You Want Me: YWM

“You Want Me” by Abraxas (07-06-20)

 

Sitting atop rocks, Shippo sunk his feet into the waters of the spring, that warm, enveloping spa.  He yawned, tired, that journey through the countryside drained his bright and cheerful demeanor.  Unable to focus, yet unwilling to sleep, he struggled to follow the conversation among the adults.

He yawned, again, then was startled:  “Kirara?”

The cat meowed and rubbed along the fox’s back.

He sighed; it was useless to resist.  “I’m going to bed, Kagome,” he announced.

With a nod from the miko the boy retreated into the camp.

It was then that Inuyasha put aside his cup of sake and looked, squarely and solemnly, at the group of friends.  Miroku caught the prompt; he sat upright raising his chest above the waters.  Kirara also noticed the effect and slunk away into the background.

“OK, Miroku wants to be subtle but that’s not my style.”

Inuyasha crossed his arms defiantly.  Miroku scratched his cheek nervously.

“What’s the matter, Inuyasha?” asked Kagome.  “And why do you look so guilty, Miroku?”

Kagome – then Sango – looked at the monk.

“Me?  It’s not me!” the man insisted.

“It better not be you or you’ve got a lot of explaining to do!” the demon growled.

After a short yet awkward pause Miroku was about to speak when Inuyasha interrupted.

“Miroku and I agree that you –“  he paused – he knew what he wanted to say but suddenly it became clear why the subtle was preferred over the blunt.  He could not bring himself to speak of it.  Not with Sango and worse, infinitely worse, with Kagome watching.  But it was too late.  “I mean.  We – Miroku and I –“ he said, inching toward the monk and emphasizing the man’s name.  “We think.  I mean.  We’re being taken advantage of.”  Kagome was confused; Sango blinked.  Miroku gulped.  “While we’re sleeping.”

Kagome laughed then caught herself.  Sango’s eyes were like daggers stabbing into the boys.

“It’s because our clothes have been, undone, in the middle of the night,” Miroku added.

“All of our clothes get ruffled while we sleep.”  Sango did not whisper or shout but her tone raised the hairs of the men’s heads.

“Yes, but, our robes have been opened.  We have been exposed and –“ he blushed – “and there was a night – recently – when my ravaging was taken all the way.”

“Taken all the way?” she asked.

A deep, burnt shade of red colored the monk’s face as he replied:  “I released.”

Sango gasped and slapped Miroku.

“We’re not making it up!”

Kagome sat Inuyasha.

When the demon resurfaced he growled:  “Why did you do that for?”

But the girls were talking and did not notice the angry Inuyasha or the smarting Miroku.

“You think it could be true?” the miko asked the slayer.

“It would be like Miroku to imagine something so perverted.”  She sighed and leaned against the rocks.  “Inuyasha isn’t like that.”

“If it’s true then what could it be?  A demon?  A ravaging demon?  I suppose there could be such a thing.”

“Hm.  Mind you, it’s probably just folklore – but – in my village I remember the boys were instructed not to, er, touch.”  The girls could not help but blush and giggle; the boys, looking from afar, were as confused as ever.  “Well, because, it could be used to make demons.”

Kagome looked at the two and asked:  “Did you sense anything unusual when it happened?  Er.  While it happened?  After it happened?”

“Well,” Inuyasha scratched his chin, “it hasn’t happened to me in days but it keeps happening to Miroku.”  The monk nodded.  “I didn’t sense an outsider and I certainly didn’t sense a demon.”

Unnoticed by the group, Kirara moon-bathed upon the rocks around the spring.

“I felt nothing dangerous either.  Nothing harmful.  Which was why we thought – well – that it must have been someone from the group.”

Again, the girls glared, the boys shuddered.

“There was nothing unusual?” asked Kagome.

“Just yellow hairs, I guess, those must have been Kirara's,” answered Miroku.

The slayer sighed then recalled a morning when she caught the boys sneezing and picking something out of their clothes.  And then it struck her that it had been ages since the cat shed upon the girl’s clothes.  She was about to speak when she was interrupted by a meow of Kirara.

The cat upon the rocks looked at the girls then at the boys.

Inuyasha reached for his cup of sake but it was gone.  He cursed.  It probably fell into the waters amid the splash of his sitting.  He looked for the bottle of sake but that, too, was gone:  the cat was relaxing where it had been standing.

“I guess that’s enough of that,” Inuyasha said and stood out of the spring.

“The last thing this group needs is another drink,” Sango added.

Kagome thought it was strange that she did not see or notice what happened with the bottle of sake despite the fact that she stayed beside it all night.  But it had been a long day and she could have had too much of it.  Anyway, a lot of things were vanishing lately – mostly women’s clothes.

“Hm, stealing women’s clothes, molesting men’s bodies,” she thought aloud.

Sango shut her eyes and yawned.

“Perverts!  Well, it’s their problem, Kagome,” she laughed though still upset by the idea the boys thought they could be ravagers.

She thought about it a little more then blushed.

Retreating into the camp Miroku caught Inuyasha climbing a tree – lately he had not been ravaged and it could not be coincidence that he slept perched upon the canopy of the forest.  But the monk was not adept at that demon’s art and was forced to sleep upon the earth, alone and vulnerable.

That night, as he slunk through the darkness and shadow, paranoia heightened awareness.  He sensed everything from the call of wolves to the ruffle of leaves.  If there were a troublemaker then it could be anywhere.  And if it could not be sensed then was it not all the more dangerous?  Just what did it want with him?

He shuddered at the thought although at once he was pleased as if complimented.

On the edge of the camp, beside the rim of bushes, under the cover of the trees, at last Miroku found a place he felt safe enough to sleep.  He was hot, though, it was a mid summer night and he had been drinking so he did not cover himself with the blanket.  Rather he rolled it into a bundle that served as a pillow.

Although his impulse, certainly, was to cover his body – yet – he wondered if he could not spring a trap.  A trap!  And to lure the ravager he offered himself!  Miroku chuckled at the thought of it.

It was such an easy thing to do to offer his body for that female, well, he hoped it was female.

Perhaps if he lay face-up, legs wide, apart.  Perhaps if he loosed his robes.  The intruder, who or what ever she might be, should not be too suspicious.  It was a hot, humid night.  He had been drinking.  He was away, alone.  Everything seemed to be normal.

Feigning sleep while fighting the urge to succumb, he thought back about the scene at the spring.  Why were the girls so upset?  He could not understand it.  When it was perfectly natural for a boy to think about girls and try their liberties with their bodies, why would it be wrong for a girl to think about boys and try to feel a little here and there?  No, he reasoned, it must be natural for females to think about males that way.

He wondered about the ravager and what she was thinking while exploring his body.

The monk smiled – enrapt by the urge to be explored by a strange, mysterious woman!

The idea of that ravager untying his robes and revealing his flesh caused a tent to form between his legs.  It throbbed as he pictured her massaging his penis from soft to hard.  He groaned, his hands reached into his underwear, while he imagined her stroking his shaft and squeezing his sack until he exploded.  He moaned, his grip clutched his genitals, as he fantasized about what that release must have been like – his semen splattering over her hands, glistening like dew upon her lips.  In his mind only then did the ravager take form and it was Sango!

Back to reality.

He dozed off while masturbating and, awake, realized a fog of silence descended upon the camp.  The others were asleep.  And he took advantage of the opportunity to stroke his shaft.  Not too fast, not too slow, just enough to sustain the pleasure.

Again he could not help but think of that woman, that ravager!

She brought him to that point of release and wanted more and more and what he would have done to satisfy her.  What ever she wanted.  How ever she wanted it.  Indeed, he would have given anything to be such a plaything for another night.

Would Sango have been so willing to pleasure him?  No – no – with Sango it was different.  With all of the girls it was different.  He was the same, old Miroku but each girl he knew offered something new and different.  The ravager offered the forbidden excitement of a woman after his animalistic, lusty heart.  Still, he wondered, what it would be like with Sango.

He exposed his erection.  It stood straight.  He grasped its head into his palm and stroked its foreskin.  It stiffened sporadically as he thought about that spring.  He sprawled upon the rocks.  Sango stalked through the waters.  He was dressed and she teased about his robes, tickled between his legs.  He smiled as his arousal grew and his robes tented.  She –

Kirara meowed and the shock of that startled him out of the trance.  Frantically he tried to hide his penis but it was too erect to ease back into his robes.  Instead he pressed his hand over it and twisted his body aside, away from the camp to the bush, hoping no eyes saw what he had been doing. 

Suddenly the cat brushed against his face and he sighed.

“You.”  He blushed as the cat sat facing him.  “I’m sorry, Kirara.”  He pet the animal.  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”  The animal must have sensed action nearby and rushed out of the scene to investigate.  And that made the monk wonder:  was that ravager around?

Still there seemed to be nothing wrong.

He withdrew his penis – now small and soft – feeling somewhat embarrassed that Kirara saw it. 

Again he feigned sleep – thoughts and images returned.

Miroku lay against the rocks of the spring; Sango loomed above.  Robes torn off, only a pristine white loincloth separated his flesh from her view.  The slayer teased the monk, patting the bulge of his genitals and peeking through the sides of his underwear.

“You’re still soft?” she giggled.

“I need your magic touch,” he smiled.

She pressed her hands over that space between his legs.  He felt her fingers spreading about his shaft and squeezing against his head.  He moaned, body shaking and breath heaving as the erection returned.  She tugged at the rim of his underwear, exposing his hair, uncovering his curly, black locks – she eased her hand into his loincloth, exposing the base of his shaft.  He groaned, toes curling and knees shaking. 

The she brought out his penis and tight, swollen sack.

“Wow!  You got so hard, so hard, Miroku!”

He struggled to laugh amid short, quick breaths.

“So you think I’ve been playing with these?”

She discovered his foreskin and just then stroked his flesh, rubbing it along over his shaft.

He was tearing and whining, shaking with every last tweak of her fingers.

“I don’t remember feeling this!”

He was still growing and stiffening within her hands, her strokes.

But there was something wrong about the touch.  It only dawned on him then and there yet he was too aroused to stop what the woman was doing to his body.  But there was something wrong – it just did not feel like how it looked.  It looked like two hands were fondling his genitals yet it felt like –

What did it matter?  What did it matter what that felt like!

There was a sensation as if water were about to squirt through his head.  He knew he was close to that moment of release and he wanted it.  He needed it.

“I want to shoot it!”

“Shoot it, Miroku?”

Sweating and turning bright, hot red, he gasped:  “I want to shoot into your face!”

The figure giggled.

“Kiss it!”

And then it happened – what could not be ignored.

He saw her aim his tip onto her lips.  He saw her kiss it, bit by bit, a clear, sticky fluid clung onto her lips.  But what he felt was different.  It was not the woman’s sweet, soft lips, rather, it was rough and engulfed his shaft entirely.

No – it was not a dream!  No –

Miroku gasped more nervous now than before.  For it was true.  Yes, it was true.  It was the ravager!  It was the ravager fondling his flesh while he slept.

He grasped his shaft; he stood and when the pleasure ceased he awoke.

In the darkness of the camp he was again struck by the silence.  It must have been minutes, minutes, since he fell into dream.  It was not enough time for any real change to occur.  No body could be awake, no body could be watching.    Everything was as normal as it had been when Kirara shocked him out of the trance.

But not everything was normal.  His robs had been nearly undone and his penis – his erect and wet penis – was exposed.  He covered himself and stood.  The forest was so thick he could not see clearly but there was an item nearby that he noticed immediately:  it was a white, silky kimono.  He raised it against his face and inhaled its scent:  it was unusual but he could not conclude if it was a man’s or a woman’s scent. 

He sighed hoping it had been female – that breasts had been pressed upon it – and it meant she was out there, in the forest, naked.  He would have to give it back as it was the gentlemanly thing to do.  Then, maybe, if he found her, beg her to finish what she started.

Just then the shrubbery ruffled – he looked as the foliage quivered.

Something had been there!

“Wait, don’t run,” he called softly into the woods then ran headlong into the forest.

Overcome by the lingering effects of the sake and the potential pleasure of the encounter, Miroku clamored through the trees guided only by intuition – vague and impaired as it was – and by a series of clues.  Sometimes he stopped to catch his breath and in that moment he heard another twig snap.  Sometimes he paused verging on fear – for he judged he was moving very far away from camp – only to catch an instant glimpse of the ravager.

Yes, all along the trek, fragments of the intruder were visible.  Always illuminated by the starlight.  Always flashes of flesh.  A back from the neck to the hips.  A leg seen from thigh to knee.  Those portions of flesh betrayed no color and suggested no texture beyond smooth.  They were rather muscular proportions although the back was more nebulous and less well-defined than the structure of the legs.  Still, in his arousal, he sensed no possibility of calamity.  Because there was something uniquely feminine about the flesh.  In its sleekness.  In its seductive, erotic movement.  No man was capable of such suggestion!

It must have been a woman, exactly as he hoped, as he wished, and it might be that very secret and lustful encounter his arousal yearned for.  So, as if to console the fears of the ravager, he said he was not mad.  As he ran blindly thought the wilderness, he insisted he was not upset.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he added.  “Just let me be awake.  That’s all.”

At length Miroku staggered through dense, prickly underbrush and found himself within a clearing.  Above the moon peeked through clouds while patches of sky were open into vast starry voids.  The aura was bright that it hurt his eyes.  He cast his gaze onto the ground and there, below, discovered two things.

First, another scrap of cloth.  A square-like scrap that had been tied in the fashion of a ribbon.  Second, a ditch carved into the earth.  A wide, deep rift.  He peered into the abyss but could not discern anything within.

“Are you down there?  Are you hurt?”  He was concerned as he did not like to see a woman in distress.  “I’ll be right down.  Don’t move, if you’re hurt, I’ll help you.”

He thought about the kimono but it was too delicate and might serve another use if the woman broke a bone.  The other scrap of cloth was useless.  Only his robes might be strong enough to form a rope.

“I’ll be right down,” he called, standing and loosening his cloak.

Without warning he was bumped – he clamored to break the fall but it was too late – he tumbled into the ditch.

It was a short fall, the effect of it smarted but was not lethal.  Thankfully there were no rocks or stones within.  Nothing sharp.  Only dirt which absorbed the impact of the fall.

Still groggy and disoriented, he raised himself slowly, mustering just enough strength to sit prone upon the ground.  He looked up.  The mouth of the ditch was like a crazy, jagged scar.  Beyond it only the stars were visible.  He felt about the walls – they, too, were made of loose, clumpy soil and would be difficult to scale.  Maybe, in the daylight, another way out of the ditch would be found.  At the moment there was only shadow and darkness.

The monk sighed and for the first time looked forward.  Amid the veil of onyx there was enough of a slant of light to reveal something – something odd – something upon the ground just beyond his feet.  He reached for the objects and was surprised:  they were a cup and bottle of sake.

“Great, Miroku, and how will this be explained?”

His friends were sure to wonder why he would be so foolish and then they would be sure they knew exactly what he was thinking when they saw the alcohol.  Sango would slap him.  Kagome would slap him too.  Inuyasha – he would be confused by the fuss.  And Shippo would wag his finger and chide his perversion. 

He could be obvious.

But it was too late:  until the ravager emerged or a way out of the ditch was found he was hopeless.

He poured the sake into the cup and sipped.

One day he knew the intruder would be found but it was not today.

Another sip and he was resigned to the inevitable:  tomorrow Inuyasha would track his scent and find him and, for better or worse, rescue him.

A meow – Miroku looked up – a silhouette loomed by the edge of the rift.  The figure inched back then jumped forth.  The monk flung aside the cup – the sake spilled across the earth – he stood and, reflexively, grasped the thing.

“Kirara?” The eyes of the cat sparkled even amid the cloak of night.  “What are you doing here?”  He sat and set the cat aside.  She must have noticed what happened.  He blushed as he pet the animal.  “I’m sorry you saw that, girl, do you forgive me?”  She must have watched everything and tracked me while I chased the ravager.  To protect me, perhaps, to rescue me.  “I’m in a fix.  Yeah.  I’m – well – I guess I won’t be alone.”

He reached the cup and, as he touched the rim, he felt the cat pounce and curl upon his lap.  He smiled, chuckled and again pet the beast.  This time he combed its fur with his fingers, massaging from its ears, around its neck, to its stomach.  The animal rolled over onto its back and purred.

Miroku stopped and sipped.  The sake was cold and lost its flavor.  He almost spit it away but restrained the revulsion.  He did not want to upset the cat.  Instead he put the cup away and dumped the sake – the liquid squirted out of the jug through a few, quick bursts that splattered onto the floor of the ditch.  The odor was slight, imperceptible, like that of a blossom whose identity was obscured by time.

Suddenly a cold and bitter breeze struck.

The monk shivered; the demon, still upon his lap, stood with its hind legs while with its front legs pawed across his chest.

“That tickles!” he giggled but did not resist.

Kirara then, forcefully, rubbed along Miroku’s chest.  She got off his lap and continued to rub all along his back.  She stopped every now and then to paw his arms and legs.

He patted about her back.

“You’re extra playful tonight.”  The cat sat before the monk, its eyes gazed into the man’s sparkling violet orbs.  “Have you been sniffing the sake too?” he thought through a whisper while scratching under the demon’s chin.

Then Kirara pounced upon Miroku’s lap – which would not have been a problem except she started to paw about his penis.  He felt the tips of her claws poke through the fabric and touch about his skin.  He was especially anxious when the claws reached his still-swollen and sensitive head.  Laughing and saying, “no, no, girl,” he picked up the cat and again set it aside.

But again the beast pounced upon his lap.  That time not to paw but to rub against where it discovered his penis.  The attention that part of his body received caused the onset of an erection.  And again, giggling, he moved it off, away.

“Playful and frisky but you can’t do that.”

He looked at his lap, the tent of his arousal was pronounced and while he tried to press it away the bulge simply reformed.  Always bigger and harder than before.  He sighed, turning several shades of red, almost dying of embarrassment.

“Sorry, girl, it doesn’t go down easily.”

Kirara did not meow or move; she merely sat, stared.

Shivering, he looked at the bottle of sake.

“It’s almost like you planned this.”

At that moment, at that instant, Kirara growled – and grew into her full, demon form.  Miroku leaned aback.  The ditch was not large enough as it was to support two full-grown bodies.  He clung onto the wall, trying and failing to stand.  The cat brushed its head across his face and licked his cheek.  The monk half smiled, half laughed, uncannily aware of the size of the animal’s head.  The demon crashed upon the man’s lap, effectively pinning him onto the ground.

And he noticed it.

The sleek, seductive back.  The smooth, muscular legs.  The soft, silky texture.

“You, it was you!”

Kirara stood and with her claws, very exceedingly gently, untied Miroku’s robes and exposed his genitals.  His erection was only then subsiding.  But she licked the flesh and the moist, rough friction induced its own, unique pleasure his body could not deny.  Then the demon loomed above the man and squatted upon his legs.

Miroku struggled but could not prevent the penetration that followed.

“Oh, Kirara!”

The warm, wet vagina devoured the penis.

“You want me?”

 

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *         

 

That morning Sango awoke to find Miroku walking toward the spring.

“You look like you had a rough night,” she said.

Miroku stopped and wiped away a bead of sweat.

She noticed he carried Kirara within his arms.

The monk set the cat by the rocks then reached for a handful of water to wash his face.

“It was a long night, Sango,” he said dryly.

“Ravaged again, huh?” she joked.

Miroku stood and, looking squarely and solemnly, replied:  “No, that won’t happen again.”

Sango crossed her arms – what was meant by that?

Seeing her reaction he unruffled his robes and –

Kirara meowed as she circled his legs –

“Kirara, are you hungry, girl?”

But the cat did not notice the woman as it rubbed along the monk’s legs.

“Kirara?”

Miroku laughed.  “Don’t be jealous, Sango.”  He picked up the cat and, again, cradled it into his arms.  It purred.  “There’s nothing in this world like the love of a beast.  So raw, so pure.”

Kirara opened an eye toward Sango.

“Monk,” the slayer sighed.

 

END