ℒ𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒦𝒶𝓁𝒾

𝑨 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒏𝒆-𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝑫𝒐𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒏 𝑼𝒛𝒖𝒊, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚.

𝑨 𝒋𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝟑𝟎 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒔: 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆, 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆.

𝑨 𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏, 𝒂 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒓… 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

─── ┆𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒖𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒖𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆, 𝒔𝒐 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒆.⋆·˚ ༘ *

☰゛ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀ ᴋᴜɴᴏɪᴄʜɪ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ꜰᴀʟʟᴇɴ ᴄʟᴀɴ; ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴍᴀꜱꜱᴀᴄʀᴇᴅ. ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ʜᴜɴᴛ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴜᴢᴜɪ ᴛᴇɴɢᴇɴ ꜱᴀᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴ ᴀꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴇʟɪᴛᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀɴ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀᴡᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɪɴ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ. ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

ʚɞ wc : 3 k ʚɞ 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑥(𝑢)𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡.

It all started exactly seven weeks ago, during the most chaotic mission the Demon Slayer Corps had faced in years. You were a kunoichi from a fallen clan, the last survivor of the House of Shadows—a family of stealthy assassins that had been wiped out by an upper-rank demon three years earlier. You had survived by hiding in the mountains, perfecting a breathing technique on your own that combined absolute silence with precise, lethal strikes. No one in the Corps knew you. No one expected a woman without an official uniform to appear in the middle of the battle against the demon that was massacring an entire village near the northern border.

But you appeared.

You leapt from the shadows, your sword wrapped in black mist that muffled every sound, and sliced the demon’s throat in a single movement that even Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira leading the mission, hadn’t been able to anticipate. The demon fell. The village was saved. And Tengen… Tengen looked at you for the first time with those bright golden eyes full of genuine surprise. It wasn’t the arrogant look he usually gave to rookies. It was something else: respect mixed with dangerous curiosity.

“You’re good,” he told you afterward, while cleaning the blood from his sword under the moonlight. “Too good to be alone. Come with me. I’ll train you personally. The Shadow Technique and Sound Breathing… together they could be unstoppable.”

You accepted. Not because you trusted him (everyone knew Tengen Uzui was a loud, extravagant womanizer who was far too sure of himself), but because you had nowhere else to go. The Corps gave you a provisional rank of “elite apprentice” and assigned you directly under his tutelage. From that day on, your life changed.

The training was brutal. Tengen didn’t treat you like a princess. He hurled you against trees, made you dodge sonic explosions that left your ears ringing for hours, and forced you to run with weights on your legs while he shouted instructions from the top of a rock. But there were also… strange moments. Moments when, after an especially hard session, he would toss you a canteen of water and sit beside you in silence, sharing an onigiri like old comrades. Moments when he corrected your posture by placing his large hands on your hips or shoulders, and the contact lasted a second longer than necessary. Moments when he stared at you intently when he thought you weren’t looking, that extravagant smile softening into something darker, more interested.

You hated him a little. Or at least that’s what you told yourself. You hated his booming laugh that made the dojo vibrate, hated how he would take off his haori after every training session and stay only in his low-slung pants, showing off that sculpted, scar-covered torso like it was the most normal thing in the world. You hated how he called you “little shadow” in that deep voice that gave you goosebumps. But most of all, you hated how, in the lonely nights in your room at the mansion you shared during the intensive training, your treacherous mind remembered the heat of his hands on your waist and the accidental brush of his chest against your back when he corrected your stance.

The tension between you was palpable. The other Hashira had already noticed. Shinobu made sarcastic comments about “the explosive chemistry between Sound and Shadow.” Rengoku congratulated you both with his flaming smile every time he saw you training together. Even the silent Giyu had once looked at you with a slightly raised eyebrow. But neither of you admitted it. You kept telling yourself it was just training. He kept treating you like his favorite apprentice… even though his eyes said something else every time he saw you sweaty and panting after a session.

That morning was special. You had returned the night before from a joint mission in the mountains, where a lower-rank demon had been terrorizing travelers. The fight had been tough. You had received a shallow cut on your side and Tengen had used one of his sonic bombs too close, leaving both of you with ringing ears. Shinobu had ordered two days of mandatory rest, but Tengen, being Tengen, had decided that “rest” meant “light training to regain coordination.”

The private dojo in his mansion was bathed in the golden light of dawn filtering through the open shoji screens. The polished wooden floor still carried the scent of sweat and gunpowder from previous sessions. You wore the light training uniform: tight black hakama and a short top that left your abdomen exposed, the bandage on your side already almost dry. Tengen stood in front of you, without his haori as always, wearing only the black uniform pants, his bare chest glistening slightly with sweat from the warm-up. His platinum-white hair was tied in a high ponytail, a few loose strands stuck to his forehead.

“Alright, little shadow,” he said in that powerful, playful voice he always used to tease you. “Today we’re practicing movement coordination. You attack with your silence technique, I respond with sound. No real swords. Just hand-to-hand. Ready?”

You nodded, trying to ignore the way his abdominal muscles flexed with every breath. You took your positions: you in a low guard, him with his arms slightly open, that extravagant smile on his lips.

The training started intense. You moved like a shadow—fast and silent—throwing precise strikes that he blocked effortlessly. Every time you got close, you felt the heat of his body, the brush of his skin when he deflected a blow. At one point, you tried a high kick; he caught your ankle and spun you in the air, but instead of letting go, he pulled you toward him to demonstrate how to counter the move.

That’s when it happened.

In the spin, his hip collided directly with yours. It wasn’t just any brush. His crotch, covered only by the thin fabric of his pants, pressed firmly against your center for an endless second. You felt everything: the thick, heavy shape of his half-hard cock rubbing right against your pussy through the hakama fabric. The heat. The pressure. The way his body tensed for an instant before he released you.

You jumped back, heart pounding in your throat, cheeks burning. A liquid heat pooled between your legs so fast it made you dizzy.

Tengen stayed still for a second, the smile still on his face, but his golden eyes darkened a little. He ran a hand through his hair as if nothing had happened.

“Whoa… that was an interesting brush,” he commented casually, but his voice had a deeper edge. “You okay, little shadow? You look… flushed.”

You tried to play it off, stepping back, but your thighs clenched instinctively. The brush had been “accidental,” sure. But it had lasted too long. And he hadn’t pulled away immediately.

“I’m fine,” you answered, your voice rougher than you wanted. “Just… keep going.”

He smiled wider, that extravagant smile that always drove you crazy.

“As you wish.”

The training continued, but nothing was the same anymore. Every move you made, every block, every time you closed in to attack, you felt his presence like a delicious threat. In one grapple, he caught you from behind, his chest pressed to your back, and again… there it was. His crotch pressing against your ass during the struggle, his cock now harder, more obvious, rubbing right between your cheeks through the fabric. It wasn’t entirely accidental. But he made it seem that way: just an adjustment of position, a misstep, an “oops” accompanied by that low laugh.

“Sorry,” he murmured near your ear the third time it happened, his hot breath against your nape as his hip “accidentally” rubbed against your center again—slower, more deliberate. “These hand-to-hand techniques are treacherous, aren’t they?”

You were trembling. Your hakama was already soaked between your legs. Every rub sent jolts straight to your clit. You tried to focus on the strikes, but your mind could only replay the sensation: the thick shape, the heat, the perfect pressure against your needy pussy.

“Uzui…” you gasped at one point, when he had you pinned to the floor, his massive body covering yours, his crotch pressing firmly between your spread legs. “This… this isn’t fair.”

He leaned closer, chest flush against your back, his now fully hard cock rubbing against your center with a slow, “accidental” roll of his hips.

“Not fair?” he whispered against your ear, voice hoarse. “Or is it that you like feeling your master this close too much? Because I can feel how wet you are, little shadow. I can feel you throbbing against me every time I ‘accidentally’ rub you.”

You bit your lip until it hurt. The training had stopped being training a while ago. Now it was just him teasing you, rubbing you, grinding his hard cock against your pussy through your clothes again and again, pretending it was part of the technique.

And you… you no longer knew if you wanted to push him away or beg him to stop pretending.

Tengen chuckled lowly, his breath ragged against your neck.

“Keep training,” he said, but his hips moved again, pressing harder, slower. “Let’s see how long you last before you admit this isn’t accidental at all.”

The sun kept rising outside the dojo. The training had only just begun.

Tengen didn’t move.

He stayed on top of you, his massive body completely covering yours against the polished wooden floor of the dojo. His bare, hot chest pressed to your back, both of your sweat mixing, and that damn crotch… that thick, now completely hard cock pressing exactly between your spread legs. It wasn’t a brush anymore. It was a deliberate, slow friction that made the thick head of his cock slide up and down your pussy, covered only by the thin hakama fabric.

The “accident” had stopped being one a long time ago.

“Keep training,” he repeated in that deep, mocking voice, but his hips rolled again: a slow, circular motion, grinding the entire length of his cock against your soaked center. “Let’s see how long you last before you admit this isn’t accidental at all, little shadow.”

You tried to push yourself up on your elbows, but he was too heavy, too strong. His large hand slid down and gripped your right hip, holding you exactly where he wanted while he kept grinding against you with agonizing slowness. Every pass made the fabric stick tighter to your swollen pussy, the seam of the hakama pressing directly against your clit. You felt every vein, every throb, every inch of that huge cock growing even harder with each rub.

“Uzui… stop,” you gasped, voice shaky, but your treacherous hips pushed back a little, seeking more pressure. “This… this isn’t training anymore…”

He let out a low, dark laugh against your nape, his hot breath making your skin prickle.

“No?” he asked, feigning surprise as he ground against you again—harder this time, slower, dragging the head of his cock from your entrance to your clit and back. “Then explain why you’re soaking my pants, apprentice. Feel this…” He pressed harder, making the fabric between you cling completely to your pussy. “You’re dripping. Literally. I can feel your little pussy throbbing against me every time I ‘accidentally’ rub you. And you still have the nerve to tell me to stop?”

Heat rose up your neck to your ears. You tried to close your legs, but he had a knee between yours, keeping them open. Another slow, deliberate rub. The tip of his cock pressed right against your clit and stayed there, rubbing in small, cruel circles.

“Gods… look at you,” he continued, his voice growing rougher. “The great kunoichi of the Shadows, the one who cuts demons without making a sound… and now here you are, on the dojo floor, grinding like a bitch in heat against your master’s cock. How long have you been getting wet for me, huh? Since the first time I corrected your posture and you felt how big I am?”

“Shut up!” you hissed through gritted teeth, but it came out more like a moan. Your nails dug into the wooden floor. “I hate you… I hate you so much…”

Tengen laughed again, louder, and suddenly thrust his hips harder, grinding his full length against you in one long, deliberate stroke that made the head of his cock hit your clit repeatedly.

“You hate me?” he taunted, voice full of arrogance. “Then explain why your pussy is trying to swallow my cock through the clothes. Explain why you’re moving your hips back like a desperate whore. You know what I think, little shadow? I think you’ve been touching yourself at night for weeks thinking about this. Thinking about how it would feel to have the Sound Hashira grinding against you until you beg.”

Every word was a direct humiliation, but every word also made more slick gush out of you. The fabric of your hakama was completely drenched, clinging to your swollen lips. You could hear the wet, obscene sound every time he moved: a constant schlick-schlick filling the silent dojo.

Tengen changed the angle. Now the thick head of his cock pressed directly against your entrance, pushing the fabric inward as if it were about to tear. It didn’t go in. It just rubbed, pressed, simulated penetration without giving you anything.

“Feel that,” he growled against your ear. “Feel how thick it is. Imagine how it would stretch you if I pulled your hakama down right now. But I’m not going to. Not until you beg like the needy little apprentice you are.”

You were shaking. Tears of frustration and pleasure stung your eyes. Your hips moved on their own, grinding desperately against him, seeking more friction, more pressure, anything.

“Uzui… please…” you begged, voice breaking. “I… I can’t take it anymore…”

He stopped moving completely. He just left his hard cock pressed against your throbbing pussy, not moving.

“Please what?” he asked, voice low and cruel. “Say it. Tell me exactly what you want. Tell me you want your master to fuck you like the desperate whore you pretend not to be.”

You shook your head, biting your lip until it bled. Pride fought against need. But your pussy ached. It ached with emptiness. It ached from so much rubbing without release.

“I… I’m not going to beg you…” you lied between sobs.

Tengen clicked his tongue and started moving again: short, fast grinds, only the head of his cock slapping repeatedly against your clit through the soaked fabric. The pleasure was cruel, insufficient, right on the edge.

“What a shame,” he said mockingly. “Because I can keep this up all day. Grinding against your dripping little pussy until you cry. Until you beg me to pull your hakama down and bury my cock to the hilt. Is that what you want? You want the whole dojo to know that the great shadow melts when her master humiliates her by rubbing her like a bitch?”

Every word hit you harder than any training. Every grind brought you closer to the edge without letting you fall. You were sobbing now, tears falling onto the wooden floor.

“Uzui… please…” you whimpered, completely broken. “Please… fuck me… I can’t take it anymore… I need your cock… please…”

Tengen stopped again. He gently grabbed your hair and lifted your head so you looked at him over your shoulder.

“Say it properly,” he demanded, golden eyes shining with triumph. “Say ‘Master, please fuck me like the desperate whore I am. I need your cock inside me.’”

Tears rolled down your cheeks. Pride was gone. Only pure need remained.

“Master…” you sobbed, voice trembling. “Please… fuck me like the desperate whore I am… I need your cock inside me… please… I’m begging you…”

Tengen let out a satisfied, animalistic growl.

“Good girl.”

In one quick move he yanked your hakama down to your knees, leaving your pussy completely exposed—red, swollen, and dripping. He didn’t wait. He lined up the thick head of his cock and slammed into you in one thrust, all the way to the hilt.

You screamed. The stretch was brutal and perfect. He was so hard, so thick, you felt him open you completely. Tengen wasn’t gentle. He started fucking you with deep, fast thrusts, his hips slamming against your ass with force, the wet, obscene sound echoing in the empty dojo.

“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he growled, one hand sliding down to rub your clit while he kept fucking you mercilessly. “Teasing me all morning and now look at you… crying while you take my cock. Is this what you wanted, little shadow? For your master to fuck you like a whore after humiliating you by grinding on you?”

“Yes!” you cried out, tears of pleasure falling uncontrollably. “Yes, Master! Harder… please… fuck me harder!”

Tengen sped up, his thrusts turning savage. Every stroke went so deep you felt it in your belly. His hand never stopped rubbing your clit, fast and firm, while he whispered every humiliation you had been avoiding into your ear:

“What a desperate little whore… soaking the entire dojo… begging for your master’s cock after pretending you hated me… look at you cumming just because I rubbed you like a bitch…”

The orgasm hit you violently. You screamed his name as your pussy clenched around his cock in brutal spasms, squirting hot jets that soaked his thighs. Tengen roared and fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were sobbing from overstimulation.

Only then did he cum inside you: thick, hot ropes filling you to the brim, dripping down your thighs as he kept moving slowly, milking out every last drop.

He stayed inside you, panting, kissing your sweaty nape.

“Good girl…” he murmured, his voice softer now but still possessive. “My favorite apprentice. And that was just the warm-up. The real training… has only just begun.”

He pulled you against his chest, still buried deep inside you, and for the first time in weeks, the dojo fell into complete silence.

The only sounds were your ragged breathing… and the silent promise that this was never going to end.

☰゛ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴇʀ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴜᴍᴀ ᴄᴜʟᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴅᴅꜱ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜꜱʙᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ. ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʙɪɴᴅꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ: ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴏᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰᴀʀ. ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜꜱʙᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴇxᴄɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴡᴀʏ. ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

ʚɞ wc : 3.3k ʚɞ 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑥(𝑢)𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡.

No one in the Demon Slayer Corps understood how it had happened. A human and a demon. A formal couple, with rings carved from jade and promises whispered under the moon. You, a former devotee of the cult who had come seeking peace and found something far more dangerous: love. Douma, the rainbow-eyed demon who once devoured souls without remorse, now your husband.

It all started with stolen glances during the ceremonies, with conversations that stretched until dawn, with cold kisses that burned you from the inside. You ignored Muzan’s rules together, laughing under your breath when the Demon King sent orders that you both defied shamelessly. “Fuck him,” Douma would say with that eternal smile, kissing your neck while you planned how to sabotage the next mission. In the end, he fully defected to the human side. He fought against his own demon brethren, protected the Hashira, and risked his eternal existence for you. And Shinobu, with that brilliant and venomous mind of hers, found the solution: a slow-acting medicine made from modified demon blood and rare herbs that was gradually reversing his nature. He no longer needed to devour humans to survive. His skin was no longer so cold. His rainbow eyes still shone, but now with a warmth only you knew.

What never changed was what bound you most: the provocation. All the time. Anywhere. You loved playing with fire, pushing limits, seeing who would surrender first.

That night, during the formal dinner with the Hashira at Shinobu’s mansion, you had gone too far.

You were sitting side by side at the long low table. The others were talking about strategies, the next full moon, how Muzan seemed weaker. With an innocent smile on your lips, you slipped your hand under Douma’s hakama while pretending to listen to Giyu. Your fingers brushed his thigh, sliding up slowly, and when no one was looking, you wrapped them around his already half-hard cock over the fabric. You squeezed gently, stroking it with your thumb in slow circles while he tried to keep up the conversation with Rengoku.

Douma didn’t flinch. His eternal smile stayed in place. But under the table, his hand caught yours and pressed it harder against his growing erection, forcing you to feel how it throbbed for you. “Careful, wife,” he whispered just for you, his voice honeyed and dangerous. “Keep that up and I’m going to fuck you on this table in front of everyone.”

You only smiled wider and kept teasing him throughout the entire dinner: light touches, squeezes, nails gently scratching the fabric. When the meeting ended and you said your goodbyes, Douma took your hand with that exaggerated courtesy he used in public… and dragged you straight to your private room in the temporary mansion you shared.

And now here you were.

Completely at his mercy.

Your wrists bound with red silk to the headboard of the large bed, arms stretched above your head. A thick black blindfold covering your eyes, blocking out absolutely everything. Your legs spread wide apart, held open by two soft leather straps that Douma had tied to the bedposts, leaving your pussy exposed, swollen, and already dripping with anticipation. The cool air brushed your naked skin, making your nipples harden until they ached. You couldn’t close your legs. You couldn’t see. All you could do was feel… and listen.

“What a delicious sight,” Douma murmured from somewhere to your left, his voice soft and playful as always, but with that dark edge that made you shiver. “My naughty wife, tied up and spread open like an offering. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this after what you did to me at dinner?”

You heard his bare feet on the wooden floor. Slow. Deliberate. Then the mattress dipped slightly as he knelt between your spread legs. You felt the cold of his skin as his fingers brushed the inside of your thighs, moving upward… upward… but never touching where you needed it most.

“Douma…” you gasped, tugging uselessly at the silk binding your wrists. “This is… this is too much. Let me go.”

He chuckled softly, a honeyed sound that vibrated straight to your clit.

“Too much?” he asked, feigning surprise. “But you started it, my wife. Feeling me up under the table while Shinobu talked about poisons. Stroking my cock in front of all the Hashira like I was your personal toy. Did you really think I wouldn’t make you pay for it?”

Something soft and light brushed the sole of your right foot. A feather. Small, white, probably from one of the decorative fans in the temple. He dragged it slowly across your ankle, up your calf, stopping at the sensitive skin behind your knee. You shuddered violently, a small moan escaping your throat.

“Ah… already?” Douma teased, his voice closer now. “Just a feather and you’re already trembling. Imagine when I reach your pussy, wife. Imagine how I’m going to stroke your swollen clit with this… over and over… never giving you what you want.”

The feather slid up the inside of your left thigh, tracing slow circles, dangerously close to your center but never touching it. Your pussy clenched visibly, releasing a thick, clear strand of slick that dripped onto the mattress. You could hear it. So could Douma.

“Look at how you’re dripping,” he whispered, clearly enjoying himself. “Soaking the sheets and I haven’t even really touched you yet. Does being like this turn you on that much? Blindfolded, spread open, unable to move while your demon husband teases you?”

“Douma… please…” you begged, tugging at the restraints, your hips lifting on their own in search of contact. “Touch me… use your fingers… your mouth… anything… don’t do this to me…”

The feather barely grazed your left outer lip, a touch so light it almost hurt from how desperate you were. You let out a sharp moan, your legs shaking against the straps.

“Oh, no,” he said, laughing softly. “You’re not getting anything easy tonight. You provoked me in front of the Hashira. Now I’m provoking you. And you’re going to stay exactly like this until you beg properly.”

The feather moved up your other thigh, passed over your mound without touching your clit, then down the other side. Every stroke was exquisite torture. Your skin was hypersensitive because of the blindfold; without sight, every caress felt multiplied by ten. The cold of the feather contrasted with the heat of your body. Every time it approached your clit, your pussy clenched and released more slick, dripping audibly.

“Listen to that,” Douma murmured, his voice rough with his own pleasure. “That wet sound… is your pussy begging for me. Do you want me to touch you here?” The feather barely brushed your clit, a ghost of a touch that made you arch your back and cry out. “Or here?” It slid lower and grazed your entrance, collecting some of your wetness and spreading it upward.

“Douma!” you screamed, tears of frustration slipping from under the blindfold. “Please! I can’t take it anymore! Touch me for real!”

He leaned in closer. You felt his icy breath against your open pussy.

“Tell me how sorry you are,” he whispered. “Tell me you’ll never provoke me in public again without consequences. Tell me you’re mine to torment whenever I want.”

“I’m sorry…” you sobbed, your hips moving uselessly. “I’m yours… I’m your wife… your teasing little slut… please… touch me… use the feather on my clit… do whatever you want… but touch me…”

Douma laughed, satisfied.

“Good girl.”

And then the feather returned. This time directly on your swollen clit. Slow circles, light, almost nonexistent. The pleasure was so intense and so insufficient at the same time that you screamed, tugging at the restraints until the silk creaked. The feather didn’t stop: circles, vertical strokes, soft taps that made you convulse.

“That’s it… look at you,” he teased, his voice full of dark adoration. “Tied up, blindfolded, legs spread like an offering… and almost coming just from a feather. What would the Hashira say if they saw you now? The human wife of the demon who betrayed Muzan, begging for her husband to touch her?”

“I don’t care!” you screamed, completely broken. “Daddy… no… Douma! Please, Douma, let me come! I’m begging you!”

The feather sped up. Your body tensed like a bow. The orgasm was approaching, brutal and blinding.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rougher. “Tell me ‘I’m your teasing wife and I deserve this.’”

“I’m your teasing wife and I deserve this!” you sobbed, tears soaking the blindfold. “I deserve to be tortured like this! Please, Douma, make me come!”

And then, just when you thought you were going to explode, the feather disappeared.

The frustrated scream that tore from you was almost animalistic.

Douma laughed softly, moving up your body until his mouth brushed your ear.

“Not yet, my wife,” he whispered. “The night is very long… and I’m just getting started on making you pay.”

The feather returned, brushing your clit again.

And you knew, in that moment, that you were going to be begging for hours.

The feather came back.

Light, almost nonexistent, but lethal.

It stroked your swollen clit with agonizing slowness, a touch so soft you thought at first you had imagined it. One single vertical stroke, bottom to top, collecting the wetness already pouring from you and spreading it over the sensitive bud. Your entire body jerked against the restraints. The red silk creaked around your wrists, the leather straps at your ankles keeping you spread wide open, completely exposed. Without sight, every sensation was multiplied by ten. The brush of the feather felt like pure electricity concentrated on that exact spot.

“Ah… Douma…” you gasped, your voice already broken, your hips trying to lift but unable to move even an inch. “Please… no… don’t do this to me… it’s too much…”

Douma let out a low, honeyed laugh, that eternal laugh that always drove you crazy.

“Too much?” he repeated, pretending innocence while the feather traced a perfect circle around your clit without touching it directly. “But you started it, my wife. Feeling me up under the table while Shinobu talked about poisons and Giyu stared at his plate like he wanted to disappear. Do you remember how you squeezed my cock? How you stroked it with your thumb while I tried to keep my composure in front of all the Hashira? Now it’s your turn to keep your composure.”

The feather slid lower, barely grazing your entrance, collecting more of your hot, sticky slick, then returned upward, this time pressing a little harder against your clit. The contrast between the cold feather and the heat of your flesh tore a long, desperate moan from you. Your pussy clenched visibly, releasing another thick gush of wetness that dripped down your slit and fell onto the mattress with a soft, obscene sound.

“Listen to that,” Douma whispered, clearly savoring every second. “That wet sound… is your pussy crying for me. You’re soaking everything, wife. The sheets, my fingers, the feather… and I still haven’t given you what you want.”

Suddenly, without warning, the feather disappeared.

The emptiness was worse than any touch. You let out a frustrated sob, tugging at the restraints until your wrists burned.

“Douma! No! Come back! Please!”

He laughed again, closer now. You felt the mattress dip as he leaned over you. And then… his mouth.

Hot. Wet. Unexpected.

His lips closed around your left nipple without warning. The contrast with the blindfold hit you like lightning: you didn’t see it coming, couldn’t prepare. His cold tongue circled the erect nipple, licking it in slow circles while his teeth grazed it gently. At the same time, his right hand found your other breast and gripped it hard, fingers twisting the right nipple between his index and thumb, pulling it upward and turning it softly.

“Ahhh!” you screamed, the sound sharp and broken. Your back arched as far as the restraints allowed. The pleasure in your nipples was direct, electric, shooting straight down to your throbbing clit. “Douma… that… that is…!”

“Surprised?” he murmured against your breast, his voice muffled because he wouldn’t release your nipple. He sucked harder, pulling it into his mouth while his tongue flicked it rapidly. The wet sound of his suction filled the room. “Of course you are. You can’t see anything, wife. Every touch is a surprise. Every lick… every pinch…” He twisted the other nipple harder, turning it between his fingers until it hurt in the most delicious way. “It drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

You couldn’t answer. You just moaned, head thrown back, tears soaking the black blindfold. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around nothing, releasing more slick that ran down your inner thighs. The feather returned then, as if Douma had been waiting for the perfect moment. It brushed your clit again, now wet with your own arousal, tracing slow, precise figure-eights.

The pleasure was unbearable. His mouth on your left nipple sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. His fingers twisting and pinching the right one, tugging until you felt it grow even harder. And the feather… that damn feather playing with your clit without ever giving you enough pressure.

“Douma… please…” you sobbed, your voice cracking. “I can’t… I can’t take it anymore… I need to come… please… use the feather harder… or put your fingers in… anything…”

He released your left nipple with a wet sound and moved to torment the right. His mouth closed around it, sucking so hard you felt the pull all the way to your clit. At the same time, the feather began tapping your clit in quick, light bursts: tap-tap-tap-tap, like it was playing a melody on your most sensitive spot.

Your body convulsed. Your legs shook violently against the straps, your arms pulling at the silk until your wrists burned. The orgasm was coming like an avalanche, but every time you got close, Douma pulled the feather away or slowed his licks.

“No… no…” you whimpered, tears falling uncontrollably. “Don’t stop now! Please, Douma! I’m so close!”

“Shhh…” he whispered against your breast, releasing your nipple just to blow cold air over it, making it harden even more. “Not yet, wife. I want you to feel every second. I want you to know exactly who has you like this: tied up, blindfolded, spread open, dripping like a fountain just because your demon husband decided to make you pay for your dinner provocation.”

The feather returned. This time more insistent. Fast, firm circles, focused directly on your swollen clit. At the same time, Douma pushed two fingers of his free hand inside you without warning, curling them against that spongy spot that made you see stars even with your eyes covered. His mouth returned to your breast, sucking the left nipple hard while the fingers of his other hand kept twisting the right.

The pleasure was too much. All at once. The feather mercilessly stroking your clit. His fingers fucking you deep and fast. His mouth sucking and nibbling your nipples. Without sight, every sensation hit you by surprise: a harder lick, a sudden pinch, the feather changing direction.

“Douma! Douma, please!” you screamed, completely broken. “I’m going to come! I can’t… I can’t hold it anymore! Please, let me come!”

He lifted his head from your breast for just a second.

“Come then,” he ordered, his voice rough with desire. “Come screaming my name. I want to feel your pussy clenching around my fingers while you fall apart.”

The feather sped up. His fingers curled harder. His mouth returned to suck your right nipple with such intensity it hurt with pleasure.

And you exploded.

The orgasm tore through you like a violent wave. You screamed his name so loudly your voice cracked: “DOUMA!” Your pussy clenched around his fingers in brutal spasms, milking them, releasing hot, powerful jets of slick that soaked his hand, his wrist, the mattress beneath you. Your legs trembled uncontrollably against the straps. Your back arched so hard the silk on your wrists creaked. Tears soaked the blindfold as wave after wave of pleasure ran through you, each contraction forcing more liquid out of you.

Douma didn’t stop. He kept moving his fingers through your orgasm, prolonging it, the feather still brushing your hypersensitive clit until you sobbed from the overstimulation.

“That’s it… yes…” he murmured against your breast, licking your nipple one last time. “My beautiful wife coming so prettily for me. Look at how you’ve soaked everything… what a perfect mess.”

When he finally withdrew the feather and his fingers, you were shaking, limp, breathing in ragged gasps. The silence lasted only a few seconds.

Then you felt his hands on the blindfold.

The black fabric slid off your face. The candlelight hit you all at once, making you blink. Douma was there, between your spread legs, his platinum-blond hair messy, his rainbow eyes gleaming with pure hunger. His cock was hard, thick, the head red and dripping precum as he stroked himself slowly.

“Now,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I want to see your face while I fuck you.”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He positioned himself between your still-bound legs, lined up his cock with your soaked entrance, and thrust into you in one single, deep stroke.

You screamed again, the sound raw and broken. He was so deep you felt the pressure in your belly. Douma growled, gripping your hips hard as he began to move: long, deep, brutal thrusts, each one hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Fuck… you’re so tight after coming,” he panted, leaning down to kiss you hard, swallowing your moans. “My wife… my brave human who made me betray Muzan… and now here she is, tied up for me, coming on my cock like the perfect little slut she is.”

His hips slammed against yours without mercy. The wet sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with your moans and his low growls. Every thrust pushed you toward the headboard, the silk tugging at your wrists. You still couldn’t close your legs. You were completely open for him, forced to take every inch.

“Douma… more… please…” you begged, your voice broken from screaming so much.

He smiled, that eternal smile you loved so much, and sped up. One hand slid between your bodies and began rubbing your clit again, now with his fingers, fast and firm.

“I want you to come again,” he demanded, his voice deep. “I want to feel you clench around me while I fill you. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours…” you sobbed, tears of pleasure sliding down your temples. “I’m your wife… yours… only yours…”

Douma growled and fucked you harder, deeper, the mattress creaking beneath you. His mouth moved to your neck, biting the skin while his fingers never stopped rubbing your clit.

The second orgasm hit you almost as hard as the first. You screamed his name again, your pussy contracting around his cock, milking him. Douma roared, thrusting one final time and coming inside you: hot, thick jets filling you until you overflowed, dripping down your slit while he kept moving slowly, prolonging the pleasure.

He stayed inside you, panting, forehead pressed to yours. His hands carefully untied the silk from your wrists, massaging the reddened skin. Then he freed your ankles.

He pulled you against his chest, still buried deep inside you, kissing your sweaty forehead.

“My wife…” he whispered, his voice soft now, full of that eternal adoration. “Never stop provoking me. Because I will always make you pay… and you will always enjoy every second of it.”

You stayed there, trembling in his arms, completely sated, knowing that tomorrow… you would provoke him again at dinner.

And he would tie you up again.

☰゛ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴜᴢᴜɪ ᴛᴇɴɢᴇɴ. ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ꜰɪɴᴇ ɪꜰ ɪᴛ ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴄᴄᴇɴᴛʀɪᴄ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏꜱ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴀᴅᴇꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɢɪʀʟꜱ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʜɪᴍ "ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ." ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ꜱɴᴇᴀᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪᴅ-ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜᴏᴡꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ꜱᴀᴛɪꜱꜰʏɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʜɪᴍ "ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ" ᴛᴏᴏ. ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

ʚɞ wc : 4.6k ʚɞ 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑥(𝑢)𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡.

Living with Tengen Uzui was, without a doubt, the worst decision you had ever made in your entire life as a Demon Slayer apprentice. When Shinobu assigned you to his mansion to “perfect your breathing technique and sound coordination,” you thought it would be temporary—just a couple of weeks at most. But weeks turned into months, and now you had been sharing a roof with the Sound Hashira for nearly half a year. And everything about him drove you insane.

His booming laugh echoing through the hallways at any hour. The way he left his swords lying around everywhere as if the mansion were a permanent battlefield. The smell of gunpowder and sandalwood that permeated every corner after his training sessions. The way he walked around the house shirtless, showing off those ridiculously defined muscles like the whole world was supposed to admire them. But above all, what annoyed you the most—what made you grit your teeth and curse under your breath every night—were his nights.

The walls of the mansion were ridiculously thin. Old wood, shoji paper that barely muffled anything. And Tengen… Tengen was not discreet. At all.

Every three or four nights, he would bring some woman—sometimes two—and the show would begin. Loud moans, broken feminine laughter, the unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin, beds creaking violently. And the worst part: the words that came out of their mouths.

“Daddy… please, daddy… harder, daddy…”

They said it between gasps, between sobs of pleasure, and the women seemed to genuinely enjoy it. They melted while calling him that, begging for more as Tengen laughed with that deep, arrogant voice that made the walls vibrate.

To you, it seemed twisted. Disgusting. Childish. “Daddy”? Seriously? A grown man, a legendary Hashira, demanding to be called “daddy” while fucking like an animal. Every time you heard it, you’d cover your head with the pillow, try to sleep, try to ignore it. But your body… your damn body would sometimes react in ways that embarrassed you. The heat between your legs, your racing pulse, the way you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together. You hated him for that too.

That night had been especially loud. The woman—a kunoichi with black hair and a high-pitched voice—hadn’t stopped screaming “Daddy! Yes, daddy, just like that!” for almost an hour. You had tried reading, training alone in the dojo, even going out to the garden to practice your breathing. Nothing worked. Finally, when silence finally fell close to midnight, you stayed awake in bed, staring at the wooden ceiling with your breathing ragged.

And then it happened.

Unintentionally. Without permission.

Your treacherous mind began to wander. You imagined his deep voice whispering close to your ear: “Say it, little one… call me daddy.” You imagined his large hands gripping your hips, his massive body covering yours, and you… you moaning “Daddy… please, daddy…”

Heat surged through your belly like lava. Your pussy clenched hard, suddenly soaking wet. You sat up in bed abruptly, horrified, cheeks burning.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you whispered to yourself, squeezing your thighs together tightly. “With him? With that arrogant idiot who thinks he’s a sex god? No. No. Absolutely not.”

But the fantasy wouldn’t go away. On the contrary, the more you tried to push it aside, the more vivid it became: Tengen pinning you against the wall, his mouth on your neck, forcing you to say it while he fucked you slow and deep. “Say it again, apprentice… call me daddy while I fill you up.” You bit your lip until it hurt. You were drenched. Painfully aroused. And you hated him. You hated him and you hated yourself for reacting like this.

You couldn’t stay there. Not that night. You knew Tengen was probably already thinking about bringing another woman tomorrow to “take care of his needs,” as he liked to say with that arrogant smile. And you wanted silence. You wanted fresh air. You wanted to get away from that house that smelled like him and sex.

You got up, threw a light haori over your yukata, and quietly left your room. The mansion was dimly lit, only illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open shoji. You walked toward the main door, barefoot, intending to lose yourself in the nearby forest until dawn. Anything to stop imagining that word coming out of your own mouth.

“Oi, where do you think you’re going at this hour, apprentice?”

Tengen’s voice rang out behind you—deep, lazy, and carrying that mocking tone he always used. You froze with your hand on the latch. When you turned around, there he was, leaning against the frame of the main room, wearing only the black uniform pants slung low on his hips. His torso was bare, muscles sculpted by the moonlight, his platinum-white hair loose and messy after what he had just done. He looked you up and down with that crooked smile, golden eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“I’m going out for some air,” you replied dryly, trying to sound firm. “I can’t sleep.”

Tengen raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulged obscenely.

“Going out for air at two in the morning? Barefoot and in that yukata?” He chuckled lowly, a deep sound that made you grit your teeth. “Come on, spit it out. What’s got you so worked up, little one?”

You swallowed hard. You didn’t want to say it. But the frustration of weeks—months—came pouring out on its own.

“I haven’t been able to sleep these days because of the… noise,” you said, staring straight into his eyes defiantly. “Someone in this house doesn’t know what ‘discreet’ means. The walls are thin, Uzui-sama. Very thin. And some words come through way too clearly.”

Tengen blinked once. Then he let out a loud, genuine laugh, throwing his head back. The sound echoed down the hallway.

“That’s it?” he asked, still laughing. “You’re bothered that I have a little fun? It’s not that big a deal, apprentice. The girls have fun, I have fun… and you should learn to sleep with a little background noise. It’s part of the extravagant life.”

“It’s not ‘a little noise’,” you insisted, your voice rising. “It’s listening to grown women calling you ‘daddy’ like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It’s twisted. And no, I don’t want to learn to sleep with that. I’m going for a walk. I need silence.”

You tried to open the door, but Tengen moved faster than you expected. In two strides he was in front of you, slamming the door shut with one large hand while the other grabbed your waist. Before you could protest, he lifted you off the ground as if you weighed nothing—one arm under your knees, the other around your back—and carried you against his bare chest.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said with that deep, amused voice, already walking back inside the mansion. “You’re not going out alone at night just because you’re bothered by being called ‘daddy.’ You’re my apprentice. You live under my roof. And if you’re having trouble sleeping… well, we’ll fix it another way.”

You struggled in his arms, but it was useless. His muscles felt like hot steel under your skin.

“Put me down, Uzui! I’m not a child you can just carry around whenever you want!”

He just laughed again, pressing you tighter against his chest. You could smell his skin—clean sweat, gunpowder, that masculine scent you hated and that now, after your treacherous fantasy, made you throb between your legs.

“Oh, but you are my apprentice,” he murmured close to your ear, his voice dropping an octave. “And tonight you’re staying right here. Nice and quiet. With me.”

He carried you straight to the main room, where the low lights were still on, and set you down on one of the large cushions without fully letting go. His big hand stayed on your waist, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the fabric of your yukata right above your hip.

“Now tell me the truth,” he said, leaning toward you, those golden eyes locked on yours. “Does the noise really bother you that much… or does it bother you that you like hearing it?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You felt heat rising up your neck. Because yes. Because that night you had discovered that you did like it. That imagining yourself calling him “daddy” had made you wetter than ever. And now he was there, half-naked, looking at you like he could read every filthy thought crossing your mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, trying to look away.

Tengen smiled wider—that arrogant, dangerous smile that had always driven you crazy.

“Of course you do,” he whispered, leaning even closer. “And I think tonight… we’re going to find out exactly how much you like it.”

His fingers tightened slightly on your waist, and for the first time in months, the silence in the mansion felt charged, electric, dangerous.

Tengen didn’t let go. His large hand remained firmly on your waist, his thumb moving in slow, deliberate circles just above the curve of your hip, as if marking his territory. You were sitting on the large cushion in the main room, your yukata slightly open from the struggle, and he was kneeling in front of you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his bare torso. The dim lantern light cast shadows over his defined muscles, highlighting every line of his abs, the deep cut of his obliques that disappeared beneath the low waistband of his pants. His platinum-white hair fell messily over one shoulder, and those golden eyes watched you with a mix of arrogant amusement and something much darker.

“We’re going to find out exactly how much you like it,” he repeated, his voice deep and low, almost a purr that vibrated straight into your chest. “Because I don’t buy that disgusted face you make every time you hear noise, apprentice. I’ve seen how you freeze in your room. How you stop breathing when one of them starts moaning ‘daddy.’ You think I don’t notice?”

Heat climbed up your neck to your ears. You tried to look away, but he lifted his other hand and took your chin between two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Don’t hide now,” he said, smiling crookedly. “Tell me the truth. Does the noise bother you… or does it bother you that it turns you on to hear it? Does it bother you to imagine yourself in those women’s place, legs spread, calling me daddy while I fuck you until you can’t walk?”

“Shut up!” you snapped, your voice higher than you wanted. You tried to push his chest, but it was like pushing a hot stone wall. “You’re an arrogant asshole. I would never get turned on by something as twisted as that. ‘Daddy’? Seriously? It sounds pathetic. You’re a Hashira, not a substitute father for desperate women.”

Tengen let out a deep, genuine laugh that made his chest vibrate under your palm. He didn’t move an inch. Instead, he leaned even closer, his face only inches from yours. You could smell his skin: clean sweat, lingering gunpowder, and that masculine scent that always filled the house after his “sessions.”

“Pathetic, huh?” he murmured, his thumb now slowly stroking your lower lip. “Then explain why you’re trembling right now. Why your pupils are dilated. Why you’re squeezing your thighs like you’re trying to hide how wet you already are.” His voice dropped even lower, turning into a husky whisper against your ear. “Admit it, little one. You’ve fantasized about it. You’ve touched yourself thinking about calling me daddy while I spread your legs and fill you to the brim.”

The heat between your legs flared instantly. You felt your pussy clench, releasing a treacherous gush of wetness that soaked the fabric of your yukata. You hated him. You hated him with all your soul because he was right. That night you had fantasized about exactly that. And now his voice, so close, so deep, made the word “daddy” echo in your head like a dangerous refrain.

“No… it’s not true,” you lied through gritted teeth, trying to turn your face away, but his hand on your chin stopped you. “I would never call you daddy. Never. I’d rather sleep in the forest than lower myself to that. You’re my master, not my… my…”

“Your what?” he asked, smiling even wider. His fingers slowly trailed down your neck, brushing the sensitive skin of your throat until they stopped right where your pulse raced. “Your daddy? Say it. Just once. Try how it sounds. ‘Daddy, please.’ Come on, apprentice. I know you’re thinking it.”

“Never!” you spat, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from your chest. “You’re an arrogant pig who needs idiot women to stroke his ego by calling him daddy to feel important. I’m not like them. I hate you. Everything about you pisses me off. Your loud laugh, the way you walk like you’re king of the world, how you leave your things scattered everywhere… and especially how you fuck like an animal without caring that I’m right next door hearing everything.”

Tengen didn’t get offended. On the contrary. His eyes gleamed with a new, darker, hungrier challenge. He released your chin only to grab both your wrists in one large hand, lifting them above your head and pinning them to the cushion behind you. With his other hand he gently pushed you backward until you were half-lying down, trapped beneath his massive body. His knee slid between your legs, spreading them effortlessly, and pressed right against your center, feeling the hot wetness already soaking through the fabric.

“What a dirty mouth you have tonight,” he murmured, leaning down until his nose brushed yours. “You hate me, huh? Then explain why you’re soaking my knee right now. Feel this…” He pressed his knee harder, slowly rubbing it against your swollen pussy. “You’re dripping, little one. And I haven’t even really touched you yet. Just talking about calling me daddy has you like this.”

You tried to close your legs, but his knee was relentless. A treacherous moan escaped before you could swallow it.

“Let me go…” you gasped, but your voice came out weaker than you intended. “I’m not going to say it. Never. You can force me to train, you can force me to live here, but you’re not going to force me to call you… to call you that.”

Tengen let out a low, dangerous laugh. He released your wrists only to grab your hips with both hands, lifting you slightly and positioning you straddling his right thigh. The muscle was rock-hard, hot, and the pressure against your clit through the thin fabric was immediate and brutal.

“Oh, but I am going to make you,” he whispered against your mouth, his lips brushing yours without kissing you yet. “Because I know you want it. I know that every night you listened to me fucking other women, you touched yourself imagining you were the one screaming ‘daddy, please, daddy, harder.’ You think I didn’t hear you too? Those little muffled moans you tried to hide under the pillow… they were adorable.”

You blushed to the roots of your hair. You tried to slide off his thigh, but his hands held you firmly in place, forcing you to stay there, slowly grinding against him.

“No… it’s not true…” you lied again, but your body betrayed you: your hips moved on their own once, seeking more friction.

Tengen noticed. He smiled victoriously.

“Of course it’s true. And tonight you’re going to say it. You’re going to call me daddy while I make you feel what those women felt.” One of his hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair and gently tugging your head back to expose your neck. “Start slow. Just say ‘daddy.’ Once. And I promise I’ll make you feel so good you’ll forget why you said you hated me.”

“Never,” you repeated, but your voice was trembling now. “I will never call you daddy, Uzui. You’re an egomaniac, a loud womanizer and…”

You couldn’t finish. His mouth descended to your neck and bit right where your pulse throbbed, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. At the same time, his thigh flexed beneath you, rubbing directly against your swollen clit. A choked moan escaped you.

“Say it,” he demanded against your skin, his voice hoarse. “Say ‘daddy, please, make me shut up.’ I know you’re thinking it. I know you’re soaking my leg imagining how I’d fuck you while you say it.”

“No…” you gasped, but your hips were already moving on their own, chasing more pressure. “I’m not going to… ah…”

Tengen lifted his head, looking straight into your eyes as his free hand moved to the edge of your yukata and slowly opened it, exposing your breasts. His fingers brushed one of your nipples, pinching it with precision.

“Say it,” he repeated, lower, more dominant. “Or I’m going to spend the whole night teasing you without letting you cum. I’ll keep you here, grinding against my thigh, whispering in your ear everything I want to hear… until you’re crying and begging to call me daddy.”

You bit your lip so hard you tasted the metallic tang of blood. The pleasure was unbearable. The hatred toward him mixed with a need so strong your hands were shaking. And he knew it. He saw it on your face. He felt it in the way your pussy throbbed against his thigh.

“Never…” you whispered one last time, but it already sounded more like a plea than a denial.

Tengen smiled, slow and predatory, and pushed you harder against his leg, starting to move you himself.

“Let’s see how long you can keep saying that, little one,” he murmured against your lips. “Because I swear that before the sun comes up… you’ll be screaming ‘daddy’ while you cum on my cock.”

And he began to move.

His large, calloused hands gripped your hips with possessive strength, forcing you to keep grinding your soaked pussy against the hard muscle of his thigh while his mouth returned to your neck, biting and licking. Every stroke sent sparks of pleasure straight to your clit. Every word he whispered—“say it… say daddy… be a good girl for daddy…”—made your resistance crack a little more.

You were lost. And he knew it.

Tengen didn’t wait another second.

His big, rough hands gripped your hips possessively, forcing you to keep grinding against his right thigh like you were a doll. The hard, hot muscle flexed beneath the thin, soaked fabric of your yukata, rubbing directly against your swollen clit with every movement he controlled. You were fully straddling his leg, knees digging into the cushion, your yukata open to the waist, breasts exposed and nipples hard from the cool air and shame.

“Say it,” he growled against your mouth, his voice rough and dominant, golden eyes locked on yours without mercy. “Say ‘daddy.’ Just once. Now.”

You shook your head desperately, tears of frustration and pleasure glistening on your lashes. Your hips moved on their own against his thigh, seeking more friction, but your mouth still resisted.

“Never…” you gasped, voice breaking. “I will never call you daddy, Uzui. You’re an… ah… arrogant asshole who…”

You couldn’t finish. His left hand suddenly shot up to your throat, wrapping around it with firm but controlled pressure, cutting off just enough air to make your head spin. At the same time, his knee flexed hard beneath you, crushing your swollen clit against the solid muscle. A choked moan escaped you, long and broken.

“Say it,” he repeated, lower, more dangerous, his mouth brushing your ear as he rhythmically squeezed your throat. “Say ‘daddy, please, make me shut up.’ I know you’re thinking it. I know your pussy is dripping just from imagining yourself screaming it while I fuck you. Can you feel how it’s throbbing against my leg? You’re soaking my entire thigh, little one. You’re such a fucking liar.”

“N-no…” you sobbed, but your treacherous hips rolled faster, grinding desperately against his thigh. Slick poured out in gushes, dripping down the sides of his leg and creating a hot, sticky puddle on the cushion. “I’m not going to… I’m not going to say it… you’re my master… not my… my daddy…”

Tengen let out a dark, deep laugh that vibrated straight against your neck. He released your throat only to grab your hair tightly, yanking your head back and fully exposing your throat. His mouth descended and bit just below your ear, sucking hard on the skin while his other hand moved between your bodies. Two thick fingers opened your yukata completely and brushed your soaked pussy, spreading your swollen lips with torturous slowness.

“Look at this…” he whispered, his fingers sliding up and down your dripping slit, gathering your wetness and spreading it over your clit. “You’re dripping like a bitch in heat. And all because you don’t want to call me daddy. What delicious irony.”

He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, immediately curling them against that spongy spot that made you arch your back with a sharp cry. His fingers were thick and long, and he moved them with cruel precision: sliding in and out slowly but deeply, the wet, obscene sound filling the room.

“Say it,” he demanded again, speeding up his fingers while his thumb began rubbing your clit in fast, firm circles. “Say ‘daddy, your fingers feel so good.’ Say it or I stop right now and leave you here all night, soaked and desperate, without letting you cum.”

“No!” you cried, tears rolling down your cheeks, but your pussy clenched around his fingers, milking them, begging for more. “I’m not going to say it! You’re a pig! A… ahhh… loud womanizer who…!”

Tengen suddenly pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and throbbing. The emptiness was unbearable. You let out a frustrated sob, your hips moving on their own, searching for his hand.

“See?” he said, bringing his fingers—shiny with your wetness—to his mouth and slowly licking them while looking you in the eyes. “You’re a spoiled little girl. And spoiled little girls don’t get to cum until they obey their daddy.”

He lifted you off his thigh as if you weighed nothing, turned you around, and put you on your knees on the cushion, face pressed against the soft fabric and ass up high. He spread your legs with his knees and positioned himself behind you. You heard the sound of his pants sliding down, and then you felt the thick, hot head of his cock brushing against your soaked entrance.

“Last chance,” he growled, gripping your hips tightly, the tip of his huge cock pressing against your pussy but not entering. “Say ‘daddy, please, fuck me.’ Say it or I’m going to keep you here all night teasing you without giving you anything.”

You were shaking all over. Pride fought against need. But your pussy throbbed painfully, empty, desperate. Tears fell onto the cushion.

“I… I…” you gasped, voice broken.

Tengen pushed just the head inside you, stretching you, but stayed still.

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice deeper, more dominant. “Say it now, little one. Be a good girl for daddy.”

The pleasure from that minimal penetration was too much. Your resistance shattered like glass.

“D… daddy…” you finally whispered, voice trembling and ashamed. “Daddy… please…”

Tengen let out a triumphant growl and slammed into you in one thrust, burying his thick, long cock all the way to the hilt. You screamed, the sound muffled against the cushion, feeling him fill you completely, your pussy stretching to its limit around him.

“Harder!” he demanded, yanking your hair to lift your head. “Say it louder. I want to hear you scream it while I fuck you.”

“Daddy!” you screamed, tears falling. “Daddy, please! Fuck me, daddy!”

“Good girl,” he growled, starting to move with deep, brutal thrusts. “That’s it… my favorite apprentice calling me daddy like the obedient little slut she is. Can you feel how hard I am for you? Can you feel how your pussy squeezes me every time you say it?”

His hips slammed against your ass with force, the wet, obscene sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Every thrust pushed you forward, his balls slapping against your swollen clit. One of his hands moved down and began rubbing your clit in fast circles while he kept fucking you mercilessly.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice hoarse with pleasure. “Tell me ‘daddy, your cock is so big… you’re ruining me, daddy.’”

“Daddy… your cock is so big!” you sobbed, words coming out between broken moans. “You’re ruining me, daddy! More… please, daddy, harder!”

Tengen let out a dark, satisfied laugh and sped up the pace until the sound of his hips slapping your ass was deafening. He lifted your torso, pressing your back against his chest, one hand wrapping around your throat again while the other kept rubbing your clit without stopping.

“That’s it… good,” he growled against your ear, biting your earlobe. “My good girl. My apprentice slut who hated me but now screams ‘daddy’ while I fill her. You like it, don’t you? You like daddy fucking you like the others? You like daddy using you?”

“Yes… yes, daddy!” you screamed, completely broken, the orgasm approaching like a giant wave. “I like it… I like daddy using me! Please, daddy, let me cum… please!”

“Not yet,” he ordered, slowing the thrusts but making them deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. “First tell me how long you’ve wanted this. Tell me that every night you listened to me fucking others, you touched yourself imagining you were the one screaming ‘daddy.’”

“I’ve been… for weeks…” you confessed between sobs of pleasure. “Every night… I touched myself thinking about you… imagining you calling me little one while you fucked me… daddy… please… I can’t hold it anymore…”

“Good girl,” he whispered, biting your shoulder. “Now cum. Cum screaming ‘daddy.’ I want to feel your pussy milking me while you say it.”

The orgasm hit you with violence. You screamed “DADDY!” so loudly your voice cracked, your pussy contracting around his cock in brutal spasms, releasing hot gushes of slick that soaked his thighs and the cushion. Tengen didn’t stop. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were crying from overstimulation.

“Again,” he demanded, turning you onto your back, lifting your legs over his shoulders and sinking back in to the hilt. “Say ‘thank you, daddy’ while I fill you.”

“Thank you… daddy…” you sobbed, completely surrendered, tears running down your temples. “Thank you, daddy… for fucking me… for making me yours…”

Tengen growled, his rhythm turning wild, his thrusts deep and fast.

“That’s my girl,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “My good apprentice. My favorite slut. And now daddy’s going to fill you until you overflow. You want that? You want daddy to fill you up?”

“Yes, daddy! Please, fill me, daddy!”

With a low roar, Tengen came inside you: hot, thick spurts filling you to the brim, his cock pulsing as he kissed you hard, swallowing your moans.

He stayed inside you, panting, kissing your sweaty forehead.

“Good girl…” he whispered, his voice now softer but still carrying that dominant tone. “My good girl. And this is only the beginning. Tomorrow… you’re going to call me daddy from the moment you wake up.”

He pulled you against his chest, still buried deep inside you, and for the first time in months, the silence in the mansion felt… perfect.

☰゛ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴏᴜᴍᴀ'ꜱ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜰʟɪʀᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜꜱ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜᴀᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀᴍɪᴄᴀʙʟʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ. ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

ʚɞ wc : 2.5k ʚɞ 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑥(𝑢)𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡.

Douma’s Eternal Paradise was nothing more than a meticulously constructed illusion, a veil of peace and devotion that hid the eternal darkness pulsing in his demonic heart. That night, the temple seemed more alive than ever: paper lanterns hung from the ceiling like captive stars, casting a soft orange glow over the inner gardens where the devotees gathered for their evening rituals. The scent of sandalwood and jasmine incense floated in the air, thick and intoxicating, mingling with the distant sound of a koto being played by one of the most faithful followers.

You, as one of the newest devotees, had come to the cult fleeing a troubled past: a suffocating village, a violent fiancé who had left bruises on your soul and your skin, and a family that had sold you like merchandise. Douma’s promises—a life without suffering, a paradise where pain turned into eternal ecstasy—had drawn you in like a moth to a flame. At first you were just another anonymous figure in the crowd, kneeling before the altar with offerings of wild flowers and whispered prayers. But he saw you. He always saw the ones who shone with that raw vulnerability, that hidden hunger for something more than spiritual salvation.

His rainbow eyes had settled on you during the very first ceremony, scanning you as if he could read every secret etched into your skin.

“What a pure yet broken aura,” he had said afterward, approaching with that feline grace that made the air grow cold around him. His eternal smile—perfect and curved like a crescent moon—had hypnotized you. The conversations started innocently: talks about eternity after group meditations, where he would invite you to sit beside him on the silk cushions, his knee “accidentally” brushing yours. But they soon turned intimate. He would take you to hidden corners of the temple, his cold fingers tracing patterns on your arm while he spoke of how “pleasure was the true key to paradise.” “Do you know what I feel when I see you kneeling before me?” he would whisper, his icy breath raising goosebumps on your skin. “I want to shatter that innocence of yours and mold it into something eternal… something mine.”

The flirting was constant, a dangerous game that left you panting in the lonely nights of your shared room. Once, he had pinned you against a bamboo wall in the back garden, his tall, slender body pressed against yours, his hand tilting your chin up for a kiss. His lips were cold as ice, but the kiss was possessive, devouring, leaving your mouth swollen and your pussy throbbing with need.

“You are mine to guide,” he had murmured against your neck, nibbling the skin without breaking it. “Mine to punish if you stray from the path.”

And you, drunk on that mix of terror and desire, had nodded, whispering,

“Yes, Douma-sama… guide me… punish me if I need it.”

Since then, the private encounters became routine: nights when he would seat you on his lap, his hands exploring beneath your robe while he spoke of absolute devotion.

He would make you moan with soft touches, denying you release until you begged, laughing with that honeyed voice: “Such an eager devotee… but eternity is earned with patience.”

But that night you had crossed an invisible line. During the group ceremony the air was charged with energy: devotees kneeling in circles, chanting hymns to eternity while Douma presided from his raised throne, his white-and-red robe immaculate, platinum-blond hair falling in perfect waves. A new devotee had arrived that morning: a man with dark eyes and a strong jaw, radiating an aura of mystery that drew glances. His name was Haruto, and during the ritual tea after the ceremony he had approached you with a confident smile.

“You’re new here, right? Your beauty lights up this place like a fallen star,” he said, his hand brushing your arm as he passed you a cup.

You laughed, flirting back: “Oh, I’m not that special… but tell me more about yourself, Haruto-san.”

You touched his shoulder casually, leaning in just enough for your robe to open slightly, giving a glimpse of cleavage. It was stupid, you knew it—a silly test to see if Douma would react, to stir jealousy in that eternal being who seemed above human emotions. You wanted to feel his possessiveness, his wrath, to confirm you were more than just any devotee. But from the altar, his rainbow eyes watched you, the smile still in place yet the colors swirling darker, like a storm gathering.

At the end of the night, when the devotees dispersed toward their dormitories, a note reached your hand: “Come to the private hall. Now.”

Your heart pounded as you walked down the candle-lit corridors, the cold wooden floor beneath your bare feet. You knew you had played with fire. The door to the hall opened by itself, as if it sensed your arrival, and you stepped into the intimate space: walls upholstered in red silk, a low altar with plush cushions, incense smoking in a golden burner that filled the air with an oppressive sweetness. Douma stood in the center, back to you, contemplating a statue of himself as a benevolent god.

The door closed with a soft click, sealing the outside world. You froze, pulse racing, as he slowly turned. His eternal smile was still there, perfectly curved, but his eyes… oh, his eyes were a whirlwind of cold, calculating colors.

“See, why do you always have to provoke me?” he asked, his voice low and singsong, like a children’s melody with a sinister undertone. He took a step toward you and the air grew noticeably colder, raising goosebumps beneath your thin robe. “Laughing with him, touching him as if you didn’t know every inch of your body has belonged to me since the moment you first knelt before me.”

“Douma-sama… it was nothing serious,” you answered, voice trembling, stepping back until your spine hit the wall. You tried to sound innocent, but the treacherous heat between your legs was already building. “We were just talking… Haruto-san is new, I wanted to be kind. I didn’t mean to offend you… please, believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said, moving closer, his imposing presence filling the space. His left hand rose to your throat with deliberate slowness, long, pale fingers—cold as eternal marble—wrapping around it with gentle but firm pressure. He didn’t squeeze fully, just enough for you to feel absolute control, for your pulse to beat against his palm and your breathing to become shallow gasps. “I believe you because I know you did it on purpose. My naughty little devotee, thinking she can stir jealousy in a god like me. Did you want to see if I could get angry? Did you want to feel my eternal wrath? Well… you’ve succeeded.”

He pushed you with calculated gentleness toward the low altar, bending you over it until your torso pressed against the soft, cold cushions, your hands bracing on the carved wood covered in symbols of eternity. The incense made your head spin, amplifying every sensation. His free hand lifted your robe from behind, exposing your trembling thighs, your round, pale ass, and your already swollen, wet pussy, bare to the cool air of the hall. You wore nothing underneath—a “rule” he had imposed in previous sessions, whispering that “true devotees surrender naked to paradise.” A first hot gush of slick escaped your entrance, dripping down your inner thighs in a sticky, transparent thread, betraying your arousal.

“Douma… please… I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, legs spreading instinctively, your body betraying you with longing. “I was an idiot… an ungrateful devotee who forgot her place. Punish me… teach me to be better… to be only yours.”

“Idiot, yes,” he conceded, his voice now hoarse with dark possessiveness as he leaned over your back so his chest brushed your spine. His icy breath grazed your ear, sending shivers through your entire body. “But also mine. And what’s mine learns through a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves them begging for more. Are you ready for your lesson, my sweet devotee whore? Because tonight it’s going to be eternal.”

SMACK!

The first spank landed with surgical precision, his open palm striking your right ass cheek with a sharp, resonant sound that echoed through the hall like a profane hymn. The pain was instant and sharp, like a lash of burning ice spreading across your sensitive skin, leaving a red mark that burned like slow fire. You let out a choked cry, hips bucking back on their own, unconsciously rubbing against the air, seeking relief or more punishment. At the same time, his hand on your throat tightened a little more, controlling your breath, making the lack of oxygen intensify the pleasure: your vision blurred slightly, the world shrinking to the burn on your ass and the throbbing pulse between your legs.

“One,” Douma counted in that playful, cruel voice, his palm rubbing the reddened skin in slow circles, spreading the heat. “For touching what isn’t yours. Haruto-san has no right to your smile, to your touch… only I do.”

SMACK!

The second spank on your left cheek was harder, the force calculated so the flesh rippled under his hand, leaving a perfect red imprint of his fingers. Tears stung your eyes, but between your legs your clit swelled even more, throbbing with need, releasing another gush of slick that dripped down your thighs like hot, sticky honey. “Two,” he whispered, squeezing your throat rhythmically in time with your racing pulse. “For laughing as if he could give you the ecstasy only I offer. Remember how I make you scream at night? How I fuck you until you beg for eternity?”

“Douma-sama… it hurts so much… but it feels so good,” you sobbed, tears now rolling down your cheeks, leaving salty trails that he licked with a cold, precise tongue when he leaned closer. “I’m yours… only yours… punish me more… make me learn… please, don’t stop until I’m perfect for you.”

He chuckled softly, a childish yet dark sound that vibrated against your skin.

“Such an eager devotee… begging for more like a whore in heat. Very well, then take this.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Three rapid, alternating slaps, each wetter from the slick already splattering from your aroused pussy. The pain blended with blinding pleasure, every strike sending waves of heat straight to your core, making your inner walls clench around nothing, forcing out more hot gushes that soaked your thighs and the altar below. The sound was obscene: a wet slap mixed with your broken moans and desperate sobs.

His spanking hand then slid between your legs without warning. Two long, cold fingers brushed your soaked slit, dragging the sticky wetness upward to your swollen, cherry-red clit.

“Look at this… you’re dripping like a sacred spring,” he murmured, voice rough with manipulative amusement. “Your pussy tells me you truly regret it, but your mind… needs more reminding. Spread your legs wider, show me that spoiled cunt that dares to tempt me.”

You obeyed instantly, parting your thighs with a moan, fully exposing your dripping entrance, your swollen, glistening outer lips, your clit peeking out like a sensitive, throbbing pearl. He slid two fingers inside you effortlessly, your slick easing the way, curling them against that spongy inner spot that made your back arch like a drawn bow. At the same time, his thumb rubbed your clit in slow, cruel circles, pressing just enough for the pleasure to border on pain. The hand on your throat squeezed rhythmically, cutting off air in controlled pulses, making every breath a desperate gasp, your head buzzing with suffocating euphoria.

“Don’t cum yet,” he ordered, pumping his fingers deeper, slick gushing out around them, dripping down his wrist in hot, sticky threads. “First, say it. Why do you act like this? Why flirt as if you weren’t just my little devotee whore when the lights go out and no one else is watching?”

“Because… because I’m a foolish devotee,” you sobbed, tears falling uncontrollably onto the cushions, leaving salty stains. “Because I want your attention… your anger… I want to feel you own me completely… I’m your bratty devotee whore… I’m sorry, Douma-sama… please, correct me… spank me until my skin bears your eternal mark… until I can’t sit without remembering you.”

“Good answer,” he whispered, withdrawing his fingers only to deliver another brutal slap directly to your pussy: SMACK! His open palm struck your swollen lips, splattering slick across your thighs and the altar, the impact vibrating straight to your exposed clit. The pain-pleasure was blinding, a lightning bolt that made you scream his name, inner walls spasming emptily. “But I’m not ready to forgive you completely. So stay still and take it, my sweet whore. Show me how sorry you are.”

The spanking continued in a calculated symphony: alternating between ass and pussy, each strike wetter from the slick now flowing like a river. His hand on your throat tightened in sync, controlling your oxygen, making the world spin in a whirlwind of suffocating pleasure.

Your moans turned into incoherent cries: “Please… more… I’m sorry… fuck me… spank me… I’m yours… your eternal whore… punish me… make me bleed pleasure…”

Every slap left burning red marks, but the fire shot straight to your core, making your clit throb like a second heartbeat, your entrance clenching and begging to be filled.

After a dozen spanks he knelt behind you, his icy breath brushing your swollen pussy.

“How red you are down here… so swollen… so wet… so perfect for me,” he murmured, licking a cold line from your clit to your entrance, drinking your slick like nectar. His fingers returned—three this time—stretching you with a delicious burn while his thumb rubbed your clit in fast circles. The hand on your throat never let go, squeezing just enough for stars to explode behind your eyelids.

“I’m… I’m going to cum… please, let me… I beg you, Douma-sama… I’m yours… eternally yours…” you whimpered, body convulsing.

“Cum then,” he granted, voice rough. “Show me how sorry you are with your eternal orgasm.”

The climax shattered you: a hot, powerful squirt burst from you, soaking his hand, his face, his robe. You screamed his name in a broken wail, walls contracting violently around his fingers, tears and slick mixing in an overwhelming chaos of pleasure.

But he didn’t stop. He turned you around, sat you on the altar, and continued the punishment with soft spanks and tender choking, taking you through more rounds until you were a trembling, devoted mess.

☰゛ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱʜɪɴᴏʙᴜ ᴋᴏᴄʜᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱʜɪʀᴀ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴜᴢᴜɪ ᴛᴇɴɢᴇɴ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴜɴꜰᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴀᴛᴇʟʏ (ᴏʀ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘꜱ ꜰᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴀᴛᴇʟʏ), ʜᴇ ꜱᴜꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ. ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

ʚɞ wc : 3.8k ʚɞ 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑥(𝑢)𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡.

The morning began like any other in the Butterfly Mansion. The sun filtered softly through the shoji, tinting everything with a warm golden glow, and the aroma of green tea and medicines floated in the air. You woke up early, as always, your body still sore from the intense training the day before with Giyu Tomioka. You stretched on the futon, feeling your muscles protest but respond with that strength Shinobu Kocho had forged in you over months. As her personal apprentice, you were respected by almost all the Hashira: Rengoku congratulated you with his flaming smile every time you crossed paths, Mitsuri hugged you like you were her little sister, and even Sanemi, grumpy as he was, had given you an approving nod after your last sword demonstration.

All of them… except one.

Tengen Uzui.

The Sound Hashira.

The alpha whose presence was impossible to ignore. Tall, muscular, with that platinum-white hair that gleamed like silver under the sun and those golden eyes that seemed to read straight into your soul. His voice was powerful, his laugh flamboyant, and every movement radiated a confidence and raw sexuality that left you breathless. That was exactly why you avoided him. Not because he was cruel or because you disliked him… quite the opposite. Every time you trained with him, your mind completely short-circuited. You’d stare at his defined arms when he lifted his swords, at the sweat running down his broad chest when he stripped off his haori to fight more freely, at the way his powerful thighs flexed with every move… and you’d lose your rhythm. You’d miss strikes you normally dominated. You’d blush. Your hands would shake. And he… seemed to have noticed. Lately he’d been giving you long looks, crooked smiles, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on you.

But today everything seemed normal. You had breakfast with Shinobu in the garden, chatting about poisons and breathing techniques. She smiled at you with that dangerously sweet expression of hers while pouring you more tea.

“Today you have special training, dear,” she said suddenly, her voice soft yet firm, leaving no room for argument. “Uzui-sama requested your presence at his mansion this afternoon. Apparently he wants to test a new coordination technique with someone from my squad. You can’t refuse, of course.”

Your heart lurched so hard you nearly spilled the tea.

“Uzui? Today? But… I… couldn’t I go with someone else? Maybe Muichiro?”

Shinobu tilted her head, her violet eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Impossible. He’s already confirmed the time. Go prepared. And… try not to get too distracted, okay?” she added with a little smirk that made you blush to your ears.

There was no escape.

You spent the morning nervous, training alone in the dojo to calm yourself, but every strike you landed you imagined his golden eyes watching you. At noon you dressed in your impeccable apprentice uniform, adjusted your cape, and walked toward the Sound Hashira’s mansion. The path was short but felt endless. When you arrived, the doors were open, as if waiting for you. A servant guided you in silence to the large private training hall.

And there he was.

Tengen Uzui, standing in the center of the wide room, without his haori, wearing only the black uniform pants and a tight shirt that clung to every muscle of his torso. Sweat already glistened on his skin from his warm-up. He turned when he heard you enter, that flamboyant smile lighting up his face.

“Finally! My favorite Butterfly apprentice. I thought you’d gotten lost on the way, heh. Come here, get closer. I don’t bite… yet.”

You forced yourself to walk with steady steps, even though your knees trembled a little. You bowed respectfully.

“Hashira Uzui. Shinobu-sama informed me you requested me for training. I’m ready.”

He let out a deep laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. The muscles in his biceps stood out almost obscenely.

“Straight to the point, as always. I like that about you. Sit for a moment before we start.” He pointed at the cushions on the edge of the tatami.

You obeyed, sitting with your back straight. He dropped down in front of you, far too close for your sanity. His knees almost brushed yours. The scent of his clean sweat mixed with something woody and masculine hit you directly.

“First, let’s talk,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. “Lately I’ve noticed something… interesting in our training sessions. Or rather, in the ones you keep trying to avoid with me.”

You felt heat rising up your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Uzui-sama. I train with all the Hashira according to the schedule.”

He raised an eyebrow, that crooked smile sharpening.

“Oh, really? Then explain why, when I call you for sparring, you suddenly ‘have a sore shoulder’ or ‘Shinobu needs you urgently.’ Or why, when you do show up, you miss basic strikes even a rookie could land. Do you think I don’t notice, little one?”

You swallowed hard. Your hands tightened on your thighs.

“It’s… just coincidences. Nothing more.”

Tengen leaned even closer. His presence was overwhelming: the heat of his body, the way his golden eyes trapped you mercilessly.

“Liar. And you know it.” His voice dropped an octave, deeper, more intimate. “Let’s make a deal. We’re going to train right now… but only if you tell me the truth. Why do you lose focus so much when I’m near? Why do you avoid me like I have the plague?”

The silence stretched. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears. You tried to stand, but his large hand settled on your knee—firm but not aggressive—keeping you in place.

“Don’t go. Not until you say it.” His fingers squeezed lightly, sending an electric current up your leg. “Is it because I intimidate you? Because I’m too loud? Or…” his smile turned dangerous, “…because you like me too much and you can’t focus on the sword when all you want to do is stare at my muscles?”

You froze. A blush covered your entire face. You tried to shake your head, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Tengen let out a low, victorious laugh.

“There it is. That red face confirms everything.” He moved even closer, his face only inches from yours. “Say it. Out loud. Tell me exactly what happens to you when you see me. Or I swear I’ll keep you here until nightfall repeating basic techniques until you confess.”

Your breathing quickened. His fingers stayed on your knee, his thumb slowly stroking the fabric of your uniform. The tension in the air was thick, charged. You knew there was no escape. Not with him looking at you like that, demanding the truth.

“I…” you began, voice trembling. “It’s just… Uzui-sama… you’re… too…”

“Too what?” he pressed, not breaking eye contact. “Be brave, apprentice. Say it.”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second.

“Too sexy,” you finally blurted, almost in a ashamed whisper. “Every time we train, I can’t focus. I look at your arms, your legs, the way you move… and I forget everything. I lose concentration. That’s why I avoid you. Because I like you. A lot. Too much. And I know it’s inappropriate—I’m just an apprentice and you’re a Hashira—but… I can’t help it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You opened your eyes slowly, dying of embarrassment.

Tengen stared at you intently, his flamboyant smile now softer, but with a new gleam in his eyes: pure satisfaction, almost predatory.

“Wow… finally,” he murmured, his hand slowly sliding from your knee up to your thigh, squeezing with light possession. “I knew it was that. I’ve been waiting weeks to hear it from your mouth. And now that you’ve said it… there’s no turning back.”

He stood with feline grace, extending a hand to help you up. His massive body blocked the light coming through the windows.

“Good, little one. Now that we know the truth… let’s do that ‘training’ I promised you. But in a very different way. A way where you’re going to lose control… exactly the way I want to see you.”

His eyes flicked down for a second to his own muscular thighs, strong and defined under the fabric of his uniform.

“And you’re going to ride them until you can’t even think.”

Tengen didn’t give you time to process his words. His large, calloused hand stayed wrapped around yours, pulling you with that controlled strength that made you feel small and safe at the same time. He drew you close until your chest brushed his, the heat of his body piercing through the thin fabric of your apprentice uniform as if it didn’t exist.

“Come here, little one,” he murmured, voice low and husky, that flamboyant smile curving darker, hungrier. “You already confessed. Now you’re going to prove it.”

He guided you to the center of the training tatami. He sat with his legs spread, back against the polished wooden wall, and pulled you so you stood between his open knees. His thighs… gods, his thighs. They were pure art: thick, hard as steel forged by years of combat, covered by the tight black fabric of his uniform that stretched obscenely over the defined quadriceps. You could see the veins standing out beneath the cloth, the heavy bulge of his cock already half-hard pressing against the inner seam.

“Sit,” he ordered softly, patting his right thigh with his free hand. “Right here. Straddling.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. You obeyed, trembling. You placed your knees on either side of his massive leg and slowly lowered yourself until your pussy, covered only by the thin fabric of your training shorts, pressed directly against the hard, hot surface of his thigh. The contact was immediate and brutal. The muscle was so firm it felt like stone wrapped in hot velvet, and the heat of his skin burned through the fabric like a branding iron.

“Ah…” you gasped, hands instinctively bracing on his broad shoulders so you wouldn’t fall.

Tengen let out a low, deep laugh that vibrated in his chest.

“Look at you already… just sitting and you’re shaking. What a fucking beauty.” His large hands settled on your hips, fingers digging lightly into the soft flesh. “Now move. Ride my thigh like it’s the only thing you need in this world. Slowly at first… I want to feel you get wet for me.”

You started moving. A timid motion at first: forward and back, rubbing your pussy against the relentless hardness of his quadriceps. The friction was perfect, almost painfully good. The fabric of your shorts slid wetly against his, and soon you felt your arousal beginning to soak through, creating a dark, shiny spot on his thigh.

“Fuck… yes… just like that,” Tengen growled, golden eyes fixed on the place where you were grinding against him. “Look how fast you’re getting wet. How many nights did you touch yourself thinking about these thighs, huh? Tell me.”

“M-many…” you confessed between pants, your hips speeding up on their own. “Every time we trained… I’d go to my room and… ah… touch myself imagining this… imagining you…”

“Good girl,” he whispered, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair and tug gently backward, arching you against him. “Harder now. I want to feel your little pussy throbbing against my leg. I want you to leave a mess on my uniform so everyone knows what a slut you are for me when no one’s looking.”

You sped up. Your hips rolled harder, pressing your swollen clit against the muscle that flexed beneath you every time he deliberately tensed his leg. The pleasure was raw, direct, almost animal. Each pass made the fabric rub your sensitive entrance, collecting more of your wetness and spreading it across the entire surface of his thigh. The sound was obscene: a soft, wet “schlick-schlick” that filled the empty hall.

Tengen never stopped watching you. His eyes roamed your face, your parted lips, your breasts rising and falling under your shirt, the spot where your pussy rubbed desperately against him.

“Gods… what a flamboyant view,” he growled, voice rougher. “Look at you losing control. Cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, mouth open moaning my name… you’re fucking perfect like this. Keep going, little one. Rub that swollen clit against my thigh. I want you to cum just from this.”

“Uzui-sama… Tengen… it’s… it’s too good…” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “I’m going to… ah… I’m going to cum so fast…”

“Not yet,” he ordered, gripping your hips to slow you for a second. “I want you to feel every inch of my thigh. Feel how it flexes… how it pulses under your soaked pussy. Notice how hard it is? It’s all muscle for you. Just so you can grind on it like a desperate little thing.”

He suddenly flexed the thigh beneath you, making the muscle swell and press directly against your clit. You let out a sharp cry, pleasure shooting through you like lightning.

“Ahhh! Tengen!”

“That’s it… scream my name. Louder.” His hands guided you now, lifting and lowering your hips in a steady rhythm, forcing you to ride him harder. “I want you so wet you soak through the fabric. I want to feel your heat directly on my skin. Take off your shorts. Now.”

With trembling hands you yanked down your shorts and underwear in one motion, leaving yourself completely exposed from the waist down. The cool air brushed your swollen, dripping pussy for only a second before Tengen pulled you back down onto his now-bare thigh.

Skin-to-skin contact was devastating.

His thigh was hot, slightly sweaty from the earlier warm-up, smooth skin over iron muscle. Your slick pussy slid straight against it, your wetness coating every ridge and valley of his quadriceps. Slick poured out in gushes, dripping down the sides of his leg and forming a shiny puddle on the tatami.

“Fuck… you’re so wet,” Tengen growled, eyes almost black with lust. “Look at that… you’re leaving a river on my leg. What a beautiful, filthy slut.”

He made you move again, faster, harder. Your hips rolled frantically, your clit grinding mercilessly against the hard muscle. Each movement made your swollen lips part and slide over his skin, leaving a thick, sticky trail. The sound was even wetter now, sloppy, obscene.

“You’re shaking all over,” he whispered against your ear, biting your lobe. “Lose control for me. I want to see you fall apart. I want you to cum so hard you scream until your throat hurts. Come on, little one… ride me faster. Use my thigh like your personal toy.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. The orgasm approached like a giant wave. Your movements turned erratic, desperate, hips bucking hard as you ground against his leg without shame.

“Tengen… I’m going to… I’m going to cum! Please…!”

“Do it,” he ordered, one hand slipping between your bodies to spread your lips wider with two fingers, exposing your clit even more to the direct friction. “Cum. Now. Soak my entire thigh. Show me what a slut you are for me.”

You exploded.

The orgasm hit you violently. Your pussy contracted in powerful spasms, releasing a hot gush of slick that completely drenched his thigh and splashed all the way to his knee. You screamed his name so loudly it echoed off the walls of the hall:

“TENGEN! Ahhhh… fuck… yesss!”

Your hips kept moving on their own, prolonging the pleasure, grinding against him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through you. Tengen never stopped talking in your ear, his voice rough and praising:

“That’s it… just like that… look at you cumming so pretty… soaking me completely… you’re a sight, little one. My favorite apprentice losing her mind on my thigh… fuck, you look so hot. Don’t stop… keep grinding… I want another.”

You’d barely finished the first when he flexed his thigh again, forcing you to keep moving. The oversensitivity made you cry out, but the pleasure was too good to stop.

“One more,” he demanded, biting your neck. “I want to feel you cum again while I watch your face. I want to see exactly how your eyes roll back when you break for me.”

You kept riding him, slower now but deeper, pressing your sensitive clit against every ridge of muscle. His hands guided you, whispering constant praise:

“What a good girl… such a hot, slippery pussy… look at you making my whole thigh shiny… you’re perfect… my flamboyant, filthy apprentice…”

The second orgasm came faster and harder. You arched against him, nails digging into his shoulders, screaming his name as another hot gush poured out of you, soaking him even more.

When you finally collapsed against his chest, trembling, exhausted, covered in sweat and with your wetness dripping down his entire leg, Tengen held you tight, kissing your hair.

“That’s my girl…” he murmured, voice soft now, proud. “Look at you… completely wrecked and gorgeous. And that was just the warm-up.”

His fingers stroked your back while you felt his huge, hard cock throbbing against your thigh, promising so much more.

“Ready for the next lesson, little one? Because I’m nowhere near done with you…”

Your body kept convulsing against his, aftershocks from the second orgasm running through you like electric jolts that left your legs weak. You were completely slumped against his broad, sweaty chest, cheek pressed to his hot skin, breathing ragged while your pussy still pulsed and released little spurts of slick that continued dripping down his entire right thigh. The hot, clear liquid had completely soaked the black fabric of his pants, creating a shiny, sticky puddle that spread from his knee almost to his hip. The scent of your arousal filled the hall: sweet, musky, feminine, mixed with the masculine, woody scent of his sweat.

Tengen let out a low, rough laugh that vibrated directly against your ear. His large, calloused hands—rough from years of gripping swords—slid down your bare back to grip your ass possessively, spreading your cheeks slightly so your open pussy pressed even harder against the soaked muscle of his thigh.

“Fuck… look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Two orgasms just grinding like a bitch in heat against my leg and you’re still dripping. Feel this…” He deliberately flexed his quadriceps beneath you slowly, making the hard, hot muscle swell against your ultra-sensitive clit. The direct rub over your swollen, throbbing button ripped a sharp moan from you, almost a sob. “Feel how your little pussy is throbbing against me? It’s pulsing, little one. Soaking me up to the knee. What a flamboyant fucking sight.”

You tried to shift to ease the sensitivity, but his hands held you tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass and forcing you to stay exactly where you were.

“No, no, no…” he crooned against your neck, biting your skin just hard enough to leave a red mark. “I’m not done watching you lose your mind yet. I want another. I want you to cum one more time just on my thigh… and this time you’re going to do it while you watch me destroy you.”

He lifted your hips with insulting ease, as if you weighed nothing, and slammed you back down. The impact crushed your clit against the most prominent ridge of his quadriceps, sending a jolt so intense your eyes rolled back for a second. A fresh spurt of slick shot out of you, splashing directly onto his hot skin.

“Ahhh… Tengen… please… it’s too sensitive…” you begged, voice broken, tears of pleasure shining on your lashes. “I can’t… I’m going to lose my mind…”

“Exactly,” he growled, starting to guide your hips in a slow but deep rhythm, forcing you to slide forward and back along the full length of his thigh. “That’s what I want. For you to go crazy for me. Look down. Look at the mess you’re making.”

You looked down, hypnotized. Your swollen, red, glistening pussy spread obscenely against his muscular leg. Your outer lips parted, your swollen clit peeking out every time you slid backward, leaving a thick, sticky trail of your wetness that shone under the hall’s light. Each movement made more slick pour out, dripping in long, transparent strands that connected your entrance to his skin. The sound was disgustingly perfect: a constant wet “schlick… schlick… schlick,” accompanied by soft splashing when your pussy rubbed against the prominent veins of his thigh.

“What a pretty, filthy pussy,” Tengen whispered, one hand releasing your ass to slide between your bodies. Two thick fingers spread your lips wider, completely exposing your pink, dripping interior. “Look how it pulses… how it clenches begging for something bigger. But today it’s not getting my cock yet. Today it’s only getting my thigh… until you can’t even walk.”

He sped up the pace. His hands moved you harder, lifting and dropping your hips like you were a doll. Each downward thrust smashed your clit against the muscle; each upward lift freed it only to crush it again. The pleasure was so intense it hurt—a sweet, addictive pain that made you sob and moan at the same time.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demanded, biting your shoulder. “I want to hear everything. Every detail.”

“It’s… so hard…” you panted, words coming out broken. “So hot… I feel every muscle… every vein… my clit is burning… every time I slide… ahhh… it rubs exactly where it hurts so good… I’m so wet it slips… drips… I feel like a slut… your slut…”

“My slut,” he corrected with a possessive growl, moving faster. “Say it again.”

“I’m… I’m your slut, Tengen…” you cried, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave red marks. “Your apprentice slut who only wants to ride your thigh… who cums just from this… please, don’t stop!”

He laughed, dark and satisfied, and flexed his thigh repeatedly beneath you, creating waves of muscle that slammed directly into your clit over and over. The third orgasm built brutally fast. You felt your abdomen tighten, your pussy contracting in uncontrollable spasms, the liquid pressure building again.

“I’m going to… I’m going to cum again… Tengen… it’s too strong!”

“Do it,” he ordered, voice hoarse. “Cum. Soak everything. I want to feel you flood my leg. I want you to splash all the way to my cock. Now!”

You exploded for the third time.

The orgasm was devastating. Your pussy clenched with brutal force, releasing a hot, powerful squirt that shot against his thigh, splashing all the way to his hip and soaking the fabric over his rock-hard cock. You screamed his name so loudly your voice cracked, your body convulsing violently as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you. Your inner walls squeezed again and again, expelling more slick in short, continuous spurts that drenched everything: his leg, the tatami beneath, even splashing a little onto his defined abs.

Tengen never stopped moving you, not for a second, prolonging the orgasm until you were sobbing, shaking, completely destroyed and limp against his chest. Only then did he slow the motion, letting you grind softly against him while the last aftershocks ran through you.

“So beautiful…” he whispered, kissing your sweaty forehead, your cheek, your parted lips. “Look at you… completely ruined, gushing like a fountain all over my thigh… and you still want more, don’t you?”

His hand slid down to his own cock, squeezing it over the soaked fabric, showing you how hard and huge it was.

“Now…” he said with that flamboyant, dangerous smile, “you’re going to keep riding me until you can’t even speak. And after that… I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll feel my cock for days.”

His fingers gripped your hips again, ready to start over.

“Ready for round four, my little flamboyant slut? Because I can keep going all afternoon…”

☰゛ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴏᴜᴍᴀ'ꜱ ᴛᴇᴍᴘʟᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜰʟɪʀᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱ; ʜᴇ'ᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴀ ꜱɴᴏᴡꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴏᴡ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

ʚɞ wc : 2.9k ʚɞ 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑥(𝑢)𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡.

The temple was in absolute silence, except for the soft crackling of the sails and the distant howling of the wind outside. You had spent hours cleaning the polished wooden floors, dusting the golden altars and fixing the flower offerings that the devotees left daily. Whole months working here like the anonymous cleaning girl, the one no one looked at twice... except him.

Douma.

The leader of the cult, the rainbow-eyed demon who always smiled, even when there was nothing funny. Months of casual crossings in the hallways, of stolen conversations when he “accidentally” showed up while you swept. Shared laughter about how clumsy you were with the broom at first, comments from you about how beautiful the moonlight looked in your hair when you cleaned the high windows. Subtle flirts that made you blush and doubt: did you imagine it or did you really look at you longer than necessary? Did he really get so close that you could smell that cold and sweet aroma of ice and lilies that always surrounded him?

You liked it.

Fuck, you liked it too much.

He attracted you in a way that you were ashamed to admit even in your own head: his eternal smile, that sweet and playful voice, the way his long fingers “accidentally” brushed yours when he passed you a rag. You fantasized about him at night, imagining what it would feel like if ever, just once, he saw you as something more than the girl who kept her impeccable temple. But you were realistic. You were nobody. He was... everything. He would never lower himself to touch you.

That night you had stayed up very late. The snowfall had begun suddenly, strong, silent, covering everything in white. When you finished and headed to the main exit, the door was blocked by almost half a meter of fresh and compact snow. The wind howled outside. You lived only twenty minutes away on foot, but with this... impossible.

You sighed, leaning your forehead against the cold wood of the door.

“Great... just what I needed,” you murmured to yourself.

Then you felt it.

That presence.

That feeling that someone was watching you with a smile.

“Wow, wow... is my faithful cleaner still here so late?”

You turned around suddenly. Douma was just two steps behind you, appearing as always out of nowhere, with that impeccable white and red robe, platinum blonde hair falling on his shoulders and that perfect, eternal smile, curving his lips. His multicolored eyes shone under the light of the lanterns.

“Douma-sama...” you said, tilting your head quickly, your heart beating hard. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother. The snow... accumulated very quickly. I was going to try to make my way but...

He took a step closer, tilting his head with feigned curiosity, that smile never leaving his face.

“Oh, poor thing.” You can’t go out with this storm. It would be very impolite of me to let you go and freeze on the way, don’t you think? -He extended a gloved hand towards you, as if offering you something invisible-. Stay tonight. The temple has plenty of rooms. Besides... you would keep me company. I get so bored when everyone leaves.

Your stomach turned upside down. Stay? With him? Alone?

“I... I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Douma-sama.” I’m just the cleaner, no...

“Shhh,” he interrupted you softly, putting a cold finger on your lips. The contact was electric—. Tonight you’re not “just the cleaner.” You are my guest. Yes?

You swallowed saliva and nodded, your cheeks burning.

—... Yes. Thank you. Thank you very much.

He smiled wider, almost childish with joy.

“Perfect.” Come, come with me to the private kitchen. Are you hungry? I don’t eat much, but... -his eyes ran you from top to bottom for a second- I would love to see you cook something for both of us.

You accepted without thinking twice. You followed him through the corridors illuminated by lanterns, your heart hammering into your chest. You prepared a simple but hot stew: rice, fresh vegetables that you found in the pantry and some chicken that he told you where it was. While you cooked, you felt his gaze fixed on you all the time. He didn’t talk much, he just watched with that calm smile, sitting at the low table, his chin resting on his hand.

When you served the dishes and sat in front of him, the atmosphere changed.

You ate in silence at first, nervous. He didn’t even touch the chopsticks. I was just looking at you. Fixedly. With that intensity that made your skin bristle.

“Douma-sama...” you finally said, trying to break the tension with a shy smile. Aren’t you hungry? I cooked for both of us, I don’t want it to get cold.

He tilted his head, his smile softening a little, but his eyes kept shining with something... different.

“Oh, I’m hungry,” he replied with that honeyed, almost singing voice. But not food, dear.

You’re out of breath. You looked down at the plate, your pulse racing.

“W-what do you mean?”

Douma let out a low chuckle, apparently innocent.

“I was just joking.” Or... maybe not so much. I’ve been watching you for months, you know? The way you move around my temple, so diligent, so beautiful when you think no one sees you. That little wrinkle that forms on your forehead when you clean the difficult corners... it’s adorable.

You felt hot climbing up your neck.

“Douma-sama, please... don’t say those things.” I’m just the cleaning girl. You are... well, you are you.

He leaned forward a little on the table, getting closer.

“What if I told you that “you” are exactly what interests me lately?” His multicolored eyes captured yours. Months of stolen talks, laughter... do you think I haven’t noticed how you look at me when you think I don’t see you? That way you blush when I touch your hand... do you think I’m that blind, little one?

Your fork trembled in your hand. You stopped eating.

“I... it’s not that... I mean... I do like you. A lot. But I never thought that you... with me... I’m nobody.

Douma stood up slowly, circling the table with elegant and silent steps. He stopped right behind you. You felt his cold, imposing presence. His hands rested gently on your shoulders, his thumbs caressing the fabric of your yukata.

“Nobody is “nobody” to me tonight,” he whispered close to your ear, his cold breath making you shudder. And I’ve been wondering... what you’ll taste like.

You turned in the seat, looking at him with your eyes wide open. His face was inches from yours, that eternal smile but now with something darker, hungrier behind it.

“Douma-sama...

“Douma,” he corrected softly. Only Douma tonight.

His fingers went up to your chin, tilting your face up.

“Do you want me to stop?” Say it now and I’ll stop. But if not... -his thumb brushed your lower lip- I’m going to find out exactly how sweet you are.

Your heart was beating so hard that you thought it would come out of your chest. The snow kept falling outside, isolating you from the world. You were alone with him. In his temple. And he looked at you as if you were the most delicious offering he had ever seen.

“No... I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but confident.

Her smile widened, perfect and dangerous.

“Good girl.”

In a fluid movement he lifted you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. He took you to the center of the main hall of the temple, where thick carpets and prayer cushions were arranged around the main altar. He deposited you there carefully, kneeling between your open legs. His cold hands slowly climbed up your thighs, lifting the fabric of your yukata.

“I’m going to devour you,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on yours as he separated your knees. With my tongue... until you shave so much that you can’t even remember your name. And I’m going to smile all the time... because seeing you lose control for me is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in decades.

He lowered his head. His tongue - cold as ice, but wet and skillful - brushed the inside of your thigh first, leaving an icy trail that made you gasp. He climbed slowly, torturing you, until he reached your already wet and throbbing center.

When his tongue touched you for the first time, flat and cold against your swollen clitoris, you let out a high-pitched moan that resounded on the walls of the temple.

“Ah...” Douma...

He smiled against your flesh, his lips curved in that eternal expression.

“Mmm... you’re already so wet for me,” he whispered, his voice vibrating directly against you. What a delicious surprise. You’ve been wanting this for months, right?

He didn’t wait for an answer. Her tongue began to move: precise, expert, surrounding your clitoris in slow and cold circles that contrasted brutally with the heat that rose through your body. Then he went down, licking your entrance with long, deep licks, penetrating you lightly with the tip before going back up and sucking gently.

Your hips arched by themselves. Your hands dug into his hair, pulling without realizing it.

“Douma... please... it’s... it’s too much... but it feels so good...

He laughed softly against you, the sound playful and dark.

“That’s exactly why you’re going to like it more, little one.” Cold... precise... and I never stop until my offering is completely undone.

He inserted two long, cold fingers inside you while his tongue concentrated on your clitoris, sucking and licking with demonic precision. Every movement was calculated to drive you crazy: a slow circle, a strong suction, a flat and icy lick that made you tremble all over.

“Moan louder,” he asked without raising his head, his rainbow eyes looking at you from below with that constant smile. I want to hear how my favorite cleaner breaks for me. Tell me what you feel.

“Cold... so cold... but it burns... Douma, I’m going to cum... please, don’t stop... ahh!

He accelerated, his fingers curling inside you looking for that exact point while his tongue hit your clitoris mercilessly. Your whole body tensed, your legs trembling around his head, your fingers pulling his hair.

“So... that’s it,” he murmured to you, smiling broadly. Cum in my mouth, beautiful. Let me drink you all.

And you did it. With a long and broken scream, the orgasm went through you like an avalanche. Your walls contracted around his fingers, releasing more moisture that he licked greedily, without losing a drop, smiling all the time while you watched yourself shake yourself and moan his name again and again.

But he didn’t stop.

He continued licking, slower now, prolonging the waves of pleasure until you were sobbing with sensitivity, hips moving weakly against his face.

“Once again,” he whispered, his eyes shining with fun and hunger. I want to see how you tremble again... just for me.

And he devoured you again, precise tongue, eternal smile, while the snow continued to fall outside and you were completely lost in his temple.

Your body still trembled with the aftershocks of the first orgasm, your legs loose, wide open on the thick cushions of the main hall of the temple. Moisture shone on your thighs, dripping slowly and hot on the dark fabric below you. You were breathing choppy, your chest rising and falling quickly, your nipples hard against the open yukata that Douma had pushed away so easily. The cold mark of his tongue still throbbed on your swollen clitoris, sensitive to the point of pain.

But he didn’t get up.

His eternal smile was still there, curved against your soaked flesh, his rainbow eyes shining with a cruel and playful amusement as he looked at you from below. Her platinum hair fell messy on her forehead, some strands stuck to her skin because of the moisture she had drunk from you. She licked one last time, slowly, deliberately, picking up the rest of your orgasm with the tip of her tongue cold as ice.

“Mmm... what an addictive flavor,” he murmured against your pussy, his voice sweet and low, vibrating directly in your overstimulated center. But that was just the appetizer, little one. Now comes the main course.

You tried to close your legs by instinct, the pleasure still too recent, too intense. Your hands pushed his head weakly.

“Douma... wait... it’s too much... I’m very sensitive... please...

He let out a low, almost childish chuckle, but his big, cold hands closed around your thighs with unwavering force, keeping them open. In a fluid movement he got up a little on his knees, but his mouth never left your center. His right hand then went up, flat and firm, and landed just below your navel, pressing your abdomen against the cushions.

“No, no, no...” he sanged softly, his lips brushing your swollen clitoris as he spoke. You’re not going to escape now. Stay quiet for me. If you move too much... everything starts again. And you don’t want that, do you?

The weight of his palm was cold, heavy, immobilizing you against the ground as if you were an offering nailed to the altar. You felt how your abdominal muscles tensed under his hand, trying to rebel, but it was useless. You were trapped. Completely at your mercy.

And then he devoured you again.

This time it was neither slow nor playful. His tongue attacked mercilessly: long and flat licks that ran through your entire slit from bottom to top, ending with a strong and wet suction on your clitoris. Each pass sent electric shocks down your spine, causing your back to arch violently... but his hand on your abdomen kept you glued to the ground, forcing you to feel every second without being able to escape.

“Ahh...” Douma... it’s too much! -you shouted, tears already stinging in your eyes-. Please, stop a second... I can’t...!

He looked up just for a moment, the wider smile, the lips bright with your moisture.

“You can.” And you will do it. Look how you tremble... it’s beautiful.

He inserted two long, icy fingers inside you without warning. They were so cold that you let out a high-pitched scream, the contrast with your internal warmth was brutal. He immediately curved them upwards, searching, pressing... and found that point. That inner point, swollen and sensitive, right behind your pubic bone. He rubbed it with surgical precision, firm and fast circles while his tongue continued to lick your clitoris without rest.

The pleasure changed. It was no longer just the sweet and familiar pleasure of the previous orgasm. It was something deeper, more urgent, more... uncomfortable. A strange pressure began to accumulate in your lower belly, just below where his hand held you. As if your bladder was full, like urgent desire to urinate. You twisted, trying to close your legs again, but his palm pressed harder against your abdomen, crushing you against the cushions.

“No...” Douma... wait... I feel that... that I’m going to... -you haded, your voice broken by shame and growing panic-. As if I were going to urinate! Please, stop!

He laughed against your flesh, the sound vibrating directly on your clitoris. His fingers didn’t stop for a second; on the contrary, they pressed harder on that internal point, massaging it mercilessly while his cold tongue sucked and licked your clitoris in fast and precise circles.

“Shhh... that’s not urine, beautiful,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but still with that manipulative sweetness. It’s your body asking me for more. Relax... let him out. If you move or try to escape... I stop and start everything from scratch. And this time I will be much slower... and much more cruel.

The threat made you moan in despair. You tried to stay still, but it was impossible. Your hips shook themselves, trying to get away from that overwhelming pressure, from that icy tongue that gave no respite, from those fingers that hit that point over and over again with a relentless rhythm. The moisture gushed out, soaking his hand, his chin, the cushions under you. The sound was obscene: wet, splashing, mixed with your broken moans and the soft sounds of his mouth devouring you.

The pressure was growing. I believed. It became unbearable. You felt your abdomen tense under his hand, the liquid heat accumulating, pushing, demanding to come out. Your legs trembled violently, your toes curving. Real tears rolled down your cheeks now.

“Douma... I can’t... I’m going to... please... I’m going to pee on myself!” Stop!

He raised his head just enough to look into your eyes, swollen and shiny lips, the widest and most perverse smile you had ever seen.

“You’re not going to pee, my pretty cleaner.” You are going to come for me. And you’re going to make it strong. Now.

His fingers pressed that internal point with brutal force at the same time that his mouth sucked your clitoris with all the power of his cold and precise tongue.

And you exploded.

It wasn’t a normal orgasm. It was an avalanche.

A hot and powerful jet came out of you with force, soaking his face, his neck, his white and red robe. The clear and hot liquid splashed against his palm still pressed on your abdomen, dripping everywhere, wetting the cushions until leaving a shiny puddle under you. Your body convulsed violently, the inner walls contracting around his fingers in spasms so strong that they hurt with pleasure. You shouted his name so loud that your voice broke, a long, torn, animal sound.

- DOUMA... AHHH...!

He didn’t step aside a millimeter. He kept licking, drinking every squirt that came out of you, his fingers moving faster inside you to prolong the squirt. Another jet came out, stronger, splashing his cheek. Then another one. And another. Your body shook as if possessed, tears falling uncontrollably, moans turning into sobs of overwhelming pleasure.

“So... that’s... good girl... look at you... what a beautiful amount you are giving for me,” he murmured against your pussy without stopping licking, his voice full of dark adoration. Keep going... don’t stop... let it all out... you’re so perfect when you break down like that...

The squirt lasted long, endless seconds. When it finally began to decrease, your body was lax, trembling, completely exhausted. Douma slowly withdrew his fingers, taking them to his mouth to lick them with delight, looking at you with those rainbow eyes bright with satisfaction.

He got on top of you, his face and chest soaked with your squirt, but his smile had never been more radiant.

“Wow... what a generous offering you have given me tonight,” he whispered, leaning over to kiss your trembling lips, letting you taste your own flavor mixed with his cold. And we’re just getting started, my sweet cleaner.

His cold fingers caressed your wet cheek with tears.

“Ready for the next round?” Because I’m still very hungry...

The temple was still silent, the snow falling outside, isolating you from the world... and Douma looked at you as if you were the only thing that existed in his eternal paradise.

☰゛ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴘɪʟʟᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇɴɢᴇɴ ᴜᴢᴜɪ'ꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱʜɪᴘ; ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀɴ ᴏᴍᴇɢᴀ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅʟʏ. ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

ʚɞ wc : 4.2k ʚɞ 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑥(𝑢)𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡.

The morning comes out with that golden and warm light that always sneaks between the slits of the shoji of your private room, in the mansion that corresponds to you as Pilar. You wake up slowly, with your body wrapped in a thin layer of sweat that makes the silk of your yukata stick to your skin.

At first you don’t give it importance: you trained hard yesterday, the late summer sun is treacherous, and your mind is still half asleep. You extend your arms above your head, feeling how your muscles complain pleasantly, and you sit on the futon.

But then you notice it.

A strange, deep heat that doesn’t come from outside but from inside. As if your blood had begun to boil slowly, concentrating on your lower belly. Your inner omega stirs, lazy but alert, and you let out a choppy sigh. You shake your head. “It can’t be yet,” you think. There were still weeks left according to your calculations. You get up, go to the private bathroom and wet your face with cold water. The mirror gives you back your reflection: slightly pink cheeks, slightly dilated pupils, half-open lips. You change quickly, put on Pilar’s uniform, adjust the cape and go out.

As always, Tengen is waiting for you on the path that leads to the headquarters. Tall, imposing, with that platinum white hair that shines under the sun and that flamboyant smile that makes half the world melt. He is the Pillar of Sound, the most coveted single alpha of the entire Hunter Corps, and your best friend for years.

No one else knows you’re an omega. Only him. And he keeps it as the most valuable secret in the world.

“Good morning, my favorite Pillar!” he greets you with that powerful and cheerful voice that makes the air vibrate. Ready for another meeting where old Gyomei is going to cry and Shinobu is going to smile like he’s planning a murder? Flamboyante as always!

You laugh, although the laughter comes out a little shaky. You walk next to him and talk nonsense: about the last mission you shared, about how he almost destroyed an entire forest with his sound bombs, about how ridiculous it is that the other Pillars still do not know your true nature. He glances sideways at you, but says nothing. Not yet.

The meeting of the Pillars begins punctually. You are sitting in your usual position, next to Tengen. Master Ubuyashiki speaks with that serene and firm voice about the latest activities of the demons, about strategies, about the need to coordinate. You try to concentrate. You really try. But after fifteen minutes the heat returns, stronger. It goes up your legs like liquid lava, settles in your core and makes you squeeze your thighs under the hakama. A thread of sweat runs down your spine. You feel how your body begins to produce slick, slowly, treacherous, wetting your underwear. Your smell... that sweet and musky smell that only an alpha can detect when you are close to heat... begins to seep into the air.

You get up suddenly.

“Excuse me,” you murmur in the firmest voice you can. I feel... unwell. I’ll be back in a moment.

You don’t expect an answer. You almost run out of the living room, your heart beating in your ears. The other Pillars murmur, but you can only think about getting to your mansion before it’s too late. You run through the wooden corridors, go out to the garden, cross the forest that separates the barracks from your private residence. Every step makes the rubbing of the fabric against your skin a torture. Your inner omega is already wide awake, screaming inside your mind:

“Alpha... Tengen... his smell... his voice... his thick cock, his knot... please... please...”

Shake your head hard. “No. He’s my best friend. I’m not going to ruin everything for a zeal.”

You arrive at your mansion panting. You close the front door with the latch, lean against the wood and slide to the floor. Your hands tremble when you take off your cape and haori. The heat is already unbearable. You feel empty, painfully empty. Your pussy throbs, wet, swollen, asking for something you can’t give it alone. You try to breathe slowly, but each inhalation only makes the smell of your own zeal hit you harder.

Then you hear the footsteps.

Heavy, safe, familiar. Firm knocks on the door.

“Hey... are you there?” Tengen’s voice sounds worried, but still with that playful tone that you like so much. You ran away as if a higher-ranking demon was chasing you. That’s not yours. Open, go.

You swallow saliva. Your voice comes out more hoarse than you would like.

“Everything is fine, Tengen.” I just... need to rest for a while. Come back to the meeting, please.

Silence on the other side. Then a long sigh.

“Don’t lie to me.” I know you better than anyone. Open the door or throw it down. And you know that I am capable of doing it in a very flamboyant way.

You sware in a low voice. You know he’s not joking. With trembling hands you run the latch. The door opens and there he is, filling the whole frame with his huge, muscular body, that alpha presence that has always made you feel safe... and now, dangerous.

He enters without asking permission, closes the door behind him and looks you up and down. His nostrils widen slightly.

“What’s up?” You’re pale... no, wait, you’re red. Very red.

You try to step back, but your back already touches the wall.

“Nothing, really.” Just a dizziness. The heat of the day, you know.

Tengen frowns. Take a step closer. Its smell envelops you: sandalwood, gunpowder, something metallic and deeply masculine. Your omega houls inside you.

“It’s him! Our alpha! Let him take you! Please!”

“I don’t believe you,” he says, soft but firm. Come here.

Before you can protest, he raises a big hand and places his palm on your forehead. The contact is like lightning. Her skin is hot, but compared to yours it looks fresh. A small, almost inaudible moan escapes you. Your knees are faltering. He holds you by the waist with the other hand, effortlessly.

“You’re burning,” he murmurs, worried. Why didn’t you tell me you felt bad? We could have...

It stops suddenly.

His pupils dilate. The gold of his eyes darkens until they become almost amber. His nose moves again, inhaling deeply. And then he perceives it.

Your scent.

Sweet like hot honey, like ripe cherry blossoms mixed with something more primitive, more needy. The smell of an omega in the middle of heat. The smell that screams “take me, dress me, fill me up.”

Tengen remains motionless. His hand is still on your forehead, but now his grip on your waist becomes firmer, almost possessive. You feel how his chest rises and falls faster. A low growl, barely audible, vibrates in his throat.

—... Omega - he whispers, and his voice is no longer that of the cheerful friend. It’s the voice of an alpha who has just recognized his partner in heat. You’re... in heat. And you don’t have suppressants, do you?

Your inner omega screams with triumph. Your rational mind tries to resist.

“Tengen... please... no... I don’t want to ruin our friendship... I... I can handle it alone...

But your body betrays you. Another squirt of slick soaks your underwear, the smell intensifies. Your legs are shaking. And he notices everything.

His hand slowly goes down from your forehead to your cheek, then to your neck, where your pulse beats wildly. He leans a little more, his face a few centimeters from yours. His breath smells of mint and something warmer.

“Friend...” she says, but the word sounds almost like a dangerous caress. I’ve been smelling your normal scent for years and keeping it just for myself. But this... this is different. This is... fucking delicious.

His eyes go down to your lips, then to the curve of your neck where your omega gland pulsates visibly.

“And you... you’re begging for an alpha without saying a single word.”

You bite your lip hard, trying not to moan. But your omega has already taken control of your voice:

“Please...” Tengen... it hurts... empty... I need you...

He closes his eyes for a second, as if he were fighting against himself. When he opens them again, the flamboyant smile has disappeared. Instead there is pure, protective, alpha hunger.

“Then stop fighting, my precious secret omega,” he whispers against your ear, his voice hoarse and vibrant. Because I’m not going anywhere anymore.

His fingers squeeze your waist. His body sticks to yours, and you feel, for the first time, the enormous hardness that is marked against your belly through his hakama.

The silence that follows is dense, charged. You feel how Tengen’s chest expands against yours with a deep inhalation, as if it were absorbing every molecule of your scent. His hand on your waist closes more, his fingers digging into the fabric of your hakama with a controlled force that makes you tremble. The other hand, the one on your neck, goes up to your cheek and forces you to look him directly in the eyes. Those golden eyes that always shone with flamboyant fun are now darkened, dilated pupils, the white almost disappeared by the alpha instinct that has completely awakened.

“Fuck...” he growls, and his voice is no longer that of the usual cheerful friend. It’s deeper, more hoarse, vibrating in his chest like a distant thunder. Repeat it. Say it again, omega. Tell me exactly what you need.

Your inner omega howls with joy, pushing you to obey without thinking about it. Your lips tremble, but the words come out alone, full of need:

“Your cock... your knot... please, alpha... I’m so empty that it hurts... my zeal... wants you... only you...

Tengen lets out a guttural sound, half growl half moan, and suddenly his whole body moves. He lifts you off the ground as if you weighed nothing, his muscular arms wrapping you against his wide chest. Your legs automatically turn around his waist, and the rubbing of his huge erection against your soaked center pulls out a high-pitched moan. He walks with long and determined steps into the mansion, straight to your private room, the one that no one else has ever seen.

“I’ve been holding back for years,” he murmurs against your ear as he takes you, his hot breath making your skin bristle. Smelling your soft aroma every day, knowing that you were omega, my favorite Pillar... and now you are in heat, soaked for me. Do you know how dangerous that is, little one? An alpha like me... could lose control.

He carefully lays you on the big futon, but he doesn’t move away. He kneels between your open legs, his big hands sliding down your thighs over the fabric, slowly rising. The warmth of his palms pierces the clothes and makes you arch your back.

“Tengen...” you whisper, still trying to hold on to reason. We’re friends... I don’t want this to change everything... I don’t want you to hate me later...

He laughs, but it’s a dark, low laugh, full of desire.

“Hate you?” After this? - His fingers find the edge of your hakama and untie it with an insulting ease-. Omega, I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time I smelled your true scent on a mission. You are mine to take care of. Mine to protect. And now... mine to fuck until your zeal calms down.

With a soft but firm pull, he removes the hakama and underwear in a single movement. The cold air brushes your swollen and soaked pussy, and a fresh jet of slick escapes from you, dripping on the futon. Tengen inhales deeply, his nostrils widening, and his eyes close for a second as if he were savoring the best wine in the world.

“Gods... look how you shine,” he whispers, running two fingers through your slippery folds. He lifts them up, covered with your transparent and shiny essence, and takes them to his mouth. Sucks them slowly, looking into your eyes—. Sweet. So fucking sweet. Better than I imagined.

You moan loudly, your hips moving by themselves towards him.

“Please... touch me more... don’t torture me...

Tengen smiles, that flamboyant smile but now tinged with pure alpha lust.

“Oh, I’m going to touch you, little one.” I’m going to taste you until you scream my name so loud that the whole forest hears it.

He leans over, separating your thighs with his big hands, and buries his face between your legs. His tongue, hot and skillful, runs through your entrance from bottom to top in a long and slow lick. When he reaches your swollen clitoris, he surrounds it, sucks it gently, and you scream, your hands digging into his platinum white hair. He growls against your flesh, the sound vibrating directly into your core.

“So... let me hear you,” he says between licks, his voice muffled. You’re so sensitive already... your pussy is throbbing just because of my tongue. Imagine when I put my knot in you.

Insert two thick fingers inside you without warning, curving them perfectly to touch that point that makes you see stars. Your moisture covers his hand instantly, dripping down his wrist as he pumps slowly but deeply. His mouth doesn’t stop: he licks, sucks, nibbles your clitoris with demonic precision. The heat in your belly becomes unbearable, the waves of pleasure rising so fast that you can barely breathe.

“Tengen... alpha... I’m going to... ahh!”

“Come for me,” he orders against your flesh, his fingers speeding up. I want your first orgasm in my mouth. Now.

And you obey. Your body tenses like a bow, a hoarse scream comes out of your throat as orgasm hits you hard. Your inner walls contract around his fingers, releasing more moisture that he licks greedily, without wasting a drop. You keep cumming for long seconds, your hips shaking against his face, and he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, lax.

But it’s not enough. The zeal demands more. Your omega screams for its knot, to be filled.

Tengen gets up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips shining with your fluids. He takes off his haori and shirt in a single movement, revealing that sculpted torso, full of defined muscles, battle scars and that deep V that disappears under his hakama. His erection is evident, the fabric stretched to the maximum.

“Look at me,” he tells you, slowly untying his hakama. Look what you do to me.

When the fabric falls, his cock jumps free: thick, long, veiny, the head already red and dripping precum. The knot in the base is already swelling slightly, promising what you need so much. It’s huge. Bigger than you imagined on your lonely nights.

“It’s going to hurt a little at first,” he admits, but his voice is soft, protective. But then just pleasure, omega. I promise you.

He places it on you, resting his weight on the forearms so as not to crush you. His cock slides between your slippery folds, rubbing against your sensitive clitoris, covering itself from your moisture. He kisses you for the first time: a deep, dominant kiss, his tongue invading your mouth while aligning the head of his cock with your entrance.

“Reathe,” he whispers against your lips. And tell me yes.

“Yes... please... fuck me, Tengen... fill me up...

Enter with a single slow but relentless thrust. You scream against his mouth, feeling how he opens you, how he stretches you to the limit. It’s too much and perfect at the same time. He stays still inside you, growling, his forehead glued to yours.

“Fuck... you’re so tight... so hot... so mine...

It begins to move: deep thrusts, controlled at first, coming out almost completely and sinking again until its knot touches your entrance. Every time it hits that point inside you, stars explode behind your eyelids. Your nails stick into his back, leaving red marks.

“Stronger... please... I need more...

Tengen gradually loses control. Her hips accelerate, fucking harder, deeper. The wet sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixed with your moans and their grunts.

“You’re perfect,” he gaspes, biting your neck but without breaking the skin yet. My omega... my Pillar... I’m going to take care of you during all your heat. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk. I’m going to fill you up so many times that you’ll smell of me forever.

You feel the knot swelling more, hitting your entrance with each thrust. You’re close again.

“Nude me... please... tie me to you...

With a wild growl, Tengen pushes hard. The knot enters, stretching you to the maximum, fitting perfectly inside you and sealing you together. Pleasure is blinding. You cum with a heartbreaking scream, the walls contracting around his knot, milking him. He roars your name, his cock throbbing as he cums inside you: hot, thick squirts, filling you until you overflow. The knot pulsates, pumping more semen, keeping it all inside.

They stay together, panting. Tengen kisses your forehead, cheeks, lips, whispering soft words between choppy breaths:

“Shh... that’s it... I have you... my omega... my flamboyant and perfect omega...

But the zeal is not over. After a few minutes, the knot begins to go down enough so that it can move again. It turns you gently, putting you on all fours without leaving you, and begins a second round, slower but just as intense. His big hands squeeze your hips, guiding you against him.

“Again...” he murmurs, biting your shoulder. I’m going to give you everything you need today... and tomorrow... and every day that your body asks me.

Hours later, when the sun is already high and your body is covered with sweat, soft bite marks and semen, Tengen is still inside you, the knot loose but still connecting you. He has you snuggled up against his chest, his fingers caressing your back tenderly.

“We didn’t change anything,” he whispers, kissing your hair. We just... improve. Now I’m your alpha. And you are my omega. Forever.

Your omega purrs with happiness inside you, finally satiated. And for the first time in a long time, the heat of heat feels... manageable. Because he’s there.

Tengen’s knot still beats inside you, soft now, but swollen enough to keep you sealed to it. You are curled up against his wide chest, your cheek stuck to his hot and sweaty skin, listening to the strong and constant beating of his heart while his fingers run down your back in slow, almost hypnotic circles. The air in the room smells of sex, of slick, of its alpha aroma of burnt wood and gunpowder, and of you: that musky sweetness that now permeates everything.

For a while, the zeal seems to calm down. You breathe deeply, exhausted but satisfied, and you think that maybe you can rest a little. But then it arrives.

Like a tide that rises without warning.

The heat returns, more intense than before, deeper. It begins in your lower belly and expands like liquid fire through your veins, concentrating again on your core, in that emptiness that not even your full knot has managed to completely extinguish. Your inner omega wakes up suddenly, purring and scratching from inside, demanding more. More of him. Most of all.

A low moan escapes you without you being able to avoid it. Your hips move by themselves, an instinctive movement that makes his cock, still inside you, slide a little and brush sensitive points that make you gasp. The knot, although loose, remains sensitive, and each small movement sends sparks of pleasure-pain throughout your body.

“Tengen...” you whisper, your voice hoarse, trembling. Again... the heat... come back...

He notices it instantly. His big hand stops on your back, then goes down to your hip, holding you firmly but without hurting you. He raises his head to look at you, those golden eyes shining with a mixture of renewed concern and hunger.

“Already?” he asks, his voice deep, almost a purr. I thought I had given you enough... but your body says something else, right, my omega?

You nod, biting your lower lip hard. The slick begins to flow again, more abundantly, dripping around his knot and going down your thighs. Your gland in the back of your neck pulsates visibly, swollen, hot, saying goodbye to that sweet and intoxicating smell that you know drives you crazy. You feel it: the exact point where your scent is stronger, where the skin is more sensitive, where an alpha mark would leave an eternal bond.

“I have... I have to ask you for something,” you say, your voice breaking with shame and need. Please...

He leans closer, his nose brushing your neck, inhaling deeply. A low growl vibrates in his chest when it reaches your gland.

“Say it,” he orders softly, but with that alpha authority that makes your knees weaken even if you are lying down. Ask me properly.

You swallow saliva. Your hands go up to his face, caressing his cheeks marked by scars, forcing him to look into your eyes.

“Sting...” you whisper, almost sobbing with anticipation. Bite my gland... mark my neck... make me really yours, alpha... please... I can’t stand this emptiness without your mark anymore... I need you inside and out... eternal...

His pupils dilate until his eyes look black. A low roar comes out of his throat, animal, possessive. Her hips move instinctively, pushing the loose knot a little deeper, making you moan.

“Are you sure?” he asks, although his voice trembles with restraint. A mating mark... is never erased. You will be mine. Completely mine. No one else will be able to touch you without me feeling it. No one else will be able to smell you without me wanting to kill him.

You nod frantically, tears of need rolling down your cheeks.

“I’m yours... I’ve always been... just... please... bite... fuck me while you do it... fill me again... make it hurt and make it perfect...

Tengen lets out an oath between his teeth, something between “to fuck” and your name. He turns you carefully but quickly, putting you face down on the futon. His big hands lift your hips, keeping your ass up while his cock is still buried deep. The knot is already starting to swell again, responding to the aroma of your gland and your plea.

He leans on your back, covering you completely with his huge body. His chest presses against your back, his arms surrounding you like a protective cage. You feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, right above the swollen and throbbing gland.

“Take a deep breath, my omega,” he whispers against your skin, his voice hoarse with desire. It’s going to hurt for a second... and then just pleasure. I swear by my flamboyant honor.

You nod, clinging to the sheets. He begins to move: slow but deep thrusts at first, coming out almost completely and sinking again until his knot touches your entrance again. Each push makes your gland tense more, the sweet smell becoming overwhelming.

Then accelerate.

His hips collide against yours with controlled force, the wet and obscene sound filling the room. You moan loudly, without control, the pleasure spiraling. His right hand slides under your body, finding your swollen clit and rubbing it in fast circles as he continues to fuck you.

“Like this... scream for me,” he growls, his mouth brushing the back of your neck. I want to hear how much you need me.

“I need you... alpha... please!” you shout, tears falling on the futon. Bite now! I can’t stand it!

He growls, a wild and triumphant sound. His teeth brush the sensitive skin of your gland, testing first, licking the sweet spot where your aroma is most intense. Then, without further warning, he bites.

Strong.

Deep.

Alpha fangs sink into the soft flesh, breaking the skin right in the center of the gland.

The pain is instantaneous, white and blinding... but the next second it turns into a pleasure so intense that your vision is clouded. You shout his name, your body convulsing while a brutal orgasm goes through you mercilessly. Your inner walls contract around his knot, milking him with desperate force. The knot swells to the maximum at that moment, fitting completely inside you and sealing you again.

Tengen roars against the back of your neck, his teeth still stuck, while he runs violently. Hot and thick squirts fill you again and again, the knot throbbing, pumping more semen, keeping it all inside while the mark is sealed. The bond is formed: you feel how its alpha essence mixes with yours, how an invisible thread unites you forever. You can smell it in you, feel it in every cell.

You’re his. He’s yours.

Only when the knot begins to go down a little, he releases the bite slowly. He licts the wound tenderly, sealing it with his alpha saliva, causing the residual pain to turn into pleasurable tickling. He kisses your mark over and over again, his lips soft now, reverent.

“My omega...” he whispers against the newly marked skin, his voice trembling with emotion. My partner. My everything.

He turns you carefully so that you are in front of him again, without leaving you. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. You feel the mark beating on the back of your neck like a second heart, warm, possessive, perfect.

“I’m NEVER going to leave you,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead, your eyelids, your lips. Now that I marked you... now that you marked me with your smell and your scream... you are mine to protect, love, and fuck until the world ends.

You smile weakly, exhausted but happy, the zeal finally calming down under the weight of her mark and her knot.

“And you are my alpha... my flamboyant and perfect alpha...

He laughs softly, that deep laugh that you love so much, and squeezes you more against him.

“Rest now, love.” The heat will last for days... and I will be here every second.

The sun begins to go down outside the mansion, you fall asleep in its arms, marked, full, complete.