#yan lite

Cool fingers graze the back of your neck. You stifle a shiver; you try your best, that is. Chigiri's hands have been on you, all over you, for over an hour. They are no warmer than when you started, and by now you shouldn't be startled at the contact. However, every touch earns a flinch. A tremor, sometimes even a hitch in your breath.

He ties a neat bow around you neck, he tugs gently until it sits just right. The ribbon lays prettily over the string of pearls already fastened at the base of your throat. He's been so meticulous about every detail. The satin ribbon around your neck matches the ones latticed at your wrists and ankles. The pearl necklace matches the earrings he put in you himself. That part was especially ticklish, you tried your best not to squirm. And you knew he could tell, he had let out the tiniest puff of laughter.

When Chigiri asked if you'd like to try something, you really had no idea what to expect. He'd been tight lipped about the whole thing, only supplying you with a wink and saying, "play along, won't you?" Since this evening's activities began, you've been cowed into obedient silence by his sudden…intensity.

Your eyes fall to your hands where they sit folded in your lap. Chigiri painted your nails a shimmery pink - your toes too. He did so while your hair sat in rollers. (Your hair took the longest. You expected this, he's already very particular about your day to day haircare. Applying weekly treatments and oils, massaging your scalp and brushing through it daily and nightly.) He fiddles with it even now. He's adjusting a pin, you think. You've not been permitted to see yourself since he's started your makeover. ("No peeking." He'd said, turning you so your back was to the mirror.)

The metal pin scratches against your scalp. A curled lock falls over your face; it smells of the honey shampoo he has you use. Lithe fingers pin it back into place. Your forehead is icy where the pads of his fingers swept across it. You expect he will go back in with the big fluffy brush to blend out where he may have smudged the powders on your skin. The makeup has unexpectedly been your favorite part; pleasant tingles rained down your scalp when he feathered the soft brushes across your face. He painted your face gently, quietly. Only speaking in a half whisper to instruct you to look up. Turn your head just a bit. Close your eyes. "Thank you, angel."

In all honesty, that's the main reason you liked that part, you could finally close your eyes and shut out his intense gaze. Unlike when he was dressing you, he had loomed over you from behind while you surveyed your options in horror. A spread of soft candy colors laid across his bed. They were all sheer fabric and frills. (You wondered then, with a twinge of fear, how long he had been thinking about proposing 'trying something'? How long has he had this planned?) Your trembling finger pointed to a one piece, light pink and ruffled. By some internal scale you deemed this the least humiliating selection.

Chigiri stripped you himself. His hands were steady and precise. They trailed over you with gentle reverence, with a feather soft control. You were not bare before him for long - that wasn't the point. He guided your limbs into the garment (for such a thin, small thing it was rather complicated) his long fingers enveloping your knees, wrists, and elbows entirely. Your whole body burned as he adjusted and fussed with dressing you.

Chigiri steps in front of you now, standing over you. He looks down at his work. His eyes are so big; soft and glossy with long lashes. Pretty and owlish in the way that you can forget he is a hunter. Nothing escapes the scope of his vision. You're held totally in his gaze, every detail tracked. He has a way of disarming you - completely unbeknownst to you until it's a hair too late. (To the point where he has you seated in his bathroom, made up and perfumed. All dressed up by his hands.)

You've been coming to that realization for months now. How he treats you and touches you, you certainly feel cared for (bordering on doted on) yet small.

Almost like-

He leans down, his breath tickling your skin. You hear the clean and clear pop of a lipstick cap. You part your lips without having to be asked. You let your eyes glaze over as he gets closer. You're expecting the soft wax of the lipstick, so you gasp when his ring finger drags across your bottom lip. He delights in this moment of shock, amusement glinting in his eyes.

He blends the pigment into your lips and you hold your breath. You don't allow yourself an inhale until he stands back up to his full height. With you sitting, he towers over you like this. You look up at him from under your lashes, heavy with mascara. He regards you with pride. You feel like a prized toy poodle, ready for judging. (You have been completely bare before him, many times. Sweaty and crying from pleasure that teeters on agony. Somehow, all the bells and whistles make you feel more exposed.)

His hand slides easily into his pocket. Where you are stiff and tense, he is poised and relaxed. His clothes today are a stark contrast to the frivolous extravagance of your own outfit. The sleeves of his linen button down are rolled up, exposing lithe forearms. His own hair is tied back in a ponytail, bangs framing his face perfectly in that effortless way.

That's what makes Chigiri so disarming, you realize. His inherent ease.

That's his ego. A part of it, at least. He's compelling, you'd even say mysterious. You were so willing while he courted you, easily charmed by his kind words and attention. The transition to relationship came easily. With ease he blended your lives. Exposing you every step of the way. The whole time he was moving silently, and he struck with precision.

You sit, burning under his gaze. You chew the inside of your cheek as hindsight makes everything clear.

The sound of tinkling glass pulls you out of your reverie. Chigiri brings over an ornate bottle, perfume you presume. He spritzes under both your ears. It's a warm, sweet scent. Honey and caramelized sugar.

"Getting antsy?" He asks, putting the bottle back on the counter. He extends his hand, palm up. "Let's see all our hard work, shall we?"

You're being condescended to - more so than usual. Heat prickles in your chest and your teeth clench, but you still take his offered hand. His palm is cool and dry, you know that yours is hot to the touch. Clammy, even. He pulls you up to your feet. Blood rushes back through your legs. You're a little wobbly from sitting so tensely, he's quick to steady you, cooing when you lean into him. You glare up at him from under your heavy lashes, he smiles down at you beatifically.

By human instinct, your head turns towards the large mirror above the bathroom counter. Quick as always, Chigiri catches your chin with two fingers. "Not yet," he breathes. His smile is mirthful. Eager. He holds one long hand over your eyes, blocking your vision as he guides you from behind out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. You're annoyingly disoriented, just from the short, shaky walk to where- if memory serves- his full length mirror that stands against the wall.

He brings his lips close to your ear. "Ready?" Before you can think to nod or move, you're met with your own reflection. "Ta-da."

You manage to blink at yourself before you're looking away, staring down at your feet. He's put you in a pair of ruffle socks. (His fingers had lingered at your ankle, teasing at the ruffle. He massaged his thumbs into the soles of your feet.) Pink toenail polish visible through the white fabric. It's all too much, your whole body is on fire - you're certain Chigiri can feel the heat radiating off of you.

He clicks his tongue. "You wanted to see so bad earlier," his voice lilts mockingly, "the whole point of playing dress up is getting to look at the end." Cold hands rest at your waist. He whispers into your hair, goading you. "Go on. Look."

You lift your chin, meeting your reflection again. Not a single detail of your appearance was left unprimped. You're immaculate, perfect, practically sparkling.

"Aren't you pretty." He sighs dreamily. His chin rests on your shoulder, clever eyes finding yours in the mirror. "Don't you think so?" He presses when you don't respond, brow quirked.

You give him a single, shaky nod. Chigiri clicks his tongue, so you use your words. "Yes."

"Yes…?" He prompts, head lilting to the side.

He expects you to answer. How horrifying.

You bite the inside of your cheek, but in the end, you acquiesce. "Yes, I look pretty." You reply, just above a whisper.

He's toying with you. Treating you like a toy, playing with you as if-

"That's right. My pretty doll."

Doll. The word sings like crystal in your skull. Is that what this is? What this has been? God, how could you be so daft?

"What?" Your voice is discordant and grating on your own ears. You turn your head from the mirror and crane your neck to look directly at him.

Chigiri plays coy. "Hm?" His brows pinch, mockingly inquisitional.

He wants you to put voice and words to your own undoing. How like him. (It's dizzying, how you can know both so much and so little about his nature.)

"Doll?" You parrot, voice is pitifully small.

"Of course." He says it lovingly, brushing his fingers down your neck, past the string of pearls that sit against your throat like a yoke. Across your shoulder and down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

The thought of calling all this off does occur to you. For a moment it's even a real option, telling him you don't like this, that you don't want to play his way anymore. The choice is weighty and enticing in your grasp. But, if you're really honest, what would that change? If you tell him 'no' as firm as you possibly could, (with a little stomp, like a brat) he would unlace you, of course. Strip you of all the ribbons, pull each pin from your hair, run you a bath. He'd coo at you and hold you close, pet and dote on you all the same. This treatment is inevitable.

Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding down. You're irked, bordering on pissed off (at yourself? at him? Both?) and, to your utter despair, really turned on. You turn back to the mirror, eyes clearer now. You're transfixed. It's too much, the attention and adoration, it's humiliating. You can feel the heat of him at your back, his breath on the back of your neck. You can't decide if you feel like a doll, handmade for a princess to play with, or a mouse caught in the claws of a panther.

"Surprised?" He whispers into your neck.

Your mind is reeling. Tense with growing frustration and- despite your denial, heavy with lust. You revert to what you know best, you bare your teeth, lash out. "I- I don't-" You huff pathetically. Your voice hoarse and tight with frustration.

"Awww" His own voice low and playful, as if he expected your resistance. He fingers at the ruffles at your shoulders. Chigiri laughs into your neck, breathy and smug.

You couldn't suppress your twinge of rage, now you've made yourself a more appealing toy. He already sees you as a doll, even without the decoration. You squirm in his tightening hold. His index and thumb squeeze your lips into a pout. "Oh, don't be mad." He mocks, mimicking your forced pout.

He turns your face to his and presses a quick, light kiss to your squished, glossy lips. "You've been so patient, I should reward my doll, shouldn't I?" He doesn't make you answer this time. Instead, he crosses the room in a few quick strides.

"Come here." He prompts when you don't immediately follow him. The loveseat cushions dip slightly with his weight. He grins at you, pats his thigh when you don't budge. You could choose to stop. You could walk away, lock yourself in the bathroom. This is all so uncomfortable. But, your desire outweighs your fear.

You want to be played with. You like being a doll. How terrible.

Like a marionette, you walk over on stiff legs. Once you're close, he braces an arm around your waist, maneuvers you into his lap mechanically, legs layed over his thighs. Again, your hands fall uselessly into the mess of frills and ruffles in your own lap. And again, you look up at him, awaiting his next whim. Like a perfect doll. Chigiri squeezes your ankle, slides his hand up your calf and past your knee to massage the plushness of your thighs.

"You're grumpy but you're following along," he muses, "you're mad that you like this, aren't you?"

"Are dolls supposed to talk?" You bite out.

He smiles, catlike. "Mine does."

There's a wet spot forming on the gusset of the silk fabric. Your cunt thrumming and buzzing from all his meticulous attention. At his preening and grooming. His thumb glides over your clothed clit. He hums, pleased as can be. "Oh? What's this?" So condescending. "You look all innocent, but you're really dirty, huh?"

You wish he'd just ruin you. Fast and hard. Press you into the cushions and smear your makeup, pound into you from behind and send your hair falling out of it's pins. Instead, he barely touches you. Ghosts his fingers over the aching, pulsing parts of you that beg for his touch. He peers down at you. Unreadable eyes drinking all of you in. Dolls are meant to be looked at, you suppose.

Somewhere between pleading and indignant, you glance up at him with shifty eyes, "Just…get to it already." You bite your lip. You refuse to ask, to beg.

He hums in thought, a mocking sound. "I want to play with my doll like this. You agreed to play my way, remember?"

Yes, but that was before you knew what exactly his way entailed.

You squirm when he presses harder against your clit. You try not to squirm, but you can't help when your hips lift and twitch to meet him. Sweat gathers at your hairline, heat builds underneath your ornate layers. Brow pinched and eyes squeezed shut.

You do your best to keep your breathing even and regular, yet your starting to fray at the edges. Each breath more ragged than the last. Your teeth grit when he rolls in a steady rhythm, your teeth trapping a cry.

"No need to be shy. I told you my doll can make noise." You open your eyes and meet his for a moment before your vision is drawn down. Down to where his forearm flexes between your thighs, hand buried underneath the gauzy layers of your skirt. It's obscene, filthy. You said you weren't going to beg, but his face is so close. Forehead resting against yours, noses nearly touching. "Kiss? Kiss me?"

"That'll ruin your makeup."

You whine, pitchy and broken. He's giving you too much and not enough.

"You're so cute."

"I don't get it." You bite out from clenched teeth.

"You make this so easy." His whole body shakes with laughter. One arm snakes around your waist and squeezes tight, pressing you into him. He laughs into your neck and sighs happily. With no ceremony be bites your neck. Bites. Digging his teeth in and groaning. You squeal out in an embarrassing, girlish pitch. Tears gather at your lash line, blurring your vision.

You cry out his name, wriggling in his grasp. He laves his tongue over your throat and presses kisses into the indents from his teeth. "Do you want to hold my hand? Will that help, huh?" You want to fight and fuss, shake your head no and kick your feet - but that sticky, needy part inside of you is blending, taking over. The part that likes this, that wants to be a doll. Chigiri found this in you, reached in deep and pulled it out of you, kicking and screaming. Uncovered this wound so well hidden, you weren't even completely aware of it.

Now, he's staring at you so intently, intensely. You nod your head yes. Yes, holding his hand would help. Long fingers envelop yours. Manicured nails dig into him. Your jaw falls open with a stuttered moan. You're going to cum. In his lap, dressed by his hands, you are going to cum.

You suck in a breath through your teeth. "There you go, I knew you could do it." You're not so far gone that you miss the condescension in his tone. A toy doing what it is meant to do.

Your peak is coming on fast. Chigiri rubs tight, hot circles on your clit. Your cunt pulses and squeezes around nothing. Your legs shake, tingles shoot up your spine. You bite down hard on your bottom lip when you cum. Chigiri draws it out, keeping the same pace on your clit even when you squeal from the overstimulation.

"Hold on, w wait-"

His grip around you is bruising. "I said, I want to play like this."

Fabric shifts and hisses against each other as Chigiri lifts you and pulls you down onto his lap proper, back against his chest and thighs spread by his knees. Both hands grope under your skirt. His gets his thumbs hooked into the wet, sticky fabric of your panties and rips. Finally tears them off of you, your cunt bare for him.

His breathing is steady in your ear as he works two fingers inside you. Yours is erratic, coming out in pants and hiccups. Chigiri praises you when you finally let a moan escape. "That's it. Feels good, right?" You've lost hold on yourself, his patronizing tone making some dark part of you pulse. Yeah, it does feel good.

You can hear his fingers pumping into you, feel his cold fingers drag over every hot ridge inside you. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder. Moans spill out of you now, uninhibited. Chigiri's lips brush against your ear as he murmurs, egging you on.

"Such a pretty, perfect doll. Letting me play with you however I want. You're doing so good for your first time."