InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ It ❯ A Girl Alone ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the InuYasha characters. They belong to Rumiko Takahashi and Sunrise Studios. The only profit I receive from these tales are the reviews I receive from my peers.


She loved him, but she didn't like it.

As a man she knew he needed it, and as the only female in his company, it was her duty to provide it. She'd simply hoped that it would never come to this. She'd hoped he'd be different from the others . . .

It had nothing to do with him, really. Her mind had been made up on the subject long before she ever met him. She recognized it as a necessity, a need, something to be tolerated and endured if she was ever to be allowed to continue on in this world. And though, at times, she'd despised her life, being mortal, she thought as all mortals did: life was better than death.

He stopped short within her, a slight frown furrowing his brow. Whether it was one born of displeasure or disapproval, she couldn't quite tell, but she knew what he was thinking.

It was the same look another man had worn the first time he'd come to her--the slight downturn of the mouth, the fading gleam in the eyes, the growing creases in the forehead. It had been his first time with her, but not her first time with a man. Because of her age and her living conditions, he'd assumed what many others in his position would assume: she was untouched, untried. But by the time that particular man had found his way to her, she'd been touched by so many hands, she'd been tried in so many ways, she'd been forced to do so many things (even at age 6) there was nothing new to her under the sun. Nothing surprised her, nothing scared her, and even something as bizarre as this didn't cause her to bat an eye.

She hadn't turned away from him then, finding him laying wounded in the forest, pitiful and strangely beautiful as he was, and she couldn't turn away from him, now. He hadn't a mark on him, but one could tell just by looking at him, he'd been hit and hit badly.

A decent woman would've turned her head in shame, attempting to hide her disgrace at his discovery. But she wasn't a decent woman, hadn't been for a long, long while, and it was futile to attempt to pretend otherwise. Fantasy had never been her forte. She lived in the real world, and she accepted everything that entailed: the good bits, the bad bits, the sunlight, the moonshine, and all the darkness in between.

She had her mother to thank for her outlook on life, and she had the man above her to thank for her life. He was her guardian, her protector, her benefactor, her savior. And, yet, in all the time she'd known him, he'd never asked her for a single thing.

He hadn't even asked for this. She'd simply seen him looking at her--not as the other men had looked at her, brazen and bold as they breached the doorway to her hovel/home, saki on their breaths, "gifts" in their hands, threats in their voices--but slyly, almost shyly out of the corner of his eye. He'd always regarded her with a sense of wonder, fascination, amusement, bemusement. And while his gaze that night had held equal parts of those fundamental elements, there was something else there as well--something familiar to her, yet foreign in him.

But, knowing what she did and brought up the way she was, she couldn't help but respond to it.


"It isn't safe for a girl alone in the world." Her mother had told her shortly after she was capable of comprehending human speech. "All sorts of awful things can happen. Some forgettable, forgivable and others not. But always remember life is better than death. And that life should be safeguarded at all costs."

When that first man had come to her that first night--not even two moons after her family's demise--she did exactly as he'd said, exactly as her mother would have wanted her to. She didn't like the things he did. She didn't like the things he said. And, more importantly, she didn't like the way they made her feel. It had been one of those unforgettable, unforgivable things her mother had spoken of. She'd lost her dignity, her honor, her innocence, but she'd survived it. Time and time again she survived it. Without a word, without an argument, without a fight.

"It's foolish to put up such a futile fight for something so insignificant. They're bigger than we are, stronger than we are, and in a definitive position to do us an infinite amount of damage."


She felt his hold on her tighten.

"Who did this?"

It seemed an odd question to her. "Men," she said simply. Who else would be capable of committing such an act?

Disapproval turned to disbelief, his eyes widening marginally, his jaw going slightly slack. "Where? When?"

Rin felt her mouth go dry, her pulse quicken. Before answering she silently prayed that Sesshoumaru-sama wouldn't choose that moment to reject her, to turn from her in her all-too-human state, abandoning her by the wayside, leaving her to her fate, leaving her all alone. She'd known almost from birth that humans were despicable creatures, capable of committing all sorts of atrocious acts against one another, and, without asking him, she knew her lord was apt to agree. Jaken spoke loudly enough for everyone, afterall.

But before tonight, before that moment, before he'd entered her in the most intimate fashion and found no barrier barring his way, she supposed he'd seen her as being different from them, separate from them, perhaps even above them. But now he had clear proof, irrefutible evidence of her human taint.

She didn't look away from him, but she did lower her eyes. It wasn't her intention, but she could see them, then--how their two bodies met and melded together. The ridges of his abdomen, the flat plane of her stomach. His thick patch of silver, her dark dusting of curls. The narrowness of his hips, the thickness of her thighs . . .

She'd never watched any of the other men as they did what they'd done to her; she kept her eyes closed, and when allowed to, her mouth shut. She was always afraid of the things she'd see. It was bad enough to have to hear them, smell them, and endure their touches and that awful taste, but to have to see them, see herself do those things . . .

"Rin was alone." Her home was dark, damp, and often cold. They'd bring her oil for lamps, dry blankets to sleep on and extra bits of food. She didn't ask for any of those things; they'd simply give them to her . . . afterwards. She'd never use the things they gave her. In fact, as soon as they'd leave and she was certain she was alone again, she'd take the things and toss them into the river, watching as they either sank to the bottom, never to be seen again or drifted downstream far from her sight. It was bad enough that they wanted to do those things to her, and she let them, but to be paid for it . . .

Sesshoumaru-sama had given her everything and asked for nothing. And, unlike with the others, she had used everything he'd given her--her life, her voice, the clothes she wore, the beast she rode upon, the protection of her companions. She'd never looked upon it as payment, but she secretly kept tally of everything he'd done for her.



"They give us so much, and we have so little to offer them in return." She'd been woken by strange sounds late one night when her family was still alive. She couldn't have been more than three, but she remembered it quite clearly. She'd been asleep on her futon in the far corner of their home. There was a shoji screen dividing the front of the house from the rear. Her mother and father slept at the front of the house on one side of the screen; she and her brothers slept on the other side.

She'd been asleep when she'd heard moaning and muffled screams. Thinking their village was being raided yet again, she jumped out of bed, darted between her brothers' futons and ran to the front of the house. When she reached her parents, she stopped. It was dark, but she had little difficulty making out their moonlit forms.

They weren't wearing any clothes. She could only see them from the back, but her mother was on all fours, her legs spread wide, and her father was bent over her, his posterior high in the air. Their clothes and their bedcovering had been tossed into a pile near the entrance of their home. Father seemed to be pushing Mother, and Mother seemed to be pushing him back.

She said nothing at first, merely stared at the odd scene before her. She'd long since forgotten about the "village attack;" the source of the strange sounds were right in front of her.

"Rin," a raspy voice called out to her. It took her a full minute to realize that was her mother's voice. Father was still pushing her, and she was still pushing back. "Go back to bed."

She continued to stand and stare. "Why are you fighting?"

"Rin." This time it was her father who spoke. He sounded as if he were being strangled. "Listen to your mother."

She lingered a moment longer then went back to bed. The next morning her mother explained the ways of the world to her.



He decreased the distance between them. Now, she could only see his chest pressed against her breasts, the points and hollows of his collarbone. "Where was I?" he asked. "Jaken? Ah-Un?"

She merely shook her head. "I didn't know you then."



Her mother had told her that she, herself, had been taken at a young age. She and a small group of girls from the village had been doing the wash down at the river. As they cleaned and gossiped, a group of bandits happened by--some on horseback, some on foot--but they were all armed, and it was clear they had only one thing on their minds.

Some of the girls had tried to run, leaving their family's wash behind. But Rin's mother could never have done such a thing. They were a poor family. Everything they owned, they'd made. Time, blood, sweat, and tears was woven into every article of clothing they possessed. Losing their clothes would've been equal to--if not worse than--losing a family member.

Which isn't to say she didn't run, because she certainly did . . . but being so encumbered and so scared . . .

Not one of the girls managed to get away.

They were stripped, tied and passed around.

That first time the men didn't even wait to get them back to their camp. They simply took them where they stood, sat or fell.

Some of the girls resisted and were either beaten into submission or strangled into unconsciousness. Rin's mother didn't resist. She did cry, and she did scream. And she did everything she could to maintain what was left of her modesty, but considering the situation, there really wasn't anything she could do. She was a young girl from a fishing village; she wasn't a samurai or a shinobi. She knew nothing of weapons or self-defense. She only knew she had to survive this. She was unmarried, and her parents were old. They depended upon her for their care. If she allowed these men to kill her, her parents' deaths would soon follow.

Minutes turned into hours turned into days. It was endless, torturous, hopeless. The things they made her do . . . and not just to them but the other girls . . .

Rin remembered every detail her mother had told her. She took five men at once: one in her mouth, one between her legs, one in her ass, and one with each hand. Then it was her, another girl and two men. Then it was her and three men. Her and two men. Her and one man who demanded that she touch herself while she watched him rape one of her childhood friends.

They forced her to drink urine, made her swallow semen, held her head down and spanked her till she made another girl climax using only her tongue. They bit at her breasts, pinched her clit, and assaulted her anus in every conceivable way. Teeths, tongues, fingers, hands, cocks, chopsticks, sword hilts, sheaths . . .

There were no depths to the depravity they forced her to sink to.

But she survived it. Nine grueling days, her mother and the others were held against their will. Passed around from man to man till finally their men found them.

The bandits didn't put up much of a fight. They'd already taken what they'd wanted, afterall. The men that came for them didn't have anything else worth taking, so they basically through the girls at them and ran. They were theives, not fighters.

Some of the girls were grateful to be rescued, so grateful they completely forgot their state of undress and carelessly flung themselves into the open arms of their rescuers. Others couldn't bear the shame and ran to hide themselves; of them, one drowned herself in the river and another threw herself off a cliff. One girl eventually returned to the village, and the other two were rumored to be working in teahouses.

Two girls didn't survive the ordeal. They were killed within the first few hours of their captivity: one was beaten to death, and the other choked on cum.

Once they were properly clothed and returned to the village, they were met with a lukewarm reception. Many of the girls' fathers were outraged, disgusted. Two demanded that their daughters kill themselves on the spot, and they did.

That left three of them. Things were quite chaotic in the beginning, but they soon settled down. Time passed and talk faded. But while other girls their age found husbands, married and started families, the three of them had no such hopes. Some of the boys regarded them sympathetically, but wanted nothing to do with them. Others tried, and sometimes succeeded, in taking advantage of them. One of the boys was caught with one of the girls and a marriage was forced once they found her to be pregnant.

That left two of them. Her mother and the other girl soon fell into despair. They weren't getting any younger, and the boys, having grown wise, steered clear of them entirely. The one girl, much to her mother's dismay (but her father's relief) drowned herself in the bath.

"Don't you dare," her grandmother commanded her mother. "Even if you never become a wife or mother, your life still has value."

"But what about when your gone?" her mother had asked her. "I'm not married. They'll take our house. I'll become a pauper."

Unbeknownst to her grandmother, her grandfather told her mother that it was okay if she wanted to die. She'd more than done her duty to the two of them, and he'd rather see her dead than to continue to watch her suffer.

Soon after, her grandfather died, increasing her mother's despair.

"You will know love," her grandmother insisted. "All men are not the same."

Days later, a new family came into town. Their village had been destroyed, and they were the only survivors--a husband, a wife, three sons and a daughter. Over time, they built up quite a standing in the village. The wife was a seamstress, and the husband and sons were expert fisherman. The daughter, both lovely and polite, was quickly married off to one of the headman's sons. Two of the sons were but boys and held little interest for the rest of the village, but the eldest son was strong, attractive and of a marriageable age.

"I knew it the moment I saw him," her mother had said. "Every man I saw turned my stomach and made me ill. I was as good as dead from the waist. Other women talked of . . . stirrings and aching and itching . . . I felt none of that . . . Till him."


"Before you met me," he repeated. "But you were only . . ." His sentence trailed off and his eyes snapped shut.

She could feel something odd between them. Like her mother, Rin considered herself dead from the waist down. Too much damage had been done. Too much pain had been caused.

Of course, her body responded when stimulated, her mind simply wasn't in her body when it happened. But now . . .



"I wanted him to touch. I wanted him to want me. I didn't know what it was about him, he just . . . wasn't like the others. He saw me. And he talked to me. Some of the girls in the village had made it a point to tell him everything that had happened to me . . . It was at a harvest festival, and they had him surrounded on all sides. I was sitting alone with my mother.

"I could see him, but I couldn't quite make out what they were saying. I only knew that every now and then, they'd look at me and laugh . . . Not him, though. Just them. As if my situation were laughable, mind you, instead of pitiable . . . Not that I wanted their pity, of course, but . . . The nerve of that bitch! If she only knew . . . If they only knew , , ,"



His eyes were still closed, making it nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking. His disgust was clear, but was it with her, the village men, or possibly even himself . . .



"He came over to me, afterwards. He asked my mother if he could take me for a walk. Given everything that had happened to me, and noting the fact I had no male relatives, Mother refused. Instead of walking off, he sat down and talked with us both.

"He said he was sorry to hear what had happened to me. If he'd been with those village men, he wouldn't have let a single one of those bandits leave with their lives. It was they who should be ashamed and not me . . ."

Her mother had cried at that point. That was the only time she'd ever seen her mother cry . . . or ever would.

"The fact that I'd survived such a thing and the added mistreatment of my own people proved that I was a strong woman, quite capable of bearing him many strong sons." She smiled at her, then. "And I did. Three boys and my lovely, little Rin."

Rin giggled.

"And what you saw us doing last night is how sons and daughters are made." She ran her fingers through Rin's tousled hair. "I'm sure it sounded very unpleasant, but your father would never hurt me, and I'd never hurt him. Despite everything that's happened to me and (gods forbid you ever find out firsthand) the evil that men can do, I like what he does to me. It . . ." Her mother was blushing, perspiring, short of breath. "It makes me feel warm all over, but especially in here," she made a fist and pounded it lightly against her chest. "And then I itch . . . and burn . . . and . . . he makes me tingle, and I . . . I just feel alive."

"And it's good to be alive," the 3-year-old concluded.

"Yes. It's very good to be alive. No matter what, Rin. There is everything to live for and very little to die for."

"What would Mommy die for?"

"The same things I live for: you, your brothers, and, of course, your father."

"What does Rin live for?"

She reached over and scooped her into her lap. "Until you find your husband, you'll live for me." She wiggled the point of her chin into the top of her head.

"Ouch," she giggled. "That hurts, Mommy."

"Lots of things in life may hurt, but that doesn't mean we should stop doing it. It isn't always easy, this life we have to live, but in the end it is always good."

"Huh?"

She didn't say anything more, merely held her close and kissed the top of her forehead.



She reached up and carefully caressed the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, causing him to open his eyes. They were dark . . . cloudy . . . sad.

"How?" he asked.

She continued to caress him, the silky sensations soothing her as much as him. "Rin was alone. Men can do what they want when they find a girl alone."

"No," he nearly snarled.

"Rin couldn't talk. Couldn't fight."

"You should have left then. You should have . . ." His voice was raw, shaky. His eyes glassy, his face stern.

"Where would Rin go?" she asked. "A girl alone is still alone no matter where she goes."

He looked down at her, into her, searching, beseeching.

All she had to offer him was herself. "If you don't like it," she said, "I can do other things . . ."

He growled and pushed himself away from her, breaking their union.

Oddly enough, she felt the absence of him. It . . . hurt . . . not having him with her. She felt suddenly empty, hollow, incomplete.

"Dress," he commanded her, pulling on his own clothes.

She sat up and curled into a ball. "Rin won't kill herself."

Silence fell over the clearing. He moved from his standing position to kneel beside her. "What?"

She stuck out her chin and held her head up high. "I won't kill myself!"

Sesshoumaru frowned.

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"No one has said you did."

"Then why don't you do it!" she cried. "I know you want to. I saw you looking at me."

He didn't reply.

"You wanted to, then you stopped. You found out, then you stopped."

Again, no reply.

It was getting colder, darker. She desperately wanted to put her clothes back on, but she felt foolish for wanting to do so. She'd taken them off, afterall, and helped him with his.

Why had she left the campsite? Why had she followed him out here? If she'd simply ignored it, everything would've been fine.

He never would have known, and she never would've told.

But he wanted her. She knew it; she could see it. The way he looked at her. There wasn't a mistake.

What else was she supposed to do?

"I don't have anything to give you except me," she said. "If that's not good enough . . ."

Again, he stood. "I am not like them," he finally said. "I am . . . disgusted . . . you were used in such a way. I have no intention of doing any such thing."

"But . . ." This time, it was she was at a loss.

He gathered his remaining clothes and dressed. He then gathered her things, sat down beside her and lightly tossed them into her lap. "Please dress."

She stood and did as commanded.

"I did not know," he said. "When you first found me I had nothing to compare your scent to. You have always . . . smelled like you--exactly as you did that day . . . evening," he corrected himself.

She finished fastening the final ties to her kimono. "And if you did know?" she asked. "Would you really have done anything? That night?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, his posture slightly slumped, his eyes obscured by his bangs.

"No," he quietly concluded.

"At least you're honest."

He grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her to him, cradling her in his lap.

Rin squealed. "What are you doing? Stop!"

He held her tightly, pressing the tip of his chin into the top of her head. "Understand this, my Rin. You will be mine, and I will have you."

She ceased her struggles and swallowed hard.

"Simply not tonight," he added softly.

"Why?" she nearly whined. First he wanted her, then he didn't, then he did, and now, now, she didn't know . . .

"I will not bargain with you," he said simply. "Nor will I attempt to buy you, bribe you or trade with you in any manner."

The girl frowned.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, placing a wet kiss just below the right lobe. "Whatever I have, you may take."

She couldn't quite see him, but she could feel the softness of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the strength of his embrace.

"Not out of debt. Not out of duty. Not out of responsibility or reciprocation. But because I wish you to have it. I wish part of me to be with you. Always."

What was that? That strange, warm feeling rising in her chest?
"In whatever way you may wish to take that."

Her head felt light, but her body felt heavy.

What was going on? This wasn't the first time a man had held her, talked to her, touched her. There had been many men many different times . . .

"This Sesshoumaru will never leave you alone again."

She giggled, though somewhat uncomfortably. Something was happening to her, something unfamiliar. There was a strange stirring in the pit of her stomach, and she could feel, feel . . .

He turned her head towards him and kissed her--lips parted, tongues touching, breath co-mingling. "Tell me, my Rin, did these . . . other men care nothing for your feelings, your needs?"

Rin sighed, rolling her head back against his left shoulder. "What are you doing to me?"

He slid his right hand from her throat to squeeze the fullness of her left breast.

The girl gasped, an uncharacteristic ache settling squarely between her thighs.

"Giving myself to you," he replied. "Do you object?"

The hand at her breast slid down her stomach to slip between the folds of her kimono, his hand at last coming in contact with her bare flesh.

"Se--Sesshoumaru-sama . . ."

She knew what was happening to him. She could feel him, it, growing beneath her. But this . . . thing . . . with her . . . This feeling in the pit of her stomach. The wetness at the crux of thighs. This . . . tingling . . . in the tips of her fingers and toes.

"You are quite close, my Rin."

She was breathing hard. Her forehead was damp. Her pulse was racing.

"Let go," he whispered. "I will not let you fall."

"Go where?" she asked.

Then she received her answer. Her head jerked back, her arms twitched, her toes curled. Her ears quit working, and her eyes snapped shut. She couldn't stop shaking, she couldn't catch her breath, and her heart was racing so fast she was certain it would soon rip through her chest.

"I'm here."

She heard a voice call out to her. It was familiar but . . . fuzzy, far away, distant.

"Rin."

Slowly, her senses returned to her. First her sight, then her hearing, next her speech and, finally, the feelings in her limbs. "Sesshoumaru-sama . . ."

Gently, he eased her off his seated form, then he joined her to stand by her side. "It is time we returned to camp."

"But . . ."

"When you require more from me, you simply have to ask."

She felt suddenly awkward, clumsy.

"Now, straighten your robes and come along."

"Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama," she bowed her head and followed along after him. What he'd just done to her--no, not to her--for her, she didn't quite understand, but she was certain he'd explain later. Her mother always did, after all.