InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Hedonism ❯ Don't Be Sniffing That! ( Chapter 37 )

"Don't Be Sniffing That!" by Abraxas (2009-02-13)

A hand clutched a sword. Off of its stand - the setting collapsing by the violence - and flung aside, it crashed against the floor with a sharp metallic yelp. It stopped its slide at the futon. At last, degraded, it remained impotent and lifeless.

"Accursed fate!" the master of the house seethed with agitation unmasked.

Lord Sesshoumaru wiped his lips with his sleeve, glaring into the void of onyx enveloping the night beyond the window.

Where was justice? He was the legitimate son of Inu no Taisho! He - he - he was a complete demon! And to be disgraced like that? By elevating the spawn of betrayal above the offspring of marriage?

The monster's hatred was boundless....

He slithered out of his armor, letting the cover collapse onto the floor. He yanked away his pelt, whipping it across the air. If he could have torn asunder the bonds of blood he would have too.

There would be no end to it. Everybody knew of the fallen dog-lord's swords. The one that slew a hundred demons at a blow. And the one that resurrected a hundred demons with a swipe. They feared the first. But they mocked the second. What was the point of it? Such a useless toy. Unworthy of a warrior. To be burdened with that weakness was akin to being castrated!

And to think....to imagine...to know a hanyou was entrusted with the power....

Lord Sesshoumaru could not understand the idiocy of his father's state of mind. What, exactly, went wrong? Was he not dutiful enough? Not respectful enough? He was always there, there at his father's side, defending him at each and every turn. Where, exactly, was the failure?

He saw the weapon. A useless, dull sword -

It seemed like a waste of energy to unfurl such hate against an object -

He grasped the sword and brought its length up to his eyes -

But it was not just an object - at last, yes, at last his anger found an avenue of expression!

If father so disgraced son, the favor could be returned.

He unsheathed the sword and gazed at its form under the light of the moon and the stars. Its weathered, dull blade. Cracked. As if fractured. There was no trace of anything like the fang it was forged out of yet it was true. It was the only part of his father that survived.

"Let me show you my gratitude."

A smile that could have frozen blood flashed across his face.

Obi. Then kimono. Then loincloth. The futon was littered with his sloppy, discarded articles.

Naked, Lord Sesshoumaru crawled atop the mattress. With his head veiled by the night and his ass light by the sky, he straddled the weapon. He lowered his genitals onto the hilt to accustom his body to its icy cold nature. He grasped the handle. He slid his fingers across its length. Holding it by the center he pressed its tip into his anus. Dull as it was still it was angled such to allow penetration.

Inch by inch the sword was swallowed by his anus until only the hilt remained out of his body.

Laughing, maniacally, at the abuse of the sword - of his father! - he stroked it in and out. Pressing it again and again against his internal centers of pleasure. Already he was hard and leaving a steady trickle of juices. The sensation of is length rubbing into the root of his penis induced a rush of white, hot fluid. It did not squirt as orgasm only bursting like a rush of urine.

A pool of it formed between his legs - he reached into it to feel is warmth -
"How do you like it, now, father!"

He moaned, biting a lip to stifle a gasp. Tears rolled out of his eyes. He was thrusting his hips while stroking the weapon into and out of his anus. The urge to climax was growing steadily threatening to rush like avalanche!

"Oh, god, I should have fucked you a long time ago - how do you like it, now, father? How do you like getting fucked?" Overwhelmed by pleasure and hatred his tone of voice degenerated into common street talk like what he imagined a filthy, human prostitute would have uttered in the heat of passion. He smiled, wickedly, at the thought of it. "Fuck me, father, doesn't that excite you? Hearing me talk like your whore?"

And then, as if to reply, he noticed the sword...seemed to change! Feeling its handle again he sensed the weapon gained mass. Shrugging it off to the effect of the pleasure, he started to stroke. But now even the motion within his body attained a new and different character. No longer the sensation of something rough and dull, it was slicing much, much too cleanly.

He was shocked by a surge in the fluid draining out of his tip. He dipped a finger into the pool and brought it up to his eyes. He sniffed the odor of blood mixed with semen.

"Impossible!" he shouted. "What is going? I am the master - I take vengeance - not you!"

With one, final stroke he yanked the sword out of his body then fell aback onto the mattress dazed, confused - and horrified!

Indeed it could not be denied - the sword changed! No longer dull, it cut the air with a sound that reflected its razor sharp edge. No longer dead, it vibrated within his grip, almost flying out of his hand, flaunting its power - its life!

Gazing into its visage, like a moth transfixed by fire, he was overwhelmed by the transformation. Longer, wider, even the tuft of fur at its base thickened. And it curved with the slope of a fang.

His heart skipped a beat. He gasped. Almost screamed.

He flung it away, as if to erase the very idea of it - his father's tooth crying tears of blood!

(1000)