InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Shakujou to Hiraikotsu ❯ Hunger ( Chapter 4 )

 

Hunger

by Scribe Figaro

 

 

I find you in the library of the taijiya village, several manuscripts spread before you. It had been several days since you came here, intent on collecting taijiya histories to supplement the education of our children. I could see your travelling bag half-filled with scrolls. Clearly, your work was not finished, but I must insist you take a break.

 

You greet me, “Anata” this time - “Houshi-sama” was reserved for fits of pique; perhaps you will call me that when you realize my intent to distract you. I tell you I decided to bring you home to our village so you don't have to return alone. You remind me that you didn't intend to return for another three days. I tell you I couldn't wait.

 

We kiss in the doorway, and you tell me about the things you have read, and we talk a little about the history of your village. As you stand and skim the cubby-holes for one scroll or another, I press myself against you, brush aside your hair, and kiss the back of your neck.

 

You murmur something about distracting you, and I tug at the knot at the back of your waist. Your hands grip the edges of the bookcase, and I guide your green mobakama down your legs to pool at your bare feet.

 

You turn to me, and say something about wasting no time, and we kiss again. I shrug out of my kesa, my koromo, and my robes fall to the floor. I pull open your yukata, spilling out your breasts, and I suckle as you cradle my head.

 

There is one thing that calls to me, one thing I desire, one thing I hunger for above all else. Something I could not survive a week without. I am on my knees before you, Sango, let me worship you.

 

The knot of your obi dissolves in my hands, the red cord slips loose of your waist, I pull it away from you, and your yukata spreads before me, and inches from my face is your glory, the source of my fascination, my need, my insatiable hunger.

 

It is absolute tragedy you cannot see this part of you as I see it, that you cannot understand the magnificence of you. This place where your thighs meet astounds me in every aspect. The way your thighs frame you so gracefully. The contrast of your dark hair on the white curve of your mound. The way these things hint at the indescribable treasure between your legs.

 

I kiss you, on either thigh, and just below your navel, and I kiss your mound, and inhale the scent of you, feminine, rustic, you. It is incense of this temple, this shrine; what is this part of you if not a gateway, a place that binds spirit to earth? Three times you have used this part of you to create life; even one such miracle would have put the Imperial Palace in Kyoto to shame.

 

Your clothing is the outermost wall to this temple, Sango, and now I am on the temple grounds, before the first gate, the gate of your thighs, and here I prostrate myself, and unworthy as I am, here I beg you for entrance. Spread your legs for me, Sango, and show me your shrine, your source, your special place.

 

There is a roof beam just above your head, you grip it as I slip my left hand beneath your right knee and raise that foot off the floor. Your ankle finds a shelf behind you and you hold your foot there. You are spread open before me, and I am starving.

 

I kiss you, I trail kisses up and down your vulva. It is so soft, and so smooth. Here you are a flower at night, two beautiful petals close you up and protect the miraculous flesh beneath. I feel wetness on my lips, the beautiful wetness that begins to seep from the place where those petals meet. Your arousal has made this part of you ready for me; your labia have begun to spread, and your clitoris has begun to poke through.

 

I want to spread you open with my fingers, to see this most sacred part of you, but more than that, I want to taste you. And I bring my mouth to you, touch my tongue to you, and slip my tongue between your folds.

 

My god, the taste of you. It is beyond words, beyond language. You are mulled wine, you are spices from lands distant and forgotten. Falling snow and falling leaves, summer storms and spring rains. Every season, every moment, every good thing that could be imagined. How can I do anything but to suck your flesh into my mouth, and probe your recesses with my tongue?

 

I am so thankful this pleasures you; I would beg for this even if it didn't. Indeed, all I am doing is tasting this most delicious part of you, sucking on the parts of you I most want to suck, finding the texture of your clitoris and inner labia pleasurable against my lips and tongue. And throughout this, your wetness flows constantly, and fills my mouth, and I drink you, Sango. This part of you is a goblet that overflows with your essence, one I am happy to empty. I swallow the waters of your arousal, I drink your pleasure.

 

Yes, roll your hips against me, grind yourself against me. Free one hand to grip my hair, and hold me against you, and I will grip your buttocks with my hands. Ride my tongue, mount my face, do whatever you must, just don't deny me the taste of your pleasure.

 

Your moans tell me that you are nearly there. My hands tighten on your buttocks. I will not be removed from this place. I will not be denied my reward. Cum for me, Sango. Cum hard. Cum with my mouth, against my mouth, in my mouth. Cum with my tongue inside you.

 

And I am rewarded, for as you cry out, your body quivers against me, and you cum wet. A burst of your arousal, clenched and squeezed from recesses I could not reach, spills into my mouth. This is the taste of your orgasm, the taste of my success.

 

I politely wipe my face on my bare arm, and I stand before you. You press against me, your stiff nipples brushing against my chest.

 

“Anata,” you say to me, and you unfasten my loincloth, and find me rock hard. You grip me, possess me.

 

“Let's put this where it belongs, ne?”

 

You guide me to the floor, lower yourself onto me, guide me into you. You are an expert at riding me, rolling your hips as you move, making me feel all of you. I reach up and cup your breasts.

 

You lean forward, and your mouth touches mine, and we kiss, and we breathe each other's breath. You can read me well, you know your orgasm has pushed me to the edge of my self-control. You know I am only holding back for your benefit. You know how to completely dismantle my effort.

 

“Cum,” you say to me. “Cum inside me.” Your smile is mischievous. “You're fucking me so hard.” You see my face tighten, hear the groan building in the back of my throat. “Give it to me. I need it. Anata, Houshi-sama, Miroku.”

 

“Ugh…I…I…”

 

“All your cum,” you hiss. You're not even playing fair anymore. “All the way up inside me. So it stays in me. All night. All tomorrow. I need it. Come on. Cum inside me.”

 

My eyes close, my mouth opens, a soundless cry, and I lose it, absolutely lose it, and you take me, take all of me.

 

Our marriage, our years together, have given me full confidence in our future, and that worrying aspect that you might someday realize how inadequate I am for a woman such as yourself has gone - you have built me up to be someone you think is good enough for you, and I can do nothing but accept this.

 

I think I am never so confident as I am in moments like these. I don't think you appreciate how meaningful your smile is at times like this, how powerful this gesture of acceptance is to me.

 

I smile to myself after we gather ourselves, as I help you organize these scrolls, at the perfect innocence we display in this place we have made our own with our love.

 

END