For being such a horny devil, he sure goes meek when it's not him in control. He's both taller and physically stronger than I am, but that means nothing because I have the stronger will. He tried to resist the first night I went to him, but the gun convinced him otherwise. The gun and the look in my eye. Gojyo is full of that macho bluster; loud as all hell, but nail his eyes with your own and he gives over. Just like the beaten dog that he is deep within.
He's quite the looker, our ero-kappa. If he wasn't such a cheap lay, he might actually succeed in finding himself a half-decent woman. Not that I can really see any sane female sticking around with him for long. The drinking, the gaming, the whoring, the fighting -- that's no way to attract a partner. All that posturing, all those empty words about conquests and staying unattached and ... Oh hell, it pisses me off even thinking about such blatant stupidity. Who the hell do you think you're fooling, moron? You're so desperate to find someone, anyone, to latch onto that you can't stop to think about it for a single damn moment.
Bah. Look at him. Red locks spread all over the pillow, only a couple of stray strands across his face. Nothing to cover those scars, or the peaceful look on his mug. I can't see any trace of tears on him, but I know he shed a few earlier on. He thinks I don't notice, but of course I do. It's part of what makes this so satisfying, after all. Big manly man kappa, reduced to nothing but a tight asshole and obediently raised hips. He needs to be reminded just who is boss around here, and that insulting and annoying me comes with a price tag. If I lick his cheek, I'll be able to taste the salt.
He is sleeping like a baby, instead of taking a moment to think.
I'd better get out of here, before I kill him. I don't think the three
Aspects wanted me to off him when they assigned him to this trip, but by
the scriptures he makes it so hard not to. And why the hell is he
lying as if he'd slip his arm around someone any moment now, and
breathing so quietly so as not to disturb that someone's sleep?! As if
I'd ever let anyone touch me like that! Idiot. I need to
get some sleep.
A smoke. I need a smoke.
Man how I hate him. One demanding glare from those stone-cold eyes, and I'm reduced back to the nothing I've worked so hard to leave behind. At fourteen I swore to the high heavens that it was the last time I'd ever let anyone use me like that. Ever. And now look at me -- I'm Sanzou's whore, and I let him use me any way he wants. All the old skills and techniques are back, just as if the years in between never happened. Makes it a little less uncomfortable, sure, but it ain't the physical pain I fear.
How is it that a Buddhist fucking monk is allowed to tear people apart like this? Why the hell does he do this to me, and why the hell can't I stop him? I swore to kill any man touching me like that, so why is he still alive?
Fuck you, Sanzou. Fuck you fuck you FUCK YOU! As if I didn't get enough cocks shoved up my ass as a kid, when it was the only way short of burglary that I could get money enough buy food. It was the only thing an orphaned little freak like me could do to survive -- sell my butt and anything else those creeps wanted. I thought it was history. It should have been over a long time ago. It was over a long time ago! So totally over, that when he came into my room one night and sat down on my bed, I didn't realize what was happening. Not until he slipped under the covers, and by then it was too late. The cold steel of his gun shut down all my consciousness, and the old auto pilot took over. Bam! Ten years vaporised, as if I'd never grown up.
Now all he has to do it look at me in a certain way, and I go weak and
obey like a whipped dog. I get down on my knees, I suck his dick, I bend
over, I let him take whatever he wants however he wants it. Whatever
he needs. And I hate every goddamn moment of it and I want to kill
him. One day I will. One day it'll be me on top, and then he'll die. One
day I'll have the strength to stop him, instead of letting those cold
fingers play me like violin. But for now, I take refuge in old reflexes
and I hide my shame and humiliation in my pillow, ignoring the wet spot
underneath me where most of the contents is mine.