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The Wolf's Obsession

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By Jacynthe Demorae


Heat rises from her body, scented with the incense she uses for her clothing and the astringent scent she uses to fumigate her workroom. No courtesan's perfume could so cloud my senses. She takes cautious, shallow breaths, her eyes fixed on the closet door. I find I don't appreciate her giving even an unaware man that much of her attention. I put my hand over her mouth to muffle her whimpers of apprehension. Beyond the door, Hijikata stomps through the room, muttering.

I've straddled her thighs, both to pin her in place and so as not to frighten her with my body's reaction. Under my fingers, I feel her cheeks heat, and she wriggles in silent embarrassment at our closeness. I move with her, unable to keep still. With her warm softness filling my arms, the scent of her hair in my nostrils, my cock stirs and begins to swell. Even in the dim light, I can see the flutter of the pulse in her neck.

My free hand slide down to her hip, toying with the square knot holding her obi in place. Her kimono, as befit a woman of limited means, is plain woven cotton, but washed so often that it feels soft as brushed silk under my fingers. She gives me that exasperated glare she reserves for when she deems my behavior too forward. I smile at her, playing with the tasseled cord. Her flushed cheeks glow like embers in the dimness.

Finally, Hijikata takes his search elsewhere.

Saya tries to wriggle away even though she's still between my thighs, reaching for the closet door. Discipline keeps my groan locked away, but no power on earth can keep me from teasing her.

"Have you caught a fever?" I ask in mock concern, laying the back of my hand against her forehead to check her temperature. "You're so flushed, so hot..."

Her breath has begun to come in small gasps. Her bright eyes are half-closed. "I--It's you!" she bursts out in a fierce whisper, as if Hijikata can still hear her. "You--you got me all excited, being so--!"

My blood ignites like a torch dropped onto a heap of mullein. I forget about Hijikata raging about his glorified fish food, forget that any of the others could barge in, or eavesdrop outside the door. 'You got me all excited...!'

My kiss catches her with her lips parted and I press in my tongue. She gives a muffled gasp, her hands clutching at me. I pull her closer and she squirms again, feeling my cock pressing up against her.

This is very quickly approaching recklessness. I love to tease her--but I would act on every single word if she gave me permission. I'd take her in that garden Kondo and Hijikata are so proud of and give them a real reason to lament for their precious plants.

The weight of her body crushes the fragrant herbs. She looks up at me, her eyes half-closed and glazed with lust. Her kimono lies parted almost to the waist, the hem pulled up almost to her knees. She stretches up a languid hand to me and I fall to my knees between her open legs. Around us, I can hear the murmurs of other men, voices I recognize. It is a sea of envy that rises and crashes at my back. Let them watch and simmer in frustration.

It's a moment's work to loosen the ties of my hakama and free my stiffening cock from my fundoshi. I cradle it, displaying it for her approval. She licks her lips, even as the color burns in her cheeks. I'm the one who raised that hot flush, put that fine sheen of sweat on her skin. She glances at the purpling head of my cock, then away, but not before I see the fever-brightness in her gaze. She whispers my name and I can no longer resist.

I fall on her, nudging her legs further apart. My mouth fastens on her nipple as my hands pins hers over her head. The flesh of her aureole tightens and goes nubby under my tongue. I am tempted to suckle her like a newborn, for she is the source of all my life and vitality. I love how she cradles my head to her breast when I do, as if she knows she is feeding me, sustaining me.

The voices of the others grow louder as she clutches at my hair, gasping. I press my cock against her with less than my usual care. We are being watched and I want them to know. Her body is not quite ready for me and she whimpers as I thrust into her. I am hurting her, she will ache after this, the way I never want my woman to ache.
I am a beast to treat her so, to rut with her in the dirt, more focused on my hunger and need than her pleasure. Yet she wants me, she reached for me. How can I refuse her? How can I wait?

The fantasy breaks apart as the reality of her moving against me pulls me back. I fist my hand into her hair, coaxing her to open her mouth wider. I hear the distant clink of her hairpin falling to the floor, likely never to be seen again. Now her tongue is in my mouth, stroking and exploring, rubbing against the sides of my tongue. The woman of my dreams wants me, and I resent even the air that comes between us.

Her hands slide down my chest, her palms stroking over my nipples. I break the kiss, flinging my head back as my breath hisses between my teeth. Too light a touch. I want, I crave a firmer hand. I want long, red weals from her nails on my chest and back, crescent marks on my shoulders and upper arms. Dark red and purple bruises on my neck from her lips and teeth, invisible marks all over my body from her clever tongue.

The very idea sets me to shuddering. Let every covetous bastard on this base, in the entire capital, see those marks and realize that she's chosen me. It's hot in the closet, so hot that my clothes stick to my back. I curse the cramped space, then lift her so our positions are reversed and she's straddling my thighs. I am so hard now it's passed from ache into pain.

"O-Okita-san!" she gasps, feeling my fingers pluck at the tie of her obi.

So demure, my Saya. I long to hear her cry out my personal name as she writhes under me. I want to taste my name from her tongue.

My lips brush against her earlobe. She squeezes her eyes shut, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to keep silent. Ah, my sweet girl, perhaps one night we'll play a game and see how well you can keep quiet without... assistance. Or perhaps I'll ask you to put me to the test...

The layers of her kimono provide thin armor from my growing erection, but hide her woman's shape from the eyes of other men, which pleases me. But every day, she shows her wrists and arms as she works surrounded by men, lifting the hem of her kimono to allow a glimpse of her trim ankles. And she never realizes...

They see her smile, hear her laughter, accept her care as she tends their wounds. She fills their belles, washes the blood from their clothes, cleans the messes they leave in their wake. All they see is her physical gifts and skills.

They don't worship her purity. They don't understand what it is to be covered in the blood and stink of man-beasts and then to see her, pure, unstained, and innocent. They don't know the soul-deep need to reach for her with bloodstained hands, unsure if I desire cleansing or to besmirch her with my own filthy touch. And she allows it, Saya, the beautiful and the cruel.

I trail small, nipping kisses along her jaw, her quick breaths hot and moist against my skin. I begin a slow, rocking motion, seeking enough friction to dull the edge of my hunger. With one hand, I loosen the square knot holding her obi in place. She gasps, one hand flying to cover mine.


Mentally, I chant the name of every demon and devil I have ever heard, every vile name I've been called in a life given to the sword. When I can trust my voice, I growl in her ear, "Why?"

I'll stop, if she wishes. I know I will be harsh in my speech, physically shove her out of my room, uncaring if she sprawls half-naked in the corridor. And then... I grew up in a dojo, surrounded by men. I know how to stroke myself off with own hand, my other fist pressed to my mouth to muffle any escaping sounds. Any who smirked at my bitten knuckles the next day could go fuck a tanuki.

I can stop. My frustration will emerge as anger and make her cry, but far better that than to frighten her with my needs, or demand more than she can give. She is not my wife or an unlicensed woman I hired for my use. She is the woman of my dreams, the only living being who can absolve this wolf, and I--

"He-here?" she asks in a breathless, quavery voice. "And-and it's daylight!"

I press my face against against her neck, relief and disbelief clashing together to escape in body-shaking laughter. She can't even drop the '-san' when she's in my bed, with only moonlight to illuminate our lovemaking. Coupling like this has probably never even been a shadow in her mind. She blushes if I stand too close!

"You're irresistible," I whisper in her ear. I love how she shivers at the wash of my breath over her skin. "Even if you only let me look at you, see what you hide away from all others..."

Even if most nights I take my aching cock to an empty bed, she gives me so much fuel for those midnight fantasies.

The first moment I saw her, before those ronin torched her home and livelihood, she woke a craving inside me that shook me to the soul. I'd tried to warn her off with tales of wolves that looked like men. I had never measured the courage of a doctor's daughter and her sworn duty to stand against death and all that brought. It's a failing of samurai and soldiers, to believe strength expresses itself only with steel.

"S-stop," she said, turning her head and exposing the long, clean line of her throat. Not so clean if I get my mouth on it. "You're just teasing me."

"Tease you?" I purr. She's so innocent, it steals my breath away. "By now you know that if I want to tease you, I do this..."

Her obi loosens and I toss the cord aside. I slip my hand under her parted kimono and naga-juban. With a twitch of my fingers, I bare her thighs. She gasps, almost in shock, as if I have never touched her before, as if my fingers have never sought the warm cleft between her thighs. I love the feel of her most private skin, slippery smooth even when she isn't quite wet. I tease along her folds, coaxing low sounds from her throat.

She's already wet against against my fingertips. The smell of her desire fills this small space. She gasps and presses her face against my neck. I can feel her lips move, a soundless prayer, perhaps even my name. I press a fingertip up inside her and smile as I hear her gasp. Lazily, I circle along her moistening flesh, using a little more pressure, but not sliding any deeper.

It's my most treasured secret, how wet she gets for me. Just a little more attention and my fingers will drip with her sweetness. She gives a low, throaty cry, clings to me with the strength I crave. Her loosened kimono slides from her shoulders. I bury my face between her naked breasts, even as I sweep my fingers up her moist cleft.

Her hips rock against me, a constant stream of gasps and wordless pleas spurring me on. Her fingers curl into my hair, holding my mouth where it pleases her. I brush against the hard knot of flesh that crowns her womanhood, and all rational thought vanishes at her hungry cry.

I want to spread her out under me, bury my face between her thighs, lick and suck until she screams my name. Or perhaps I'll let her ride me. I crave the feel of her warm, wet flesh, clasping me in a most private lover's embrace. My own breathing is shaky, anticipating what is to come. Her touch can utterly shred even my simplest discipline and I haven't the will to care.

I release my grip on her hair and cup her breast. My thumb circles her nipple, even as I let her feel the edge of my teeth against her throat. A moment's work to push her kimono further down her shoulders, letting the fabric bunch around her elbows. Trapped now, my girl, trapped with a wolf that hungers for you. My tongue flicks over her nipple, followed by a press of teeth too light to be called a bite.

Payback, my girl, for the way your light touch torments me. Punishment, before your reward.

"Okita-san," she whimpers.

I withdraw my fingers, slick and glistening in the dim light. Juicy as a fresh peach, my lovely Saya. I hold her gaze and begin to lick my fingers, savoring the taste of her. She makes a choked sound and tries to look away but I grip her hair again, holding her in place.

"Don't shut me out," I tell her. "Don't look away from me. I want you to see me, see what you do to me."

I haven't yet asked her to give me her mouth, not when she won't even have an extra lamp lit when we make love. It's one of my favorite acts of love, one I most wish to have her do to me. Still, there is so much I enjoy doing to her, so many ways to make her writhe, even with what we do.

She makes a soft gasping, gulping sound but manages a tiny nod. I take my time, running my tongue along my fingers, making an appreciative noise. Soon I'll go back for more-- Eyes wide and a little glazed as she watches me, she licks her lips.
That flicker of her pink tongue is more than I can bear. Impatiently, I push open the closet door, sending us both tumbling out into the room. With one hand, I cushion the back of her head so it doesn't knock against the floor. Her kimono falls almost completely open, only the sleeves still bunched around her lower arms. I tear at my own clothes, hear a seam rip. I do not care, I do not care, she's lying before me, her sweet flesh exposed, her hair all in disarray.

I find her hands, lock our fingers together and pin them up by her shoulders. Then I bend to my feast.


I alternate kisses and bites down her neck. My cock is trapped between our bellies, hers still so very soft. I lave at her sweat-glazed skin, moving to the valley between her breasts. Normally, I love to kiss and nip them, press my face against them--she always smells so good. But I am too hungry, too much the wolf I have warned her against.

I free a hand, reach between her thighs and thrust my fingers into her. I am not especially gentle. She is gloriously wet, rolling her hips up against my hand and raising up her knees to give me better access. Her fingers tangle into my hair. She knows what she wants, even if she can't speak it, and I am too far gone to tease it out of her.

I let her push my head down between her thighs. Her scent, musky and salt-sweet, fills my nose. Her back arches as I pull her farther up my lap, spreading her open for my mouth. Her woman's flesh is swollen and glistening, flushed a deep red.

"Saya," I breathe.

She whimpers as cooler air washes over her hot moist flesh. Her fingers clench in silent plea. I lap at her folds, licking away her wetness to replace it with my own. Her cries grow in length and volume, urging me on. I reach down, grip my cock hard at the base even as I thrust my tongue inside her. Not yet, not yet... She's readier than in my garden fantasy, ready enough to take me without harm, but I want to tear away more of her inhibitions.

My tongue swirls around her taut pink pearl, the true jewel of her womanhood. It feels as if it has its own pulse, its own wants, and only my mouth can service it.

"Only mine will."


Damn, I said that out loud? Her body muffled my words, but I would say it again, paint it on the walls with the blood of the feral wolves who seek to steal her away. I've threatened other men for making even wistful comments about touching her. Only those who met my eyes knew I meant to back those protests with steel.

Her hips rock up into each stroke of my tongue. Her fingers clench in my hair, twine around my fingers as if she's warding off pain, not passion. With great effort, I lift my head. My cock feels like stone in my hand, the veins throbbing.

"Tell me," I growl. "Tell me you want me, Saya."

She arches her back, seeking more of my mouth. Her breasts, their nipples taut and dark, invite my touch. Such worship demands both my hands and if I let go now I would spill my seed across her thighs and belly. I will not leave her hungry, but oh gods, I cannot wait much longer!

"Oh... Oki--Soji. I need--mph! Oh, please, please, I need you!"

And with that, I am undone.

I push at her legs until they drape over my shoulders. Her eyes are closed but the needy whimpers spill from her lips, leaking past the heavy kisses I press to her mouth. Her lips part under mine. Sharp, sweet pain bursts across my lower lip as her teeth sink in.

Surprised, I thrust into her, rougher than our usual coupling. Her knees are pressed up almost to her ears. I have never taken her like this before. My arms shake with the effort to keep myself up--I just want to fall on her, my excitement feeding my lust. Everywhere I look, I see her flushed skin, thinks strands of her ink-dark hair spelling out some intricate calligraphy I can't read.

Her body lies open to me, eagerly accepting all I do. Her voice rises, thin, desperate. I want to quiet her, I want every man to hear her and curse that he cannot wring these same sounds from her.

It doesn't matter. I want her, I have her. Slick, moist sounds fill my ears as I thrust into her, her small cries urging me deeper. I groan, grinding into her, my thrusts uneven and off-rhthym. She clenches around me, making me work for every inch. I hesitate, a ghost of a thought crossing my lust-addled brain. Is she fighting me? I don't know if I can stop, not when this is so close to what I want, what I need. Her ankles cross behind my neck, her back arching again.

The groan rips from my throat, ragged and hoarse. Oh, I am a beast, all appetite and will to devour to hot, sweet meat pinned beneath me. Only she can can cleanse the wolf I truly am. Only she can give me absolution.

And she gives it, in the sweet lustiness of her choked cries, her modesty shucked off and cast aside as easily as a fisherman shells a mussel. Her hands press into my lower back. I hear another sound, just above the roaring of the blood in my ears.

"...more...more, please, my Okita..."

I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling her hips hard against me. I can no longer tell if I'm hurting her, I can only obey. More...she wants more, and I will tear out my own beating heart to sate her.

Her nails dig into my arms. I don't draw back at all now, my balls tight and pressed below the smooth cleft of her ass. We are one heat, one pulse, and still I need more, just that little bit that would--

She arches her neck, baring her throat to me. I lunge for the offering, one more hard, close grind of my hips against hers. My teeth close on the tender spot between her neck and collarbone. I think I taste blood and the world shakes apart in a burst of white fire.

It feels like a dynasty rises and falls in the time it takes me to drag my thoughts into coherency. Were this a battle, I would be dead twenty times over, but this would be a sweet, sweet way to die. Saya is still beneath me, her body as supple as loosely piled gossamer silk. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted a fraction. I did not even notice when her pleasure overcame her.
We are still joined, but her legs are now loosely clasped around my waist. Her hands rest on my thighs, near my knees. She's so quiet and still that I'm tempted to check her pulse.

"Mm..." Her eyelids flutter. I glimpse a sliver of dark iris before her eyes shut again. A very faint smile curves her lips.

With regret, I ease out of her, one hand on her hip. She makes a small sound, a moue of protest pulling at her features. I silently curse her timing--if I had even half a dram of energy, I would begin again. Choosing practicality over modesty, I kick off my hakama and fundoshi. I have no clue what's happened to my own obi and my kimono hangs open, baring me neck to knees. I'm still wearing my tabi and sandals. Odd how this scenario never appears in the shunja prints.

Bending down, I lift Saya's limp form into my arms. Her kimono and naga-juban slide from her arms to land in a heap on the floor. She stirs a little, feeling my bare skin against hers, but my exhausted cock manages to move only as my steps demand.
"Never doubt my enthusiasm," I tell her, but I can tell she's already well into sleep.

I lay her down on my rumbled futon and manage to pull half of the blanket over her. At once, she curls onto her side, nestling in to sleep. I think about donning my own sleepwear but can't remember if it's been laundered or is one of the piles I've yet to sort. I shrug, grip my kimono partly closed with one hand, and lie down beside her.

For a time, I just listen to her breathing, reaching out to brush back strands of her hair as they fall into her face with her tiny sleep movements. The moment I open my door, everyone will know what we've been doing, even providing they didn't hear. The room smells of sex and woman. I don't care, but there is Saya to consider.

She is respectable in her own right, an honorary officer in the Shinsengumi. This skirts dangerously close to a breach of the code. I tried to send her away once, to remove her from this blood-soaked life, and look how well that turned out. She nearly died at the hands of the Choshu, all because she chanced to overhear something she knew we would find vital. And I was the one who'd secured that place for her at Ikeda-ya.

She deserves a far better lover than I, a gentler man, for all that she has called me kind. If our relationship becomes...troublesome...I know Hijikata will demand I commit seppuku, just as I know Kondo will see she is well cared for and protected.

I am not a devout man. I bow my head to the memory of my ancestors. I pray for my sister and at least once a year, I will give coins and incense to the Buddha if I am near a temple--but all of my faith lies in Kondo's vision and the heart of the woman who sleeps beside me now.

I will always be one of the wolves of Mibu, but I am also content to lie at her feet, half-tame, half-wild. It is not, I think as I close my eyes, an entirely bad resolution.