I Can Make You...

Those hands, the fingers, the way he smelled, the blood…
“Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it!” Chichiri screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed. His skin was slicked with sweat and his cotton sheets were sticking to him and rapped around his body like twisted cloth pythons. He just had to get out. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to close his eyes. Ripping the sheets off of him, he looked down at his thighs, the eight marks of violence that Nakago left on him only a few nights before. Tears almost sprung to his eyes. No one, not anyone, had ever made the stolid monk break his composure like that. He screamed, he cried, but worst of all, it looked as if he had enjoyed it. When in fact, it wasn’t totally true. He was embarrassed by the way his body had behaved that night. His hand fisted in his cornflower blue bangs as he sat there trying to catch his breath.
Nakago stole the very thing that had made him a pure person, his virginity. Chichiri had thought many times about giving it away, but not like that, and not to him. He had made a solemn vow as long as he wore that kesa and carried that staff that he would never engage in such a thing, but it had happened—and there was nothing that he could do about it.

(Nakago’s POV) – He’s out in a tree right outside of Chichiri’s window, but Chichiri is so messed up at this point his extrasensory skills mean nothing.

Awww, did I damage you that badly? All well and good, as I intended. I have managed to knock down the pillar of this group, or at least make it weaker. But still, even in his weakened and pitiful, wounded animal state, I find him even more attractive. I can look in that face of his and tell that he doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction of destroying him publicly, but I have managed to destroy him in an even better way…mentally. How sad and how simple it is to break a man down. I definitely like the results of my actions. Look at him, all pitiful and painted in the sweat of fear. He doesn’t even sleep anymore. I haunt his dreams. It’s fine that he carries on in front of his friends as if the whole ordeal doesn’t bother him, when in reality, he was the one that was most destroyed by my physical aggressiveness. I like him best.
That stupid mask is a crutch, I bet he cries when he puts it on, every single time since that day. I’m deliciously delirious with that thought. What—what is that that I hear? No, it couldn’t be…yes, it is—sobbing. I’ve been told that sobbing is somewhere between sadness and ecstasy, a confused sound of rapture and great pain. I want to hear it again, but with me being the cause of it yet again. I often wonder sometimes how I got so sadistic, but it doesn’t matter, dwelling on matters such as those are only a waste time. After all, I am the master of torture and exquisite pain.
I’m only ten paces away from his bedside, sitting up in the ledge of his window. He must be off, preoccupied with crying, blubbering, and feeling absolutely violated.
“Chichiri.” His face comes up, streaked with tears and eyes full of unshed ones. He scoots back against the headboard like a frightened rabbit. It’s obvious that I’ve somewhat broken him. On a normal occasion, he would fight me, try to repel—but he hasn’t said a word…not even a sound. He yanks his covers up over his chest, as if it is improper for me to see it. A slash of moonlight is in just the place that I want to look—his eyes, full of fear and loathing. Good, I want you to hate me and never forget me.
“I don’t need to put you in chains. You’ve already screamed your submission to me.”
“Why, why me again?”
“That should be quite simple. I like you the most.” He turns his face away from me and snatches the covers even tighter around him.
“Go ahead, call them. They won’t hear you. I’ve put a barrier around this room that not even the determined Tamahome can get through. You’re not Miaka, believe me, he doesn’t hold the same love for you that he does for that girl. You’re merely his friend.”
“I’m not in love with him.”
“I know that. I’m merely making a point.” I divested myself of my heavy entrapments and stood before him shirtless. His one eye became as round as the full moon from previous nights ago, the night I totally bruised his soul.
His lack of protest is shocking to me. Why isn’t he trying to get away? I want him to fight me, scream, act pitiful, beg, do something that antagonizes me. I lunge over at him and watch as his eye squeezes shut as I wrap my hand around his neck in an iron grip. His hand came up to weakly claw at mine.
“No magic will save you.” He made a strangled noise as I slammed him up against the headboard. It was obvious to me that he had very little self-respect left. Before, I had to bind him in chains to get what I wanted. Had I destroyed him so fully that a little less than a shred of aggression remained in him? I knew that I had been effective, but not that effective. He wouldn’t even give me the satisfaction of a scream until I fucked it out of him. What was the difference this time…did he want me to touch him?
“You had never been handled that way until that night, had you?” He didn’t say anything, but shame painted a thin pink sheen on his features. He had liked it. He liked being taken and treated like a bitch in heat. He wanted me to do the same to him then, but what fun would it be if he was willing? Even as I strangle him his face is colored in embarrassment and not purple with the prospect of losing his air. But my grip does not loosen.
I use my other hand to unceremoniously rip his night shorts off of him. I hold very little regard for clothing. I could see fear swirling in his eyes and I could feel it oozing out of his pores. I could smell his fear, but at the same time I smelled the pungent smell of lust. I look down, he is already hard. I laugh.
“Well, you are a slut. You don’t know how to control yourself do you?” I look down at his parted creamy thighs and smile at the eight wounds on the insides of his thighs. It would be delicious to make him bleed again and taste his fear. The hand around his neck slides to his right shoulder and pushes him up against the headboard harder, forcing the air out of him. I lunge in and bite his left shoulder. I feel his skin breaking beneath my teeth and the coppery tang of his blood fills my mouth. His back arches away from the headboard and he jerks, trying to fight me off in protest. I rise up and laugh.
“Another mark of ownership.” I hope that I make him extremely angry. A fight makes me want to take it all the more. I pull back, looking at the bite mark and the bruise welling on his shoulder. He looks back at me, his teeth clinched and a glint in his eye, but I still hadn’t quite pushed him over the edge.
“I’d rather you try to kill me if you want to make this more interesting. I have no intention of manhandling someone who wants it. It’s the pent up whore in you that’s causing you to keep your hands at your sides.” Then I slap him. His head flew back and it slammed back down, a bloody lip a mark of the aggression. I could bruise him, spit on him, insult him, but the hit in the face must have woke him up. I guess that he doesn’t like being hit in the face. He’s already sensitive about it as it is.
“You’re being a sniveling little bitch,” and I slap him again. He rose up in a howl, but I knocked him back down and pinned his body to the bed with my weight.
“Nice try,” I whisper, giving him a bruising kiss to the lips, tasting his blood again. Blood-one of the sweetest liquids in the world.
I slide my hand down, pushing down my pants. His eyes widen as he feels my hot erection brush up against his. His hips rise up in struggle, but the friction turns me on. He gasps and struggles like a fish out of water. I kick my pants off the rest of the way with my legs; then I grab his face angrily and say,
“I made you scream before, and I’ll do it again!” I press his chin upward and make a violent assault on the soft, sweat glazed skin of his neck. I feel his Adam’s apple twitching against my lips. I laugh as I pinch and twist a sensitive nipple between my fingers. His reactions to pain are quite intriguing. It looks as if he is trying to hold back, but involuntary reflex wins a little…just a little. He won’t admit that it hurts until he’s so awash in pain that he can’t stand it anymore—just like that night.
I spread his legs apart with my own. His head begins to move from side to side. He could say no all he wanted to. That cock of his was again telling me otherwise. His body betrays him every single time, that’s just how a male body works. Any type of friction, any type of touch just sets the male body off. Rather a shame, but not quite.
“You bled for me once and you’ll do it again.” Then I lick his face and I feel him shiver. Delicious piece of work. I’m wasting time just playing with him. Batting him around like a ball of yarn is getting tiring.
I stick my index finger in my mouth, wetting it. I’m doing it to make matters easier for me, not really for him. I don’t mind just going through and getting what I want, but I like to drag it out, make the wound even deeper.
I slide my finger up and into him, feeling how tight he is just around my finger. I feel him trying to keep me out, but he can only do so much. My second knuckle slides in and I hear a small whimper. He turns his face away from me, but I yank it back over.
“I want to see the look in your eyes.” I slide my finger in him fully, making him want to pull away from me. The more he fights the madder I get, and the madder I get the more I enjoy it. I push two fingers into him now, massaging the spongy bundle of nerves inside of him. At this point it really wouldn’t matter if he fought it or not. He’ll come, because I’m milking him.
His back arches and he stifles a cry.
“I’ve heard you scream before, why waste your time fighting it?”
“Stop it,” he said so quietly I thought I hadn’t heard it. I smile. Did he seriously think that that little half-hearted plea was going to stop me in the middle of my onslaught? He must seriously be losing his mind!
I grab his thighs up and into my hands.
“Do something!” I scream as I ram my way into him.
“Ahh!” he screams hitting the top of his head against the headboard. I look down at his slim, chiseled, sweat-glazed body and the soft, blue hair between his legs and it all comes back to me why the sight of this man turns me on. I want to make him mine, whether he consents to it or not.
He felt like hot, velvet lava on the inside—soft, supple, and intensely hot. No one felt like him. I am steadily becoming addicted to his texture, inside and out. His head is thrown back, but still no sound escapes him. I watch as I fill him to the hilt with my cock. I know he wants to scream. I push his legs back almost against his chest. I look so good inside of him, nothing could look and feel more perfect. I reach down and drag my nails across his chest, making him hiss in pain. I lean down and whisper,
“You have nothing to lose or gain, so just let it go.” He turns his face away from me and I slide inside of him at a sharper angle.
“Uhn!” he moaned. Harder yet…this isn’t the hardest that I can do it. I collapse on top of him, pressing as far as I can go. I pinch a nipple and sink my teeth into his already sore and bruised flesh. The angle must have been too much for him because he moaned. It didn’t sound like it was done out of pain.
“You like this?” I say as I look at him with wide eyes.
“No,” he says. “I endure it.” That was too much for me to even try to understand, and too condescending to even want to hear. It infuriated me.
“Is that what you think? You think that I’m an unbearable weight?” Why was I yelling at him as if he were my lover? He’s just a creature that I like to break apart from time to time, nothing more. I will do whatever I want with him, however I want with him. I pull out of him and back away. He’s still lying on the bed, twisted and sweaty. I raise my hand, suspending him in the air with my magic; then I press him hard against his bedroom wall.
“No one gets over me, no one endures me, they break under me!” I jab my sharp fingernail into his side. Blood begins to spread over the tip. I am tired of playing with him. His teeth clinch together and he lets out a whimper. It will not end until I hear that glorious sound again.
I bring him down to the floor and put him in front of his bed. My magic has made him weak and a victim of my control. I bend him over, placing his palms flat on the bed and I kick his legs open. What a lovely sight spread out before me. I can see his cock hanging down between his legs, so I drop to my knees and crawl between his spread legs. I tilt my head up sucking his hardened cock into my mouth. I see a sweat drop fall onto the sheets. I run my teeth up and down the sensitive flesh and I feel his thighs shaking underneath my palms. I reach up and grab his balls, bringing a strangled noise out of him. As I slide him to the back of my throat, I feel little drops of pre-come seeping out of his tip.
“You don’t want to, do you?” I hiss. “You don’t want to let me think that somewhere in there, you’re liking this.” I suck him harder, hearing him wheeze and shudder over me. I feel his cock swelling on my lips and his balls tightening in my fist. His breathing speeds up and his hands fist in the sheets. He’s about to come, but I won’t give him that satisfaction. I stop, feeling him relax over me, almost as in relief. He is so naïve. I’m not done.
I slide from under his legs and stand behind him. I can see his shoulders rising as he breathes. His hands are still fisted in the sheets. I plan to make him tear those sheets apart. I run my palms up the sides of his thighs and slap his ass with my left hand. I hear him grunt. A small smile tugs at my lips. I run my sharpened nails down his back, red welts rise as I drag my nails down. I feel him shake. Good. It’s not fear, but pain. I’d rather him be in pain than fear me…it shows that there’s something left.
I place my hands on his ass and spread it. I take one hand and guide myself in between. I thrust forward, causing the blue-haired monk to bite back a scream. My hands travel back up his skin and lock onto his shoulders. My hands dig into his flesh. I feel his collarbone beneath my fingers as I grip, pulling him into me. I press him as far away from me as I thrust into him each time and I yank back as hard as I can. I hear his breath being pressed out of him and small sobs escaping him. I pull back, adjusting myself at a better angle and I slam up into him.
“Aaaaaaah! Please!” That’s it, that’s it! The noise, the sound of pure agony rushes to my ears. That’s all I need as my adrenaline level sky-rockets. I feel his come, white hot on my fist. He screamed because he came. I wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of screaming in pain. All well and good…didn’t make a difference to me anymore. My whole purpose was to make him feel dirty and I had succeeded in doing that. I turned him into a whore, liking everything that I was giving him. My hips snapped into him, making him scream his submission with each thrust.
“Kami-samaaaa!” he screams.
“You shouldn’t be calling him…you should be calling me.” I snatch his hands behind his back, pressing his face into the sheets, muffling him. I turn his head. I want to hear him scream until I’m through. He collapses under me, but I continue to fuck him as he cries into the damp sheets. I reach up and wipe some damp, blonde strands out of my face. I hadn’t anticipated it being this fun. I enjoy the way he feels and the way he tightens around me when I hit him at just the right angle.
His moans are more constant now; all shame is gone. There was no need to save face in the beginning. I don’t even know why he bothered. I fuck him as tears slide out of his eyes and he moans like the whore that he is. So tight, so hot…so…so—I wrap my arms around him, squeezing tight and pumping him full of my seed. My legs are wobbly and I feel as if I can barely stand, but I do. I push him down. He lands on the bed and curls up. He’s sweating and naked. As I put on my clothes, I smile.
I climb back up in the window, but I take one look back at him. He wanted it. I still believe that he did. He could scream and cry all he wanted to. I got what I wanted.

I still feel him inside of me and his hands all over me. I pull the blankets up around myself and begin to wonder if I hadn’t really wanted it. Was I as dirty as he made me out to be? I didn’t want to like it but…

****If anyone thinks I should continue on…let me know…it was supposed to be a one shot, but so many people thought it was cool that I continued. Should I let it drop or keep bringing it on!***

***Warning though – it could get worse!***