Introductions//Hurt Comfort//Illness//Mild Aphro
He could not remember how long the darkness had lasted. It seemed to his mind as if it had always been and that he had always been a part of it. Like a cocoon it surrounded him. He nestled in the womb of non being, nurtured and reassured only by his own memories that floated piecemeal into what remained of his consciousness.
First came the feeling of cloth and its specific constrictions on various parts of his body. The way it cupped his genitals, lay across his chest, and encased his arms was a sensory memory he had not felt in a long time. The fine hairs of his legs and arms became instantly statically attracted to the cloth, standing slightly on end in a sudden rush.
Second was the sensation of weight, gravity, pulling him distinctly downward. No longer was the space liminal. Physics once again applied, pressing him down into a soft yet solid surface. Slowly he focused on moving where he now believed his fingers to be. Tactile sensation flooded back to him, namely the soft pull of silk against the pads of his fingertips, cool and clinging.
Tentatively, as a diver emerging from the depths back to the surface, he opened his eyes and allowed the room to unfold before his vision. Red as it was in decor it was not unlike watching the blossoming of a rose, and he was immediately reminded of the poppy red skirts of the Rose Bride.
She was like an opioid, Himemiya Anthy, a drug that promised escape from the mundane, both intense and mind altering. The more time you spent around her, in her presence, the more your hunger grew, insatiable, until you desired to consume her, utterly, to become one with her, to lay down in her tender embrace forever.
And like a drug, her effect only lasted so long. Like a drug she chewed you up and spit you out. Took everything that was good from you and left you an empty shell, never able to get over it. Never able to get over her...
He'd been a champion once, her champion, her fiancée, engaged. Then he had seen the man behind the curtain, the intricate workings of the pretty machine, the great chessboard on which all students were pieces. The scales had fallen from his eyes. He had no longer wished to play, but in the power games of demi gods, you play or you die. He had been removed.
Sickness had taken him away from the action, secluded him in the hospital under the constant supervision of a retinue of faceless nurses. For a time he had languished there, unsure of his own identity, lost in fever dreams until one day he had been approached by the God in the Tower and given a chance to play the game once more. And play he had, but there had been just enough slack in the puppet strings for his own aims. Though it had cost him his life, his Juri, beautiful Juri, was free.
Trying his voice he murmured, "Ah, the things I do for love."
Sliding his gaze from side to side he took in the rest of the room, noting the suggestive portraits on the wall, the prints from the Kama Sutra, and the profusion of strategically placed mirrors. This caused an elegant indigo eyebrow to cock in mild confusion. Here he was once again whole, and yet he seemed to have awakened in a boudoir. Was this a joke on the part of the Chairman? He'd heard lurid tales of students disappearing into the planetarium virgins and emerging...tainted.
He himself had never been plied in that fashion. They had appealed instead to his sense of competition and later to his desperate need to divulge all he knew, perhaps even his secret romantic leanings. Sexual conquest held little appeal for him. It was a game of lies and deceit and while he could play it with the best of them, he did not seek to define himself in the affections of others. Nor was he one to lie down and allow himself to be taken.
Coughing slightly he tried to sit up to ease the pain, but his atrophied muscles would not allow it. Instead he turned on his side, running his fingers once more over the folds of the silken bed sheets. His head buzzed, and he was unsure of whether it was due to becoming real once more or something more sinister in the very nature of this place.
[OOC: No MPREG. No vore. No urine or feces play. No vomit play. Basically no bathroom kinks. Everything else I am willing to try. I don't write much erotica, but I've heard so much about this place that I figured, what the hell? Also, can anyone point me to some icons of Ruka? I don't have many. Thank you.]
First came the feeling of cloth and its specific constrictions on various parts of his body. The way it cupped his genitals, lay across his chest, and encased his arms was a sensory memory he had not felt in a long time. The fine hairs of his legs and arms became instantly statically attracted to the cloth, standing slightly on end in a sudden rush.
Second was the sensation of weight, gravity, pulling him distinctly downward. No longer was the space liminal. Physics once again applied, pressing him down into a soft yet solid surface. Slowly he focused on moving where he now believed his fingers to be. Tactile sensation flooded back to him, namely the soft pull of silk against the pads of his fingertips, cool and clinging.
Tentatively, as a diver emerging from the depths back to the surface, he opened his eyes and allowed the room to unfold before his vision. Red as it was in decor it was not unlike watching the blossoming of a rose, and he was immediately reminded of the poppy red skirts of the Rose Bride.
She was like an opioid, Himemiya Anthy, a drug that promised escape from the mundane, both intense and mind altering. The more time you spent around her, in her presence, the more your hunger grew, insatiable, until you desired to consume her, utterly, to become one with her, to lay down in her tender embrace forever.
And like a drug, her effect only lasted so long. Like a drug she chewed you up and spit you out. Took everything that was good from you and left you an empty shell, never able to get over it. Never able to get over her...
He'd been a champion once, her champion, her fiancée, engaged. Then he had seen the man behind the curtain, the intricate workings of the pretty machine, the great chessboard on which all students were pieces. The scales had fallen from his eyes. He had no longer wished to play, but in the power games of demi gods, you play or you die. He had been removed.
Sickness had taken him away from the action, secluded him in the hospital under the constant supervision of a retinue of faceless nurses. For a time he had languished there, unsure of his own identity, lost in fever dreams until one day he had been approached by the God in the Tower and given a chance to play the game once more. And play he had, but there had been just enough slack in the puppet strings for his own aims. Though it had cost him his life, his Juri, beautiful Juri, was free.
Trying his voice he murmured, "Ah, the things I do for love."
Sliding his gaze from side to side he took in the rest of the room, noting the suggestive portraits on the wall, the prints from the Kama Sutra, and the profusion of strategically placed mirrors. This caused an elegant indigo eyebrow to cock in mild confusion. Here he was once again whole, and yet he seemed to have awakened in a boudoir. Was this a joke on the part of the Chairman? He'd heard lurid tales of students disappearing into the planetarium virgins and emerging...tainted.
He himself had never been plied in that fashion. They had appealed instead to his sense of competition and later to his desperate need to divulge all he knew, perhaps even his secret romantic leanings. Sexual conquest held little appeal for him. It was a game of lies and deceit and while he could play it with the best of them, he did not seek to define himself in the affections of others. Nor was he one to lie down and allow himself to be taken.
Coughing slightly he tried to sit up to ease the pain, but his atrophied muscles would not allow it. Instead he turned on his side, running his fingers once more over the folds of the silken bed sheets. His head buzzed, and he was unsure of whether it was due to becoming real once more or something more sinister in the very nature of this place.
[OOC: No MPREG. No vore. No urine or feces play. No vomit play. Basically no bathroom kinks. Everything else I am willing to try. I don't write much erotica, but I've heard so much about this place that I figured, what the hell? Also, can anyone point me to some icons of Ruka? I don't have many. Thank you.]