Hirokin’s gaze slid from the door to Kagome. Her jaw was clenched. A fine wrinkle had formed between her knitted brows.

“Do not worry, my lady,” Hirokin said with a sigh. “I will handle it.”

He’d been on the receiving end of Sesshoumaru’s mercurial moods for the better part of a millenium. This one, admittedly, was a matter of consternation even to Hirokin himself. Yet if anyone was equipped to navigate it, it was he.

Kagome’s eyes slanted to him, quite cool. “I wasn’t.”

She reached for him. Hirokin hissed out a curse when she drew the pin from his cock. At once, he felt an indelible shimmer, a surreal laxness to the gilt cage and its chains. The seal she’d placed on him had been broken. 

Eagerly, Hirokin skimmed his fingers back along the cool, glinting links, found the clasps with their invisible seams. The loosed chains slithered down his hips, fell away from his naked thighs. With a wince of pained relief, he pulled the cage away from his abused organ. Another curse hissed from him as warm blood rushed forth, engorging him. Stinging sensation returned to his untrapped flesh, like pangs of awareness to a sleeping limb.

Kagome watched this all the while. Her eyes were trained between his legs, her expression repulsed yet amused, like his growing cock was some idle curiosity to her. A gross attraction, performing a stunt in her presence. Hirokin didn’t care. If anything her degrading attentions gave him fresh relish. 

Flicking his tongue along the serrations in his incisor, Hirokin chased the high of his abating torment. His freed cock thrummed, flush and languorous after the vicious manacling it had been subjected to. Already, he looked forward to being caged again.

Kagome must have read the unabashed hunger in his look, for she murmured, “You’re such a fucking freakshow, you know that?”

He didn’t, but he could infer her meaning well enough.

Absently, Hirokin nodded, mostly to himself. Her tone was dark, deriding. But he’d guessed her attitude correctly. As if her words weren’t enough to confirm it, she began to stroke him, a parody of an affectionate caress.

Almost fondly, she raked her nails along his shaft. Pinched at the head of his cock. Hirokin groaned at the rough petting, rubbing himself against her mean little hands like a purring cat, too contented to mind how harshly he was scratched.

“I guess I do enjoy your cock.”

Her eyes were dark, rapt as she played with him. Her reiki was piqued. He could gauge how wet she was just from that, even if he couldn’t taste her musk on the air or see the way she’d bled through the hem of the robe caught between her thighs. Reaching for the twisted hem, he tugged it free. His fingers slicked over the warm damp silk, knowing how much hotter and wetter the hidden folds between her thighs would be.

He wanted to be inside her then. He wanted to pierce into her, to meld with her. His beleaguered balls ached to bleed his essence into her. If for no other reason than the exigency of the moment, this chance afforded to him. There was every possibility Sesshoumaru was yet going to castrate him for his offenses.

“Lie back, my lady,” Hirokin murmured, urging her down by the hip. “Let me rut you.”

He could just as easily have said, “make love,” but she vast preferred vulgarity to romance, his callous mistress. Her eyes smoldered at him, bewitching. She lay back, watching through lowered lashes as he disrobed her. She didn’t help him with this in the slightest. Like a perfect doll she lolled, making him do all the work of extricating her, bit by bit. Not that it was much work, or that Hirokin minded. 

Drawing her loose legs apart, he gazed at the pink glistening gash between them, the sable fleece that framed it. He felt a dark hunger when he looked at her like this, so lushly exposed. Nothing like the arousal that bit at him when he eyed a handsome male. It was deep and brooding, this gnawing in him. It made him restless, made him glower, until he hooked her by the knee and dragged her onto his cock.

Kagome made a small sound in her throat, like she was choking. He hadn’t bothered teasing her with the tip. He’d given her the whole length of him in a single plunging thrust, immersing himself in her completely. His eyes screwed shut at the deluge of sensation. Her heat and smothering softness briefly overwhelmed him.

So sweet and tender, this human flesh of hers. A decadent ripeness that was only mortal. But Sesshoumaru’s mark stayed her decay, preserving her forever in full, heady bloom, like a flower encased in glass.

“I do like your body,” Hirokin confessed to her as his eyes slid open, Rooting in her balmy, yielding depths, he smiled down at her, indulgent. “It’s obscene.”

“But you like it.”

“Yes, I’ve said that already. Just now.”

“You like my filthy human flesh,” she continued ruthlessly, with the force of a mantra, snapping her hips into him back. “You like wallowing in it. It sucks you down deep, doesn’t it, Hirokin? You like how I sully you, drag you under. You want me to mar you, to ruin you. You only feel alive at the edge of disaster. You live for the thought of being laid waste by me.”

The sweet reek of her, the redolent heat of her soft insides—she was a bane to him, corrupting and consuming. The embodiment of his most toxic desires. Damnation and dark deliverance all at once. A frightful spasm ran down his buried cock. 

“…Yes,” Hirokin grit out, savoring the way she keened when he writhed inside her. “Gods damn you.”

“Leave them out of this,” she said panting, with her darkly flashing eyes, “and do that again.”

Hirokin did it again, that rippling, serpentine motion of his sex that surged against her supple walls like the undulations of his flickering tongue might. But broader, deeper. Her eyes rolled back in irrepressible bliss. Hirokin seethed at the sight. 

But she was right, of course. There was no place for the gods in any of this. In the sordid sanctum of his mind, there was only her, lying sprawled and naked upon the altar to which he’d raised her up, only to rip her down.

Beneath him she lay demurely now, so much pretty meat for the taking. Pliant and inanimate, a crude rendering of the goddess brought to teeming life. Ripe blood pumped in the delicate filaments of her veins, her tender flesh stretched over ribs as fragile to him as milkglass. He felt that he could crush her. He felt that he was crushing her. But this was only fantasy.

It was she who was crushing in on him. Smothering softness, tempered flame. Her inner fire licked at him, threatening to raze him to ashes within her. To inter him there forever, in the earthy feminine heart of her.

The pleasure he gave her dampened her sear, softened him in turn. Plumbing her idly, luxuriously, Hirokin waxed reflective.

“I was innocent, once,” he said. “The first time I came it wasn’t perverse. It wasn’t lustful in any way. I was a child, just a young boy. Merely inquisitive. I didn’t know anything of carnality. All I’d discovered was that it felt good to rub myself against the silk bedding, to sink that hot stiff thing between my legs into the cool down beneath me. There was only pleasure back then, in those days. No sticky, shameful emission. Just the momentary bliss of total reprieve. From sadness and anger, from all thought or worry.

“My mother’s death had left me in a prison of grief. I was desperate to feel good again, even for a moment. Only in retrospect does it sound deviant to say that I thought of her then. In seeking my pleasure, I sought for her. The comfort I’d once felt in her embrace, the phantom solace of her love.” 

Hirokin embraced Kagome as he said this. Covering her body with his own, he lay atop her, sank into her. Her silken skin and downy flesh enfolded him, even before her arms and legs came around him, drawing him deeper in. He buried his face in the dark waves of her hair, rocked into her cradling warmth.

“…Being with you like this reminds me of that.”

“Your trusty old mattress?”

Hirokin chuckled. “Yes, my lady,” he said dryly. “My trusty old mattress.”

Hirokin didn’t know why he tried. It never did serve to be sentimental with her. Kagome treated any outpouring of feeling from him like a spill of fresh blood. Her cue to pounce and tear into him.

And so he wasn’t surprised when she dug her sharp little heels into the backs of his thighs, her kitten nails into his shoulders. Her reiki chafed at the ghostly coils of mist that surrounded him, surrounded them both. He braced himself to be flayed open by her. His captive cock throbbed with dread.

“Hirokin,” she said, arching into him, “I was innocent once, too.”

Her manner was furtive, insistent, like a whispered plea. This did surprise him. Hirokin slid a hand beneath the supplicating curve of her spine, helping her to hit the spot she craved. She moaned when she did, and he stole a kiss from her then. She bit him back for it, but not very hard. Just hard enough to make him want to do it again, before she spoke—

“Have I told you before, that my father died when I was nine years old?”

Against her mouth, Hirokin answered, “No.” Drawing back from her slightly, he asked her, “How?”

Kagome shook her head. “I can’t tell you that. It wouldn’t make any sense to you, even if I did.”

Hirokin scowled, put-out. Trust her to dangle something so tantalizingly intimate before him, only to snatch it back.

“Why bring it up then, my lady, if you’re not going to tell me any more than that?”

“Because I remembered something just now. Something important, I think. Something I’d forgotten.”

Within her, Hirokin went very still. There was an intent look on her face, pensive and vaguely pained, as though she stood upon the fringes of an awareness both frightening and elusive to her perception. But surely this was mere paranoia on Hirokin’s part. The projected shadow of his own lingering guilt toward her. Sesshoumaru himself had told Hirokin she’d understood what had happened to her, that night. 

But then, not even Sesshoumaru knew the whole truth of it.

Could some part of her know? She had powers that Hirokin must admit defied him. Did some part of her merely suspect?

“The truth is,” she said, and now the pain in her voice was arrestingly clear, “I haven’t felt safe since he died. Not really. I see that now. I can tell the difference. Because I have a touchpoint for it, in my memories: the safety I’d only ever felt in his arms. That night that I died…it’s faint, but I remember. 

“I think that was when.”

“What was when?” Hirokin prompted, skewered by her disturbed ramblings as surely as she lay skewered on his cock.

“When Sesshoumaru held me, when he took me up in his arms after bringing me back to life…Somehow I have the faintest impression of it. The warmth, the glow of him, as he carried me away. I think before I even realized it consciously, that was when…when I must have fallen in love with him.”

Still sheathed in her, Hirokin frowned down. But, my lady, he wanted to tell her, the one who bore you up, that was me.

But he didn’t tell her this because it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t believe him anyway.

Instead, he drew back until only the tip of his sex remained inside her. She made a disgruntled sound, but Hirokin dismissed it. He liked to watch the way she rimmed the head of his cock, flaring and contracting to grip him just above or beneath the base of the glans, like a little pink mouth in truth. It reminded him as he watched how he liked to mold his lips around Kou. But there was a pang in the memory of this pleasure. Not the sort he wished to wallow in.

She drooled when he pulled out of her. He bid it to flow over him, to coat him in its milky glaze, as he glided up her splayed sex and nudged her, tip-to-tip. Kagome gasped when he prodded her, bluntly, insistently. His own sex splayed a bit from the pressure, and he felt her erect just inside him, prying into the slit she’d plundered at a whim with the golden spine he’d gifted her.

This moment of fleshly penetration felt significant to him, yet Kagome was unmoved.

“Stop fucking around, Hirokin,” she demanded, uncouth as ever. “Put your cock back in me now.”

His lips twisted. “Yes, my lady.”

Like an offering, he slid his cock back inside her, and she was appeased. Biting her knuckle, she groaned when butted against the hard limit of her sex, her heavy breasts swaying at the impact. She cut a lusty, fertile image, for all that she was not. A nursing female, heated but not in heat. Ever the alluring contradiction.

“What I like most,” Hirokin said, slipping his hand between the junction of their bodies, pinching at the cherry nub jutting up at him from its silken hood, “is this plucky little cock of yours.”

“It isn’t a cock,” she said.

“No?” Hirokin eyed it, squeezed it so that it faintly bulged. “Tell me how it isn’t.”

“It just isn’t.”

“A female shouldn’t have such a thing.”

“Humans are just different, I guess.”

Her voice was throaty, ragged. Hirokin smiled.

“Does it feel good to you when I stroke it? When I take it in my mouth and suck it? Does it make you come, even when I’m not inside you?”

Kagome set her jaw. “It’s a clit, not a cock.”

“But it is all that you need. You might like to be fucked, but all you need is this.”

She didn’t dispute it further. Or maybe she was simply enjoying the way he was fondling her too much to debate him. Hirokin was enjoying it, catching her so-called clit between his knuckles, swirling the pad of his thumb over that red, teeming crest. It had a brazen, salacious look to him. Yet for all its raring hardness, it was squishy, stunted. 

Hirokin felt a pitying fondness for it as he kneaded it. As he worked his touch over it so relentlessly that she acquiesced at last—a series of internal shudders that wracked through his burrowed cock, so entrenched in her. But it was the expression on her face that riveted him, her fair and unremarkable face. Except for the eyes, which with their pale fire, enthralled him absolutely.

“You have ruined me,” he said lowly, stroking her still though she bucked against him, “forever I fear. Whatever you are, you have ruined me for love.”

“If I have,” she managed cruelly, coming down, “you have only your own self to blame.”

“Yes,” he conceded. “Yes, it is true.”

He smoothed his hand over the trembling arch of her stomach, her chest. Squeezed at her breast whose dusky tip was pearled so temptingly. Sweet dewy milk oozed forth from her, thinning as it trickled to her navel, collecting there in a well that his tongue flicked low to siphon, with all the relish he’d ever lapped at Kou’s glazed abdomen after milking him until he gushed.

“Let’s make a child,” Hirokin said huskily, only realizing belatedly that he’d spoken this desire aloud.

Kagome sat up on his cock in surprise. “A what?”

Holding her by the hips, he watched himself go in and out of her. The trail of her pink inner lips, the shine of her along his shaft vaguely mesmerized him.

“I want a child with you, like the one you gave Sesshoumaru. The image of me, refined in the crucible of your womb.”

Kagome quaked inside, whether from this prodding suggestion or the visceral stabbing of him in her sensitized depths, Hirokin couldn’t say. He met her confounded stare with equanimity.

“That’s impossible.”

“Is it?” he mused, pumping her still. “You are a powerful priestess after all.”

“Even if it wasn’t,” she said stubbornly, losing her train of thought when he twisted within her. “…What makes you think I’d want some slimy little snake of yours swimming around inside me?”

“Now, Kagome-sama,” Hirokin chided, giving her a thrust so sudden and hard it made her teeth click together, “don’t speak such filth about our daughter.”

Kagome panted, thrusting back on him. “A daughter now, is it?”

“Yes,” Hirokin said softly, almost dreamily, as he knocked at the burning gate of her womb.

In his mind, Hirokin saw her clearly, this daughter of his. Beautiful, powerful, brilliant—divine. She was a goddess, a star brought down from the heavens.

She was Haname, reborn.

Perhaps this was his destiny, the great charge of his life, to resurrect his mother from his own flesh and spirit. To restore her from memory into living form.

The thought filled him with exultation. It swept him up, overflowed him as Kagome convulsed around him in this moment of shared euphoria. Budding up from the root of his sex, his will burst from him, solidified, a seal of his own genesis. A secondary epiphany, vain though it was. Whether Kagome was in season or not, it was hopeless.

Because already through the haze of his bliss, he felt his dream dashing itself to pieces against Sesshoumaru’s iron will. His seed pulverized, dissolved to nothing against this implacable barricade within her.

Yet the vision, this he had conceived.

It remained with him as he withdrew from her, spent. But inside her, his intent was still lodged, palpitating, emanating from within her. The mating plug he’d placed at the threshold of her womb. 

Intoxicated, Kagome sucked at her fingers, basking in its orgasmic afterglow. “Hirokin…”

She was clutching at this sticky remnant, holding it fast within her. He could tell by the taut, reflexive contractions of her stomach.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Hirokin, I need you.”

There wasn’t a male alive who could fuck again this soon. He slipped his fingers into her instead, but she jerked her head, so sharply he drew back at once. Gazing down at her, he didn’t understand. Not until she raised her hips to him and he saw just what it was she needed, and where.

So slick from her leaking cum and his, that tight little hole was nearly obscured. But Hirokin saw. When he pressed his finger to her there, she groaned, a sound so gravelly and unhinged, he felt the echo of his own mania present in it.

“Here?” he asked needlessly, wedging his fingertip into her ass, which yielded to him with cursory resistance.

Dizzily, she nodded, and he obliged her with the full length of his finger, about which she squirmed, impatient. “Take me, Hirokin. I need to feel it, I need to be filled here, too.”

Hirokin glared. Desire and envy ran rampant in him. Almost violently, he resented her, that she could be so demanding. But more precisely, he resented that she could be filled to an extent that he couldn’t. Yet in fucking her ass, he could have a taste of it. All the doubled pleasure she felt from within.

He was very hard again already, painfully so. He marveled at this only distantly, as he hauled her up level to his pulsing cock and speared its tip into her ready ass.

She screamed out, and between this and the hot fierce clamp of her, she nearly unmanned him. He had never sodomized a female before. He had never sodomized anyone. What the fuck was he doing? What was this new insanity which had seized him? Hirokin was frozen in the grips of it, torn. He wanted to rip himself out of her. To retreat with his sense of self intact. But then she was lancing him with her nails, cursing him—

“Don’t you fucking stop there.” She was heaving, sweating. Half-crazed, but then he knew that already. Little rivulets of exertion ran down between her mottled breasts. “Keep going, or I’ll turn you out for good.”

From the wild gleam in her eye, Hirokin believed her. He steeled himself. He forged ahead into the stricture of her flesh. She moaned and cursed like she was dying. But he forced himself to ignore this, to do as she said. To rape her like she’d bid him to.

He wondered darkly if he would ever forgive her for this.

But by then he’d settled in her to the hilt. By then, he could feel it, not merely the drum-skin stretch of her innards, but the bulge of his mating plug still trapped within her, pulsating through the slim wall that separated this forbidden channel of hers from the other. Twin passages surfeit with the promise of pleasure. She was mewling now, spurring him on with the seeking insistence of her hips. 

He commenced to plough her, and she threw back her head. She was his languid doll again. His icon of living flesh. The sublimest of cocksleeves, his uncompromising mistress. Plugged at both ends by him, utterly—when he fed his fingers into her gasping mouth.

She choked around him in rapturous assent. Tears stood bright and trembling in her eyes, so blue like his. Had Sesshoumaru ever fucked her like this? Hirokin’s youki bristled at the gloating thought. He took his hand from her mouth to clasp her hard by the hips, to rut her in furious earnest.

“Tell me again,” he rumbled at her, striving to keep his words from crumbling into a language she wouldn’t understand. A language like falling stone, old as the earth itself. “Tell me you love me.”

“Love you?” she spat. “I never said that.”

Bitch! he raged, fucking her harder. “You did!”

To his unending frustration she shook her head. Of course, she would do this to him now. Deny it. Make him question whether he’d imagined it, when she’d confessed her love to him in the throes of passion. Like it was some fevered hallucination he’d conjured up in the heat of the moment. 

Hirokin was deranged in many ways, but not in this. His keen ears had not deceived him. He knew what he’d heard!

“Lies,” he seethed, now holding her suspended entirely as he rammed into her, jarring his cock into her with a vehemence even her fickle heart could feel. “Wanton madness.” Her breasts rippled, her walls shook. “You do love me.”

“I love punishing you,” she shot back. “Whatever I said, that’s what I meant.”

“You infernal cunt.” His features contorted in a grimace of lust and rage. “Rape and murder are too good for you.” 

But inwardly he burned for her, insatiable.

She smiled at him, glowing yet again at the brink of the very ecstasy he’d sown within her. “…Now, Hirokin, what would your future daughter think?”

Hirokin’s breath hitched. His balls bulged, his cock went rigid. In her ass, in her cunt, there he was, yet again at his limit. Undone by her. Depleted.

He collapsed against her, and she tangled her fingers in his sheening hair. He had no hold on her, however. She was illusory. Her words meant nothing. This body she suffered to let him thrash against was not even hers to give. She was trying to show him this, in her own demented way. 

Perhaps this was the only mercy she could show him.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Series Navigation

<< Bound (Explicit)Spare the Rod (Explicit) >>