Chapter 1: Waking Up Impaled
Consciousness returned not with a jolt, but with a slow, wet rhythm.
The first thing I registered was the heat. A slick, clutching warmth that moved up and down my cock with a steady, greedy pace. Then came the sound: a soft, wet slapping, the muffled slap of flesh on flesh, punctuated by tiny, choked gasps. The air was thick with the smell of her—sweet sweat, arousal, that strawberry shampoo she used—and the musky scent of my own skin.
I opened my eyes to the familiar amber glow of the fairy lights, strung like drunken fireflies across the brick. My world had been reduced to this: the exposed ceiling pipes, the soft mattress beneath my bare back, and the slender, blue-haired back presented to me.
Megumi.
She was riding me reverse cowgirl, her small body a silhouette against the warm light. Every rise of her hips was deliberate, every fall a deep, claiming sink. I could see the tense cords in her thighs, the perfect, slight curve of her ass as it met my pelvis. Her hair was a mess, sticking to the sweat on her neck and back.
I flexed my arms, testing. The reinforced straps held firm, biting into my wrists and biceps with a familiar, reassuring pressure. Good. I wasn’t going anywhere. Not that I wanted to.
A low groan escaped me, more from pleasure than any effort. The sound made her hitch, her rhythm stuttering for a beat.
“You’re awake,” she breathed, her voice a husky little thing. She didn’t turn around. She just kept moving, her inner muscles fluttering around me in a way that made my jaw tighten. “I was starting to think I wore you out.”
“You wish,” I rumbled, my voice rough with sleep. I settled back into the pillow, enjoying the view. Her spine was a delicate line I could have snapped with two fingers. The thought made my cock twitch inside her. She felt it, letting out a whimper.
“See?” she panted. “Even asleep, you’re desperate for me.”
I laughed, the sound bouncing softly off the basement walls. Desperate wasn’t the word. Amused. Intrigued. Genuinely, bafflingly entertained. Of all the ways I’d imagined my life going—more fights, more blood, more meaningless noise—ending up as a captive fucktoy for a tiny, obsessed college student hadn’t made the list. It was fucking brilliant.
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on my shins, changing the angle. The new depth made us both gasp. Christ, she was tight. A perfect, snug fist. It was a miracle I fit at all. A painful, exquisite miracle.
“You feed me better than any girlfriend I ever had,” I said, watching her work. “You don’t nag. The sex is constant and exceptional. And the bondage is a nice touch. Really commits to the theme.”
“It’s not a theme,” she murmured, her head dropping. Her hair cascaded down, hiding her face. “It’s necessity. You’d break my walls if you were free. You’d leave.”
There was no lie in her voice. Just a simple, cold fact. She believed it.
“Probably,” I agreed easily. Not that I would. Where the hell would I go? Back to stale beer and empty apartments? To getting my skull cracked for pocket change in underground rings? This was a five-star resort with a built-in nymphomaniac.
Her pace increased, the slapping sounds growing quicker, wetter. I could feel the tension coiling in her lower back, the telltale tremble in her thighs. She was close. She was always close. The girl was a live wire, sparking at the slightest touch.
“Sukuna,” she moaned, my name a prayer and a curse on her lips.
“Right here, princess.” I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t guide her hips, couldn’t do anything but lie there and take it. The helplessness should have infuriated me. Instead, it felt like the ultimate luxury. No performance required. Just pure, animal receipt.
Her hand slipped between her own legs, her fingers working in frantic little circles. The sight of it—her tiny hand busy there, her body impaled on me—sent a bolt of raw lust straight to my core. My hips strained upward against the bonds, wanting, instinctively, to meet her, to pound into that maddening little heat.
The straps held. I was hers to use.
With a sharp cry that was almost a sob, she came, her whole body seizing. Her cunt clamped down on me like a vise, a rhythmic, milking pressure that dragged a ragged growl from my own throat. I watched her fall apart, the shudders wracking her frame, her knuckles white where she gripped my legs.
She collapsed forward, her back heaving, her sweaty skin pressed against my shins. The connection between us throbbed, wet and intimate.
For a minute, there was just the sound of our breathing. Then she shifted, lifting herself off me with a slow, slick slide that was its own kind of torture. She turned, kneeling between my spread legs, and looked at me. Her green eyes were huge, dilated, glazed with satisfaction and something else—a possessive wonder.
She reached for the condom, rolling it off me with practiced efficiency. She stared at it, at the evidence of her mixed with me, her lip caught between her teeth. Then she tossed it aside, into the growing pile by the mattress. She’d taken it off halfway through, like she always did. Couldn’t stand the barrier. Needed to feel it raw. Her obsession had rules, and that was one of them.
“You’re magnificent,” she whispered, crawling up my body. She was so small she could lie fully on top of me, her head tucking under my chin, her ear pressed over my heart. Her fingers traced the lines of my tattoos, the old fight scars. “My magnificent thing.”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” I said, the vibration of my voice rumbling through her. “I’m a lot of magnificent things.”
She pinched my side, a weak, playful thing. “Mine. That’s the specific part.” She fell silent for a moment, listening to my heartbeat. “I have organic chemistry at ten. A mid-term. But I pre-made your lunch. It’s sous-vide steak. It’s in the red container in the fridge. Don’t eat the potato salad first; it’ll ruin your palate for the meat.”
I blinked up at the fairy lights. She’d kidnapped me, tied me to a bed, fucked me senseless, and was now giving me gourmet meal instructions. The absurdity was so perfect it ached.
“You’re a thoughtful little monster,” I said.
She hummed, nuzzling into my chest. “I have to be. I plan on keeping you forever.” She said it like someone might say they planned to keep a rare orchid alive. With care, with study, with relentless attention.
Her hand drifted down, wrapping around my softening cock, already beginning to stroke me back to life. Her touch was proprietary, sure.
“Forever’s a long time,” I muttered, feeling the blood begin to flow again under her ministrations.
“Not long enough,” she whispered, and her breath was hot against my skin. “I’ll need at least two more before I go. I want to taste you on my tongue during my exam.”
Outside, in the world above us, an alarm clock was probably ringing. People were drinking coffee, worrying about traffic, living their small, unremarkable lives. Down here, in the warm, damp dark, my world was this tiny, ruthless girl and the relentless hunger in her eyes. She was already moving, her mouth leaving a trail of feverish kisses down my stomach, her intent clear.
I grinned, wide and feral, at the ceiling. Yeah. No point in escaping heaven.