our hometown village, handing only a letter and some spare change out of her empty pocket for me to take in my journey east. I never heard from her again. That had been more than a decade ago when I was still a child with native blood streaming through my veins.
For all my life I was known to be a bastard - my mother had became pregnant while serving a Japanese general. The envelope she had given me held a letter in his writing and a handkerchief of her creation. The items soon proved to be of some use when I was held captive by the Japanese army. Fate must have planned it all out for the commander of the squadron seized my letter and freed me upon inspection.
He was a married man- a father of a few children back in Japan- and had refused to acknowledge me. It didn’t bother me much as I had grown up despising him for abandoning my mother and I. He was as dead to me as I was to him.
Our relationship was that of a soldier and a commander; subordinate and superior.
I was made a first rank officer in a matter of days, given brand new uniforms, and received specific instructions on the mechanics of handling a gun. My first kill was within the same week. He had been there to watch me shoot an old woman in the face. I still remember it to this day, the fear in the woman’s eyes, how she had begged for mercy and was then silenced by my hands.
He had looked pleased.
Through the years of traveling with the Japanese I had learned to speak their tongue and to hold my own, lest I was ordered to translate any official documents. I had begun to feel more Japanese than Korean, taking pride in being on the victor’s side and forgetting my roots with the passing of the seasonal monsoon winds clouding my mind. I didn’t realize the massacre I’ve committed was on the very same land that have fed and clothed me since birth.
As the years went by, Korea became more and more resistance to our authority. It began first as a riot on the first day of the third month of that year. Several thousand men, young and old, stood tall with signs and boards that came to be understood as a nonviolent attempt at liberation.
We were ordered to put down the movement at any cost.
I had not recognize any of these people as my own; they had looked savaged and foreign to me- bags of bones and flesh was all that were pounded into.
“Look what I’ve found here,” Shinta reported to me.
A young boy nearing his late childhood years was being pulled by the head, cuffs was attached to his wrists and a piece of tape covered his mouth. He fell to the ground when Shinta kicked up on the rear. His eyes were charged red with anger and grief.
“Pretty isn’t he?” Shinta nodded approvingly, “What do you think? He can almost be mistaken as a girl right?”
“What are you going to do with him?” I asked in a voice devoid of the curiosity that was beginning to spark within me. The boy had fierce eyes, something I have not seen in a long time, and he wasn’t afraid to use them as a medium of challenge to authority.
“Nothing that you don’t want me to,” Shinta grinned, “I actually brought him here for you. You look like you need a fuck or two.”
“Do I? What makes you think that?” I laughed for a second, and then slowly set my eyes on Shinta, daring him to speak to me in such a manner again. “Do not hold your tongue now.”
He was silenced for a quick moment but then pursed his lips together and said, “I see it in your face. Your eye has become weary of the war.” He paused for effect, “Mount him tonight and kill him in the morning.”
With that he walked off, leaving the words that were at the tip of his tongue unsaid and forever lost in his throat. I understood the message loud and clear- the commander was not satisfied with my recent performance.
My attention is then turned to the youngling at my foot. He still had that burning glare on his face but I found myself slightly amused now that it was directed at me. The boy had aroused something that has long been dead inside of me.
“Speak!” I ordered in his tongue after ripping off the article sealing his mouth. The words felt oddly unfamiliar to my ear.
“You’re not Japanese,” he boldly stated, “What are you doing killing your own people?”
I struck him on the left cheek. “Know your place, boy. If you want to make it in this world you best know your place.”
“I know who I am. It is you who have seemed to have lost your identity,” he spat cold words that match the heat of his eyes.
“Such a fiery tongue you have,” I pulled out a dagger from its sheath, grabbed the boy by his head, and let the blade shine on his skin. “Would be such a waste if I were to cut it off.”
He was good at concealing fear, jaws firm and lips set in a straight line, eyes steady and ready for action. Something in my mind said he would have made a good soldier.
“Why don’t you just get it over with now? I’ll be dead in my morning anyway.” He muttered under his breath.
“You understood our conversation.” My grip on the boy’s head increased, pulling his weight until he was on his knees. The boy flinched but he did not cry out in pain.
“It’s not hard,” he went on, “Not hard at all when the Japanese have been here for so long-”
As if a forced had compelled me to shut the rodent up my mouth attacked his lips. Whatever nonsense he spoke of was forgotten as I claimed his mouth. The boy has a supple mouth, similar to that of a woman’s, but there was a strength and resilience in his lips that I had never tasted before. It felt exotic and I thirst for more.
“On your limbs, runt!” I ordered.
“Kill me!” he demanded, sharply lifting his head in a dignified gesture, and then edging his neck closer to the dagger.
“On your limbs,” I repeated once more, reiterating each word with more command than before. He did not move.
“You will learn your place and you will wish for a quick death but death will not come easy for you.” I growled in his ear.
The back of his knees buckled from my kick, his forearms covered his fall as his face kissed the ground with a thud. I had no patience to undress him. My hands made quick use of the blade, cutting his trousers and piercing the skin of his thigh. My other arm held the boy’s hips, holding him in place as he squirmed and resisted. He then tried to crawl away but immediately froze when I grabbed a hold of his cock.
“You are a monster!” He screamed, “May your woman die from bearing your children, your children cursed with disease!
I smiled as I brought the flatness of the blade to the tip of his cock, slowly sliding the shiny piece of metal back and forth on his opening. The cock twitched in response, almost touching the sharp edge of the blade.
Almost.
“Stop…” he finally cried. “Let me go!”
“But we have only begun your lesson, boy.” I licked the pre-cum that was rolling down the dagger, smirking. “Be a good boy.”
I fastened my hold on his hips and without preparation entered his body with a single thrust. He shrieked in pain, body shaking and shivering from the invasion, but I did not allow for him to recover. One should never allow an enemy an opportunity to recover. I had learned that the hard way on the battlefield.
“What is your name, boy?” I inquired as I traced the birthmark right above his buttocks- below his hip bone a mark resembling a rose sat.
“Joon-soo,” he managed to say through labored breathing.
“Not very obedient are you?” I said, slapping his bum with the surface of my palm, producing a loud smack among the slapping of flesh. The red lines of my fingers stayed on his skin.
The boy buried his face in his arms but his features were clear as daylight. His hot body moved as one with mine as I continued to fuck him. Once in a while he would make a small feline like sound but then more tears would cover his cheek.
There had been a little boy in my village that was also named obedience. The boy had a cute face but had not very kind to my mother and I back then. Something about not acting traditional enough had always made me an outcast amongst the children. That entire night I kept seeing images of that small boy back in the village as I plunged deep into my captive’s body.
The next morning I had intentions of keeping the boy as my slave but instead I found his naked body hanging on a tree.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters and or events mentioned may coincide with reality but are not mine. I own only the plot.
Warning: Mild to explicit depictions and or implications of violence, gore, rape, underage sex, and character death(s). Be warned.
Summary: A king, an anarchist, an officer, a spy, and an orphaned boy all have something in common- bad blood. Two vindictive souls take revenge to a whole new level.
The King
The capital is in a quiet slumber, a dark restless sleep that waits for the slightest bit of sound to combust into flames like a black panther in the night. Torches will be lit and drums will be rolled. Within a 10 mile radius, a man geared in pitch black and absolute in his convictions, hides with the dancing wind and swaying grove, armed and ready to strike.
That man will come for my head tonight.
For a decade and a half, I have not gotten a wink of sleep once the waning moon shows its omnipresent face. Every time I close my eyes, I see his soft sloping childlike face looking at me with those cold unnerving eyes, orbs like the moon hatching in a feline’s claws. Cold sweat would cover my brow and lip. Somewhere in the deep confines of my twisted heart I knew I should have just let the child die alongside the rest of his treasonous bloodline.
It does not matter now. He’s coming for me and I can feel his body presence growing warmer and warmer until the tip of the sword I once taught him how to swing lay on the valley between my head and shoulder.
“I have been expecting you,” I slowly reply, taking my eyes off the meticulous sword at my throat to look at the man that now stands before me.
“I’m honored,” His voice is stoic in lack of the soft melodic huskiness I remember from when we were children free of the burdens now caging our hearts.
“This is you’re third and last attempt,” I stated like the voice of the throne mattered now at such time of peril, “Make it quick or it will be last I see of you.”
His face might be masked in black fabric but amusement is evident in his eyes. “I will decide that for myself, your highness.” He paused and sharpened his eyes. “Why did you take me that night and then let me live with such shame for the remainder of my life?”
“You have risk your head thrice to ask me that very question,” I held a steady gaze against his painful glare. “I’m afraid I cannot give you an answer you want to hear.”
Footsteps from the courthouse were becoming more and more audible. The assassin glanced at the shadows of torches gradually surrounding the room through the bamboo door. Immediately, he tightened his grip, bringing the sharp steel closer and closer to my neck. The edge scrapped at the thin skin of my throat, forming a small cut.
“Tonight you will die, tyrant!” he cried through his teeth, “A million of your death would not even cover the caliber in damage and suffering you and your dynasty have caused our people.”
“I’m sorry-"
“You’re never sorry! You weren’t sorry that fucking night and you aren’t truly sorry now.”
At that I could only lower my head in defeat. He was correct. Truthfully, I still did not regret the night I had taken him. A king could have chosen anyone he wanted and I had chosen him. To him I am a true disgrace to the history of my people. His story would be one written of pain and agony on bloodied scrolls.
The chains of my ponderings are suddenly severed as I begin to notice the footsteps outside has halted, the soldiers guarding my chambers and their torchlight are no longer making a sound- that could only mean one thing.
“Junsu watch out!” I shouted as I made an attempt to push him to the ground but he had taken my advances as a threat, thrusting the piece of steel through my heart. The next instant an arrow pierced his left arm. Several more soon made its way through the paper filled entrance.
His liquid brown eyes held a pain that I could not quite distinguish from my nebulous state but as he retracted the sword from my heart the pain only magnified.
The man was graceful with his sword, simultaneously dodging and slicing arrows in half as it gravitated towards him, almost like he is dancing in a field of summer. Blurry images of he and I horseback riding along a mountain spotted my vision. The memory of his triumphant smile flashed on and off in a palpitating tempo, intensifying the throbbing of my head. It was an old memory. His hair had been shorter then.
Struggling, I tried to reach for his retreating back - it was growing smaller and smaller and smaller- as my heavy heavy eyes weighed me down closer to accepting my fate. I didn't want him to lose him but I knew he would somehow make it out alive. I must have called forth his name for he had stop on half a step.
The whisper of an apology was the last thing heard on my dying breath.
The Anarchist
Joseon was a little nosier than usual. The colorfully dressed women at the whore house gossiped in their loud booming voices- ‘The prince is coming, the prince is coming!’ -as they apply white powder to their cheeks and red to their lips. The butcher had been more attentive to his garment and hair, making sure he looked as dashing as his many slaughters. The innkeeper was also happier than usually, giving out free drinks to the poor and homeless who always beg for a sip but never received -that is until today.
I sat with myself as the commotions dancing around me accumulated more and more in to a deafening ruckus. While the citizen of the capital waits for the prince to ride into the city on his white horse I busied myself sharpening iron arrows. The prince is hoping to choose a bride soon and as it is told, he wishes to open his playing field to the capital where anyone with any ounce of affluence and a daughter of age could propose a deal.
Joseon had eaten up the news with delight. Magistrates, warriors, wealthy families of all sizes have come to put forth their best foot, leaving the city crowded with more visitors than ever. The prince, as heir to the throne, promised that he would not discriminate upon choosing a spouse. I had laughed at all the dumbfounded females who envisioned a fairytale romance with their handsome prince charming.
Little did they know how despicable the lines of royalties really are.
The sun was an apex hole in the sky when the prince and his fellow entourage made their grand entrance, a few hundred soldiers (some mounted on horsebacks and others on their toes) guarded their safety. Women dressed in their fanciest articles flashed their pearly teeth and waved their flashy translucent handkerchief at him. The young prince nodded with a small smile but did not take the offering.
It was time that I avenge the forgotten heroes of our country- the very same ones that were murdered in cold blood by their own ruler. Betrayal is nothing and it is everything. A Confucius proverb made its way out of my lips as I arched my lethal bow, the noble truth was in the text and I am nothing short on the truth. On top of the tallest edifice in the city, with the sun directly overhead, I was resolute in my conviction as the arrow was released from my fingertips.
The iron went mercilessly through the hand that was shielding his face from the sun. The stallion went wild with rage, stomping its hooves and making erratic sounds as it was struck with my second arrow. Panic ensued as the crowd pushed past one another in vain attempt at safety. The soldiers surrounding him looked pathetic as they watched him bleed- useless little dogs.
My third arrow did not miss. I had drilled a hole straight in the center of that large arrogant forehead of his. Let this be a warning. The people will always win.
The officer
The winter right before Korea was forced to sign an annexation treaty to Japan, my mother had exiled me from our hometown village, handing only a letter and some spare change out of her empty pocket for me to take in my journey east. I never heard from her again. That had been more than a decade ago when I was still a child with native blood streaming through my veins.
For all my life I was known to be a bastard - my mother had became pregnant while serving a Japanese general. The envelope she had given me held a letter in his writing and a handkerchief of her creation. The items soon proved to be of some use when I was held captive by the Japanese army. Fate must have planned it all out for the commander of the squadron seized my letter and freed me upon inspection.
He was a married man- a father of a few children back in Japan- and had refused to acknowledge me. It didn’t bother me much as I had grown up despising him for abandoning my mother and I. He was as dead to me as I was to him.
Our relationship was that of a soldier and a commander; subordinate and superior.
I was made a first rank officer in a matter of days, given brand new uniforms, and received specific instructions on the mechanics of handling a gun. My first kill was within the same week. He had been there to watch me shoot an old woman in the face. I still remember it to this day, the fear in the woman’s eyes, how she had begged for mercy and was then silenced by my hands.
He had looked pleased.
Through the years of traveling with the Japanese I had learned to speak their tongue and to hold my own, lest I was ordered to translate any official documents. I had begun to feel more Japanese than Korean, taking pride in being on the victor’s side and forgetting my roots with the passing of the seasonal monsoon winds clouding my mind. I didn’t realize the massacre I’ve committed was on the very same land that have fed and clothed me since birth.
As the years went by, Korea became more and more resistance to our authority. It began first as a riot on the first day of the third month of that year. Several thousand men, young and old, stood tall with signs and boards that came to be understood as a nonviolent attempt at liberation.
We were ordered to put down the movement at any cost.
I had not recognize any of these people as my own; they had looked savaged and foreign to me- bags of bones and flesh was all that were pounded into.
“Look what I’ve found here,” Shinta reported to me.
A young boy nearing his late childhood years was being pulled by the head, cuffs was attached to his wrists and a piece of tape covered his mouth. He fell to the ground when Shinta kicked up on the rear. His eyes were charged red with anger and grief.
“Pretty isn’t he?” Shinta nodded approvingly, “What do you think? He can almost be mistaken as a girl right?”
“What are you going to do with him?” I asked in a voice devoid of the curiosity that was beginning to spark within me. The boy had fierce eyes, something I have not seen in a long time, and he wasn’t afraid to use them as a medium of challenge to authority.
“Nothing that you don’t want me to,” Shinta grinned, “I actually brought him here for you. You look like you need a fuck or two.”
“Do I? What makes you think that?” I laughed for a second, and then slowly set my eyes on Shinta, daring him to speak to me in such a manner again. “Do not hold your tongue now.”
He was silenced for a quick moment but then pursed his lips together and said, “I see it in your face. Your eye has become weary of the war.” He paused for effect, “Mount him tonight and kill him in the morning.”
With that he walked off, leaving the words that were at the tip of his tongue unsaid and forever lost in his throat. I understood the message loud and clear- the commander was not satisfied with my recent performance.
My attention is then turned to the youngling at my foot. He still had that burning glare on his face but I found myself slightly amused now that it was directed at me. The boy had aroused something that has long been dead inside of me.
“Speak!” I ordered in his tongue after ripping off the article sealing his mouth. The words felt oddly unfamiliar to my ear.
“You’re not Japanese,” he boldly stated, “What are you doing killing your own people?”
I struck him on the left cheek. “Know your place, boy. If you want to make it in this world you best know your place.”
“I know who I am. It is you who have seemed to have lost your identity,” he spat cold words that match the heat of his eyes.
“Such a fiery tongue you have,” I pulled out a dagger from its sheath, grabbed the boy by his head, and let the blade shine on his skin. “Would be such a waste if I were to cut it off.”
He was good at concealing fear, jaws firm and lips set in a straight line, eyes steady and ready for action. Something in my mind said he would have made a good soldier.
“Why don’t you just get it over with now? I’ll be dead in my morning anyway.” He muttered under his breath.
“You understood our conversation.” My grip on the boy’s head increased, pulling his weight until he was on his knees. The boy flinched but he did not cry out in pain.
“It’s not hard,” he went on, “Not hard at all when the Japanese have been here for so long-”
As if a forced had compelled me to shut the rodent up my mouth attacked his lips. Whatever nonsense he spoke of was forgotten as I claimed his mouth. The boy has a supple mouth, similar to that of a woman’s, but there was a strength and resilience in his lips that I had never tasted before. It felt exotic and I thirst for more.
“On your limbs, runt!” I ordered.
“Kill me!” he demanded, sharply lifting his head in a dignified gesture, and then edging his neck closer to the dagger.
“On your limbs,” I repeated once more, reiterating each word with more command than before. He did not move.
“You will learn your place and you will wish for a quick death but death will not come easy for you.” I growled in his ear.
The back of his knees buckled from my kick, his forearms covered his fall as his face kissed the ground with a thud. I had no patience to undress him. My hands made quick use of the blade, cutting his trousers and piercing the skin of his thigh. My other arm held the boy’s hips, holding him in place as he squirmed and resisted. He then tried to crawl away but immediately froze when I grabbed a hold of his cock.
“You are a monster!” He screamed, “May your woman die from bearing your children, your children cursed with disease!
I smiled as I brought the flatness of the blade to the tip of his cock, slowly sliding the shiny piece of metal back and forth on his opening. The cock twitched in response, almost touching the sharp edge of the blade.
Almost.
“Stop…” he finally cried. “Let me go!”
“But we have only begun your lesson, boy.” I licked the pre-cum that was rolling down the dagger, smirking. “Be a good boy.”
I fastened my hold on his hips and without preparation entered his body with a single thrust. He shrieked in pain, body shaking and shivering from the invasion, but I did not allow for him to recover. One should never allow an enemy an opportunity to recover. I had learned that the hard way on the battlefield.
“What is your name, boy?” I inquired as I traced the birthmark right above his buttocks- below his hip bone a mark resembling a rose sat.
“Joon-soo,” he managed to say through labored breathing.
“Not very obedient are you?” I said, slapping his bum with the surface of my palm, producing a loud smack among the slapping of flesh. The red lines of my fingers stayed on his skin.
The boy buried his face in his arms but his features were clear as daylight. His hot body moved as one with mine as I continued to fuck him. Once in a while he would make a small feline like sound but then more tears would cover his cheek.
There had been a little boy in my village that was also named obedience. The boy had a cute face but had not very kind to my mother and I back then. Something about not acting traditional enough had always made me an outcast amongst the children. That entire night I kept seeing images of that small boy back in the village as I plunged deep into my captive’s body.
The next morning I had intentions of keeping the boy as my slave but instead I found his naked body hanging on a tree.