[draft] Black and Blue, kink_bingo square, Kozue/Shiori
(Edit: SO I forgot to actually draft filter this. Meh. But non-draft-filter people seem to be enjoying it, so I'll leave it public; just please remember that this is not the final version.)
PHEW.
ONE DOWN, FOUR TO GO.
So, you know how I sometimes complain about how there isn't enough random filthy kinky femmeslash in the world? Because, y'know, there's a world of it for boyslash, and a decent amount for het, and I've contributed a lot of both, but...I've never actually written something like this before. IT'S ABOUT FUCKING TIME.
And then this Kozue-voice caught me totally out of nowhere (or the blue, if one wishes to make horrible puns) and provided. And caused me to WTF at her. A LOT.
kink_bingo square: bukkake. (Shut up. Girls ejaculate too.) I provide bonus strap-on and a bit of spanking.
Fandom: Revolutionary Girl Utena. For ONCE, with an Utena fic, this does not really require canon literacy, I think.
Pairing: Kozue/Shiori. (YES, I'M INSANE.)
NSFW, duh.
*****
Black and Blue
*****
You know, sometimes you just can't remember something. No matter how damn hard you try. It's like it's sneaking about at the corners of your mind, like a dream five minutes after you wake up, when it seems irrelevant and lost. Like, for example, eight years ago. Back in school, the tip-top preppy place I was only at because of my brother. Back when I was thirteen.
My brother is another problem entirely. My family is insane. Entire damn family, completely insane, and we're Japanese. Saying we're insane and Japanese is saying a lot.
My brother had been seeing this girl, who is also another story entirely, at least in his few spare moments when he wasn't taking college-level courses at thirteen and fencing at the national level and being raped by his piano teacher, which nobody was doing anything about, because that's how that place was. I tried to kill him. The teacher, not my brother; my brother I was just pissed at, though never let it be said that I don't love him. So I went to the--well, shrink isn't quite the word, because that school didn't have them. Not as such. An older student, even more of a stupid genius than my brother, and the scuttlebutt said to talk to him if you, well, had this sort of problem.
Now I've got to say again that I'm Japanese. So when I say something's insane.
This is where it gets fuzzy.
The interview turned out to be me sitting alone in an elevator. Little stool and a mirror, and I couldn't help it, it was the weirdest thing, I just started talking. Said the most horrible true things. Just right out there and blunt, even by my standards. Like I was just falling down into the most horrible depths of everything as the elevator went down. And there was a butterfly on the wall when it stopped.
Then a guy with pink hair told me that I could revolutionize the world, and a little boy stabbed me through the heart with a black rose, and I'm pretty sure there was something about a swordfight after that.
This is also why I don't do drugs. I'm pretty sure I don't have to.
All of which goes to say, I met somebody just now who has exactly this same problem.
Not the brother. The memory. The elevator. Pink-haired creep, butterflies, revolution, the lot.
And here I thought I was eight years out of this shit.
*****
She looks tiny in the passenger's seat as I put my car into gear.
Takatsuki Shiori, two years older than me, looks five years younger, dressed in prim black-and-white office lady gear. Short hair with a faint purplish sheen, big eyes the same exact color, stands with her hands clasped in front of her like a little girl. Why is it that grown women in this country try to look like they're about twelve?
The purplish doesn't throw me. My hair's blue, did I mention that? Every strand, from the day I was born.
"What do you do?" she asks politely. "Since you graduated Ohtori Academy, I mean?"
"Porn," I say with a shrug. "Stripping. Whatever gets me by. And I didn't graduate, I dropped out when I was sixteen."
She blinks and blushes and looks away. "Oh."
I pull out and bliss out in the wind for a moment. My car, which I love and change the oil in myself, is a battered old blue convertible, front bumper taped on, rock and roll stickers on the back.
"Why," she asks shyly, "do you have a convertible?"
"I like the wind. And they're cool." I shift up and pull onto the highway. "I remember going for a date with the chairman once, back at school. I mean, did you ever see the guy? Fucking gorgeous. Drove like a maniac, but it was fun." Not like I don't. I get into the fast lane and grin.
"The chairman?" She's very curious, very cautious, like I just mentioned something a lot bigger than one guy.
"One night we picked up my brother for a bit. Had something to do with that dueling crap he was involved in. The chairman did crazy things on the hood. We," I say definitively, "went to a fucking bizarre school. You realize that, right?"
She's looking at me wide-eyed.
"He had a red convertible," she says slowly, "and wore white and gold, and showed you the end of the world. And then you had a long dress, and drove up a very long ramp into the sky, and pulled a sword out of--somebody?"
I blink. "Oh, you too, huh?"
"Oh god."
"Like I said, fucking bizarre school. Wow. What is it about us and modes of transportation?"
"What were you doing?" she asks after a moment. "In the car, back--then."
I think about it for a minute. "Trying to tell my brother to stop being stupid." I shrug. "I was never very good at it. What about you?"
She looks away and blushes profusely.
"It was a hot car," I say, "but not that hot. Okay, so a hot guy, too. Were you fucking the chairman too?"
She gives this little jolt. "No..."
"Huh. I figured he was doing half the school. He could get away with it."
"I--not him. Somebody else."
"Anybody I know?"
She shakes her head violently. "I don't think so--"
"Wait, that blue-haired guy? The one who wasn't my brother? What was his name again?"
"Ruka," she whispers.
About the only thing I remember of him is him brushing her off, cold as fucking ice, in the quad. Left her crying on the ground in front of everybody. This sort of thing was pretty routine at that place. "He's an asshole," I say.
"He's dead."
"Oh. Well, I hope he didn't die an asshole, then."
"He wasn't," she says, soft and sad.
"So why did you talk to the guy with the elevator, then? Because of that?"
She shakes her head, hunches a little. "Before that."
"Well? I mean, you do want to talk about it, right? That's why we're here? Shared experiences with creepy elevators?"
"I--I don't remember it very well."
"Yeah, I hear you there."
"I think--I think I'd found out that--do you remember Juri?"
"Her?" Captain of the fencing club, fashion model, had all of the students and half the teachers groveling at her feet. Fucking gorgeous. "Who wouldn't remember her?"
"We grew up together, we'd been friends forever, and I think I found out that she--loved me. That way."
I blink and tilt my head. "How was that a bad thing?" Juri had given half a second's indication that she wanted me in any way, I would've been all over her.
"Because she was so much better than me," Shiori mutters, and then after another breath it kind of comes babbling out of her. "Because I thought it was gross, because I didn't deserve it, I deserved what Ruka did to me--because it meant I had power over her and that scared me, because I was so afraid of it because I think I did want it but I wasn't sure, I'm still not sure, whether I wanted it. Because I was afraid somebody would find out. Because I--because I lie to people, and I do horrible things to people, I use people, I can't help it, I just want things..."
I look out of the corner of my eye at this little thing with the Hello Kitty purse and laugh. "Don't you worry, honey, there's not a fucking thing you could do to me."
*****
So she has this huge hang-up about girls, fine. I offer to help her figure it out. It's clearly what she wants, after all. I offer and pull off my shirt. I don't wear bras.
She spends about two minutes just fucking staring at me.
Steel chain round my neck, six bracelets and five rings, five piercings and a barbell in one ear, eight in the other, close-cropped stiff blue hair with long bangs--eyes, eyelashes, eyebrows, one with a ring, all blue as a summer sky. That she's seen already. If she'd been looking, sure, she might've seen the bumps under my tank from the barbells through my nipples, but she hadn't been. I can always tell.
Even if she had been looking, you can't see the iridescent blue steel through the shirt. Nor the indigo crystal on my belly button ring.
So I strip the rest of the way and turn around so she can see the ink. Stylized bird at the base of my spine, barbed feather wings spread wide. Sure, it's a tramp stamp, but there's a reason everyone gets them--the curve of it just above my ass, just where my waist comes in tight, looks fucking fantastic. The bird's the roots of the tall slender tree running up my spine, branches spreading over my shoulderblades.
Everyone takes a few moments to notice the butterflies. They're subtle, just thin outlines of wings and bodies and antennae, little black spots against the white of my skin. Little white butterflies scattered over my skin.
"Did it--did it hurt?"
"Of course it hurt." I snort, and turn back around. "But it was worth it. And this hurt more."
I grin, sit down, and spread my legs. That always catches their eyes--neatly trimmed blue triangle, little beads of steel surfacing around my clit. The roses up my inner thighs, thin twining vines blooming black and blue, feathery petals almost brushing the sides of my cunt.
"But," I say, meeting her eyes as she looks up at me. "Worth it."
*****
There's only one thing to do with girls like her.
I pin her hips to the mattress as she squirms and bites one knuckle, and nibble up her thin smooth thighs, and go down on her as she makes those little hurt kitten noises in the back of her throat, until she makes some vague shy indication that she's come.
I dip a finger in her juice, trail it up her thigh as she pants, and look up the length of her body to meet those big brown eyes.
"What, you think you're only coming once?"
Then I get started.
"But I--"
I shove two fingers inside her, and then she's too far gone to worry at me. I'm pretty sure nobody's ever told her she could, and this is why I hate bad sex education. I've got how many years' worth of orgasms to catch her up on?
I hook her thigh over my shoulder and work her until my jaw aches, until my tongue tingles. Until she starts screaming helplessly from pleasure, until she comes so hard she practically levitates off the bed, until she's crying, literally crying, because she can't take any more. Staring wide-eyed at the stars painted on my ceiling with little hitching whines in the back of her throat.
In the end, though, I have mercy. I take a long drink of water and look at her, splayed out half-delirious on my silky sheets, pale except for the heavy flush down cheeks and chest, nipples hard as anything, soaked and boneless. Little white blouse still down about her elbows, stockings up to her knees. I put the glass back on the nightstand, wrought iron with a vase of leather roses and a drawer full of toys, and flick water over her and laugh as she wiggles.
Times like this, I want a camera.
*****
I light up a cigarette, try not to think about how fucking horny I am, and hold it careless by the bone of my hip. Sprawl in a broken-down old armchair with my legs spread wide and smoke curling in the air. This girl has never done careless in her life, even when she's pulling herself back together on my bed, so shaky she can hardly walk, and really, I kind of pity her.
"So," I say, after an inch has burned down, "want to return the favor?"
I've got my other hand resting on my thigh, thumb over the big tendon, over roses and thorns.
She sits nervous with her knees together on the edge of the bed. "I've never--"
"Of course you haven't. You've spent half your life being terrified of the thought, haven't you? That a girl wanted you, wanted to fuck you, and that you just might want her back. And it felt dirty, sure, but you're a grown-up now, Shiori, you can be as dirty as you like."
"I--" She looks like she's floundering for anything that could possibly refute me. "I was so scared of her. It wasn't right--"
"Bullshit."
"--for her to want someone like me--"
"Don't you start in on that." I take a drag and lean my head back against the armchair, get my glamour queen on. "Get over here."
"I loved him," she blurts.
"And I'm sure he was very nice when he wasn't dumping your ass in front of half the school, but what's that got to do with anything?"
"I'm not--I'm not--I'm not a dyke--"
"Of course not. Neither am I, so everything's okay. Get over here."
She gets over here.
I stick my cig between my teeth and bend over her where she's on hands and knees looking like she's about to jump off a cliff, and steady her with a hand on the small of her back, and give her a few hearty swats on the ass. "This," I say out of the corner of my mouth, "is for thinking you're a piece of shit. Stop it." One last smack as she yelps like a kitten, and then I rub my palm soothing over her cute little pink ass. "Stop it now and come have a taste."
My cig's burned down, and I grind it out on an ashtray on the little table beside me and smile, because there's golden afternoon sun coming in the window, and I've got a cute girl on her knees between my thighs, and everything is just about right.
She's hesitant. I comb fingers through her soft, wavy hair and guide her a little. "Harder, I won't break. And I like it if the piercings get tugged about a bit, don't worry. Oh, just go." Her hand on my leg in a ring of roses. When she pulls back for air, wipes the back of her hand along her lips, I give her my fingers to suck on; that helps her get into it. I take her hand and guide it into me. Tell her how to curl her fingers. Arch my hips up and fuck myself on her hand, let my head fall back with a groan as she gets back to work.
"You're good at this," I purr. Tell her how to vary it, where to flick her tongue. A little encouragement never did anyone bad. Especially not when it means I come, little ones at first, shudders, ramping up to some serious headbanging pleasure, especially when she stops pulling back a little, like she thinks she should stop, when I yell.
Then she really gets into it. Figures out how to do fun things with the piercings. And I come, toewrenching hard, so hard I squirt. Spatter all over her face. She pulls back for good then, with a little frightened yelp, and I catch my breath and look down at her, frozen in place with shock, shaking a little, clear wet come glistening drops on her skin.
She's Japanese, she can't see a mess without the gut need to clean it up. Never mind be a mess. "Shh." I pet her hair. There's a reason jacking off on somebody's face used to be a punishment in this country. "Shh, I told you, you can be dirty, it's okay." I ease her chin up, bend down, and slowly, slowly, lick my come off her face. Savor the watery-sweet taste, kiss her closed wet eyes, kiss her mouth long and slow until I can taste every bit of myself on her. Pull her up off the floor into my lap and hold her, all small and wet and naked and shaking. "There. You okay?"
"Yes," she breathes. "I--"
"Like that?"
There's a long moment of silence, and then, like it's some sort of epiphany. "Yes."
"Well, there you go, then."
*****
"I just," she starts, later, "I just feel like...like there could be more..."
I eye her.
"You want cock?"
She flushes, hard.
"Of course you want cock." I shrug. "Cock is good. That's what this is for."
This being from the left corner of the nightstand drawer. Shiny blue silicon, with just enough give to curve into all the right places, double-ended. She looks at it like it's going to fly across the room and eat her face.
"I--I don't--"
"I said you could get dirty, girl." I feed the bulb end into my cunt, rummage about in the drawer for the black leather harness. It's supposed to stay in without one, but, well, I've sent it flying across the room more than once. Never eaten anybody's face though. I strap everything into place, give it a few lazy strokes like a guy, and smile up at her through my stray bangs. "You want to be lain down and fucked, of course you do. Nothing says I can't do that."
She takes talking into things, this one. Lies down in missionary like a good little girl. I pull her legs up, stroke her belly, and slip two fingers inside her. Just like I thought, I need lube about as much as I need a husband. "Shh, it's okay. Here you go."
She looks to one side and pants as I slide into her, full length, until our pubic bones grind. Whines and goes wide-eyed.
"Not too bad, huh?"
"N-no..."
"And lo," I say, pull out a little, shove back in, "we have fucking."
She laughs a little, then looks mortified at herself.
"What, sex can't be funny?" I fuck her again, lazily, watch her feet clench at air, let the motion nudge the bulb about inside me, and grin. Fuck her harder and she shudders and clings to the sheets--she's already come too hard, she's probably going insane. I throw her legs up higher, go on all fours over her, face inches from hers. Grab her hands and pin them to the mattress and kiss her, long and deep, and she kisses back, almost careless, almost letting the fuck go.
I pull back and she's staring up at me, eyes wide and clear, and it's one of those perfect little moments where something clicks. Connection. Me to her. Hands entwined, cunts clutching at the same toy.
I pick one hand up, reach for the nightstand, pull one of the black leather roses out of the vase. Her eyes go wider. I put it on her chest, between her perfect little tits, inky vivid against her pale skin. Right over her heart. Stay on all fours over her, go still inside her, and her eyes go even wider.
"You have no choice," I whisper, with her breath hot on my face, "but to revolutionize your world."
"The path I must take," she murmurs, after a long moment.
I feel a savage grin breaking across my face, and I grip the headboard and fuck her, hard, as she gasps.
"You," I grunt, "prepare your own fucking path now."
PHEW.
ONE DOWN, FOUR TO GO.
So, you know how I sometimes complain about how there isn't enough random filthy kinky femmeslash in the world? Because, y'know, there's a world of it for boyslash, and a decent amount for het, and I've contributed a lot of both, but...I've never actually written something like this before. IT'S ABOUT FUCKING TIME.
And then this Kozue-voice caught me totally out of nowhere (or the blue, if one wishes to make horrible puns) and provided. And caused me to WTF at her. A LOT.
kink_bingo square: bukkake. (Shut up. Girls ejaculate too.) I provide bonus strap-on and a bit of spanking.
Fandom: Revolutionary Girl Utena. For ONCE, with an Utena fic, this does not really require canon literacy, I think.
Pairing: Kozue/Shiori. (YES, I'M INSANE.)
NSFW, duh.
*****
Black and Blue
*****
You know, sometimes you just can't remember something. No matter how damn hard you try. It's like it's sneaking about at the corners of your mind, like a dream five minutes after you wake up, when it seems irrelevant and lost. Like, for example, eight years ago. Back in school, the tip-top preppy place I was only at because of my brother. Back when I was thirteen.
My brother is another problem entirely. My family is insane. Entire damn family, completely insane, and we're Japanese. Saying we're insane and Japanese is saying a lot.
My brother had been seeing this girl, who is also another story entirely, at least in his few spare moments when he wasn't taking college-level courses at thirteen and fencing at the national level and being raped by his piano teacher, which nobody was doing anything about, because that's how that place was. I tried to kill him. The teacher, not my brother; my brother I was just pissed at, though never let it be said that I don't love him. So I went to the--well, shrink isn't quite the word, because that school didn't have them. Not as such. An older student, even more of a stupid genius than my brother, and the scuttlebutt said to talk to him if you, well, had this sort of problem.
Now I've got to say again that I'm Japanese. So when I say something's insane.
This is where it gets fuzzy.
The interview turned out to be me sitting alone in an elevator. Little stool and a mirror, and I couldn't help it, it was the weirdest thing, I just started talking. Said the most horrible true things. Just right out there and blunt, even by my standards. Like I was just falling down into the most horrible depths of everything as the elevator went down. And there was a butterfly on the wall when it stopped.
Then a guy with pink hair told me that I could revolutionize the world, and a little boy stabbed me through the heart with a black rose, and I'm pretty sure there was something about a swordfight after that.
This is also why I don't do drugs. I'm pretty sure I don't have to.
All of which goes to say, I met somebody just now who has exactly this same problem.
Not the brother. The memory. The elevator. Pink-haired creep, butterflies, revolution, the lot.
And here I thought I was eight years out of this shit.
*****
She looks tiny in the passenger's seat as I put my car into gear.
Takatsuki Shiori, two years older than me, looks five years younger, dressed in prim black-and-white office lady gear. Short hair with a faint purplish sheen, big eyes the same exact color, stands with her hands clasped in front of her like a little girl. Why is it that grown women in this country try to look like they're about twelve?
The purplish doesn't throw me. My hair's blue, did I mention that? Every strand, from the day I was born.
"What do you do?" she asks politely. "Since you graduated Ohtori Academy, I mean?"
"Porn," I say with a shrug. "Stripping. Whatever gets me by. And I didn't graduate, I dropped out when I was sixteen."
She blinks and blushes and looks away. "Oh."
I pull out and bliss out in the wind for a moment. My car, which I love and change the oil in myself, is a battered old blue convertible, front bumper taped on, rock and roll stickers on the back.
"Why," she asks shyly, "do you have a convertible?"
"I like the wind. And they're cool." I shift up and pull onto the highway. "I remember going for a date with the chairman once, back at school. I mean, did you ever see the guy? Fucking gorgeous. Drove like a maniac, but it was fun." Not like I don't. I get into the fast lane and grin.
"The chairman?" She's very curious, very cautious, like I just mentioned something a lot bigger than one guy.
"One night we picked up my brother for a bit. Had something to do with that dueling crap he was involved in. The chairman did crazy things on the hood. We," I say definitively, "went to a fucking bizarre school. You realize that, right?"
She's looking at me wide-eyed.
"He had a red convertible," she says slowly, "and wore white and gold, and showed you the end of the world. And then you had a long dress, and drove up a very long ramp into the sky, and pulled a sword out of--somebody?"
I blink. "Oh, you too, huh?"
"Oh god."
"Like I said, fucking bizarre school. Wow. What is it about us and modes of transportation?"
"What were you doing?" she asks after a moment. "In the car, back--then."
I think about it for a minute. "Trying to tell my brother to stop being stupid." I shrug. "I was never very good at it. What about you?"
She looks away and blushes profusely.
"It was a hot car," I say, "but not that hot. Okay, so a hot guy, too. Were you fucking the chairman too?"
She gives this little jolt. "No..."
"Huh. I figured he was doing half the school. He could get away with it."
"I--not him. Somebody else."
"Anybody I know?"
She shakes her head violently. "I don't think so--"
"Wait, that blue-haired guy? The one who wasn't my brother? What was his name again?"
"Ruka," she whispers.
About the only thing I remember of him is him brushing her off, cold as fucking ice, in the quad. Left her crying on the ground in front of everybody. This sort of thing was pretty routine at that place. "He's an asshole," I say.
"He's dead."
"Oh. Well, I hope he didn't die an asshole, then."
"He wasn't," she says, soft and sad.
"So why did you talk to the guy with the elevator, then? Because of that?"
She shakes her head, hunches a little. "Before that."
"Well? I mean, you do want to talk about it, right? That's why we're here? Shared experiences with creepy elevators?"
"I--I don't remember it very well."
"Yeah, I hear you there."
"I think--I think I'd found out that--do you remember Juri?"
"Her?" Captain of the fencing club, fashion model, had all of the students and half the teachers groveling at her feet. Fucking gorgeous. "Who wouldn't remember her?"
"We grew up together, we'd been friends forever, and I think I found out that she--loved me. That way."
I blink and tilt my head. "How was that a bad thing?" Juri had given half a second's indication that she wanted me in any way, I would've been all over her.
"Because she was so much better than me," Shiori mutters, and then after another breath it kind of comes babbling out of her. "Because I thought it was gross, because I didn't deserve it, I deserved what Ruka did to me--because it meant I had power over her and that scared me, because I was so afraid of it because I think I did want it but I wasn't sure, I'm still not sure, whether I wanted it. Because I was afraid somebody would find out. Because I--because I lie to people, and I do horrible things to people, I use people, I can't help it, I just want things..."
I look out of the corner of my eye at this little thing with the Hello Kitty purse and laugh. "Don't you worry, honey, there's not a fucking thing you could do to me."
*****
So she has this huge hang-up about girls, fine. I offer to help her figure it out. It's clearly what she wants, after all. I offer and pull off my shirt. I don't wear bras.
She spends about two minutes just fucking staring at me.
Steel chain round my neck, six bracelets and five rings, five piercings and a barbell in one ear, eight in the other, close-cropped stiff blue hair with long bangs--eyes, eyelashes, eyebrows, one with a ring, all blue as a summer sky. That she's seen already. If she'd been looking, sure, she might've seen the bumps under my tank from the barbells through my nipples, but she hadn't been. I can always tell.
Even if she had been looking, you can't see the iridescent blue steel through the shirt. Nor the indigo crystal on my belly button ring.
So I strip the rest of the way and turn around so she can see the ink. Stylized bird at the base of my spine, barbed feather wings spread wide. Sure, it's a tramp stamp, but there's a reason everyone gets them--the curve of it just above my ass, just where my waist comes in tight, looks fucking fantastic. The bird's the roots of the tall slender tree running up my spine, branches spreading over my shoulderblades.
Everyone takes a few moments to notice the butterflies. They're subtle, just thin outlines of wings and bodies and antennae, little black spots against the white of my skin. Little white butterflies scattered over my skin.
"Did it--did it hurt?"
"Of course it hurt." I snort, and turn back around. "But it was worth it. And this hurt more."
I grin, sit down, and spread my legs. That always catches their eyes--neatly trimmed blue triangle, little beads of steel surfacing around my clit. The roses up my inner thighs, thin twining vines blooming black and blue, feathery petals almost brushing the sides of my cunt.
"But," I say, meeting her eyes as she looks up at me. "Worth it."
*****
There's only one thing to do with girls like her.
I pin her hips to the mattress as she squirms and bites one knuckle, and nibble up her thin smooth thighs, and go down on her as she makes those little hurt kitten noises in the back of her throat, until she makes some vague shy indication that she's come.
I dip a finger in her juice, trail it up her thigh as she pants, and look up the length of her body to meet those big brown eyes.
"What, you think you're only coming once?"
Then I get started.
"But I--"
I shove two fingers inside her, and then she's too far gone to worry at me. I'm pretty sure nobody's ever told her she could, and this is why I hate bad sex education. I've got how many years' worth of orgasms to catch her up on?
I hook her thigh over my shoulder and work her until my jaw aches, until my tongue tingles. Until she starts screaming helplessly from pleasure, until she comes so hard she practically levitates off the bed, until she's crying, literally crying, because she can't take any more. Staring wide-eyed at the stars painted on my ceiling with little hitching whines in the back of her throat.
In the end, though, I have mercy. I take a long drink of water and look at her, splayed out half-delirious on my silky sheets, pale except for the heavy flush down cheeks and chest, nipples hard as anything, soaked and boneless. Little white blouse still down about her elbows, stockings up to her knees. I put the glass back on the nightstand, wrought iron with a vase of leather roses and a drawer full of toys, and flick water over her and laugh as she wiggles.
Times like this, I want a camera.
*****
I light up a cigarette, try not to think about how fucking horny I am, and hold it careless by the bone of my hip. Sprawl in a broken-down old armchair with my legs spread wide and smoke curling in the air. This girl has never done careless in her life, even when she's pulling herself back together on my bed, so shaky she can hardly walk, and really, I kind of pity her.
"So," I say, after an inch has burned down, "want to return the favor?"
I've got my other hand resting on my thigh, thumb over the big tendon, over roses and thorns.
She sits nervous with her knees together on the edge of the bed. "I've never--"
"Of course you haven't. You've spent half your life being terrified of the thought, haven't you? That a girl wanted you, wanted to fuck you, and that you just might want her back. And it felt dirty, sure, but you're a grown-up now, Shiori, you can be as dirty as you like."
"I--" She looks like she's floundering for anything that could possibly refute me. "I was so scared of her. It wasn't right--"
"Bullshit."
"--for her to want someone like me--"
"Don't you start in on that." I take a drag and lean my head back against the armchair, get my glamour queen on. "Get over here."
"I loved him," she blurts.
"And I'm sure he was very nice when he wasn't dumping your ass in front of half the school, but what's that got to do with anything?"
"I'm not--I'm not--I'm not a dyke--"
"Of course not. Neither am I, so everything's okay. Get over here."
She gets over here.
I stick my cig between my teeth and bend over her where she's on hands and knees looking like she's about to jump off a cliff, and steady her with a hand on the small of her back, and give her a few hearty swats on the ass. "This," I say out of the corner of my mouth, "is for thinking you're a piece of shit. Stop it." One last smack as she yelps like a kitten, and then I rub my palm soothing over her cute little pink ass. "Stop it now and come have a taste."
My cig's burned down, and I grind it out on an ashtray on the little table beside me and smile, because there's golden afternoon sun coming in the window, and I've got a cute girl on her knees between my thighs, and everything is just about right.
She's hesitant. I comb fingers through her soft, wavy hair and guide her a little. "Harder, I won't break. And I like it if the piercings get tugged about a bit, don't worry. Oh, just go." Her hand on my leg in a ring of roses. When she pulls back for air, wipes the back of her hand along her lips, I give her my fingers to suck on; that helps her get into it. I take her hand and guide it into me. Tell her how to curl her fingers. Arch my hips up and fuck myself on her hand, let my head fall back with a groan as she gets back to work.
"You're good at this," I purr. Tell her how to vary it, where to flick her tongue. A little encouragement never did anyone bad. Especially not when it means I come, little ones at first, shudders, ramping up to some serious headbanging pleasure, especially when she stops pulling back a little, like she thinks she should stop, when I yell.
Then she really gets into it. Figures out how to do fun things with the piercings. And I come, toewrenching hard, so hard I squirt. Spatter all over her face. She pulls back for good then, with a little frightened yelp, and I catch my breath and look down at her, frozen in place with shock, shaking a little, clear wet come glistening drops on her skin.
She's Japanese, she can't see a mess without the gut need to clean it up. Never mind be a mess. "Shh." I pet her hair. There's a reason jacking off on somebody's face used to be a punishment in this country. "Shh, I told you, you can be dirty, it's okay." I ease her chin up, bend down, and slowly, slowly, lick my come off her face. Savor the watery-sweet taste, kiss her closed wet eyes, kiss her mouth long and slow until I can taste every bit of myself on her. Pull her up off the floor into my lap and hold her, all small and wet and naked and shaking. "There. You okay?"
"Yes," she breathes. "I--"
"Like that?"
There's a long moment of silence, and then, like it's some sort of epiphany. "Yes."
"Well, there you go, then."
*****
"I just," she starts, later, "I just feel like...like there could be more..."
I eye her.
"You want cock?"
She flushes, hard.
"Of course you want cock." I shrug. "Cock is good. That's what this is for."
This being from the left corner of the nightstand drawer. Shiny blue silicon, with just enough give to curve into all the right places, double-ended. She looks at it like it's going to fly across the room and eat her face.
"I--I don't--"
"I said you could get dirty, girl." I feed the bulb end into my cunt, rummage about in the drawer for the black leather harness. It's supposed to stay in without one, but, well, I've sent it flying across the room more than once. Never eaten anybody's face though. I strap everything into place, give it a few lazy strokes like a guy, and smile up at her through my stray bangs. "You want to be lain down and fucked, of course you do. Nothing says I can't do that."
She takes talking into things, this one. Lies down in missionary like a good little girl. I pull her legs up, stroke her belly, and slip two fingers inside her. Just like I thought, I need lube about as much as I need a husband. "Shh, it's okay. Here you go."
She looks to one side and pants as I slide into her, full length, until our pubic bones grind. Whines and goes wide-eyed.
"Not too bad, huh?"
"N-no..."
"And lo," I say, pull out a little, shove back in, "we have fucking."
She laughs a little, then looks mortified at herself.
"What, sex can't be funny?" I fuck her again, lazily, watch her feet clench at air, let the motion nudge the bulb about inside me, and grin. Fuck her harder and she shudders and clings to the sheets--she's already come too hard, she's probably going insane. I throw her legs up higher, go on all fours over her, face inches from hers. Grab her hands and pin them to the mattress and kiss her, long and deep, and she kisses back, almost careless, almost letting the fuck go.
I pull back and she's staring up at me, eyes wide and clear, and it's one of those perfect little moments where something clicks. Connection. Me to her. Hands entwined, cunts clutching at the same toy.
I pick one hand up, reach for the nightstand, pull one of the black leather roses out of the vase. Her eyes go wider. I put it on her chest, between her perfect little tits, inky vivid against her pale skin. Right over her heart. Stay on all fours over her, go still inside her, and her eyes go even wider.
"You have no choice," I whisper, with her breath hot on my face, "but to revolutionize your world."
"The path I must take," she murmurs, after a long moment.
I feel a savage grin breaking across my face, and I grip the headboard and fuck her, hard, as she gasps.
"You," I grunt, "prepare your own fucking path now."