Utena, Revolutionary Girl Fan Fiction ❯ Sang Sur les Roses ❯ Chapter I ( Chapter 1 )

It had crawled up her skin the wrong way; Utena meandered strolling down the corridor to her next class. Should she let this bit of information slip, the psychiatric ward would be her new home indefinitely. Scanning left to right she could sense a transparent partition split hallways, the cafeteria, classrooms, even sections of the campus down the center. There was just not much interaction between students milling on either side of the halls. They seemed perfectly content to carry on as per usual amongst their own and not meddle into the affairs of the other side. A damp chill iced her spine at her use of the phrases `their own' and `other side'. Was it so very long ago that Jiya hobbled about with his cedar cane, the clutch whittled to form the body of a hawk tapering down from its bulbous head to carve the warped and rutted bark of the crag tree grumbling under his breath to what Utena interpreted as complaints over a gimpy leg and hot water for his tea. He seemed a lot like them, a foreigner in a strange country. That cane was at present a permanent fixture resting by the fireplace willed into disregard since Aunt Yurika changed the subject each time Utena broached the subject of grandfather with her. A seed of discontent was sown when they buried Jiya, Utena's presence was unnecessary at the interment they said and the nine-year-old was left behind without a sitter but the child was remarkably self-sufficient.

There were always doubts as to what took place at the service, quite a bit of strangeness and hushed voices during the funerary procession where Utena spent the majority of the time behind closed doors. Grown-ups thrived on secrecy and Utena being the curious and brash sort decided not to let up and became an annoyance to her aunt's guests, she was ordered out of the parlor by a woman who had a pair of prescription pill bottles rattle out from her black snakeskin Anne Klein clutch bag and rolled to a stop on the Turkish carpet. Her eyes were the color of dead grass with sickles of purple and black scooping under them. She saw stressed silver uprooting from beneath the mound of sable brown atop her tremoring head, her ankle bones protruded nearing the bottom of her legs and her pallid flesh was waxily pulled over her bones causing the simple black cashmere pullover dress she wore to slosh around her frame like a hula hoop.

            ; A handsome gentleman with salt and pepper hair and the highest cheekbones marched to her side to deftly escort her by the crook of the arm from the room. The simplicity of his dress bespoke his wealth, an unpretentious black three-piece suit with a platinum watch chain streaking thickly across the midsection of his silk lined midnight blue vest. Her spouse, Utena suspected but the grasp on her arm was anything but husbandly. A miserably mismatched couple with a word of honor to keep whose value was dwindling. But this was the world. And Ohtori was also the world she must adapt to regardless of its idiosyncrasies.

            ; But there was nothing more disturbing to learn that in Ohtori's century-long existence, nothing was more valued than tradition and ceremony. And who ever heard of a Student Council presiding over the faculty? Without any intervention whatsoever from the administration? In the world she grew up in the scholastic chain of command was commonplace: teachers, counselors, and administration. It was preposterous how a group of high school aged teenagers could usurp so much power over the school they attended. The cost of tuition for the average student was astronomical but the Seitokai with their ranking had to break the bank, private dorms, and the Seitokai office at the foot of the tower, individualized uniforms and exclusive classes. It was said they had the highest GPAs in the school; Kaoru Miki the Seitokai's secretary was 15 and enrolled in the university's college courses, but his twin sister Kozue wreaked havoc on his personal life lynching any hopes of her brother dating. Truly she was the Beautiful Leopard Arisugawa-sensei's imouto Juri. Captain of the fencing team, a super model that Utena recognized from countless glossies and the covers of Vogue, Esquire, and Maxim just to list the top of her resume. Her shocking tangerine gun barrel curls were the only flamboyance about her entire character; her turquoise eyes were tautly guarded as her defensive techniques.

Captain of the men's kendo team was Saionji Kyouichi, the son of legendary Juu-Dan Saionji Arihiro. There were always major differences of opinions in kendo rankings; it became replete with controversies as kendo universally branched. The All Japan Kendo Federation will argue that there is no Juu-Dan in kendo and that Kyu-Dan is remotely attainable with only one percent of the Hachi-Dan applicants passing the Hachi-Dan examinations. But there are the exceptions where there are swordsmen who rise up from the herd that simply swing the bokken and aggravate the sensei. They are the chosen few who carry the spirits of Musashi and Yagu, where the katana is an extension of their hand. And for warriors such as Saionji Arihiro the title of Juu-Dan was specifically reserved for them then put to rest for posterity. But his son will also join the rankings when his time came. The Vice President succeeded as captain from second when his childhood friend and rival were promoted to Student Council President. Saionji could be recognized everywhere, his spiraling hip-length evergreen tresses, soft as swan's down was his most distinctive feature. It was frequently pulled up as he was garbed in his gi and hakama when he wasn't in class. His temperament ran hot and cold fluctuating uncontrollably in the last few months, he could powder cinderblocks with a glare from his radiant lilac eyes. Then there were times he was completely accommodating, dressed in jeans and riding his 10-speed, pulling behind him was his jade locks the wind whistling in his hypersensitive ears. He knew every secret path in the forest back home, named every track imprinted in the trails, hidden streams, waterfalls so beautiful one's chest would constrict from a leaden glove clamped around the heart. The heavenly spray caught the sunbeams so perfectly that the rainbow arching earthward was surely a bridge to paradise. But all that fell into the tedium of real life after his twelfth birthday.

Kiryuu Touga, renowned for his sexual prowess and family's estate off campus where he and his younger sister, Nanami, both resided quite alone with their parents in Innsbruck running the family business from their European offices. When Touga's father wasn't working their parents frequently holidayed with the Ohtori family, however since the Chairman's illness went terminal over the summer vacation the Ohtori clan had secluded themselves in their compound at Shimane to wait out the inevitable. That of course didn't deter the firstborn Kiryuu a bit. Touga excelled academically, served as the men's kendo team captain, a charismatic orator, could take command of any situation- whether planning a banquet or diffusing a crisis- and had the panache for debate as any Prime Ministerial candidate aspirant. He was the clear choice for Student Council President. His looks were a bonus and sold the Deputy Trustee Chairman when he made his decision on who to appoint for the new Seitokai. His scarlet mane was a bone straight silky fall Touga often toyed with and no one was ever sure if he were trying to articulate his boredom or was an act of seduction. His body was whittled to perfection, a sword fighter's leanly muscled physique with definitions of his musculature on his torso that made him so vain that he refused to wear underclothes.

The bed in his dormitory, a private wing of the Seitokai offices, was a windmill for sundry females and males fortunate enough to gain Touga's favor and attention. And save for the few who knew his personality quirks that the bed in his dorm was an exact copy of the hickory four-poster draped in baby pink satin and lace the daunting colossal centerpiece of his bedroom in his home so few had the privilege to gain access to. It gave rise to the forbidden erotic fantasy of a chic Parisian bordello in a Nineteenth century red light district. Saionji often accused him of being the prettiest prostitute he'd ever seen and that Touga should include sex in his draft for world domination, and then Touga proceeded to “force” his dearest friend into that bed where his magical mouth and equally stunning indigo blue eyes brought Saionji closer to eternity than he'd ever hope to desire. These four beings were the most dubious she ever encountered, Utena resolved to keep her distance. They were given a wide berth whether making their group appearance on campus or alone, but there were that unusual apathy from half the mob again. While some were star struck, adulatory screeches and shouts to win their attention others shrank away or acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary. They sought protection from behind the clusters of teal steel lockers and others who were bold enough glowered wakizashi at the Seitokai following their movements as they glided along oblivious to everything. And that sent Utena out the following Saturday evening, her wild thoughts churning as a tugboat on the Pacific thrust in a tsunami. Once again she sought solace in the planetarium but this time she allowed herself not to get entangled in the stars and her depression and departed with more than an hour left to the audio presentation.

No school campus in the country on weekends was this still as Ohtori's. There were no imposed curfews, no regulations that stated doors had to be shut during class hours, and there was no private security force patrolling the grounds. What came close Utena hypothesized was a pair of life-sized black marble Russian tundra wolves, silent sentinels flanking the front gate. Flawless turbulent emeralds were set deep in the eye sockets. Scanning high above her were classroom quadrants all in hibernation waiting for the sunlight of Monday morning to revive them. But her objectives were the dorms and here was where things went off-kilter: not a single window was open or had a light shining through. It was the start of spring and the evenings were warm, the centralized heating ducts didn't provide air conditioning until the early part of July so was it correct to assume everyone owned a fan? Windows and doors were bolted; thermal draperies seemed to be the fashion craze since no one in possession of their full wits could move around in the dark, and stealing over the school's wide breadth like the pallid shadow of a banshee was the full moon. Now Utena was no expert on lunar phases, nor was she particularly stellar in the astrophysical portion of her science class, but a full moon in the first week of the month could not be right. It was the dull, outlying clash that wrung her from grousing and putting speed on it she followed the sound.

It was heard twice more forcing Utena to back up and retrace since the acoustics were capricious at this school. The sound bounced off the high and long limestone warrens and panting on the loggia boxing in the rose garden courtyard she saw on the cobblestone at the foot of a row of concrete sinks a golden pitcher lay on its side, one of the five spigots ran thinly before Utena shut it off. This sophisticated tea rose garden breeding every color must have care several times a day and the gardener must have been the one to fall victim to assault before being carted away. Turning the pitcher in her hands admiring her warped reflection looking like something in a funhouse mirror in the gold plating she set it down on the sink's thick ledge and just before bolting to find assistance when activity and noise was softly heard coming from the hothouse. Through a sheen of condensation she made out three figures, one advanced on the smaller, the third the same height as the first was perfectly still. He appeared to be posing. The Plexiglas had to be soundproofed since nothing else was heard. On silent feet Utena burrowed deep walking on her knees as JSDF Special Forces launching a surprise attack and made herself inconspicuous behind the shrubbery getting a better vantage point. There was odd movement of limbs and all appeared to be on the ground, something was pitched and flurried down on the organic soil before Utena's window. It was an Ohtori girl's sailor fuku; the placket of buttons was intact however the overblown feminine sleeves were outstretched. Then something joined it bouncing twice then clattered harshly on the stone, a pair of pruning shears. Utena pulled the sleeve of her black off the shoulder midriff over her hand heel and wiped the glass rotating to rid the wetness.

`Am I dreaming?' Sprawled like an offering was a girl clad only in her bobby socks and brown penny loafers, her orchid hair a blustery flat cascade about her naked body. The finely shorn curly triangle at the crux of her thighs gleamed, her skin the creamiest caramel and she had the bold red marking of the Hindu on her forehead. At the hollow of her throat was a slash of silver, looping around her swan neck was a black leather belt, a crude leash. Her captors at last made themselves known, with his back turned she saw his jaws work furiously ranting a tirade though his demeanor was antagonistic it wasn't virulent so it was safe to assume Saionji wasn't shouting. Ignoring his friend and cattily smirking as he threaded his long, white digits through her scalp Touga just basked in the moment. They both disrobed, so sickened and appalled Utena clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming or retching. Her body bent on revolt wanted to storm in but she knelt frozen for the first time unconfident of her abilities. Two kendoka masters versus one girl who had three years fencing experience, who would she place her bet on? The Indian girl inched forward on tiny knees after Touga jerked the belt lightly coaxing her head up to become eyelevel with his pelvis. Clearly powerless to prevent this violation her brow smoothed into pliancy, but then something happened. She wet her lips. Lengthy curves of the narrow, delicate pink meat traced her full lips glossed with plum lip rouge. Her leafy green eyes misted and without hesitation she did what Utena was horrified to even contemplate. Hollowing out her cheeks she wet his organ with sumptuous strokes of her mouth pausing only to swish her tongue around the bulbous glans and blushing stalk. Touga dreamily lolled his head back, his mane tickling his buttocks flouted the Indian girl's supplication and as his cut pectorals rose and fell he began to speak with slight difficulty through parted pretty lips. Utena was no lip reader and waited, but it occurred to her a brief lighting flash in her harried brain why she remained there. If she were disgusted as she claimed to feel, why did she not flee the scene?

Quaveringly she felt the first discharge of juice prickling between her legs. The girl lifted Touga's impressive cock and swaying her head gently mouthed his scrotum shiny from her salivary juice repeatedly savoring the flavor of her own “rape”. Saionji behind her covering her pantherine figure, an erotic combination of light and dark, his pile of whipcord muscle attempting to meld with her penetrated her moist sex heavy as an overripe fruit lancing her to the quick with jabs causing her to rock so forcefully on her splayed hands over the stone slabs Utena was certain blood would pool there any second. Her muffled grunts seemed painful around Touga's cock but the amethyst-haired girl was determined to sate him, and the faster she worked her jaws on his cock the quicker her own release was upon her. Saionji too was emitting sensually robust sounds of his own, hot lust sluiced his tortured limbs piercing the Indian girl's with no end in sight and he could care less. When her orgasm finally overtook her boneless flesh slackened and became suppler to stretch her like a hammock between a pair of redwoods. Saionji released himself firing copious amounts of seed into her so much so that it seeped out onto the floor. The girl withdrew her lips with a pop and Touga spilled abundantly on her impudent plentiful brown breasts. They swung coated in white; the deep rose nipples grazed the cool stone as she delved her tongue into the cock's slit before studding it with departing kisses. And then her eyes met Utena's. But before either girl could freeze over Touga seized the Indian girl by the base of her cranium, clumping her hair. He pulled her up higher on her knees and spoke to her gravely devoid of feeling.

The double glass doors banged open, by some strange miracle none of the glass panes suffered any damage. “What did you see Anthy?” Touga smoothly questioned the naked girl obstructed from view behind the men in varied appearances of dishabille. Saionji with his shoes untied and his cyan trousers unzipped, Touga fully clothed without a single wrinkle. Utena crouched tightly in a vaulted stained glass window big enough to fit her 100 yards away eighty feet up from the ground on the western wall of Ohtori's chapel. Several hours passed before Utena swung to a bough of the nearest maple and shimmied down to stealthily return to her dorm. And as she retired to her single, she too locked her door and window then draped it heavily.

 

 

            ; TSUZUKU