Fushigi Yuugi Fan Fiction ❯ Green Eyed Doll ❯ Chained Dolls ( Chapter 1 )

(A/U, sorta) Trapped in a sick game of domination and degradation, Miaka Yuuki must find a way to get into high school under the cruel guidance of her tutor and principal, Nakago. Dark, twisted and full of S&M. Mature readers.

This whole story should be looked at more from an aesthetic point of view and not for what it implies. I encourage, and adore it, if you review as either comments on the story and its thematic elements or criticisms where it falls short. However, I will not accept flames. I say this under the assumption that you know the difference between flames and criticisms so I don't have to explain it.

Why won't I tolerate flames? 1) They tend to be immature and rather unfair attacks against the writer herself/himself and not the deeper meaning of the work, 2) they reflect bad upon the writer of them and make him/her sound childish and too young to even be reading such material, 3) it's best not to dwell on material that you find repulsive and flaming would merely prolong the agony, 4) I will delete all flames, or write a humor story mocking them (it's up to you to decide which is worse) 5) there is no real point in trying to point out my lack of a sense of morality, I won't listen.

To summarize all that: review, please, but don't flame.

Green-Eyed Doll

A single corpulent fly rammed its black body against the transparent glass of the office window. Over and over it charged only to discover that there was no escape to the outside and that the window would not magically disappear. Yet it continued with the tenacity of a machine programmed to do only one thing. Miaka Yuuki felt a kinship with the helpless and hapless fly as she sat in the waiting area before the principal's office. Another tardy, the third that week, had brought her there, but it wasn't her fault that her alarm wasn't loud enough to wake her up in the morning.

"Miaka Yuuki," the principal called brusquely. A tremor of apprehension slid down her spin at the sound of his rich baritone. She jumped up and hurriedly entered his office.

"Good morning," she murmured. The man's arctic blue eyes scanned her from head to toe. Feeling self-conscious under his unemotional gaze, she attempted to smooth out any wrinkles in her school uniform. He smiled slightly.

"You were tardy again this week, Miss Yuuki, for the third time."

"I'm sorry." She stood awkwardly before his desk and shifted foot to foot. He hadn't offered her a chair so she had to assume that he wanted her to stand.

"I thought you said that you wanted to not be late. That you would arrive on time." He watched her flushing face carefully, dispassionately.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. He nodded curtly.

"I'm sure you are. However, the policy of this school states that you have to be punished." Her eyes flickered to the right before returning to him. He nodded slightly, his coldly amused smile widening.

Eyes averted, staring at nothing in particular, she pulled the decorative tie off and undid the buttons of her vest and blouse. The man watched without expression, smile gone as swiftly as it had appeared. She tossed everything to floor and then unhooked her short skirt and let it slither down her legs. A small shiver raised goose bumps across her exposed flesh as she stood before him in her underwear and bra. She could feel a horrible flush sweep across her body and an unnerving tension loop about her stomach

The man stood up and smoothed back his pale blonde hair. He looked her over, noticing the slight, fearful trembling of her body, and walked over to the closed closet to her right. With the light ringing of metal he unlocked the doors and pulled them open to reveal the darkness within. Miaka bit her clenched fist apprehensively and walked to him on tremulous legs. A foot away she tripped and fell forward with a startled cry. She landed at his feet in a disorderly sprawl. Mentally she cursed herself for her unseemly clumsiness. She raised tearing green eyes to his face and found him smirking cruelly down at her.

She hated him.

She feared him.

Without a word he picked her up and pushed her into the dark closet. Automatically she opened her quivering lips to accept the leather gag. She winced as he tied extra tight in retaliation for her blundering. Padded metal cuffs encircled her wrists and ankles and spread her out against the foam backing of the closet. She could feel his overwhelming presence behind her, watching her as she struggled a little for comfort that she would never find there.

A cool, gloved hand slid down her back, tracing the path of her spine, and paused at the swells of her buttocks. She tensed and bit down onto the gag in preparation for the pain to come. Yet she still cried out against the leather as his hand smacked her. He hummed thoughtfully and walked away. She tried to turn her head to see where he was going. Panic spread through her body as she heard a door open. Was he leaving her like this?

Time crawled by and her muscles began to burn from the lack of movement. Where was he? She shuddered into the scratchy foam molded against her body. Hot tears prickled against her closed eyes. He wouldn't, would he? She would give anything for him to return, to finish her punishment so she wouldn't be alone in the dark closet. A cold draft moved against her exposed back and elicited a tired shiver. Softly she sobbed. She could hear the damned fly still attempting to fly through the closed window. She heard its fat body bumping rhythmically against the glass.

A relief pure and painful exploded through her when the door clicked open. Gratefully she listened to his measured footfalls upon the carpet. He stopped before her and she tensed. Rough leather cracked across her thighs. She gasped and jerked reflexively to escape the line of burning pain. A second, third, fourth lash bit into her tensely yielding flesh. Again and again he struck her and she cried out each time. She knew no one would hear past the cloistered blackness of the closet no matter how much she screamed. No one ever had.

Gently he passed a cool hand across her swollen backside and she flinched as even such a light tough sent razors of pain behind her eyes. Her buttocks flamed from his abuse. She doubted she would be able to sit for the rest of the day. Would he send her back to class now? To sit and wiggle about upon her sore behind?

Carelessly he unshackled her and removed the bit. He made no move to help her as she staggered into the blessed cool of the office. Eagerly the fly rammed its bloated body against the window in vain. He closed and locked the closet while she stood shivering beside her discarded clothing.

"I hope you learned you lesson, Miss Yuuki," he told her coldly as he carelessly handled his torture instrument, a shiny leather riding crop. She swallowed the lump of tears and pain in her throat and nodded. A hiccup swam up her throat and popped out of her mouth. Trying to hold back her tears she hastily pulled her clothes on. He watched her with a smirk.

"T-Thank you, sir," she stuttered flushing deeply. "I-I did." Ignoring the throbbing of her painful rear, she opened the door and scurried out. In the waiting area a girl her age sat in breathy anticipation. The brunette blushed deeply upon seeing Miaka and averted her flustered gaze. Nervously she twisted her short skirt between her pale hands. She seemed to hold the knowledge of her transgression close like a valued, sinful treasure. Miaka hated her. She hated the girl's guilty eagerness as much as she hated her own.

Trembling with unshed tears, Miaka rushed from the room.

*~*~*

Miaka stood before the imposing gate surrounding a large European looking mansion. With badly trembling hands she pressed the intercom button and waited. Her rear still ached from that morning's punishment.

"Yes?" his imperial, arrogant voice demanded. She shuddered as the velvet-steel cadence rolled over her.

"It's me," she answered promptly, fearfully. She hated tutoring. She hated him. She hated how he treated her, just like some disposable doll, but she had to go. Her precious, ignorant mother didn't know what he did to her. Everyone praised him with obsequious reverence. He was an American, rich and powerful, and completely devoted to the school which he oversaw and its students. He had even taken time out of his busy schedule to privately tutor Miaka for the upcoming high school entrance exams. Such a good man.

The gate rumbled lowly and slid open. Clutching her books to her chest, she walked quickly up the cobbled driveway. The entry lights cast deep gold highlights in her auburn hair and flecked her green eyes with amber. She turned those frightened eyes towards the shadowed figure waiting patiently in the opened door. She picked up her pace and stumbled across the uneven cobbles.

"Did you study hard, Miaka?" he asked with cool warmth. She nodded and held her books close as if they could shield her from his invasive gaze. She hated when he used her first name. It became an intimate chain binding her unwillingly willing body to him. She had to use his first name as well: Nakago.

*~*~*

Thank you for reading. Please review if you would be so kind. I shall be glad to answer any and all questions put forth in subsequent chapters.