bathed in starlight

You’re half a sorcerer, half a useless being, a monkey, as he’d like to call them. Always teetering on the threshold of the two, never knowing how to wield into your own, but knowing enough to see more than the average person. A seer, a window. 'You are the bridge that connects the two worlds,' he once said, 'help these monkeys learn and understand where they stand in the hierarchy of the world.'

You, a window, are so much better than they are, you know, and that knowledge alone is a power that they could never have, until they’ve seen enough death and misery. How miserable must they be that they have to exchange grief for the simple gift of sight?

Not you, though, you’re so lucky, so much so that most of your life you wish you hadn’t been. Always able to see a manifested curse parasitic to those around you, but not having the power to do anything. Everyone in your life feared you like they’d seen a monster, keeping their distance, always exhibiting nothing but disdain towards your ability that unsettles them to their core. But not him, no, for since the moment he laid eyes on you he knew you were special, useful.

The first time Suguru saw you he was in the process of, what he said to be recruiting and purifying a small town just on the outskirts of Tokyo, one of the many places you’d stop by in since you ran away from home. He noticed how, amongst everyone, you could see the curses mirroring his gestures, how they’d been pulled and solidified like obsidian before he swallowed them whole. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized, such power, such control. He noticed how your mannerisms were tinged with admiration and awe, doe-eyed and dazzled. He liked that, he liked you, and he decided to take you with him then and there.

So, many moons later, you found yourself constantly kneeling at his altar at the congregation of his disciples, always nearest to him amongst his most devout and favored. Often, you’re seated where he likes you best, perched on his lap, his thick cock all snug inside your leaking cunt. It doesn’t matter that he uses you like this in front of an audience, he’ll always make sure you’ll be okay, that you’ll behave. You had been molded into a devout pet, wanting nothing but to be useful to him. After all, wasn’t he the first person ever in your life to notice your potential? to see the sight you’ve been bestowed upon as not a curse but a gift from the gods?

‘Hold still’

‘Don’t make a fucking move’

‘She’s crying for me, can you feel that? can you feel her tears running down your thigh? feel how she doesn’t want to let me go?’

He loves how every inch of you responds obediently to his touch, often without having to command you with words. An arch of your back as he touches the curve of your spine, a lift to your arms, ready to be tied above your head whenever he nudges the underside of them firmly yet softly. Whenever he requests your presence, you’d show up with no hesitation, wearing what he ordered you to underneath your robe. Though he prefers you bare, a devout pet in waiting, kneeling, ready to be of use to him in his quarters after a long day of playing god. Yet he had become one in your eyes, one you’re eager to please and worship. devotion in exchange for salvation, he had said.

You eagerly greet him, mouth wide open as he thrust his pulsating cock into your throat. He looks glorious this way you think; sable hair draped over his shoulders like silk, framing his chiseled torso, gojo-gesa pooling at his feet, brows furrowed in appreciation of your worship.

‘That’s it, there you go— take it all in— take all of me in, won’t you be good to me, haven’t I been so good to you sweet little lamb?’

He coos encouragement as his hands cradle both sides of your head, thumbs at your cheeks to wipe your tears as he lodged himself deep in your throat. He retracts and gives you a moment to breathe again, hands on your head, still. Though this time he’s petting and caressing the top of your head gently, letting you know how proud you’ve made him.

But oh how he loves it best when you allow him to have his way with knots all over your body, rope marks indented on your skin and flesh, keeping yourself so very still yet pliant for molding. Because while he is charming with his words, Suguru is also meticulous, skillful, dedicated, and patient. He wants to continuously perfect his craft, and you’re more than willing to be his docile toy.

The sight of diamond-shaped dents from the nijubishi form etched on your skin intoxicates him as he stands proud, admiring imprints of his art displayed on a perfect canvas. He’d kisses the marks on your skin after you’re unbound, rewarding you with your own pleasure, teeth gently biting the buds of your chest, mouth kissing your sensitive clit, tongue relishing in your arousal. He could taste your devotion before carving his own pleasure from your tender teary flesh, moving your bound body back and forth by holding firmly at the rope, your mouth ajar from how his thick cock stretch and split you open.

‘What a good little lamb, such a sweet little pet.’

He likes how you’re flexible, too, it makes it easier for him to mold you. Just as much as he likes how your much smaller physique looks so frail as you’re suspended horizontally in the middle of his chambers, tied in aomoke-zuri. So sweet and vulnerable like a lamb ready to be slaughtered. He loves the versatility of the form, and how you’re so accommodating to his whims in explorations. The first time you’ve succeeded in aiding him to perfect harukumo-juku, with your thighs spread and pulled apart, he couldn’t help but devour your exposed cunt.

‘Stay still’ he said as he held your thighs in place. ‘don’t ruin the form, that’s it, breathe, steady,’

Blood rush to your head as you try your best to keep your form and posture just how much he likes it, core muscles contract and relax in short intervals, breathing hitched to maintain your composure. The pressure from the knots make you wince delectably, because isn’t pain a test of reverence? didn’t he give you a new home? A new purpose to your existence? A safe haven? Wouldn’t you give him your all?

But he’s not that cruel, sometimes when he feels generous he grants you the freedom to use your voice, albeit to express pleasure like a prayer.

‘It’s okay, let them hear you, let them know how much of a good pet you are to me.’

No, he’s not cruel, not at all. He’s disciplined. Everything he does has its own punishment and reward. Like a god would to his selfless servant.

When you flinch too much than what he allows, he tightens the knot bit by bit, making the bind stronger, your legs open slightly wider, tinges of red would bloom on your skin. He’d drag his long fingers up and down your slit before landing his hand with a loud thwack on your dripping cunt, coaxing apologies out of your kiss-bitten mouth. But he’s considerate, after a few slaps, he’d coo sweetly into your ear and rub your clit tenderly, making you cry over the stimulations. He loves seeing you like this, his fingers caressing your cheeks, wiping away the tears before licking them clean, shutting you up with a kiss.

‘How marvelous’ he’d say, ‘that even your tears come crawling to me’

He’d stroke your skin softly, kissing parts of your body that had been colored with his touches. ‘You’re like a garden of earthly temptation, gods must have sent you to me as a gift’

So once again he brings you back to earth, unbound, kneeling with your face down. He digs to find pleasure deep within your burrows of velvety flesh, rings of white forming on his cock like halo, hands leaving marks on the plush of your behind. He’d grunt, he’d praise, eliciting guttural moans as he pulls you by the hair to plunge himself deeper, wanting hear more of your heavenly wails. He’d reward you again and again with kisses on your neck and on the curves of your back, licking the beads of sweat all the while, whispering adorations for how good you’re taking him.

‘I’m gonna fill you up, sweet little lamb’

‘I’m gonna fill you up and tire you out until you’re fast asleep’

‘I’ll fill you up again and again that you have no choice to carry the blessed sprouts of my seeds’

You’re in heaven, all your senses awaken and tingle all the way to the tip of your toes, sight turn blank that you couldn’t help but sing his name like a hymn. Still you’re powerless, a mess of a creature.

But you had been so good, hadn’t you? couldn’t ask for anything better, that all your trembling mouth could say is,

‘God, yes.’