InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Hedonism ❯ Thrill of the First ( Chapter 9 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: abraxas_ren 
(Miroku) [NC teen!Miroku/F] S: Miroku relives a moment of his past that awoke his lust for girls. Warning: it depicts a non-con encounter between a ~13yo Miroku and an older girl.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.30.2008 | Updated On: 06.30.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 810 | Visits: 1.3K | Status: Completed
(Miroku) [NC teen!Miroku/F] S: Miroku relives a moment of his past that awoke his lust for girls. Warning: it depicts a non-con encounter between a ~13yo Miroku and an older girl.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.30.2008 | Updated On: 06.30.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 810 | Visits: 1.3K | Status: Completed
"Thrill of the First" by Abraxas (2008-06-27)
I wait to be alone, days and days, the time passing fretfully, achingly. I fear the opportunity will not arise again. Yet - with Kagome and Inuyasha away, with Sango and Shippo afar - at last I am able to continue the activity without fear of interruption.
They know the aim of my lechery. And it amuses them, especially, the antics of my hand grasping women. But they do not fathom the depth of my desire. My secret, hidden fantasy. I am not ashamed of it, rather, it is the kind of subject that ought not to be aired between friends - only between strangers with whom the unveiling is safest.
I am aroused by girls in the wake of womanhood. Those tender, fragile blossoms aching to be picked. With kindness and gentility I lure them into my arms where my touch - a stroke of the hair, a brush of the cheek - allows them the freedom to be bold. Safe. Protected. Able to express their feeling without judgment. Only the slightest provocation awakens within them those natural urges and curiosities to explore the functions of a man. Of course it is my honor to volunteer my body.
There is nothing greater than the thrill of being the first. That experience we share together, fleeting and beautiful like the flowers of spring, it is a bond that cannot be broken. Romanced and idealized as if a wish granted by the gods, it cannot by soured by the failure of a relationship. I will not be part of that string of men who follow that disappoint.
The thrill, the thrill - I know its ecstasy since the time of my first.
I recall it, while exposing myself within the chamber, I think of it and I grow into manhood as if I were clasped by those hands again. She was older - taller and stronger - and overpowered me with the simplest kind of trick. Tickling. Teasing. She probed everywhere flesh was naked and I, weakened by giggling, only squirmed. I begged to be freed but my tears were met with laughter.
From corner to corner of the room we tumbled until I fell onto my back and she spread my legs. She focused onto the cloth that covered my endowment. Neither my squirming nor my hands slapping and protested were enough. Within moments I felt the air against my skin and I knew, embarrassed and ashamed, that I was exposed.
The humiliation ebbed, however, with the onset of a feeling I could not have imagined possible.
She knew the secrets of my body and extracted every last possible pleasure out of it. She was amused to the point of mania by the sight of what I offered as a boy. She twisted and pulled it; she squeezed and cupped it; I was shocked by the familiarity she possessed about my most vulnerable private locations. That skillful yet rough mastery of my body awoke a yearning that only the manipulation of her fingers over my flesh sated. I grew stiffer and longer with the attention and that display of my reaction - my tip swelling, my shaft throbbing, even my face reddening - became the fodder of her mirth.
And then, while pinning my arms and smothering my legs, she took me into her mouth.
Unable to squirm I yelped. A fire burned within the head of my organ and I could not move. I was helpless under the weight of her body. I could not resist the power of her lips suckling and kissing the strength out of my will to fight. I cried that I feared I was going to make water. I struggled not only against the restraint but the urge.
She did not stop the onslaught.
Then, suddenly, I felt a strange sort of warmth course through my shaft and fill into my tip. I jerked, violently, against my will, I gasped, breathlessly. I feared the worst - it was not water - it was a white hot streak that spurted out of my body. I saw it splatter across her face until the world faded as if I fainted.
I look at my hands - my fingers are wet - the dew erupted out of my erection. Reliving that forced, first orgasm again brought me into climax. Yet remembering the event is not enough. As I sit and meditate I lust to be ravaged by a girl. To be made into a man, again, by the sweetness of lips against my flesh. I plan to use that day to find the creature able to quench my burning, aching need. I want to recapture the thrill of the first.
(~832)
I wait to be alone, days and days, the time passing fretfully, achingly. I fear the opportunity will not arise again. Yet - with Kagome and Inuyasha away, with Sango and Shippo afar - at last I am able to continue the activity without fear of interruption.
They know the aim of my lechery. And it amuses them, especially, the antics of my hand grasping women. But they do not fathom the depth of my desire. My secret, hidden fantasy. I am not ashamed of it, rather, it is the kind of subject that ought not to be aired between friends - only between strangers with whom the unveiling is safest.
I am aroused by girls in the wake of womanhood. Those tender, fragile blossoms aching to be picked. With kindness and gentility I lure them into my arms where my touch - a stroke of the hair, a brush of the cheek - allows them the freedom to be bold. Safe. Protected. Able to express their feeling without judgment. Only the slightest provocation awakens within them those natural urges and curiosities to explore the functions of a man. Of course it is my honor to volunteer my body.
There is nothing greater than the thrill of being the first. That experience we share together, fleeting and beautiful like the flowers of spring, it is a bond that cannot be broken. Romanced and idealized as if a wish granted by the gods, it cannot by soured by the failure of a relationship. I will not be part of that string of men who follow that disappoint.
The thrill, the thrill - I know its ecstasy since the time of my first.
I recall it, while exposing myself within the chamber, I think of it and I grow into manhood as if I were clasped by those hands again. She was older - taller and stronger - and overpowered me with the simplest kind of trick. Tickling. Teasing. She probed everywhere flesh was naked and I, weakened by giggling, only squirmed. I begged to be freed but my tears were met with laughter.
From corner to corner of the room we tumbled until I fell onto my back and she spread my legs. She focused onto the cloth that covered my endowment. Neither my squirming nor my hands slapping and protested were enough. Within moments I felt the air against my skin and I knew, embarrassed and ashamed, that I was exposed.
The humiliation ebbed, however, with the onset of a feeling I could not have imagined possible.
She knew the secrets of my body and extracted every last possible pleasure out of it. She was amused to the point of mania by the sight of what I offered as a boy. She twisted and pulled it; she squeezed and cupped it; I was shocked by the familiarity she possessed about my most vulnerable private locations. That skillful yet rough mastery of my body awoke a yearning that only the manipulation of her fingers over my flesh sated. I grew stiffer and longer with the attention and that display of my reaction - my tip swelling, my shaft throbbing, even my face reddening - became the fodder of her mirth.
And then, while pinning my arms and smothering my legs, she took me into her mouth.
Unable to squirm I yelped. A fire burned within the head of my organ and I could not move. I was helpless under the weight of her body. I could not resist the power of her lips suckling and kissing the strength out of my will to fight. I cried that I feared I was going to make water. I struggled not only against the restraint but the urge.
She did not stop the onslaught.
Then, suddenly, I felt a strange sort of warmth course through my shaft and fill into my tip. I jerked, violently, against my will, I gasped, breathlessly. I feared the worst - it was not water - it was a white hot streak that spurted out of my body. I saw it splatter across her face until the world faded as if I fainted.
I look at my hands - my fingers are wet - the dew erupted out of my erection. Reliving that forced, first orgasm again brought me into climax. Yet remembering the event is not enough. As I sit and meditate I lust to be ravaged by a girl. To be made into a man, again, by the sweetness of lips against my flesh. I plan to use that day to find the creature able to quench my burning, aching need. I want to recapture the thrill of the first.
(~832)