Chapter 2: The First Obedience
The forest offered no solace. Every rustle carried her laugh. Every shadow held the suggestion of her form. The tainted Bible lay at the bottom of his pack, a lump of corrupted leather he could not bring himself to touch, yet could not abandon. The thirst she had planted in him was a living thing, a worm in his gut that gnawed not just at his throat, but at his mind. It whispered of cool water, then of warmer, saltier fluids.
He found the hot spring by the scent of sulfur, a sharp tang cutting through the green decay. A crack in a mossy rock face issued a plume of steam. He squeezed through, into a cavern where the air was thick and warm as a breath. A pool, fed by a trickle from above, glimmered in an otherworldly light. Glowing moss painted the wet walls in patterns of blue and green. The water was clear, unbearably inviting.
He stripped, his movements clumsy, desperate to scrub the forest and the dreams from his skin. His clothes, stiff with grime, fell to the stone. He left them in a heap, a monument to his mortal state. The water was scalding at first, then a perfect, enveloping heat. He sank to his shoulders, letting the mineral warmth soak into his aching muscles. For a moment, just a moment, he closed his eyes and existed only as a body in warmth. The prayer that formed was wordless, a feeble hope for peace.
The water rippled against his chin. Not from his movement.
He opened his eyes.
She was in the pool with him, a pale shape materializing from the steam as if she had always been there. The starlight from the glowing moss caught the obsidian fall of her hair, the impossible curves of her shoulders breaking the water’s surface. Her kimono was gone. She was naked. Water droplets beaded on her collarbones, traced paths over the full swell of her breasts, their pink tips tight and visible just below the surface.
“Your god does not hear prayers offered in places like this,” she said, her voice the soft hum of the cavern itself. “This water is older than him. It remembers blood. And seed.”
Anjin tried to stand, to retreat, but his back met the slick rock wall. There was nowhere to go. His heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs. “Leave me.”
“You are in my water now,” she murmured, gliding closer. The heat between them was no longer just from the spring. Her amber eyes, catching the light, began to bloom with that inner red. “You sought cleansing. I will give it to you.”
Her hand moved under the water. He felt her fingers, sleek and cool despite the heat, brush against his thigh. He jerked as if struck by a brand. A gasp ripped from his throat. She smiled, a predator’s smile, and closed her hand around his cock.
It was already hard. Shamefully, fully erect, the flesh betraying him with a vicious eagerness. Her touch was a shock of pure sensation, her fingers expertly tracing the thick vein along the underside, her thumb smearing the bead of moisture that had already gathered at the tip.
“See?” she whispered, moving closer still. Her breasts pressed against his chest, a soft, shocking heat. Her other hand came up to cradle his jaw, forcing him to look into her hell-light eyes. “It greets me like an old friend. It knows its owner.”
“I am… I am a married man,” he choked out, the words a pathetic盾牌 against the pleasure-pain of her strokes.
“Your wife is a phantom,” Lady Miyuki breathed against his lips. Her scent—that sweet, coppery perfume—filled his nostrils. “She is a memory of cold shores and colder duty. Her hands have never touched you like this. Her cunt has never needed you like mine does.”
Her vulgarity was a slap. It also made his cock throb in her grip. He groaned, the sound torn from deep within, a mix of agony and wanting. He tried to push her away, but his hands found the slick, perfect skin of her waist and simply held on.
“That’s it,” she coaxed, her lips brushing his. “Stop fighting what you are. An animal. A leaking, wanting animal. Just like the one that pissed on my stone.”
She released his cock. Before he could even process the loss, she hooked her hands under his thighs, her strength inhuman, and hoisted herself up. He felt the wet, hot notch of her body against the head of his shaft. She poised there, a maddening pressure.
“Look at me,” she commanded.
He did. Her eyes were full red now, twin pools of reflected hellfire.
“She will never touch you again,” Lady Miyuki stated, a final sentence. Then she sank down, taking him inside her in one slow, inexorable slide.
Anjin cried out. Her cunt was a vice of silk and fire, impossibly tight, gripping every inch of him with a muscular, rippling heat that stole the breath from his lungs. She was ancient, but her body was a perfect, hungry mockery of youth. She seated herself fully, his hips flush against hers, and let out a shuddering sigh of pleasure that feathered against his neck.
“Yes,” she hissed. “There. That is where you belong. Buried in me.”
She began to move, rising and falling with a slow, grinding rhythm that rubbed every sensitive part of him raw. The water sloshed around them, steam rising in clouds. Each downward stroke was a claim. Each rise a tantalizing promise of return. Her nails dug into the muscles of his shoulders, anchoring him.
“You want to break the curse?” she murmured, her mouth at his ear. Her hips never stopped their relentless, rolling motion. “The bond you made is of the body. It must be broken by the body. You need to drink. From a woman. From the source of the sin you committed. You need to take my water into your mouth, and swallow it. That is the only way.”
The words slithered into him, finding the wretched thirst that twisted in his gut. They made a horrific, perverted sense. A sin requiring a sacrament. A defilement requiring a deeper, more profound humiliation to cleanse it.
“No,” he moaned, even as his hands slid from her waist to clutch her hips, helping her pace, driving himself deeper into her incredible heat.
“Yes,” she countered, her breath hitching as she quickened. “You will beg for it. You will open your mouth like a thirsty infant and you will beg me for it.”
Her riding became faster, more urgent. The slick, wet sounds of their coupling mixed with the drip of the cavern. Her inner muscles clenched around him, a rhythmic milking that dragged him toward the edge. His mind was splintering. The heat, the pleasure, the devastating intimacy of her body around his—it was annihilating every vow, every memory.
“I can’t,” he sobbed, his forehead dropping against her damp shoulder.
“You will. Or this will be your eternity. This ache. This need. Forever.” She slammed down onto him, a punishing, perfect stroke that made his vision white out. “Beg, Anjin. Beg for your release. Beg for your cure.”
The coil in his belly was ready to snap. The pleasure was a torrent, drowning his reason. He was losing. He was lost.
“Please,” the word erupted from him, torn and raw. “Please… I’ll… I’ll drink. Just… please.”
She went still, impaled on him, her cunt pulsing with a slow, satisfied rhythm. A triumphant smile spread across her flawless face. “Good.”
In a fluid motion, she lifted herself off him. The sudden emptiness was a physical pain. She stood in the waist-deep water, took his hand, and led him, stumbling and dazed, from the pool. He followed, naked and dripping, across the cavern to a flat, altar-like stone where the glowing moss was thickest.
She pushed him onto his back on the cold, wet stone. The contrast with the hot water and her body was shocking. She climbed over him, straddling his face, her knees framing his head. The view was obscene, intimate, devastating. The dark, neat triangle of her sex was glistening, swollen from their fucking, a tiny pearl of her essence gleaming at its apex. Lower.
“Now,” she said, looking down over the curve of her own breast at him. Her red eyes burned. “Open.”
Trembling, revolted, utterly enslaved, Anjin opened his mouth. He closed his eyes, but she hissed, “Look. Watch your salvation.”
He forced his eyes open, staring up at the delicate, offered flesh.
He saw the moment her body tensed. A clear, hot stream burst from her, hitting his tongue, his chin, flooding his mouth with a bitter, salty, profoundly alien taste. He gagged, but she pressed herself down harder. “Swallow,” she commanded.
He swallowed. The warm liquid burned its way down his throat, a grotesque communion. He swallowed again, as the flow continued, and a strange, terrifying thing happened. The thirst—the clawing, supernatural thirst she had planted—vanished. Replaced by a warm, heavy satiation. A dark contentment. The reward for obedience.
She finished and shifted back, crawling down his body. Her gaze was fever-bright with victory. “Your cure has begun,” she lied, her voice thick with power. “Now, your reward.”
She gripped his cock, which had never softened, and guided it back into the dripping, welcoming heat of her. This time, the fucking was brutal. She rode him with a frenzied, pounding energy, her breasts swaying, her head thrown back. The stone was cold and hard beneath him; she was a furnace of motion above him.
“You are mine!” she chanted, her nails raking down his chest, drawing bright lines of fire. “Your prayers are mine! Your seed is mine!”
Anjin could only hold on, his hands gripping her hips, driving up into her with a matching, desperate fury. All thought, all memory, all faith was stripped away. There was only this feeling, this raw, animal union. The scent of sex and sulfur filled the air. Her tight cunt squeezed him, demanding everything.
With a ragged shout that echoed in the cavern, he came. It was a convulsive, endless eruption, his body emptying into her ancient, hungry depths as if it could fill the centuries she had waited. She clenched around him, milking every spurt, her own cry a sharp, silken sound of triumph.
She collapsed atop him, her skin slick with sweat and spring water, her heartbeat a rapid flutter against his. They lay there in the eerie glow, joined, his spend leaking from her to mix with the water on the stone.
After a long time, she lifted her head. Her eyes were a satisfied amber once more. She smiled, licked a drop of sweat from his lip, and whispered the truth she had hidden.
“The curse is not broken, my sailor. It is sealed. Now you are truly bound. And you will come back. You will always come back. Because you will crave the cure that is not a cure. And you will beg for the reward that always follows.”
She vanished. Not in a puff of smoke, but by simply not being there anymore. The weight, the warmth, the pressure inside him—gone.
Anjin lay alone on the altar stone, cold, sticky, and utterly hollow. The thirst was gone. But in its place was a new, deeper hunger. A craving for the degradation that had, for a moment, made him feel whole. He rolled onto his side and vomited into the glowing moss, his body spasming, but it changed nothing.
The bond was sealed. He could feel it. A tether, not around his ankle, but around his soul, pulling him back toward the moss-covered shrine.