Instinct

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Instinct: Dark Mirror
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She sat in the field, working slowly but surely in the moonlight. It was strong for a waning moon, and she hadn’t been able to sleep. Perhaps it would have been unsafe for a young woman in this time and age to sit exposed among the flowers, but she was no ordinary young woman. There was little about her that was threatening, and the animals of the area feared her no more than any other human. The demons, however…the demons had learned to be wary.

Older than her years, more dangerous than she appeared, the black-haired woman worked diligently. Seemingly unaware of her surroundings as her hands labored, she smiled, a deceptively happy tilt of her lips that did not reach her eyes. They were solemn, brown shaded to black under the starry night sky; the mark of someone who had seen too much sorrow at too young an age. Even that would not mark her as different in this time of wars were it not for the determination with which she handled her work. This woman had not given up, though her grievances were many. This woman would reach the end of her hatred, bring her foes down even at the expense of her life, but she would live that remaining time without despair. There was pain, but she allowed herself something of joy. She was stronger that her body showed. The body had bled before--but the soul would not let it return to the dust until there was revenge, and perhaps even more than revenge, for no one knew what lay beyond that moment.

So while she seemed unaware, she read the air, the earth, the very energy surrounding her, and she knew when the intruder arrived. Was he an insomniac like she, or had he sought her for another purpose? It was not the first time he had come to her, and before he had come close enough to see her, she stilled her hands. If he drew no closer, than she would stay silent, meditating under the moonlight about he and she. He wanted her, but he had never asked her. He had insinuated, demanded, pressed, pushed, tricked, and bribed, but never asked. Did he hold her in such low regard, or was he shy? Had it never occurred to him? She knew what he wanted. Out of sight among the trees, he watched, and she let him. What he did away from her eyes this night like the other nights would not be spoken of, for truly, how was she to know if she did not see? He disliked wanting her like this, but she? She waited with the patience and planning of a trained huntress, predator--

--priestess, undead. She allowed him his game because she knew what the outcome would be. He thought he was the one to gain from it, but she only let the faint smile cross her face again. Let him come, let them fight in this war where the injury didn’t show. It was a thrill of the forbidden, of things that would never be approved if it were open, but this was hidden. Hidden from anyone who mattered to her, because there was no one to matter in this place under the moon, maybe no one left at all who mattered. She used to think about those who would disapprove of her the first time he’d stalked her, but the thrill was intoxicating. It had lured her into her first transgression, but after that it became simple. It was only physical, and hadn’t she learned how little that mattered? There was no wrong in this. She would remain herself, unchanged by his actions, unchangingly modest despite what he did. That modesty was enough for her. He wanted her, and she allowed him to act on that want without censor because he would eventually realize what she was doing with each time she let the watcher draw near.

He thought he was using her for his own ends, but it was her purpose he fulfilled. The time would come when he knew that she had manipulated him all the while he indulged in her. He didn’t understand yet because he was unholy, living--

--perverted, male. So she played his game. Moving with a deliberate slowness that she knew was a torment to starving eyes gobbling up the sight of her flesh, she drew one hand along the ground, up her side, to toy with the ties of her garment. One shoulder shrugged loose as it slipped down her arm, and an imp of mischief kept her from letting the other side free as well.

The watcher knew she played. He also knew he could be hurt, even killed by this woman, and she allowed the game to be played. He was only mortal, no matter what he tried to believe. The one he approached felt him coming before he could even lay eyes on her, outstripping his senses and letting him to approach anyway. He knew she knew he was there, but since she let him pretend, he settled behind a tree to watch her undisturbed. She was meditating, or merely waiting for him to leave before resuming her interrupted time alone. She was beautiful, in a way that the other women around him were not. There was something so alive about her, a desperate need to live where the dullard females around her only plodded through the motions of everyday mechanics. Her hair fell in a graceful waterfall that he ached to touch, but when she finally allowed her other sleeve to drop down, it was the sight of what was shown when she pulled the black mass back that made him shiver. Watching her bind it with a bit of ribbon, ah, then his groin kicked. Blood pumped as his cock stirred. He could see the smooth line of her neck, and the intensity of feeling that shivered down his back stuck straight out from him, an instant erection at the picturesque scene before him. So vulnerable, but so dangerous. So open to view, yet untouchable. Her touch could bring pleasure, but he knew all too well that when he tried to sample, she could twist it to pain with her open palm--

--burning his flesh with the energy anathema to his kind. Had he deserved it? Oh, undoubtedly so, for he’d grabbed for what was tauntingly in front of him with the intention of causing the same harm. She’d only turned it back on him. She punished him and would some day kill him for what he’d done and couldn’t stop doing to her. She was as addictive as any human drug, a treat supposedly forbidden to his kind, but she gave him a taste. Why, he could not guess. He didn’t want to want her, didn’t want this feeling tearing between the two parts of what he was. It made him weak in a way no other woman had ever duplicated. He’d known the first time he’d met her that he had to have her, had to possess her, but strangely, the feeling had only grown with time. She provoked a response inside him until his loins pulsed with--

--blood, tender and inflamed. He opened his robes with a sweeping gesture, keeping to the shadows as he sighed, the cool night air caressing his privates. She sat, oblivious to his actions with her head turned up to the sky. He knew that she had recognized his presence, but she would say nothing. Maybe she thought he only watched her, but the guilty truth was grasped in his hand. He needed her like no other woman, sitting out there with her face tipped up to the moonlight, unspoiled by anything so tainted as his fevered imagination. Because if he dared, he would stride out into the open, robes parting and falling away to be discarded in the grass, and let her see his rigid length jutting from his body as he strode toward her in a rush. Her head would turn--

--eyes half-lidded as she took in the sight of him. No shock on her face, but a subtle straightening of her body where she sat, as if she took on his challenge. No pain, no rejection tonight, only a primitive lust on his part, and implicit permission in her murky eyes. Anatomically correct if not exaggerated, for his body was the stuff of male fantasy as he wished, his penis led the way like a reddened arrow that pointed to where she sat. He stopped before her, smiling slightly as she looked up at him coyly through her lashes. From his position, it looked like she was eyeing his cock, and well she should. Kneeling, he turned a caress up her bare arm into a cruel grip, fingers curling to set blunt nails into fair skin. There was no distress in the cool brown eyes as she quite calmly turned her head and set her teeth into the hand, plainly knowing and disregarding the danger under the flesh her tongue flicked and teased. She could destroy him just as easily, but what titillated him was that she didn’t.

The sharp pinch of her teeth turned the burning flames in his lower belly into a roaring maelstrom. His other hand tangled in the fall of her hair, dragging her head up to face him. So this prim woman would allow him to touch her, and moreover, answer with a dare to do his worst. Well, he would push the boundary until she had his best, and that would end her confidence. He was not one to waste an opportunity, and he wouldn’t hesitate to seize the offer. Nor would he be gentle. She had proven before that she could match him in battle, but here he would take her!

Throwing her down on the grass, he followed her down to pin thick hanks of moon-touched black hair between his fingers as they dug into the ground next to her ear. The rest of her dark locks flew loose, the ribbon landing who-cared-where, and flared over the green grass like a corona of wildness her serene face concealed. He sneered at the urgency of his own need, rubbing his sensitive tip against her thigh as he traced his free hand over her delicate features and down the pale column of her throat, that tantalizingly fragile neck. She only smiled. Gods, he wanted her to break that calm façade, to pull her leg away and reach down to replace it with one weapon-calloused palm--

--stroking along his length, fingers exploring as if they’d never touched such smooth skin. Hot, so hot, the sleek flesh covered the throbbing of blood and nerves that stabbed pleasure into his gut as nails lingered curiously on the dimpled head, dipping into the tiny hole at the very tip before spiraling out. Scraping gently, the edges of each nail created separate, expanding-circle trails of shivering delight that made him hungry for more. Rubbing over the rounded ridge where mushroom-head melded into a tight-packed rod, the thumb paused and massaged, hand curled so the forefinger scrubbed gently over that pinpoint hole and the other fingers brushed at the underside of his cock. The thin skin over the pulsing vein received special attention as the hand flattened enough to bless him with the warm palm. His knees would have buckled if he hadn’t already been on them, and his mouth dried under the surge of blistering sensation that was far, far too intense to be pleasure. It wrung a moan from his slack lips, anyway. His hips jerked involuntarily, but he wasn’t trying to get away. In truth, he was utterly lost in the small thrusts vibrating his hips, controlled by the pulls of that calloused hand and its exquisitely inquisitive fingers.

They pitter-pattered down his cock and slid into the dark curls at its base, tugging lightly enough that his pelvis swayed, trying to grind against nothing. He stiffened in more than one way at the continued stroking, eyes glazing even as his male sensibilities warned him of the damage that lovely touch could do. As vulnerable as her neck, and a million times more sensitive, his fragile scrotum hung loose. The hand merely cupped him, discovering the feel of the delicate sac and the globes inside that drew closer, tighter to his body in building response. His lower body burned, legs limp but his loins a taunt knot desperately seeking to snap under the clever fingers. But, oh, this wasn’t how he wanted to finish off! He was building, building, building toward a climax that would shatter his senses, but he groaned and--

--pulled apart the fabric keeping him from his goal, tossing the obstacles aside and revealing the woman in her full glory to the moon. For a moment, he only admired her. Whether he liked this lust she evoked or not, she was a piece of work. Her breasts sloped gentle to either side of her torso, their fullness given the illusion of larger size by the shadows cast by the gravity-induced plumpness against her chest. The darker, pink nipples were rising into pebbles on each plush breast; she obviously was not as calm as her eyes suggested, and even as he watched, her lips curved a bit. She seemed so relaxed, so at ease lying on her back. Her lower arms were still caught in forgotten sleeves, but her shoulders were loose and her hands idle in the grass a casual distance from her sides. Her stomach rippled with the gentle arc of her navel, smoothing out below to strong hips and a triangle of hair between long thighs. One knee was bent comfortably, as if she were moonbathing instead of held beneath an aroused male. Looking down at her pinned under him, hands braced beside her head to take his weight, he smiled at how easily she surrendered to him. Yet…the gleam in her eyes said that she had not given up control.

Somehow, that excited him all the more. There was a distinct surge of heat in his rod…and a scrambling of strained pleasure as something thumped against his lower belly. He sucked in a breath at the feeling. The corners of her mouth curled.

Without warning, her legs spread, her other knee bending so her heels dug into the ground and gave her the leverage to thrust herself up. His eyes tried to start from their sockets. Wet folds of flesh with a covering of dark strands for texture pressed firmly onto the base of his cock where his balls hung free, almost clutching as she ground without abandon. His pelvis pushed back when no directions came from his brain, scrotum bouncing into the hairy hollow below the damp slit she rubbed on him with wild jerks as the underside of his cock rocked back and forth on that wedge of fuzz. One of her heels slipped in the grass, and her butt hit the dirt with a cushioned smack. Twitching his hips, he maneuvered his tip downward to where his balls had already touched-- to her nest of dark hair. He glanced down between them and witnessed a thread of milky fluid winding through her curly fur and stringing up to glisten at the base of his cock where she’d humped him. Even as he gaped, a single shining bead of precum fell from his reddened spear, stretching another white webline between them.

It fell slowly, the thick liquid parting reluctantly from his quivering erection.

He followed it down, coming to rest on scratchy hair that made him shiver. She stared up at him, that infuriating unaffected smile on her face, and he freed one hand from the grass to pinch one perfect breast. Brown eyes squinted at that, and he turned the pinch into a rough fondling of one hardening nipple. His penis inched lower, pumping in tiny circles that gradually spiraled down through the curls to come to rest at the top of her folds. Her mound was wet with his fluids, pubic hair now pasted down in sticky curls. But as he rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger one last time, he smirked at knowing it wasn’t his slickness he felt now. Letting his hips relax, the underside of his cock nestled between those moist folds, and the sound she made was heaven to his ears. His smirk widened, and he let himself thrust through that channel, lubricated by her juices and teased by the insignificant hint of a hard kernel he stroked with each push. Insignificant, that is, if one didn’t count the wordless pants that came from her lips.

Gods, she was so controlled all the time. How could he even imagine what she would be like under him? He could see her hair pasted with sweat, but she had faced down the worst of demons. She would watch him even as he bucked against wet heat, and he had to wonder what calculations went on behind those reflective eyes. He could imagine her hips rising to meet him, her thighs cradling him and her leg kicking up over his lower waist, instep trailing down. An insistent, demanding pull of her calf over his buttocks, clenched with the power of his thrusts through what wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough for him. He had to have more, had to--

--let his cock slid down and down, pausing to rub sensitive tip against her clit to watch her breasts jump with the joy of it, but his smirking victory at her involuntary reaction was marred when her face remained calm. Sweat-streaked and flushed as his own, but he knew the strain showed on his features where hers were smooth. Everything in his body pulled toward his rod, and he suffered by it. But no more!

He sheathed himself with one swift thrust, feeling her part around him with a searing blaze of pleasure. Whatever happened to her virginity? He had forgotten, caught up in the rush as he took her. His eyes shut at the pure bliss of it, and his back arched, catapulting his pelvis forward with enough force to free a cry from her throat. Pale skin met pale skin as she arched as well, pressing their stomachs together in a bid for the climax hovering just beyond their reach. His braced arms quivered with the exertion, his fingers tearing at the earth for more leverage to slam into her with the slap of flesh on flesh that heightened his desperation to reach the peak. Her hair tangled with his fingers, dragging her head to the side, and he stared down at her exposed throat with glazed-mad eyes. If he saw the bared neck, he didn’t have to look at the tolerance on her face, only feel the driving need that brought her up to meet him, slick and hot and tight. He moaned--

--and let his head fall forward, staring down at what he was doing, unable to bear looking at the face of his tormentor, his haunter, his object of lust any longer. The pace was hard and fast, a dirty physical act that would never see the light of day. Either she would kill him or he’d kill himself; his cock pumped because of her unvoiced permission that he was here, and he hated that she had that power over him. Even as he hated it, however, he couldn’t help but close his eyes and succumb to--

--the electric throbbing, numbing chills racing up his legs and arms only to be replaced with the blood pulsing between his legs. She closed about him, squeezing him to a climax while she shuddered almost invisibly with her orgasm. He sucked in a breath as he spurted inside her, jolt after jolt of fluid that emptied him until he slumped down, drained by the pleasure.

Immediately, he rolled off her and climbed to legs he refused to admit trembled. Without looking back, he walked across the meadow, collecting his discarded robe as he carelessly turned his back to her. The lust was gone, and all that remained was his disgust. Not for her, because if he looked over his shoulder he knew he’d see her--

--gazing up at the moon, patiently waiting for him to disappear and let her resume her night. He’d had no affect on her, and she retained her dignity while he’d lost his. How could he have surrendered to the needs of any normal man? He could have used any wench, fucked a peasant girl open and ripe for the taking. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the offers. But he’d seen her, longed for her, since the first day, and it seemed that this want would consume him. How dare she creep into his mind, steal his body! This obsession strengthened with each time he came to her, and he could stop because wanted her to acknowledge him--

--submit to him--

--want him in return.

He cursed softly as he fled the moon-gilt woman with knowing eyes. He could taste the fantasy, but in the end it was a temporary fix. The addiction would go full circle, and he would crave her again. The sight, the smell; everything he was denied in the light of day. What she consented to give him was not enough, and he knew with the hatred and resignation of a hunted animal that he was trapped. The predator was not him, and her plan had snapped shut around him.

He would struggle. He would deny this weakness. He would find a way!

But, oh, how he wanted to turn around.

She smiled in the direction he had fled. She wanted him, and she would have him, all of him. She would draw him close in her embrace when he returned to her, seduced by what she hadn’t given him more than a hint of. She could be patient. She had waited this long, and the confrontation would be soon. On that night, he would come to her, and everything that they were would be laid out before them.

It would be a night to die for.


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End Part Five
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Before anyone even starts about the lack of Kouga and Inuyasha in this part, go back to the first chapter and read the beginning note; specifically, the part about insisting on a plot to go with the porn. Yes, this scene is significant for later in the plot. If you’re not content with that, think of it as a commercial break. Here, go look at this (http://www.starless-dreamer.net/inukougasmut_by_ladydementia.jpg) if you need more Inuyasha/Kouga to tide you over until the next part.

As for what’s involved here, it’s fairly straightforward: Miroku jacks off while watching Sango, and Naraku is actually doing with Kikyo what Miroku is fantasizing. Why are the women allowing it? They have their reasons…mwahaha.

Remember, feedback keeps me interested in this story, and please let me know if there are any sites interested in this kind of thing.