As Saitou and his younger brother ascended to the High Tower, a sense of foreboding pervaded the air. Emerging onto the weathered top of the ancient stone monolith, Saitou glanced around at the assembled demons, a warning look from his grandmother confirming the young daiyoukai’s premonitions. In ages past, the High Tower had been constructed to align with the moon in its zenith, affording the inuyoukai lords an unobstructed view into the heavens from which they had once descended. Gathered together upon the dais, Saitou and his kin stood now in grim contemplation of the clouded skies above them—an inauspicious sign.

At the forefront and center of the viewing platform was the Lord of the Western Lands. His back was to them as Saitou and Touma approached, yet both brothers could feel the dark, forbidding chill emanating from their father’s imposing form. Touma’s ears stiffened. Saitou’s jaw clenched as they drew to a stop a respectful distance behind him. The lengths of snow-white fur spilling from his shoulders did nothing to soften the demon lord’s adamant image. Bound fast at the nape, his long silver hair descended straight and narrow as a sword blade down his back, its point as sharp and tapered as the spines that studded the heavy metal plates of his armor. An even greater severity honed his angled features as he turned toward his sons at last.

“The hour is late,” he said, the pierce of his golden stare lancing through them. “What detained you?”

Though they had arrived in time for the commencement, given the very nature of the act that had delayed them, Saitou and his brother tensed guiltily nonetheless. Clearly the ill tidings of the evening had only served to further sour their father’s caustic disposition. Recovering from the cold bite of his accusation, Touma bristled, opening his mouth to argue before Saitou cut him tactfully off. Now was not the time to speak in their defense—justified or otherwise.

“Forgive us, Father. There is no excuse for our lateness.”

The western lord’s eyes narrowed upon Saitou before shifting to his half-demon brother. If Sesshoumaru sensed the schooling in his eldest son’s reply, Saitou’s expression—rendered inscrutable as his own—would provide no further illumination on the matter. It was Touma who lacked the ability to temper his sentiments. Fortunately, at times such as this, like staring headlong into the glare of the sun, they proved too blinding for a demon as unfeeling as Sesshoumaru to properly discern. It was a lack of awareness that had made him similarly incapable of understanding his human mate, to the detriment of them all.

Of course, Sesshoumaru was well-aware of his one perceived deficiency. While he had little tolerance for anyone or anything, he had even less for his sons—and for Touma in particular—who reminded him constantly of his bitter failings, like a thorn ever-present in his pride. A curse in the shape of the name Kagome, which he was as loath to remove as he was to bear. Whatever his capacity for it, that Sesshoumaru both loved and despised Saitou and his brother was never more apparent to the young daiyoukai than in these moments of unwarranted hostility—as was his love and hatred for the woman who had divorced herself from him.

With the hour of the Hunt now upon them in full, Saitou’s brother sidled toward him as their cousins took to the skies, before the whip-like crack of their father’s voice arrested them both.

“Touma, you will come with me.”

The hanyou frowned. “But, Father—”

“Be silent. You will not shame me again before these grasping southern wretches.” Regarding his second son, Sesshoumaru’s icy gaze narrowed further. “To think I reared such an insolent fool.”

Touma’s ears fell sullenly at this berating. As Saitou stepped forward to intercede, the demon lord’s reproving glare cut him short.

“Come,” Sesshoumaru commanded Touma as he turned, his power stirring the air around them.

Saitou watched in resignation as they soared away. After a moment his grandmother stepped up beside him, her elegant red claws sifting through the fur that draped from his shoulder.

“Why today of all days,” the young daiyoukai muttered, gazing toward the shrouded heavens, “did the sky have to cloud?”

Circling around him, Inukimi trailed her cool hand along the line of his jaw, her lips curving in the shallowest of smiles. “Had it not been the sky, my love, it would have been something else.”

Saitou supposed that this was true enough. Even on pleasant days, the very warmth of the sun seemed to offend Sesshoumaru. The demon prince only wished that he and his brother did not have to suffer the brunt of their father’s unceasing resentment.

Lowering his head, Saitou touched his moon-marked brow briefly to his grandmother’s, before turning from her and setting out across the hazy sky.

This was the prime hour of revelry and conquest for demonkind, the part of the day where their powers and appetites were at their greatest. To fell a mighty beast was expected of Sesshoumaru’s heir. The trophies he and his brethren would present would be a testament to their superior strength and skill. During times of political strife such as this, it was particularly important to observe such rites. Yet after days upon days of archaic grandstanding, Saitou found himself growing bored of it. His mind had a penchant for wandering, and he made no attempts now to keep it in check as he thought back over the events from earlier that evening. The licentious remark Touma had made about their father and mother preoccupied him in particular.

How closely his brother had intimated at one of Saitou’s most darkly coveted memories—a recollection which had both terrified and bewildered him until he had at last come to appreciate its carnal significance. As he alighted in the dense primeval woods, in ostensible search of quarry, the images and sounds of that night replayed in his consciousness once more.

…

He had been very young, although his exact age at the time eluded him. Touma had not yet been born, nor even conceived, and as such it was among one of his earliest remembrances.

In those days he had still been housed near his mother. Often he awoke in the night, crying out in terror from some bad dream or another, and she would rush to his aid and soothe him back to sleep again.

But that night, it was the sound of her crying out which had awoken him instead. Startled, he sat straight up in his bed, the sheet above him snagged in his tiny trembling claws as he listened to her make that horrible noise again. No, he had not imagined it. His mother was hurting—someone was hurting his mother. His need to defend her outweighed his considerable fear, and dropping the sheet from around him, he stood and left his room, padding soundlessly toward hers.

He could sense her presence, and his father’s as well—but no other. His brows scrunched together as his mother continued to piteously groan. Where was the one who was tormenting her? And why was his father not protecting her?—could his father be hurt as well?

Saitou’s distress mounted as he crept up to the door and slid it back just enough for his slight form to slip through. The first room in her suite was empty—but disheveled, as though there had been a struggle of some sort. The furniture and floor mats were askew, a large vase tipped over near the inner door which stood ajar. Heart pounding, Saitou made his way over to it, as the awful sounds his mother was making began to take shape in a way that froze him once more.

“Sesshoumaru…Sesshoumaru, please, I can’t—not there, not like that! Please—I can’t take it!”

“You can, and you will,” his father growled raggedly in turn, his mother releasing a choking scream.

Saitou’s eyes widened in alarm—in horrified disbelief. As his mother continued to whimper and plead, there was a heavy smacking sound of flesh-on-flesh that made him sick with dread. His father…his father was attacking his mother? Yet he could scent her blood and her tears, and other strange aromas that were issuing from her—thick and cloying and unlike anything he had ever smelled before. It made him uneasy, low in his stomach. But his father’s musk was more unsettling still, bitter-edged and repellent in a way he could not place.

Angry tears pricked at his eyes at these hateful sounds and scents, an intense animosity for his father flaring within him. Shivering with grief and impotent fury, he found himself moving closer to that open door, both needing and dreading to see what was being done to his poor mother, for almost certainly, his father was killing her.

Stepping around the overturned vase, he peered into his mother’s bedroom, breathless with trepidation.

Naked and sweating, his parents lay twisted together atop the bed, his mother’s body bowed strangely beneath his father’s. He appeared almost to be sitting on top of her—except that he was moving in short forceful bursts. But despite the whines his mother was making every time his father came to rest against her, Saitou could see no visible wounds upon her, apart from a small cut to her lower lip, which her own blunt teeth must have made.

A mixed feeling of relief and confusion washed over him at the sight. Clearly, his mother was not being killed, yet there was still something disturbingly violent in what he was seeing. Hesitantly, Saitou edged closer into the room, so that he could view them more from the side.

His breath caught in his throat at what he saw. He had beheld his mother’s naked body before, but never like this. It was as though the skin between her legs had been torn apart to reveal her insides. Shocking folds of pink flesh spilled out from the gap, which was wet as an open mouth, and deep as one too—for his father’s thumb was sunk within it, his palm and fingers curved around the little patch of dark fur Saitou had often glimpsed below her belly while they had bathed. His father’s other hand was braced against the back of her neck, his claws buried in the tangled fall of her hair.

But as she surged forward with a gasp yet again, Saitou edged closer still. And now he could see what his father was doing to make her rock and moan and sob so intensely. Above his sunken thumb was a place on her Saitou recognized because he had one himself—except that there was something going in to it instead of out. Something that was connected to his father’s stomach, something between his legs that Saitou had surely never seen there before. For what he had seen of his father’s nakedness was roughly like his own—a length of soft hanging flesh, not the huge, bone-hard protrusion he was pushing into Saitou’s mother.

The wrongness of what he was witnessing registered instinctively. Now he understood his mother’s agony. Whatever his father was doing to her, it was not right—not right at all.

As his father shoved harder and faster against her, her voice began to climb again—keening and shrill. It hurt Saitou’s ears to listen to it, and to the guttural, snapping snarls his father was making in response. Broken pieces of his name ripped from her lips, her aura swelling in the room, making Saitou’s hackles rise. The air smoked and sparked as his father’s power reared to match it, and now her screams were lengthening in pitch and volume, her whole body shaking in a way that made Saitou certain that she was dying after all.

“Mother,” he whimpered pitifully as he cowered against the door, the air clearing in an instant as she whipped around to face him.

Her wet cheeks were splotched with red, her blue eyes wide with shock beneath the dark messy tumble of her bangs. Bent above her, Saitou’s father stared likewise toward him, his expression hard with annoyance, as though he had been disturbed in the middle of his meditations.

“…Saitou,” she whispered, attempting to crawl out from beneath the much larger body that pinned hers.

But Saitou’s father hauled her brusquely back into place, his golden eyes locking with his son’s as he rumbled to him, “Out.”

The low menacing growl shook Saitou to the marrow. Picking himself up, he bolted at once from the room, nearly tripping over the spilled vase in his haste to flee. Back in his chamber, he could still hear the raised voices of his parents as they viciously quarreled, before his mother’s tone fell in a muffled version of the wounded sounds she had been making before. Unable to stop listening, unable to sleep, Saitou cocooned himself deep in the bedsheets and whimpered as those strange, wretched noises continued long into the night.

When his mother came to him the next morning, looking and smelling like herself once again, Saitou threw himself against her with a cry of pure elation. It was several minutes before she could detach him from around her waist. Kneeling down, she ran her fingers lightly through his short, silver-white hair as he clung to the collar of her yukata.

“Hey, now…what’s all this about?” she asked him with a soft, teasing smile.

“Mother,” he said, his eyes moving tremulously over her lovely face, “you are still alive.”

Her lips quirked further as she ruffled his bangs. “Of course I am, silly.”

“But Father was attacking you,” Saitou protested with a stubborn frown. “I saw him hurting you.”

“I know how it may have looked,” she said, her expression sobering as she lowered her hand, “but your father wouldn’t hurt me, Saitou.”

“What was he doing to you, then?”

Not quite meeting his gaze, his mother answered, “…Why don’t you ask him that?”

But the last thing Saitou wanted was to speak to his fiend of a father. As far as he was concerned, after the wicked acts that had been done to his mother, he never wanted to speak to his father ever again. For more than a week he kept his vengeful silence—even when his father boxed his ears bloody for refusing to answer to him. Each blow only made Saitou despise him that much more.

It was during training one day that his ill will finally boiled over. Not even pretending to be obedient to his father’s instruction, Saitou hurled his wooden sword down into the dirt and charged at him with fangs and claws extended. Catching him with frustrating ease, his father held him fast by the arms as he thrashed and growled, heat bleeding futilely into his eyes as a smothering blanket of youki suppressed his full transformation.

His father’s voice was cold and clipped with anger as he bit out, “What is the matter with you?”

Gnashing his fangs, Saitou snarled, continuing in vain to struggle. “Let go of me! I hate you—I hate you!”

Saitou fell suddenly slack as his father’s claws dug sharply into his nape and collar. His legs dangled limply in the air as his father hauled him aloft before him and glared straight into his flashing eyes.

“Saitou. You will cease this waywardness at once.”

“…I hate you,” Saitou rasped miserably again, his chest heaving as he dryly sobbed. “You hurt my mother.”

His father’s grip slackened a fraction, his brows knitting as he frowned. “What nonsense are you saying? There is nothing wrong with your mother.”

“But you hurt her! I saw you attack her, that night in her room. She says you didn’t, but she’s lying because I saw! You stuck something inside her and she was screaming and…and…”

Saitou’s knees crumpled as he was returned to the ground. Teary and trembling with hurt himself, he held his father’s level stare.

“Women scream just as easily from pleasure as they do from pain.” As Saitou balked visibly at this notion, his father continued stonily, “One day, you will understand this, and what it means to please them so. Now stop crying and pick up your sword.”

…

What his father had said to him that day had been a source of great mystery to Saitou for some time. Yet the words and images had stuck with him, and as he had matured, they had begun to clarify in his mind. A riddle he had puzzled out slowly over the years, first with his own hands, then with others’, and eventually…

Saitou paused in his wandering as a faint, musical sound filtered through the sleepy air of the forest. Turning his ear toward it, he discerned a woman’s lilting laughter, and mildly intrigued, decided to pursue it.

As he drew closer to the origin of the sound, he could detect a pair of demonic presences, both soft and feminine. Spirits of the wood, no doubt. In addition to their voices, there was the faint burble of a stream, whose silver waters gleamed as the trees thinned before him and the pale, naked figures of the two demonesses came into view on its near shore. Keeping his presence concealed, the demon prince watched them as they lay entwined together in the short dark grass of the stream bank, their lush scarlet lips curving mirthfully upward as they served one another sake from the silver cups in their hands.

Both females were lithe and willowy, with small round breasts tipped ripe and red as winter berries. A pattern of deeper crimson branches marked the smooth skin of their backs, yet apart from the differences in these markings the two could be twins—and might very well be sisters, judging by the similarity of their fair, vulpine features, bronze eyes, and long silken brown hair. Drunk on sake and the magic of the hour, their brilliant gazes shimmered with mischief and hunger, their ringed fingers roaming freely over one another’s bodies as they kissed and laughed and caressed each other with the graze of their hands and hips and thighs.

The fragrance of their arousal hung like a mist in the heavy air, beckoning for a male to answer its invitation. Vaguely aroused himself, Saitou breathed it in before dropping his concealment and stepping out from the trees. The two demonesses tensed at the sight of him, their near-empty cups tumbling from their fingers as they clung to one another in lusty wariness.

“My lord…” the bolder of the two addressed him, her hooded gaze trailing appreciatively over him even as she shrank from his measured advance.

The corner of his lips rose as he drew to a stop before them, their wide eyes glowing in the shadow of his looming form. His smirk broadened further as he ran his claws briskly over the clasps of his armor, both females flinching when the heavy plates crashed to the ground. Schooling his expression once more, Saitou cut his eyes coolly and swiftly to the demoness who had hailed him.

“On your knees.”

Crawling over, she knelt before him, as Saitou made quick work of the ties of his hakama. He had a moment to savor the brief, anxious hitch of her breath before he seized her by the nape and thrust himself between her full, parted lips. Her mouth strained taut as his thick cock continued to grow inside her, a firm wrench to her jaw all the incentive she needed to detach it and receive him in his feral state.

How fortunate for her that she had this ability. Even knowing it would heal and re-align, he always lamented breaking a pretty face.

Though Saitou vast preferred the experience of rutting with human women, demonesses had their advantages when he was in the mood for a mindless and violent fuck. It was cathartic not to have to temper his strength or desires for fear of causing permanent harm to his partner—or partners, in this case. Slanting his blood-fogged eyes toward the other watching female, Saitou ran his tongue along the points of his distended fangs.

A pity Touma was not here to join him. Though demonesses tended to dismiss Saitou’s hanyou brother at first glance, Touma could pound them as hard as any full-blooded male, and Saitou relished watching him fuck even the most bigoted cunts out of their senses. This added enjoyment aside, his brother’s presence would have been appreciated in general. Unlike humans, demon bitches could be troublesome to manage, particularly in a group.

But so it was.

While the one on his cock continued to swallow him down, he considered the other, before crushing his lengthened claws to the center of the first bitch’s back. Her supple spine bent like a sapling, her markings flaring and vertebrae popping as he shaped her into a steep, supplicating angle before him. A snarling groan escaped him as his cock vibrated in her hissing throat, her hips lurching sharply into the air in lurid presentation. With an imperious jerk of his chin, he signaled to the other female to join them.

This second bitch knew her place just as well as the first. Hastening over, she settled behind her sister’s prone sex and began to lick it at once, her loam-dark lashes descending as she curved her ivory nails over the high mounded flesh before her. Saitou’s cock throbbed at the sight—and at the smothered moan of pleasure resonating around him.

Yes, it had taken many years, but at long last the demon prince had learned what it meant to please a woman. He still remembered the first girl he had made scream out into the night. How proud he had been, to match his father’s prowess. How tightly she had gripped his cock in response—as tightly as his mother must have gripped Sesshoumaru’s that fateful night. But it was blind arrogance to think that there was anything binding in it.

Saitou remembered the tears on the girl’s face as he had withdrawn from her, as she had cried out after him, and in his own blindness he had forgotten that the reverse of what his father had said to him was just as equally and powerfully true. Perhaps along the way, Sesshoumaru had forgotten this as well, or more likely he had never truly known it to begin with—

What it meant to cause a woman pain.

Even these callous demon bitches could appreciate the difference. Thrusting deep into the throat of the one impaled upon him, Saitou reflected on Sesshoumaru’s ignorance and the damage it had wrought. As the bitch gagged and glared at his cold brutality, the demon prince avowed to himself that he would not repeat his father’s mistakes. Looking down, he ran his claws gently over the pale, strained cheek of the female beneath him, the curl of her ribbon-like tongue around him rewarding him in turn. In the veiled light of the stars, the shade of her skin was almost the same as Kagome’s. Smiling indulgently at this, he slid his eyes to the one behind her.

“Prepare her ass,” he said.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

…Happy Holidays lol

For more of Saitou’s perversion, read the prequel

💕

Series Navigation

<< Dream Sequence (Explicit)Reunion (Explicit) >>