Mine

(A Hamanari/Kin'iro Sidestory)

By Linda

© December 2001

Kin'iro curled onto his side with a happy sound almost like a purr, wriggling on the futon until his head lay in my lap. His long silky blond hair spread over the material of my sleep robe, in vivid contrast to the blue material. He blinked sleepily up at me, golden eyes soft, and his kiss-swollen mouth curved upward.

I smiled down at him, and ran my thumb over his mouth, tugging at his lower lip until I could see his shining white teeth, the razored sharpness of his canines. I'd been tempted to have them pulled when I'd first bought him, given how wild and ferocious he'd been on the auction block. Now I was glad I hadn't; his smile was too beautiful to ruin. Besides, with a warded collar, he couldn't hurt me, so I'd let him keep his canine teeth and long nails.

He tried to suckle my fingers, but I pulled away and instead, ran my moist fingers down his long throat, skipping over the blackness of the collar. He obligingly rolled to his back, a slow, sinuous movement like a cat, offering his sleek chest and taut belly for me to touch as I would. His nipples were small and colored light pink like a peony, and tightened when I grazed over them. He gave a little full-body shimmy that made me chuckle.

"Ari-sama," he said in his throaty alto, as sweet and rich as wild brown honey, "Touch me. I'm yours."

"Yes," I said, and trailed my fingers down his belly, watching the muscles twitch under his creamy skin. "Yes, you are. Mine." He laughed as I circled the shallow dip of his navel. His skin was so soft, and felt different from my own in ways I couldn't really explain. A neko's skin felt similar---smooth, yet with a slightly downy feel. Completely unlike a human's skin. I found I liked touching him more than I'd ever liked touching human slaves. It made me want to stroke and pet him, and he loved it when I did.

"Do you want me now?" His long dark eyelashes, such a contrast with the paleness of his skin and hair, dipped flirtatiously. I saw the tip of his tongue touch his upper lip, as if tasting my smell, my readiness. Maybe he was, for all I knew---like an animal, he depended more on smell than humans did. He opened his legs, and his hand, long-fingered and slim, smoothed down his belly alongside my own, to close around his growing length. A soft, hungry sound slipped from him, and his own kitsune scent rose to me, warm and inviting.

"Tempting," I said, "very tempting. But not right now. Soujuro is bringing the new slave Inochi for me to view." In spite of what I said, though, I couldn't resist running the tip of my index finger over his cock. It twitched beneath my light touch and grew longer, fuller. A pearl of moisture appeared at the tip, and I smoothed it over silky flesh as he let out another little sound. Heat crawled down my belly and curled there, growing stronger, more insistent.

"Send them away," Kin'iro said, rolling over to his side. He arched into my outstretched arm, and pushed at the long, loose sleeve of my sleep robe. His tongue, warm and soft and wet, skated over the tender skin at my inner elbow. He pressed a kiss there, and I shivered at the light scrape of canines. "Send them away until later, and have me." The long tawny plume of his tail swished lazily against the futon, and his scent grew stronger. The throb in my belly grew stronger, and my own cock stirred.

I wrapped my fingers around his length, and he thrust gently into my grip, growing harder and wetter. "Have me, Ari-sama," he whispered, and I was hard-pressed to deny the need, the promise in those golden eyes.

Pulling back, I shook my head, and my unbound hair swished around my shoulders and down my back. Kin'iro made a protesting, unhappy noise, his big tawny ears flattening in displeasure for a moment. After he had accepted his place, I had spoiled him shamelessly---he didn't like for me to deny him. Truthfully, I didn't like to deny him, but as always, business came first before pleasure. I ran my fingers through his warm, silky hair, touched his smooth cheek, and slowly, his ears came back up. "Later. After they leave."

He sighed, tugged aside my robe, and pressed a kiss to my bare thigh. "As you wish." But he sounded petulant and displeased, which oddly, made a curl of triumphant pleasure grow warm within my chest. It had taken a long time to make him accept my touch, and for him to now crave it was a heady thing indeed, like drinking deeply of the finest wine.

One of Kin'iro's tall fox ears swiveled, as if catching a sound. He tugged my robe back into place, and shifted to his other side, the movement as fluid as water flowing. His tail switched, and then settled over his hip, hiding his flushed, erect cock, but he made no other attempts to cover himself. He was remarkably unselfconscious. But then, he had nothing to be ashamed of---he was extrordinarily beautiful and knew it well.

"They come," he said, sulky.

I picked up my cup of tea from the tray on the floor at the side of my futon, and took a sip. It was a moment before I heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway, but then I didn't have his sharp hearing. At last came a rap of knuckles on the wooden frame of the screen, and I murmured a command to enter.

Soujuro swept in, his robes rustling, and folded himself gracefully into a bow, his long black braid brushing the gleaming wooden floor. A ray of afternoon sunlight caught the silver threads of embroidery in his blue silk robes. Lotus blossoms, I thought, or maybe roses. Didn't matter. It was all too much, too showy for my simpler tastes. I thought he dressed himself too grandly for his position, more like a noble than a steward. But since he did his job well, and my household ran smoothly, I couldn't really complain about it.

"Soujuro. Enter." I knew my voice sounded lazy and content, as only a day spent in bed with the undivided attentions of a worthy pleasure slave could make it. I knew Soujuro disapproved, but I didn't care. I worked hard, and if I wanted on occasion to spend an entire morning fucking my favorite slave, it was none of his concern. After all, I didn't interfere in his twisted little games as long as the stock wasn't unduly harmed. He tended anyway to play more with the slaves of demon blood, who could take more punishment than the human ones.

"I have brought the dorei Inochi, as instructed, Hamanari-san. You wished to see him when he'd been cleaned and dressed properly." Soujuro's voice was as cool and smooth as an icy lake, his tone calm and respectful. When I'd first met Soujuro, I'd been impressed with his sometimes-unnatural calm, and then later, had learned what he did in his spare time to get rid of his anger and give him that odd tranquillity. But as long as he was efficient in his tasks and didn't kill too many slaves in his games, I didn't care what he chose to do to release his anger. In twenty years of service to me, he'd only killed four, and had paid for them without a problem, so I looked the other way when he had the guards drag selected slaves off to his quarters or to Kuroda's chambers.

"Yes. Bring him in, and let me see what a period of proper rations has done for him." I picked up my teacup and took another sip. The tea had grown lukewarm and a little bitter.

Soujuro bowed again, and turned back to the open doorway, beckoning with a slim finger. I saw several figures in the shadowed hallway. Kyo, two big hulking guards, and a slimmer, smaller boy, who moved away from them, a slight hesitancy in his step. The slave Inochi. He entered, those remarkable golden eyes blinking in the light pouring in from the open shoji behind us. Soujuro's hand went to his shoulder and gave a push downward, none too gently. The boy went to his knees and then bowed deeply, his forehead touching the smooth floor, his long hair in a shining, blue-black pool around him.

"I thought I smelled goats," came a sly, silky voice. Kin'iro. I tugged at a lock of his hair, and an ear flicked back at me a moment in acknowledgment of the gentle reproof. I knew it wouldn't stop him from further comments---his tongue was far too sharp.

The boy glanced up, frowning and offended, before he remembered his place and his face smoothed again. He tried for a non-expression, but he wasn't very good at it yet. Kin'iro shifted a little and the boy's eyes followed the movement before widening as he realized the kitsune lay before him naked. Color bloomed up his throat and into his high cheekbones, and he looked away quickly. Kin'iro laughed, softly, mockingly.

I wanted to laugh, but didn't. That kind of innocence at his age would be worth a lot of gold to the right buyer, and I knew just where I wanted to place him. House Retsoujou would be very glad to have him. Their clientele was more jaded, needed the different and unusual, and a virgin of his years, of his exotic nature, would suit them well.

"Be still, Kin'iro," I said quietly. Kin'iro's fox ears twitched a bit, but if I knew him, and I did, the taunting gleam didn't leave his big golden eyes. "Come forward, boy."

Keeping his eyes firmly on the floor, the boy rose and walked to the edge of the tatami mats, hesitated a moment, them stepped onto them and came to a stop within a pace or two of the futon. He moved as all the kitsunes did, with that curiously boneless, inhuman grace. Like their muscles were connected somehow differently in their bodies than a human's.

Haruna had done a good job with him. He looked well-fed and healthy, and his bones no longer poked out cruelly just beneath his pale golden skin. Tall, with long legs, he still had a young, coltish look to him, but it wouldn't be many more years before he filled out into the promise of his broad shoulders. I thought while he'd always be lean, he'd never be one of those willowy, girlish boys the Houses loved so well. His looks were too masculine, with a long straight nose, high cheekbones and the razor-sharp line of jaw. A pity I hadn't found him when he was seven or eight years of age, still soft and round and childish, the perfect time for training and sale.

He did have a beautiful mouth, though. Soft and full and wonderfully shaped, made for kisses and other, more intimate pleasures. That alone would earn him popularity, along with his kitsune-smooth skin. I could remember touching him as he stood naked and trembling before me. Even though he'd been starving, and I could trace every bone without effort, his skin had still been as soft as Kin'iro's. Like Kin'iro, he'd be without body hair and beardless his entire life. He'd probably retain his youthful looks for years and years, and no matter how much I asked for him, House Retsoujou would still make a profit. To lie with a kitsune was a rare experience, and not one many would willingly pass by.

I almost demanded he drop his robe so I could see how he'd filled out, but dismissed the idea. Given his obvious nervousness, the way his slim hands kept clenching into fists, then releasing, it would probably mean calling in the guards to strip him. I wasn't in the mood to see a fight. He glanced up at me, and the color of his long, upward-tilted eyes caught at me again---they were a pure, gleaming gold, the same color as Kin'iro's. Kitsune eyes were always golden, but usually in various shades of that color. In my years I'd seen hues from amber to almost green-gold. To find them that pure color in such diluted blood was an oddity. My price for him went upward.

"Hn. You do look better fed, now. Haruna has done well. I think you'll be quite suitable for my purposes. Though I don't care for the paint; I think that a bit much." Kayumi had lined his eyes with kohl. She'd also put something shiny on his mouth, which needed no adornment. It didn't work for him---he was too boyish. She'd also washed and trimmed his hair, and I approved of that, as I remembered it had been wild and ragged. His ears were clearly visible now. Human ears, yet not, elongated, with a pointed tip. Odd, but attractive, and certainly eye-catching. I added more coins to his price. "I thought you'd prove worthy of the trip to obtain you."

He lowered his eyes, but not before I saw a glint of resentment. It didn't surprise me. Kitsunes were usually difficult to keep in captivity---they either fought against the collars or refused to eat until they died---and even he must feel the drive to run free. I watched him swallow, and his knuckles grew pale as he clenched his fists at his sides.

"I still believe you paid too much gold for him. Five gold pieces." Soujuro's tone sounded frankly disapproving. "You probably could have gotten him for silver. He has absolutely no talent, no skill at anything but manual labor." Soujuro took one of the boy's wrists and tugged his hand up to show me how rough and work-reddened it was in comparison to his own soft hands, and although the boy flinched, he didn't pull away.

Actually, I'd gotten him for an amazingly low price. When the boy's uncles had come to me on the behalf of his eldest brother, saying they'd seen a part kitsune boy, I'd been very interested. For years I'd tried to implement my own kitsune breeding program, but it had failed---I simply hadn't been able to make them produce kits, no matter what form of persuasion I'd used. And trying to breed kitsune slaves to human ones had failed as well. Evidently, the blood was simply too different to mix easily, and offspring from that mating were usually monstrous and died within hours of birth.

To find one alive and relatively healthy had sent me quickly on my way north to deal with people who lived little better than animals. They'd sold him eagerly, embarrassed of him, never realizing what a rarity they had. I'd have paid twice the amount for him without batting an eye, but five pieces of gold had seemed like a fortune to his family. Maybe it was.

"Perhaps." I took a sip of tea and placed the cup back on a small wicker tray beside the futon. It was too cold to drink anymore. Thoughtful, I ran my fingers over Kin'iro's tall, shapely, velvety ears, and the kitsune hummed in pleasure. "But skills can be learned. He's certainly fair enough to catch the eye, and has the cachet of noble blood, even if his family was as poor as peasants, something no one else needs to know. You won't need to polish him much, Soujuro---a few basic manners, such as how to walk, to move, to speak properly to his betters. I'm certain the House will be glad to accept him untrained in anything else. And I'm also certain I shall make a very tidy profit, regardless of the gold I paid for him. The exotics are almost always worth their trouble."

"Very well," Soujuro said with a little bow. "I don't think he's hopeless, nor extraordinarily stupid, but he'll take a bit of instruction. He's very rough, crude goods. And I think---no, I know---that given the opportunity, he'll run. Kitsune blood can prove difficult to keep in one place."

Amused, I watched as brilliant color flooded the boy's face. Clearly, he didn't like us talking about him. His face was as open and as easily read as an unrolled scroll. But he'd better become accustomed to it, because he was nothing more than property now, and it was my right to speak of him as I chose.

My hand smoothed over Kin'iro's fine thick hair, pulling it aside to reveal his long pale throat and the band encircling it. The collar was a black metal band, with golden characters painted upon it, and as I glanced down at it, the characters seemed to move, working to suppress the magic and power within him.

"Hn. A valid observation, Soujuro. Take him to Grandfather. Collar him, and you'll free up a guard who can be put to better use elsewhere, rather than simply standing over his every moment. He's enough kitsune it will probably take a warded collar to keep him in place."

It had been an oversight on my part that I'd not done that initially, but he'd seemed passive enough. He hadn't once tried to run away. The guards had spoken of how quiet and docile he was, so I'd let Kyo stay with him. It had caused no harm. But now that he'd be in the house, Kyo certainly couldn't stay and watch him, so a warded collar seemed the most logical, efficient move.

Soujuro's head inclined gracefully. "As you wish. I'll find a place for him tonight, and Kin'iro can proceed with lessons in the morning." Soujuro pulled his ever-present little book from his sleeve, and made notes in it.

Surprise made the boy wide-eyed, and he looked over at Kin'iro. I felt Kin'iro tense beneath my stroking hand, and glanced down. He looked as displeased as the boy, his perfect face clouding over, his golden eyes snapping.

"This creature? You wish me to instruct this stupid creature? I already have two students right now." Kin'iro flowed to his knees, and his long tail lashed in agitation, leaving him exposed. The boy looked away suddenly, color chasing across his cheeks again. Soujuro didn't look away, but rather, focused on Kin'iro's lithe grace, his sharp grey eyes shading into something a little darker. He had never made any secret of his desire for Kin'iro, but the kitsune was mine, and I didn't share.

"Now you have three," Soujuro said placidly. "Surely Ayano and Genichi are not such difficult students that you cannot divide your attentions. I had thought you more clever than that, Kin'iro."

The insult was open, like a slap in the face. Kin'iro hissed at him, exposing those long sharp canines, his ears laid back against his hair. The boy took a step back, though the hostility was clearly directed at Soujuro, not him. Soujuro didn't move, and his calm face didn't change expression.

My estimation of him went up a notch. In spite of the chains holding him and the wards wrapped around both arms to subdue his demon strength, I'd seen Kin'iro tear a guard's hand almost completely from his arm with those sharp teeth while on the auction block. I had no doubt that in spite of the collar, Kin'iro was one step from pouncing on Soujuro and leaving him in small bloody pieces. His hatred of Soujuro had begun almost the moment they'd set eyes upon one another, and had only worsened as they sniped at one another.

"Enough, Kin'iro." I made my voice was firm and strong and wholly uncompromising. Kin'iro knew better than to stand up to that tone and subsided immediately. His face took on a sullen look, his ears lay flat, and his mouth curved downward in a frown. He slid halfway behind me, his arms going around my shoulders, long slim hands caressing my chest. His long nails scratched gently over my skin. Nuzzling into my loose hair, his tail switched quickly in displeasure, like a cat's. He wasn't angry with me, but I could feel the emotion vibrating against my skin, even through the layer of sleeping robe. I hoped Soujuro realized how very lucky he was that Kin'iro had been collared.

"It is settled. Inochi." The boy turned those liquid golden eyes in my direction. "You shall stay here in the main house, in the personal slave quarters with Genichi. In the morning, Soujuro will bring you to Kin'iro for training in manners, and bearing, and simple ceremonies. You would do well to pay heed to Kin'iro; he is clever and graceful, and can teach you much if only you are bright enough to pay attention." My hand fell to Kin'iro's pale bare thigh, stroking gently, and I felt some of the hostility drain from him.

Soujuro stepped up behind Inochi, and gave him a nudge. He bowed low, gracefully, and Soujuro nudged him again. "Thank the Meijin for his consideration of your worthless self."

"Th-thank you, Meijin. I am not worthy of your care." Although it seemed as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth, he said them very politely. Good; it proved he wasn't stupid and knew his best chances lay in making me pleased with him.

Soujuro tugged the boy's sleeve, and they turned away, to the door. Then they slipped from my attention completely as Kin'iro slithered forward in a fluid, graceful motion to sit astride my lap. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and buried his face in my throat. I felt his tongue, soft and moist, on my skin. As I closed my eyes in pleasure he licked a trail upward to my ear.

I let my hands move in a long, slow caress down Kin'iro's bare, smooth back, skimming over the dark golden stripe that ran down his spine, relishing his shiver, then down further to cup his ass and pull him closer. Kin'iro's long, full tail flicked again, but it was a slow, leisurely movement of pleasure. His scent rose strongly again, sexual and irresistible, and I let it wash over me, let it settle deeply into my own body. It made me harden, made me feel young and strong and virile.

"Don't even think about taking him as yours," Kin'iro whispered against my throat.

I chuckled, and stroked the base of his spine, just above the place where his tail began, and he shuddered hard against me, once more erect and firm against my belly. His hands tightened in my hair.

"I'll take whomever I please," I said. "I am your Meijin." I trailed my fingers up his spine, and he arched backwards, gasping in pleasure of his own. My hand knotted in his thick hair and I pulled back his head, baring his throat. He hissed and showed his teeth, but his hands remained tangled in my own hair, not fighting, not moving, and accepting my display of dominance. I trailed my free hand down his chest, pinched a nipple, hard, and his breath broke on a gasp.

"You are the Meijin," he agreed breathlessly. "But please, don't take him."

I knew how much that "please" had cost him---he never asked for anything. I rubbed the sting out of his now red nipple with the ball of my thumb, and he let out a soft moan. "You're jealous," I said, and released his hair.

"How could I be jealous of that drab little goat boy?" But he didn't look at me as he said it, and I knew it was true. It pleased me very much that Kin'iro would be jealous, would not wish the boy in my bed.

"And if I did bring him to my futon?" I gave Kin'iro a push off my lap, and he caught himself, turning the tumble into a sinuous movement and a display of his smooth, pale body.

He smiled up at me from an artful spill of blond hair. "Would you really rather have him when you can have me?" He slid his hands slowly down his body, stopping to thumb rosy nipples erect, then on down his body, ending with a slow stroke of his cock. He brought up a finger, wet with his juices, and licked delicately at it before slowly sucking it into his mouth, his eyes dark and hot and hungry.

Desire thrummed through my veins, both fiery and liquid, and settled deep in my belly, making my balls ache with its strength. Though I'd had him earlier, I wanted him again. He made me so hungry for him, and I never seemed to have enough of him.

"No," I said, untying my sash and shrugging the robe from my shoulders. "Why would I want a terrified virgin when I could have someone experienced, who likes sex?" I rose to my knees, and my cock jutted outward from my body, grown hard and red, ready for him. I wrapped my hand around myself and stroked. Kin'iro's eyes followed every movement.

Kin'iro pulled his finger from his mouth with a wet, obscene sound and smiled at me. "Why indeed?"

He rolled to his side, presenting his back to me, showing off his stripe, a deliberately wanton act for his kind. Glancing over his shoulder, his golden eyes shone, full of promise. I stroked myself slowly as I looked at him offering himself to me. Perfect pale skin, small, tight ass, hair and plumy tail a blond and tawny spill across my futon. I reached out and trailed my fingers down his stripe, drawing my name in fluid letters down his spine, and he shuddered and moaned throatily beneath my touch.

Leaning in, I pressed my mouth to the nape of his neck, let him feel my teeth, and his voice rose in a whine of pleasure before breaking on my name. I licked down his stripe, feeling the smoothness of his fragrant skin, the bumps of his spine beneath my tongue. Oh, he loved that, almost purring, his fingers kneading the thick futon as I worked my way down. If desire had a taste, it surely tasted like Kin'iro.

Kin'iro rolled to his belly and I followed, rubbing my cock against his thigh. I wanted to be buried within him, but not yet, not yet. Halfway down his back I bit him sharply, and he convulsed beneath me with a sharp, pleasured cry. I slid a hand beneath his tail, between his legs, and wrapped my fingers around his long, slim, wet cock. He thrust eagerly into my hand, bowing his back, pressing his forehead into the covers.

I licked down to the base of his spine, rubbing my chin against the root of his tail. His scent was dizzyingly strong, and he struggled to get to hands and knees. I allowed him to raise himself to his knees, but pushed his chest down on the bed, and he turned his head, his face mostly hidden by his heavy blond hair. His fists grasped the covers, and I knew he'd rip them up again. I could see a bit of flushed cheek, an eye with the pupil huge and black, with just a hint of a golden ring about it, and his soft mouth parted, panting.

"Let me come, Ari-sama," he rasped, his voice hoarse with passion. "Let me come, then fuck me until I come again."

In answer, I snugged up behind him, slid my free hand over his narrow hip and beneath his belly, and pumped him fiercely. I bit him on the lowest part of his back, just where striped spine flowed into tail. With a high, keening cry, he thrashed beneath me and his cock pulsed in my grip, filling my other hand with his blood-hot seed. His tail quivered and curled around my side beneath my arm, plumy fur tickling my back, and I heard cloth ripping as he shredded yet another futon cover with sharp nails as he came.

Before he could catch a breath, I brought my cupped hand back, and slicked myself with his warm seed, then tucked his tail tightly beneath my arm and pushed into him. He let out a quick, sharp yelp, and surged forward, clutching at the futon as I breached him. But then his body trembled around me, and he relaxed and accepted me.

Gods, he felt so good.

Little hitching moans broke from him as I slid deeper, deeper into him, until my belly pressed up against his smooth, tight ass, and I could go no further. I closed my eyes and savored the clutch of his body around me, the feel of his slim hips in my hands, the scent of him, musky and heady, seeping into my skin, muscles, bones. When I opened my eyes again, I could see the long, pale length of his back, the tawny stripe down his spine, the spill of his blond hair against the futon. All in submission to me.

All mine.

I wrapped my hands around his hips and gave myself over into the mindless pleasure of fucking him, the tightness and heat within him, the sight of my cock, moist and glistening, moving in and out of his body. When I let go with one hand and pressed hard against the base of his tail, he howled and pushed back against me, seeking to get me deeper within him, his body clutching at me fiercely. I didn't need to touch him to know he was erect again. I doubted if he'd ever really softened, gifted with inhuman stamina.

I wished I had a portion of that stamina. I wanted to fuck him forever, and when I was inside him, it felt as if I could. I felt young again, and strong. It was like riding wild and free without ever tiring toward a horizon that never grew any closer. It was like cresting one wave after another out upon an ocean of sex and pleasure, each wave growing higher and stronger than the one before it.

This was his gift, the ability to give me pleasure beyond any I'd felt before with any other slave, male or female, human or not. No matter how many times I lay with him, I would never tire of him,. I would never let him free, caught in his spell even as he was caught in my possession. No other would ever touch him, ever feel this kind of pleasure from him.

But human men have limits, and unwilling, I felt my own coming growing closer. I reached forward, twined my fist in his long soft hair, slid my hand around his waist, and pulled him toward me as I sat back onto my haunches. He leaned against my chest, and slid further down onto my cock, his soft mouth parting with a deep, pleasured sigh. His head tipped back onto my shoulder, exposing the long line of his throat. Given over into passion, he was wanton, beautiful, and mine.

"It's good...it's good...."

I rubbed my cheek against his hot, flushed one, and whispered, "Touch yourself."

Instantly, his hands flew downward, one hand wrapping around his cock, and the other around his sac, stroking himself in time to the rhythm of my cock within him. Even better---I loved to watch him work himself, watch him come. But I was too close to the edge to appreciate it much now. My balls tingled, ready to spill into him.

I tightened my fist in his hair, and pulled hard until the nape of his neck lay bared to me. Beneath his hair, his scent was strong, sweaty and musky, and I licked across moist skin before setting my mouth against his neck and biting down.

Kin'iro did howl then, thrashing, impaled on me, his seed splattering hotly over my arm around his waist, over his own smooth chest, even as far as the soft skin beneath his chin. As his body tightened and spasmed rhythmically around me, I could hold off no longer, and came after three more hard, ragged thrusts. I sent my seed deep within him, and finally, spent, weary, and drained, allowed myself to pull us down onto our sides on the futon, bodies still locked together.

Sweat slicked our bodies as we lay spooned together, trying to catch our breath. I could feel my heart beating fiercely in my chest and ears. My whole body throbbed in rolling pleasure, and everything seemed to be bathed in a warm, golden glow. I realized at last my fist still pulled Kin'iro's hair, and thought to release it from my grasp. He made a soft sound of relief and moved his head, evidently stretching out a kink my grip had put in his neck. But he didn't complain---he never dared.

Supremely satisfied and sated, I licked the blood from his nape, where I'd bitten too deeply, and the metallic taste exploded on my tongue. He shuddered against me, his body tightening once more upon me. I was too sensitive for any more stimulation, and so pulled out of him. He gasped softly, and his hips shifted against my belly. His tail twitched against me, then he settled.

For long moments I allowed myself to drift in that warm sweet place sex with him left me, then pulled at him until he lay on his back and I could look at him. For a moment I thought I saw a coldness in his eyes, but he blinked, and it was gone, washed away by a warm, satisfied smile. I decided I must have been mistaken, some trick of the light, and turned his face toward me for a kiss.

His mouth was as sweet as honey, with an undercurrent of spice. I loved kissing him, though it was equal parts pleasure in the act and the fact that now, I could. It had been six months before I'd been certain that collar or not, he wouldn't bite my tongue off, and yet another six before he stopped turning away and allowed it. Six more before he would actually kiss me back. He'd protested it was not an act natural to them, but natural or not, whether he willed it or not, I had persevered, and now took every opportunity to kiss him simply because I could.

When I released his mouth, I settled against him, resting my head on his shoulder and throwing a leg across one of his. My fingers traced idle patterns over his smooth chest. I let myself drift, my mind lazily recalling the past two years I'd owned him. Everything with him had been a fight, but I had persisted until I'd won. He and his kind all understood and respected power, respected dominance, and I'd had to show him through implacable will and painful example that I was more powerful, more dominant than he was. I alone possessed power over him. He lived, and could die, at my whim. He accepted his place now. But it had been a long, drawn out series of clashes of wills, fights I hadn't been sure initially that I would win.

The first three months had been a battle almost to the death. I'd never had a slave fight the collar as Kin'iro did; most gave up quickly when they realized the pain the wards could deal. But he'd fought anyway, regardless of the senselessness of it. He'd fought and raged until the pain given by the wards had made all his muscles lock in seizures, until the collar choked him into unconsciousness. When I first had him, it had seemed as if he didn't care if he lived or died, as long as he went down fighting. Even frequent disciplinary visits to Kuroda seemed to have little impact upon him.

Taming him hadn't been pretty, or gentle. Every day, I'd had the guards chain him down to the floor in Kuroda's chamber of punishment before I took him, demonstrated who now owned him, who had the greater will. I'd thought of selling him, thought him too wild and intractable to be a bed slave in spite of his beauty, but the first time I'd taken him, the first time I possessed him, I'd known I would not---even with him unwilling, it felt too good to give up.

Four months of fighting until he was unconscious, then when he awoke, pulling against the chains until I thought he would pull either them from the floor or dislocate arms and legs as I took him, and something changed. Over the next three months, he didn't rage as much, didn't let the collar choke him into submission. It still took all the guards to pin him long enough to put the chains on him. But once I entered the chamber to fuck him, once he scented me, he didn't fight. He would lie quiet without screaming coarse insults at me or threatening to tear out my throat, his muscles trembling with the strain of pulling against the chains, until I finished with him. As a reward for his cooperation, I began giving him regular meals and allowed him to bathe daily with a basin of cold water, though I still kept him locked in a sturdy iron-barred cell of Kuroda's, the walls and bars impregnated with magic wards to keep him in place. Even weakened by lack of decent food, he could still break free of a regular cell.

Three more months, and he began to speak with me in a civilized way. I learned then he was more than beautiful---he was intelligent and well-mannered when he so chose. It had surprised the hells out of me, given that all I'd heard from him was swearing and threats. Two more months, and the chains became unnecessary. He would lie down for me, though his muscles would be as tense as iron bands with the effort of not fighting against me, of accepting me. After a year had passed since I'd first bought him, he called me lord, accepting whatever I chose to do to him or have him do to me.

That day I took him from his tiny, cold cell, where he had lived for a year naked without even a blanket or a pile of straw to lie upon, to the hot baths. From there to my quarters, where he could lie upon the softness of my own futon, where he could eat and drink as he willed, and I gave him clothing to wear when he didn't service me. Once I'd been surprised to see him reading a scroll of poetry I'd left laying around---I'd assumed he couldn't read---and so when he'd done something that particularly pleased me, I'd reward him with another scroll. He devoured whatever I offered him to read as if he were a man famished.

I knew I'd established dominance, I owned him completely, the first time he voluntarily touched me, and when he offered me the nape of his neck. For his submission, I rewarded him with free run of the house, and eventually, the yard, as he gave himself over more and more to me, as he assumed his proper place. I set him to working with the other pleasure slaves once I realized how well mannered he could be, and some of his restlessness eased with something to occupy his mind and hands, though his tongue would never be anything less than sharp.

After a year and a half, things had settled into their current status. I began noticing signs of affection, small at first, tentative. A touch, here and there. Less reluctance to kiss me, more creativity when he would lie with me. Those things grew slowly until now, he offered his body freely, and had begun to ask for my attentions. Sex with him unwilling had been good, but with him willing---gods, it was incredible. If I had to spoil him a little, it was certainly worth the effort after so long a battle.

Kin'iro made a soft, contented sound, drawing me out of memory, and shifted to curl into me, burrowing under my loose hair, pressing his face into my neck. He licked me slowly, lazily, sleepily, his version of kissing, and his tail lay warmly, softly over our tangled legs. Even though the spring breeze drifting across our naked bodies felt cool, he was so warm I wouldn't get chilled.

Content, I let myself drift off to sleep, my hands stroking his soft, soft skin, and the last coherent thought I had, was ~mine.~

~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

I lay quietly in his arms, one eye watching the ray of sun as it crept slowly over the edge of the futon. When it at last touched my feet with warm fingers, and I judged Hamanari deeply enough asleep, I began working my way free of his embrace. It was stealthy work, calling for patience---and while I had stealth in abundance, patience came less easily to me. It took awhile to loosen his fingers from their clench on a thick lock of hair. If I'd had a knife, I'd have cut my hair off at the scalp simply to escape him.

Hells. If I had a knife, I'd not be in this damnable bed, allowing this human to fuck me.

I rolled off the futon and onto my feet in one smooth motion. My skin crawled, as if thousands of spiders marched over it. I rubbed my arms, and padded silently to the open shoji, standing naked in the doorway that led to the small enclosed garden. The sun felt good on my skin, and if I turned my nose to the breeze, it cleared my head of the smell of him. It was everywhere, all over me. The smell of his rough skin, his coarse hair, the stench of his salty sweat, the stink of his seed. I wanted a bath, to scrub his scent from my skin.

I hated it. I hated all of it.

The breeze lifted my hair from my shoulders, touched my belly and thighs with nimble fingers. I closed my eyes. The fresh air smelled green and alive. Green with growing things, the promise of life and lush summer to follow. I wondered if the wild roses were blooming yet far away in the Western Reaches..

I thought of those roses, and suddenly missed Nobara with a fierceness that was like a blade slicing clean and cold through my chest.

Ayano served to ease that ache for a short span of time, but even as fair as she was, she was nothing compared to Nobara's fierce wild beauty. Without effort, I could call to mind the deep scarlet of her hair, the perfection of her face, the sweet scent of her slim body, the richness of her laughter. Nothing, not the wild roses she'd been named for, not even the rising of the sun could compare to her. Everything else was pale and dull and lifeless. Food had no savor, drink had no taste, and scent was flat and dead. Ashes.

I gripped the wooden door frame, and it creaked warningly beneath the strength of my fingers, splintered beneath my nails. Fire burned fiercely up from deep within my gut, a fire I knew so very well---rage. A rage almost as powerful as when I'd learned Yoshida had betrayed me, as when the slavers had dragged me naked up onto that fucking auction block to sell me. Yoshida had sold me to slavers half a country away from my home, and they had dared to sell ~me~.

The collar tightened in warning, and as before, when I'd gotten angry with Soujuro, I marshaled my will and shoved the anger away. I pushed it back down where it could simmer, distill, grow stronger. It would be there when I needed it, powerful and strong, like a viper's venom. But right now, it would do nothing but harm me, and was best put away.

I drew a deep breath when the collar finally loosened. Patience. I wasn't good at it, but I was learning. Just a little longer, and I'd be free of this place that made Enma-sama's frigid hells look warm and inviting.

Two years. In my long lifetime, two years was nothing, a blink, and then it was gone. But this had been the longest two years I'd ever experienced; it felt more like a century. It had taken Jussai and Raiha four months to track me to this place. The battle with Yoshida, a rebellion from within the ranks of my people, had left them with only a relative handful of men still loyal to them. The number was enough to hold on to my keep, but not enough to storm this fortress and face Lord Mitsukane's troops. I'd learned that after Raiha had worked two of his men in as Hamanari's guards. I'd heard bits and pieces from him and Jussai in the months to follow, enough to give me hope that I could eventually escape.

When I'd heard they'd finally captured Yoshida, I'd wanted to howl in triumph. Blessed Inari, how I'd wished him here before me so I could rip his belly open, bathe in his blood, eat his heart and liver while he watched, and died. I'd wanted to shred his skin and muscles, to scatter his entrails and bones, to not leave one piece of him recognizable. Fiercely, I hoped Jussai had made him suffer, made him wish he'd never dared to bare his fangs at me. I'd heard that Jussai had kept him alive a very long time, and that when the time finally came, Sen had delivered the death blow. I had hugged myself in savage joy when that message had finally come to me.

Sen and Haru still lived. Nobara---my fierce, wild Nobara---had kept them safe from Yoshida, who would have joyfully wiped out my entire line, would have spilled their blood upon the ground. But he had failed, and Sen had taken his life for me. It was Yoshida's blood that soaked into the earth, not that of my children. That my truemate and children still lived, that my eldest son had avenged me proved to me that Inari had not forsaken me. I'd felt a rush of fierce hope that I would soon join them, would soon run free beneath the wide skies once more..

And all I had to do was to wait a little bit longer, and I'd be free. Patience was a cruel master and I was admittedly a terrible student of his.

My ears perked as the whistles of the guards and their yelling came to me from the general direction of the slave quarters, muted by walls and distance. Curious, I stepped out upon the verandah. I could see nothing except the serenity of the garden, but my hearing told me much---some fool tried to escape. My nose twitched, trying to catch a scent.

The scent of humans all about me was very strong, and I riffled through them, discarding their familiar salty musk. Genichi's distinctive neko scent trailed across my awareness, but I didn't think it was him---he didn't smell fearful. I located Ayano by her sweet, delicious musk---not her, most definitely---she smelled ripe with desire and sex, and was most likely lying with someone in mutual pleasure.

Damn. I'd been too long here, and it had dulled my sense of smell. I rubbed my nose and tried harder.

Then the wind changed, and a scent I'd recognize anywhere filtered through the other scents borne on the breeze. Not human, not quite kitsune, with an acrid top note of fear, the same scent I'd smelled earlier, at much closer range. The newest pleasure slave of Hamanari's, the goat boy. What was his name again? Inochi.

Interesting. Was it him making an attempt to escape? I hadn't thought he had balls enough to try something like that.

The breeze shifted again, and I lost his scent. But from the fading noise of pursuit, the chase tore off toward the north wall, past the clinic. Eventually I lost the sounds, no matter how I swiveled my ears and strained to hear.

I had no doubt how it would end. No matter how quickly he ran, they would recapture him, and collar him; they had years of experience at this, and he was just a terrified boy. Then they would drag him to Kuroda, and let that ice cold bastard work on him, make him regret bitterly trying to escape. My balls drew up tightly against my body as memories slithered through my veins. Kuroda had been able to make even me scream, so I knew how the boy would fare. At least they wouldn't leave him to freeze and starve for a year in a cell barely large enough to lie down in; I knew from eavesdropping on conversations that Hamanari had decided to sell him, untouched, to a House.

The sky suddenly whited out in a blaze of lightning, larger and whiter than any I'd ever before seen. I blinked, pale spots blossoming behind my eyelids, and flattened my ears back to protect them as thunder rolled noisily around me, close enough and loud enough to make the walls shake. What in hells?

I looked up again. No thunderclouds. The sky was the pale blue of spring, without even a wisp of clouds to mar its pure color. How curious. Where had the lightning come from? I could feel something tickle against my skin, something that I'd not felt for the two years I'd been collared.

Magic.

Magic mighty enough, for a moment, to break through the buffering effect of the collar. The air smelled as it did after a strong thunderstorm, sharp and cold and scoured clean by strong, potent energies. I could taste the power, as keen as a blade, against the back of my tongue.

It felt damn good.

But then the flow cut off abruptly, and all I had was the quickly fading echoes of it. A heartbeat, then two, and the collar's wards overrode it, leaving me with the familiar, fuzzy sensation that kept me from calling on my own power, my own anger.

I wondered what had happened. I wondered if somehow, it was the boy. Surely not. He hadn't seemed extraordinary enough to do something like that, but then again, I knew nothing of him. But if it was him, that might prove interesting, something worth mulling over in the days before my escape. I might be able to use someone like that.

"What happened?"

I started slightly as Hamanari came up next to me, pulling on his robe; surprisingly, I'd not heard him moving. He looked sleepy and just a little cross at having been woken. I made myself smile warmly at him, though it made my teeth hurt and that hot knot in my belly grow larger.

"I'm not sure, Ari-sama," I replied in a quiet, measured voice, glancing from him to the sky once more. "I'd almost say it was magic, but I'd be wrong, yes?"

He slid an arm around my waist, fingertips stroking lightly over my hipbone. "Yes. Grandfather is the only one with magic here," he said, and rubbed his face against my hair.

"I thought as much." I allowed his caresses, as he seemed compelled to touch me. The more he thought me infatuated with him, the more latitude to move I gained, the more relative freedom, and I could bear his touch for that.

Objectively, for a human, I supposed Hamanari was a handsome man, with those odd blue eyes and his brownish hair. He could have looked like a warty toad or a leathery-skinned forest demon, so I supposed I was relatively lucky I didn't have to give my body to something like that. But even had he been kitsune-beautiful, I could not ever forgive him for what he'd done to me. I tolerated his touch only because it suited my plan, not because it pleased me, or as his overly-inflated ego so obviously thought, because I craved him.

I supposed that I was also fortunate in that he'd begun to "reward" me with his attempts to offer me pleasure when he brought me to the house, instead of merely taking me, as he had every day for a year. He'd had enough kitsune slaves that he knew how to touch me, to call forth my body's responses; it helped with the subterfuge. I was just grateful he didn't have youko stamina---to have to pretend pleasure for that long would've been more difficult.

My ears twitched as I heard feet pounding down the hallway. "Someone comes," I said, as Hamanari's kiss brushed over my shoulder.

Hamanari straightened, and turned back to the room without question; he knew my hearing was far better than his. Someone pounded frantically at the shoji, and he bade them come in. I stood in the doorway to the verandah and watched as one of the younger guards spilled in, flushed, sweaty, excited. Over the scent of sweat rode a bare trace of the sharp, clean scent of magic.

The story that poured from him confirmed that yes, magic had happened, and surprisingly, it had come from the boy. Well. Most interesting. Hamanari listened carefully, his face serious and grave, but didn't seem unduly shocked that Inochi had such power within him. Perhaps he'd seen something of it when he went to fetch the boy and had thought to easily contain it. He had said nothing to me, but that in itself was nothing unusual; to him, I was a slave, a toy---certainly not a confidant, not someone he trusted.

The guard's eyes kept sliding in my direction, trying to look without appearing that he did; it was a pathetic attempt. I was still new enough about the house that the others still stared at me, and my sharp ears caught everything they said about me. Most of it was beneath my contempt, and their words meant nothing to me. Their fear, I relished; it meant Hamanari had not rendered me completely toothless and clawless. I raised my chin a notch and stared at him coldly down my nose, not making any move to cover myself. He flushed bright red, and I took some small pleasure in his discomfort before Hamanari dismissed him.

I padded forward and curled comfortably onto the futon, watching as Hamanari moved around the room, getting dressed, combing his hair, braiding it neatly in a long grey-brown plait. The braid was long enough I could use it to strangle him if I so chose; it was an idle thought that pleased me, and I spent a moment contemplating it. I elaborated the fantasy to include him begging for his life before I began strangling him, and the crunch of bones breaking as I finally snapped his neck.

"You look like a cat with cream," Hamanari said, finished with his grooming, and standing before the futon, looking down at me. "What has brought such a gleam to your eyes?"

I smiled up at him. "I was just thinking of you, Ari-sama," I replied truthfully.

He beckoned, and I flowed to my feet. I allowed him to kiss me, and then he was gone, off to check on what Inochi had done, and to prevent it from happening again. I wondered just how much whipping the boy could take; they wouldn't risk marking him permanently, as he was too valuable, but they'd make certain he suffered, and would never think of escape again.

I wondered if Kuroda would slip a blade beneath his balls and threaten to cut them off, to geld him as he had threatened me, so many times that I'd finally wished he'd just done it rather than torment me with it. I'd laid chained to the floor, in agony, enraged, listening to them discuss the merits of gelding me to improve my temper, and the only reason they hadn't was that Hamanari didn't wish to permanently disfigure me.

I wondered if Soujuro would watch the punishment with his hot, hungry eyes, and then jerk off with the boy's blood, as he had mine. Bile rose up bitter on the back of my tongue, and I shoved the anger down again. I would see that perfumed bastard dead, if only for all the times he did that.

The moment the shoji closed, and I heard Hamanari's steps take him around the corner, I spit on the floor to rid my mouth of the taste of him. Soon, very soon, I promised myself. In just a matter of days, I'd be out of this place and free again. I'd see Nobara and my sons again. I would take back my lands, and kill every one of Yoshida's men I could find, anyone who had dared to rise up against me.

Ages ago, in my distant childhood and youth, before I'd become strong and fierce enough to back up my threats to kill them, I'd been fresh meat for any dominant youko or ookami, had belonged to anyone who was stronger than I was. Lying beneath them, forced to do as they willed, I'd sworn then it wouldn't last, and over the years, had fought and clawed my way to the top. I'd sworn on blood, on Blessed Inari's name, that no one would ever own me again, and for over two hundred years, I'd kept that oath.

I picked up my clothes, strewn carelessly about when Hamanari had stripped me the night before. I desperately wanted a bath, wanted to wash the stink of him from my body. I wasn't certain I could ever wash it from me completely, but I was willing to try.

Soon. Soon. The words beat in my head like the pulsing of my heart as I padded naked down the hallway to the bath, ignoring everyone I passed, every look, every whisper. They were worth less than the dirt beneath my feet. Hamanari might have my body, but he didn't have ~me.~

I would be no man's slave, ever.

~finis~

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