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Identity Ch. 01

By: rachelg



(C) 2006 Rachel Gumm. You may freely distribute this story digitally, but only in full, crediting me as the author. I welcome feedback. You can e-mail me at the address in my profile.

I haven't written part two yet, but if I get enough e-mails showing a desire for it, I'll write it soon.

*

Kevin felt himself get an erection as he looked at his now safely anonymous friend. He'd left the lounge to fetch a few items while she got changed. Now he'd returned, he finally realised just how breathtaking her transformation was.

She was covered from head to toe in a black zentai spandex catsuit. The only parts of her body exposed by the tight fitting item of clothing were her nostrils and mouth. Over the top of that, she was wearing gleaming knee-high boots with impossibly high heels, also black.

Kevin watched in fascination as she put on the finishing touch, her rubber hood. Like the spandex layer beneath it, the rubber hood had tiny little holes for her to breath through. Its only other feature was the large hole exposing her mouth, forcing it wide open. For all intents and purposes, she could now be seen as an orifice and nothing more; an open mouth waiting to be used. But she was so much more, he realised. The spandex catsuit hugged her perfect body tightly, showing off her firm breasts and slim waist. Teasing him. Inviting him.

She raised her arms at her sides briefly, her palms facing him, to show that she was finally ready. The gesture seemed strangely cute and innocent coming from someone dressed as she was. Kevin felt his arousal intensify as he remembered the fun loving woman underneath the costume. He'd fantasised about her many times, but it had never occurred to him that she was even attainable, let alone harbouring desires that made his own seem tame by comparison.

Kevin could smell the faint scent of her arousal. He felt relieved, assured that she really did still want to go ahead with their plan. His mind free of doubt, he started to use the items he'd assembled. First, he fastened an iron shackle around each of her wrists with an Allen key. Then he moved a bookshelf full of CDs, revealing a sturdy tie ring mounted to the wall. He gently held his friend's spandex covered hand, guiding her towards the ring. She couldn't see where she was going anymore, and couldn't walk very fast in her boots, but she obediently followed him. He picked up a short chain and two padlocks, fastening one end to the ring and the other to both of the shackles encasing her wrists.

For a few minutes he simply watched her work out the limits of her confinement. He resisted the urge to unzip his fly and force her head down onto him right there and then. There would be plenty of time for that later, he reminded himself. Instead, he just watched as she felt the padlocks, the chain, the ring; as she walked a few steps forward, pulling the chain tight, working out the perimeter of her semicircle. The chain only permitted her to move a short distance, barely a quarter of the room, but it was more than enough for her to kneel down comfortably. That was all that mattered.

Kevin glanced at the clock on the wall. The first guests should arrive any minute now. He couldn't wait. A close knit circle of friends, they would probably take almost as much delight in trying to guess his captive's identity as they would in making her service them. It certainly promised to be a fun evening. 

Identity Ch. 01



A sequel to A Bad Boy's Love, actually. Oh, how I do enjoy toying with side characters. Thanks for all the criticism and great comments I've been receiving. Feel free to leave a word if you like it or hate it. 

*****

I flopped down face-first on the bed, not bothering to change out of my clothes. "Man, I'm exhausted."

Being involved in the family business wasn't as relaxed as I'd perceived it to be, although having a famous and fastidious fashion designer for a mom was fun to a certain extent. I smiled fondly as I recalled her stern voice commanding hairstylists to hasten the construction of avant-garde hairdos on her models just two hours ago. I happened to be one of her favorite models. 

Misaki Takamura. No wonder my dad was so besotted with her. 

Tomorrow, I'd walk down those corridors of lecture halls again. I lazed about in bed. What would have happened if I hadn't gone to Japan and stayed right here in California? Perhaps life would have been more intriguing. Five years later, I'm back to square one. The irony of it all. 

There was no explaining why I'd been so adamant to finish my studies here. My parents had openly disapproved of it, but they eventually gave in to my stubbornness anyway. They always did. 

As my eyes drifted shut, I was swept into the land of dreams, back to the time when I was still in Japan…

The last thing I saw was flashing headlights, and I could hear voices screaming for help around me. 

"Oh my God! Asato! Someone call 911!" 

"Asato! Can you hear me, boy?" 

"He's bleeding! Is he going to be alright?!" 

My body was numb; I couldn't lift a finger, and I was paralyzed with excruciating pain. Liquid trickled down my forehead and arm; I hoped that it wasn't blood. My lips moved, as I tried to tell a sobbing friend that I would be alright. Just then, the ambulance arrived and arms started lifting me onto the stretcher. Then, I fell into complete darkness. 

When I opened my eyes, I was still feeling groggy due to the amount of drugs they'd injected into my system. My parents were sitting right by the bed and okaa-san was holding my hand. I reached up with my other hand to touch the bandages wrapped around my head, wavy hair matted with dried blood, and looked down in disgust at the tubes connected to my arms. I really despised needles. 

"Asato! Daijoubu ka? Donna kanji?" Okaa-san was still in tears, and mascara had streaked down her cheeks, ruining her makeup. She had always brimmed with a youthful exuberance as compared to the aged man who'd bought me ice-cream and taken me to numerous baseball games when I was a kid. Otou-san was looking more haggard and ancient than his usual composed self, bloodshot eyes hiding behind his glasses. 

"Daijoubu da yo. Shinu wa ke ga nai." I smiled to comfort her, although I was starting to feel a throbbing pain in my head. "I'm just a bit thirsty." 

Water trickled down my parched throat, as I gulped it down greedily. Gradually, I sank to sleep once again.

It was a week later before I could actually summon the strength to leave my bed. I was sick of being cooped up in the room for so long, and I had the feeling that my parents were keeping something from me. 

So, I'd followed them silently to the doctor's office and decided to eavesdrop on their conversation. "How is he? How's my son, sensei? Will he be alright?" My mom's voice was laden with worry. 

Kashiwagi-sensei hesitated before answering her. "We've conducted a CT scan on his brain and we're under the impression…that he might suffer from post-traumatic amnesia. He has brain injury due to the severe blow to his head from the accident, which caused a part of his skull to be slightly fractured." This elicited a sob from my mom and even my dad was having trouble maintaining composure, as he placed an arm comfortingly around her slim shoulders. 

The doctor continued to speak gently. "From the questions I've asked him, he only remembers events and the people he's met up to the time when he was 18 years old. This is why he is still familiar with you. Asato-kun probably isn't aware of this fact himself, so this has to be carefully explained to him." 

I didn't hear the rest of the conversation. The world resumed its existence around me and I acknowledged none of it as I slowly trudged back to my room, trying to comprehend what I'd just heard. 

Dazedly, I sat down heavily on the bed as I ran through my thoughts. If that was true, did I have a girlfriend? Did I leave anyone I cared about behind? God. 

"Fuck!" I didn't know who I was anymore. Was I still "me" if I was stuck with an 18 year olds' memories? 

"Ochisuite, Asato." I drew in a deep, shaky breath. Maybe this was only temporary. I raked a hand through my dyed-blonde hair, trying to come to terms with what I'd just heard. 

On the following day, Kashiwagi-sensei gave me a thorough explanation on my current condition. However, according to his research, there was a high percentage that I would eventually recall those memories, as did most of his patients with similar cases. 

All of a sudden, the room spun in circles, and images blurred and shattered. I looked into a pair of the warmest-looking eyes I'd ever seen…and woke up to the sound of an alarm ringing in my ears. 

"Goddammit! I feel like I was run over by a truck." Absent-mindedly, I scratched a mosquito bite at my neck. Those eyes…I wondered if they belonged to an ex. I knew that I was waiting for something miraculous to happen, to regain those lost memories, and I wanted an unambiguous answer to all of my questions.

I patted shaving cream on my face and studied myself in the bathroom mirror. Vaguely, I recalled an amused voice telling me that my hazel-brown eyes reminded him of chocolate. I shook my head, trying to clear the wave of nausea that filled me right after. A man? I wondered if he was a close friend.

For some reason, the photography course had me hooked, and despite my parents' objection to it, I'd refused to budge on my decision. I just knew that photography was my calling. 

As I stepped into class, girls looked at me and giggled in hushed tones, and some guys even approached me to introduce themselves. 

Right. I'd forgotten that I could be considered a celebrity, considering how many magazines my face had been plastered in. Today, I wasn't really in the mood for flirtatious banter. All I wanted was to find a quiet spot so I could re-discover myself again.

"Excuse me, guys." I pried myself away from my startled fans and scanned the lecture hall for a perfect spot. The second last row was empty, except for one antique-looking guy wearing an "I'm A Dreamboat" T-shirt and jeans so faded that they must have been re-used a gazillion times. 

He looked pretty harmless, just like a typical average Joe, busy with scribbling notes and fiddling with his SLR. I took a seat next to him, eyeing him curiously. 

"Hmm. I wonder if I should adjust the shutter for this scene. Maybe I should increase the ISO number for now and..." He was so preoccupied with his camera that he was oblivious to my scrutiny of him. 

"Hey." He glanced up immediately, and froze. His face paled to a sheet of white as though he'd seen a ghost. I waved a hand in front of his face. 

"Hello? Anyone home?" 

No reaction. Na da. Zilch. He was still a block of ice. Ah. I know. Guys like me don't usually approach guys like him. 

"Relax, man. I don't bite. Unless you happen to be female, in which case, I'd deliver a painless yet succulent bite." I gave him my most charming smile. I held out a hand. "The name's Asato. You?"

He stared down at his camera quietly, and seemed to have trouble forming words. That's okay. I seem to have that effect on people sometimes, and that isn't just my narcissistic personality talking. "Chet," he murmured quietly. 

"Good. Nice to meet you, Chet." When he'd whispered his name, I had a distinct sense of déjà vu. I brushed off that feeling, but remembered to store it somewhere at the back of my mind. 

Unfortunately, I didn't manage to chat much with him and he'd always disappear before I could grab hold of him. 

For an entire week, he managed to elude me. The only times I'd managed to see him were during classes, and even then, he answered my friendly questions with monosyllables. It was pretty strange, being treated this way. I'd always been popular, and here was someone who seemed to treat me like the plague. 

I was alive with curiosity about him, and since he hadn't appeased it, I'd started to hound him for no particular reason. Chet was easily the most photogenic person I'd ever come across and I couldn't seem to stop snapping pictures of him from every angle possible. 

Alright. I'll admit that that was probably my own biased opinion of him but before I'd realized it, I was completely infatuated with Chet. I liked the sound of his soft-spoken voice when he explained a Math problem to a classmate, and I'd noticed how attentive he was when talking to someone. Well, to everyone except me, that is. 

One morning, I'd woken up to enjoy the view of some of the pictures I'd taken of him secretly, and realized that my entire wall was plastered with his photos; I'd become a stalker. 

That day, I didn't feel like myself. I was moody, annoyed with what I'd become and frustrated with him for not giving me the time of day. As I sauntered through the hallway, strangers and friends greeted me, but I ignored all of them because my eyes had zoomed in on only one person; Chet. 

He didn't look like the quiet guy I'd made him out to be, because he had his arm slung around this Japanese dude, who was pretty hot for a guy. The worse thing was, I'd never seen him look so…so happy. He'd thrown his head back in laughter, which was damned sexy. Slowly, I inched my way closer to eavesdrop a little on their conversation.

"So, when are you going to go out on a date with me, Kei? I won't wait forever, you know." Chet chuckled at Kei's expression of disgust. Date? He couldn't possibly like this Kei guy, right? I leaned against the locker for support as my heart gave a sickening lurch. 

"Really. If you manage to get Jake's permission, I will." Kei flashed his buddy an innocent smile. Jake. Huh. So Kei has a boyfriend, which means…Chet is still mine.

Chet scoffed. "Nani? You want me to KO at such an early age? Hidoi ne. Is that any way to treat a friend?" That took me by surprise; Chet actually knew some Japanese, although he never said that he didn't. 

However, I couldn't stand watching them flirt with each other anymore. Chet practically treated me like dirt beneath his feet, not even sparing me a glance and here he was joking goofily like his life depended on it with this so-called buddy of his. Anger and jealousy filled me right to the core as I grabbed his arm and half-dragged him away, leaving behind an open-mouthed Kei.

"Asato! What are you doing? Let go." Chet looked baffled by my sudden action as he tried to assess my mood. 

"Shut up."

I dragged him to an empty classroom and slammed him against the wall. "Fuck, that hurt! What the HELL is wrong with you?!" He winced at the impact, massaging his right shoulder. 

"What the HELL is wrong with me? Don't you mean what the hell is wrong with YOU? You're flirting with that Japanese bastard like some cheap whore!" I was so furious with him that I couldn't refrain from telling him exactly how I felt. "You don't even spare me a glance and then I see you wiggling your ass at him!"

At that outburst, Chet grew positively livid with restrained anger…and something else that I couldn't quite identify. He clenched his fists and glared at me. "And what gives you the right to dictate who I can flirt with, as you so nicely put it? You're not my friend, my best friend and definitely not my lover!" 

That threw me beyond the edge of madness. Roughly, I shoved him to the floor, something which he hadn't expected me to do as an expression of surprise crossed his face. "What the –?" He tried to scramble to his feet but to no avail as I kneed him in the back, pressing him against the wooden floor with a thump. 

Dimly, I saw myself ripping off his T-shirt and binding his wrists together with my belt. The hands undoing his jeans weren't mine as I pulled it down together with his boxers, exposing his tight ass. Sounds and words of protests reached me as he struggled to free himself, but I was deaf to all of it. 

What I was certain of at that moment was that I wanted him. I wanted him so badly that my body trembled with the idea of possessing him, fucking him raw and making sure that his thoughts comprised of no one but me. I leaned forward to taste him as I turned his face back to mine with a hand, kissing him. 

Sharp teeth pierced my bottom lip as I jerked my head away, and repaid that little deed by pushing his face hard against the floor, a grunt of pain escaping him. I grabbed a handful of his soft hair and yanked his head back as he winced, whispering into his ear. "You know what I'm going to do to you? I'm going to fuck you over and over again, until I have you screaming for more. I'll turn you into my slut who won't be able to cum without my scent."

Chet must have seen the intent clear in my eyes, because I smelled fear. I reveled in it, and the sound of his harsh gasp as I spread his ass cheeks apart, admiring his tiny hole. He groaned as my tongue poked and prodded at it when I finally rimmed it. I sucked noisily at it, licking it with my wet tongue as I teased the puckered hole with my finger, causing him to jerk in response. 

"Asa…to. Stop. I don't want this, not from you." His eyes pleaded with me to stop, but his struggles only strengthened my resolve to have him. 

I drove two fingers deep inside him as his reward, making him grit his teeth against the unprepared pain. Relentlessly, I finger-fucked him, aware of his groans of growing pleasure and pain. "You really are my slut, aren't you? You love what I'm doing to you. Dousuru? Maybe I should fuck you right now since you want it so badly." I chuckled cruelly. 

It wasn't too long before I had him turned to a pool of molten heat. By now, Chet was pushing his ass back against my fingers as they thrust repeatedly into his slutty hole, moaning loudly when I increased the rhythm. "Yeah! Motto hageshii kutte!" Within minutes, his moans had become more vocal and I had to muffle them with a hand. When his hole tightened around my fingers, I knew that he was going to cum. 

The sound of his heavy breathing filled the air as he came all over the floor, cum dripping off of his cock as I removed my fingers from him. Then, I came back to myself and stared down at Chet in horror at what I'd done.

Carefully, I unbound his wrists and helped him back into his clothes as he silently took the jacket I'd offered him to mask his torn shirt. 

A fist came out of nowhere and hit me straight in the jaw, before he sank another hard blow into my gut, causing me to double over in pain. "There won't be a next time, you hear? Try this fucking shit again and I will personally torture you with a knife. And enjoy every moment of it. Wakaru?" 

"Yeah," I'd managed to choke that out somehow. 

"Glad it's clear between us." He finished adjusting his clothes and stormed off, leaving me to my suffering. 

I wondered why the swollen ache in my pants didn't disappear despite my obvious pain. When I'd taken care of that little matter in the shower, the cold shower brought me back to reality. I was disgusted at myself. How the hell could I do that to anyone, and a nerd at that? Chet wasn't even particularly good-looking.

Being bi had crossed my mind, because I'd always admired beautiful people. Even after the accident, I was aware of that fact, although I hadn't been attracted to any one person then. 

I allowed the shower to cleanse away all traces of sex and cum, getting more agitated by the moment. 

"Fuck!" I slammed my fist against the wall, unaware of the blood seeping down to the floor as pain slowly traveled up my arm. Chet was driving me crazy, and I damn well wanted to know why. 

 *****

Japanese terms:

Okaa-san : Mother

Asato! Daijoubu ka? Donna kanji? : Asato! Are you alright? How do you feel?

Otou-san : Father

Daijoubu da yo. Shinu wa ke ga nai : I'm alright. I won't die.

Sensei : Doctor (In this case, at least. Also a term of respect you'd give to a lawyer or teacher)

Ochisuite, Asato. : Calm down, Asato.

Nani? : What?

Hidoi ne. : What a cruel thing to say.

Dousuru? : How about it?

Motto hageshii kutte! : More…I want it harder!

Wakaru? : Understand?



Identity Ch. 02



(C) 2006 Rachel Gumm. I welcome feedback. Thank you to everyone who provided feedback on the first part!

*

The doorbell rang over the sound of the hi-fi. Not having much of a party music collection, Kevin had stuck a Fatboy Slim album on, hoping it would create the right atmosphere. He dutifully headed towards the front door.

"So, have you worked out who she is yet?" he asked Dave, the only guest so far who had the nerve to get his dick out in front of anyone.

"Who cares?" replied Dave, pushing the captive woman's rubber-clad face rhythmically over his member. "I just wish she'd make this a regular event. Guilt-free sex, man."

Kevin left the room, then came back in with the new guest, a young woman who was dressed much the same as the other guests, in jeans and a t-shirt. The woman chained to the wall looked completely out of place, a shimmer of spandex and rubber amongst all the casually dressed people. It seemed appropriate enough, though: she wasn't a guest, she was the entertainment.

"Whoa!" protested Dave, prematurely withdrawing himself. "What the hell is _she_ doing here? I thought this was guys only!"

"Guys only?" asked Kevin in mock surprise. "So who exactly did you think was sucking you off?"

"You know what I mean!" snapped Dave, zipping his fly back up. "Besides her."

"Relax," said Kevin. "The only reason I invited more guys than girls is because I didn't want our little slut's identity revealed through deduction. Seeing as everybody here knows Tam is into women, it's not exactly a big surprise that she's not the one going down on everyone."

"Aww," said Tam in mock sympathy, "did I put you off? You can go back to what you were doing if you like, I don't care."

"No thanks," said Dave. "I've lost the mood."

"Well then," said Tam, "let's see what else she can do." She walked up to the tethered woman and managed to get her to stand up. She glanced back to see who was watching - almost everyone - and pulled up her t-shirt. She'd worn a front-fastening bra for the occasion, and managed to wave one of her breasts in front of her anonymous friend's mouth without revealing herself to anyone watching her from behind.

The spandex-covered woman didn't do anything. As a little incentive, Tam slid her hand across the woman's waist, letting it slide over the smooth fabric up to her breast, feeling how satisfyingly firm it was. She pinched her nipple, gently at first but with gradually increasing pressure, and after a few seconds, she'd worked out she was supposed to poke her tongue out.

Tam pressed her areola against her tongue, and she obediently started licking it. She seemed reluctant at first, but soon warmed to the idea. Tam couldn't help but let out an everso quiet moan in satisfaction once her captive had got into full swing. She slid her hands up and down her breasts, encased in perfectly tight clothing, encouraging her to continue.

Tam carried on like that for several minutes, alternating her nipples. Whoever her mystery friend was, she was good at what she did. She knew exactly when to make small, quick flicking motions with her tongue and when to circle her nipple with it. It was only when Tam withdrew and put her clothes back on properly that she remembered the other guests in the room, all of whom were now watching her intently. Most had even crept around to her side for a better view. When she glanced back, they pretended to look elsewhere, but they were pitifully obvious.

"Hey," she said to Kevin, "if you give me thirty minutes with her, forty tops, I bet I can tell you who she is."

"Knock yourself out," said Kevin, "as long as you don't mind a room full of horny guys watching."

"Hey," interrupted Dave, "how can you possibly tell who she is?"

"Simple," replied Tam, "I'll make her climax. Everyone has their own nuances when it comes to sex."

"But her pussy's locked away in that damn catsuit," said Dave. "You can't fuck her or anything."

"Watch and learn," said Tam as she walked back up to her helpless captive. She stood behind her, her hands on the wonderfully curved sides her waist, then let her arms slide up her body. She knew from past experience how to make women orgasm without removing their clothes. With a lot of breast play and a little stimulation of her clit, she'd be whipped up into a frenzy.

Tam gently squeezed her captive's spandex-clad breasts before playfully pushing them up from underneath and letting them fall back down again. She continued with one hand while the other slid down her captive's body, finally stopping between her legs. The smooth barrier of fabric protecting her had already developed a damp patch. A smile crept across Tam's face. She was going to give her friend, whichever one she was, the time of her life.



Identity Ch. 02



A slightly longer chapter than what I'd usually write, thanks to some comments from my readers. My apologies for taking so long, and to the one reader whom I'd promised that this would be out on Wednesday. =/ Enjoy. 

*****

"Hey, watch it asshole!"

"You blind or something?"

A hand shoved me out of the way as I staggered towards a lamp post, leaning heavily against it. Damn, I could barely walk straight. 

I blinked as my vision blurred, and the image of a man strolling down the road split into three. Were they triplets? I sank to the pavement, still gripping my six-pack. 

I cracked open another tin and continued to gulp down its contents, the slightly bitter tang drenching my tongue. Just one week ago, I was this popular model who was king of the catwalk. Now, I'd been converted to some faceless drunk by the side of the road. Through no one's fault but my own, though.

Something buzzed in my pocket and I looked at the caller. Who the fuck would ring me at this time of night? It had to be at least 4am. 

It was Chet. 

My hand shook as I shook my head to clear off the haziness, and pressed the green button. "I miss you, Chet. I miss you so much. I want to see you. Now."

A pause at the other line. "I'm not Chet." Well, it definitely sounded male. "This is Ben." 

Oh. Ben. The super-macho kid from my class who flirted with anything as long as it resembled a human. 

"Yeah, Ben. What?"

"…You sound drunk. Where are you?" He'd never really seemed the caring type. Well, maybe looks could be deceiving. 

"None of your business. Bye." I hung up and crushed the empty can. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone but Chet. 

He hadn't even acknowledged my existence since that incident. Since I'd nearly raped him. 

I hadn't wanted to be such a bastard, but I wasn't myself then. I despised what I'd done, and the animal that I'd become. 

I forced myself to my feet. Time for me to get home, now that I'd downed all those cans. I bumped right into a muscled chest, and blinked at him as burly hands gripped my shoulders.

"Well, well. What do we have here? A pretty boy." He smirked at me as I looked him up and down. Cruel eyes and a chin covered with stubble stared me right in the face. Black leather crowned his entire torso, and dimly, I noticed that his goons were dressed similarly. One, two, three…four. Four of them. 

I could smell their intent in the air, and recoiled in disgust. I slapped his hands off of my shoulders. "Get the fuck away from me, you lame bastards." Okay, so maybe I wasn't exactly the most diplomatic person when I was drunk.

He laughed and leaned close to me, gripping my chin with his dirty hand. I could smell his smoke-laden breath as he pushed me into a dark alley. "Yeah, pretty boy?" He gestured to his goons to keep an eye out as he started to grope my ass. 

At his touch, I felt sick. Maybe if I puked on him, he'd give up. I elbowed him, or at least tried to. Fuck! If I wasn't so clogged up with alcohol, I'd at least manage to take two of them goons down with me.

I struggled against him, not wanting give in to such a loser like him. "Get…off of me, you sick pervert!" I spit on him, and I got lucky. He wiped spit from his left eye, and grinned at me, licking my saliva from his hand. 

Ugh. I stared at his hand in horror. 

That same hand delivered a punch to my stomach, and I coughed with obvious pain, clutching at where it hurt most. He shoved me face-first against the wall, hands busy unbuckling my belt. 

I chuckled to myself. Maybe this was just deserts for doing this to Chet. 

My black slacks pooled at my feet as he fondled my ass, licking his lips in anticipation of what was to come. The cold, brick wall scraped against my cheek as I braced myself. 

"Ever been fucked by a real man before?" He smiled at me, thumb rubbing against my hole as he sucked noisily at my neck. 

Damn, but being touched by such a bastard did not turn me on at all. I looked at him. "No, but you're not about to become my first." Just then, I rammed my head against his and reeled from the pain. He released his hold on me and cursed.

He wiped blood from his bleeding lip. "You're not going to like the consequences, fucker." He gestured his men to help him out.

"Yeah? Or maybe I'll die trying." 

He launched himself at me, and punched me again in the stomach. God, that really hurt. I didn't know how many punches I threw, or how much pain I was in. Breathing hard, I spit blood on the floor, clutching at my side. Just then, my cell phone rang. We both stared at it, and then he picked it up. Sometime during our fight, it must have slipped out of my pocket. 

"Ooh, it's Chet. Want me to call for help?" He grinned at me as I glared daggers at him.

"Give it back." It was Chet! He'd called me! Maybe he wasn't so pissed off anymore.

He held the phone to his ear. "Hey, Chet. Guess who's here, all bloodied up? Maybe you won't recognize him the next time you see him, because I'm about to fuck –" The phone was knocked out of his grip as I lunged at him. 

I wasn't about to let him live, not after talking to Chet that way. Not my Chet. Hands held me down as he straightened his jacket. 

"Coward. This just means you can't take me down on your own."

He gave a signal to his men and one of them drove a fist into my gut, causing me to grunt with pain. Another pair of hands spread my legs wide as the bastard whistled down at me, unzipping his jeans. "What a view." 

When he positioned his cock against my ass, that's when I lost it. No way was I going to let him take me just like that. I struggled like a wild cat against those hands that held me down, and even managed to kick some guy at his chin. A punch hit me right at the jaw as several punches landed on my already bruised and battered body. 

Vaguely, sometime during the struggle, I heard a commotion. Their grip loosened on me as they turned to face the intruder. On my last energy reserves, I lifted my head to see a dark silhouette in combat with those men. Then, I sank into blissful unconsciousness.

I was awakened by the feel of a warm, wet cloth on my face. Despite my pain, I turned towards Chet as he dabbed away traces of blood from my cheek, a pained expression on his face.

I lifted a hand to touch his cheek. "Hey, baby. Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" My voice barely resembled mine, and resonated as a mere whisper in the dimly-lit room.

"Baka. You're the one all beaten up. Just shut up and rest." Chet didn't seem like his usual emotionless self. Even his voice sounded as though he was on the verge of breaking down.

Groaning with pain, I forced myself to sit up. "Fuck! My whole body aches. I don't know where to start massaging first. Maybe you'd know the answer to that." I grinned at him, then winced as I nursed my broken lip. 

"If you've got time to joke around, then you're not as broken as I'd thought you were." Chet snorted and left the room before I had a chance to defend myself. 

Then, I had a chance to really look around. The room was dimly-lit, illuminated by a mere table lamp. It was quite bare, and the only proof of human existence was the library of books covering the left side of the room. I cast aside the satin sheets and plucked a book from the cabinet. 

The Art of Photography. Shutters and Apertures. Tips from Professional Photographers. Hmm. What a camera freak.

I raised an eyebrow at one of the titles which caught my attention; The Kama Sutra. Nice. Turns out he was human after all. 

As I was browsing through the illustrated pages, the door opened. He stopped as he caught sight of what I was reading. "What the hell are you doing?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Just reading a little. Do you mind?" 

He gritted his teeth as he carefully set down a tray of food; broth and some juice. Geez, I wasn't an invalid. "Actually, I do mind. Don't you have any respect for other peoples' belongings?" 

I placed the erotic book into its original slot where it belonged. "Didn't your parents teach you to share? Sharing is happiness." I smiled at him.

"No, but my parents taught me not to poke my nose into where it doesn't belong."

I laughed at the annoyed tone in his voice. "Touché. Now, you were so kind as to bring food for me." I staggered towards him and lost my balance. He caught me in the nick of time before I fell flat on my face, arms around my waist. 

Warm lips brushed my ear as he whispered, "Ki wo tsukete, ne. You don't want that pretty face to end up even more bruised than it is now." My heart skipped a beat as I turned to look at him, lips barely centimeters from his. 

"Are you flirting with me?"

His gentle expression suddenly changed to one of anger, as he released his grip on me. Losing balance, I landed hard on my ass. "Fuck! You sadist! You could have warned me if you were going to let go." Wincing, I rubbed my sore ass, oblivious to his intense gaze.

"Sadist? Me?" He grabbed the front of my shirt and shoved me to the floor, snarling down at me. "You're the one who almost got raped, and do I get a thanks for saving your anal virginity? No."

His eyes glittered with pure fury, and I was astounded that I was capable of stirring such emotions in him. "How do you know I'm a, you know, virgin in that sense? Even I don't know for sure."

He glared at me. "Do you find this amusing? Because I sure as hell don't see any humor in this." 

I raised myself up on my elbows and gave him a quick peck on the lips. He had to care about me. He had to. "Come on, don't be mad. I am pretty grateful to you, you know." 

Exasperated, he released my shirt and ran a hand through his hair. "Do you think this is a game?" He got up and headed towards the door, raking a hand through his hair. "Forget it. Just eat up and sleep."

Now I was pissed. I grabbed his arm before he could step through that door. "Game? You think this is a fucking game to me? Fusaken ja ne! You know damned well how I feel about you! You're the one playing it cool one minute, and the next, I mean the world to you? I'm not your toy!" I was so filled with anger that my fingers dug painfully into his arm.

He looked away from me and shrugged off my hand. "Make sure you bathe before going to bed." Just like that, he left the room.

I sank against the wall, still in a maelstrom of emotions. What the hell was going on? 

In the shower, my thoughts turned to Chet. Chet, with that sexy smile and messy hair, kissing me, as our tongues rubbed sensuously against the other. I imagined those perfect lips wrapped around my cock, and I looked down in dismay to find my cock…in an erect state. 

I sighed. Oh well, if I couldn't have the real thing, I could at least have these fantasies. My Chet was adorable as he placed sweet kisses along my aroused cock, the places he touched becoming molten heat. 

"Fuck, yeah." I closed my eyes and stroked to a faster rhythm as my imagination grew more vivid, with thoughts of a very naked Chet on his knees before me, servicing me with that hot little mouth of his. 

My eyes flew open to the feel of a hand on mine, and I stared at a still fully-clothed Chet; water dripping off his hair as his pale blue shirt clung to his wet body. And he looked very, very appealing. 

I swallowed nervously. I didn't why I felt that way, but I just did. The atmosphere now seemed to be charged with unknown electricity, and I had the feeling that this time, I was the prey; not him. 

"H-hey. I'm just taking a shower." 

His dark, piercing eyes burned a hole through my body. "Yeah, I can see that." So much for stating the obvious. 

Eyes traveled up my body and then stopped. I looked down to see where his gaze had focused on, and then realized that he was staring at my erect nipples. Hell, they weren't even anything special. Was this guy even gay? Or bi like myself?

"Stop looking there. You're straight, and I'm still pissed at you." I shook his hand off of mine, and turned off the shower. 

However, before I could reach for the towel, Chet pushed me against the wall, backing me against it. 

"Am I? Straight, that is."

By now, alarm bells were resounding in my head. He was just a damned nerd, and I was obviously attracted to him. Why did I have to be so nervous? I could always just shove him away if I didn't like it, right?

Hands caressed my stomach and I moaned at his touch, and caught myself. He chuckled at me, and molded his wet torso against mine, eliciting yet another moan from me as the front of his jeans rubbed lightly against my sensitive cock. His hands slid upwards, and pinched the turgid little peaks. 

"Nnnn, w-wait, Chet. Chotto matte." My breathing was ragged, and I sounded huskier than my usual self. 

He tugged lightly at my nipples, and rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers. I gripped at his arms for support as I exhaled in shallow breaths, the cool tiles at my back and the fire coursing through my veins a huge contrast. 

"Wait? Da mé." He licked at my ear, before whispering, "Now, spread your legs." 

What? I blinked. No way in hell. There was something seriously wrong with this picture. 

"I don't want t – mmph!" Lips claimed mine as I fought for self-control. Chet seemed to be reciprocating my feelings, or at least his body was, which should have been more than I deserved. But having our roles reversed was something I hadn't quite considered yet, nor did I even want to. 

He continued to drown me in his kisses, rubbing his tongue erotically against mine. Vaguely, I saw him undoing his jeans and heard it fall to the floor in a wet heap, accompanied by his black boxers. 

Chet wasn't all muscles galore, but he was lean and nicely toned where it mattered. His wet shirt still clung to his upper torso, leaving little to the imagination. I stared at the aroused cock between his legs; about 7 inches when fully erect, and slightly curved. The reddish-looking knob at the tip was obviously excited, as a drop of pre-cum formed on it.

Somehow, he managed to wedge a knee between my thighs, nudging them apart with a strong thigh. He sucked against my neck, nibbling at a pulse he found there, scouring my neck with hot kisses. "Ride me." 

His hands held my hips in place as he rocked me against his thigh, his own cock pushing insistently against my flesh, enflaming my senses. By now, my mind could no longer form coherent thought. 

I was aware that I was undulating my hips in a very lewd manner, but my body was no longer my own as I rode his hard thigh, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on his neck and emitting low moans. 

"Chet." I groaned again as he bent his head and sucked at my nipples. "I want to." 

His own aroused cock dug into my thigh as he looked at me, desire evident in his eyes. "Want what?" 

I paused as I struggled to think. "I want…you to touch me." 

He tugged me away from the wall and pressed his body against mine. The second his hot cock rubbed against mine, I almost exploded. I moaned his name repeatedly, desperate for release. My fingers entangled themselves in his wet hair as I left bite marks all over his neck. 

"What a wild cat you've turned out to be." I could hear the smile in his voice as his hands traced up and down my back, before reaching lower to squeeze my firm ass cheeks. 

I jumped slightly, unused to the feel of someone touching it. "Chet, I don't think I want you to – mmph!" Once again, he shut me up with his deep kisses, and continued to palm and caress the twin cheeks, before spreading them apart to expose the tiny brown hole.

A thumb rubbed at it, prodding the sensitive nub before I could voice a protest. "Did they touch you here?" 

My body burned where he touched, and I shuddered as he applied more pressure on it. "Who?"

Teeth teased the flesh at my neck. "Those bastards at the alley."

Oh, right. Those leather jacket guys. Yeah, he did, but he didn't do anything after that. I hadn't even realized that I'd voiced my thoughts aloud. 

"He did, did he?" He growled against my ear. "Then, I'll just have to undo it, won't I?" 

Before I could comprehend a word he was spouting, a thick finger slid inside me. My body jerked to the feel of it, as a moan unwittingly escaped me. 

"Like that?" Eyes watched the expressions flitting across my face as I gritted my teeth to the feel of an intruder inside me. 

"No, fucker. Take it out. I'm not a girl." Wrong thing to say. 

He smirked at me. "And you thought I was? Maybe that's why you did the exact same thing. Just shut up and enjoy. the. ride." He punctuated each word with a hard thrust. 

Chet looked down at my straining cock. "Kawaii sou. You look like you're about to burst."

Even as I moaned in pleasure, I hated the feel of being dominated. Did that make me a control freak? Maybe. "You fucking sadist. Take…it out."

He laughed at that. "Yeah? I suppose I am one. Do you even know how erotic you look right now? Don't ever show anyone this expression of yours." A second finger joined the first, plunging in and out in fast motions. 

"Kitsui ne. Very tight. Fuck, I want to slam my cock inside you until you whimper with pleasure." A growl escaped his lips near my left ear and I groaned at the tremors it sent down my spine.

"Kimochii ka?" By now, I was reduced to a puddle of heat. 

"Kimochii…ja nai." With a sharp tongue still. 

Chet didn't seem the least bit angry. I would have guessed why he wasn't irritated at all by my words, if only I was aware that I was pushing back to meet his thrusts, encouraging him. 

Just then, he brought his own heavily aroused cock, slick with pre-cum, to my own. Hazy with want, I held his hips and rubbed our swollen cocks together. 

"Fuck, yeah. Asato." Hungrily, he kissed me and began humping against my cock in earnest. The back-and-forth motions left me with ragged breathing as I tried to battle the delicious friction with resolve that I did not possess.

As I shuddered, he flicked his thumb over my sensitized cock head, causing me to moan in response and cling to him for leverage. The rubbing on my cock and the feel of his fingers thrusting repeatedly into me was too much. 

"Mou…ikizou! Iku!" Chet swallowed my cries and his lips covered mine, as I came all over his stomach, staining his wet shirt. It was only then that he withdrew his fingers from my sore ass, and lifted his cum-slicked hand to his lips, licking it off. 

"And that's that." He turned and left me to my thoughts. I braced a hand against the wall, still shaky from the aftermath. What the hell was going on? 

Then, I realized that Chet hadn't had his turn to cum. I wrapped a towel around my waist and flung open the door, ready to berate him for what he'd made me do but he wasn't anywhere to be found.

In fact, he had left the apartment. 

That fucking hypocrite. Was he attracted to me or was it merely a game to him? Annoyed, I took it out on a white pillow as I brooded on the leather couch. I still wasn't any closer to finding out anything worthwhile about this goddamned secretive nerd. In fact, things had turned out slightly more complex than I'd imagined.

Just then, I heard the sound of a key turning in the door knob and stormed towards the door, flinging it open. "It's high time you came back, you fucker -" 

I blinked.

A handsome dark-haired man stared at my undressed state as his gaze fixed on some very obvious love marks on my body. "And who might you be?"

I glared at him. If he was Chet's sex friend, he might as well take a hike. 

"No one important. You?" I barked in a clipped tone. 

"Someone important." He smirked at me. He shoved past me and the door slammed shut as he made his way to the kitchen; the stranger seemed very at ease with his surroundings. Unlike me.




Identity Ch. 02



"Name?" I leaned back against the door, studying his chiseled face. He was about my height, with short, wavy hazel-colored hair that curled gently at the nape of his neck. His skin was a deep golden tan and I noted the well-muscled arms as he removed his denim jacket and hung it simply over the sofa. 

He seemed too much at home in Chet's apartment for his own good, and I started to gnaw at my bottom lip out of worry as my eyes stalked his every move. Maybe he was just a family member…

Pft. Fat chance. 

Mr. Stranger paused in the midst of stuffing Chet's refrigerator with fresh groceries. He looked back over his shoulder at me. "Using monosyllables much? And here I thought it was only polite to introduce one self before requesting the other's name."

"Asato." At the sound of my name, his eyes widened in surprise as he fully turned behind to look at me. His handsome face wore such an incredulous expression that it was almost comical.

"Asato? The Asato?" 

Puzzled, I looked questioningly at him. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He strode towards me, a still-bewildered expression on his face. "Wow. That's really good. I'm happy for you. I think." 

"What? What's "good"? Can you not speak in riddles?" 

A slow smile formed on his lips as he stared me up and down, as though seeing me again for the first time. "We-ell, this certainly changes things. I guess I should congratulate you tw – mmph!" 

A large hand covered his mouth before he could elaborate.

"You talk too much, Drake." Chet slowly removed his hand from Drake's mouth. Indignant, Drake swatted his hand away. 

"I got it, asshole. Don't do that again. You just messed up my hair."

"Vain peacock."

"Stick-in-the-ass."

Folding my arms, I scowled at the both of them. "Is anyone ever going to enlighten me as to who he is or what he was yapping about?"

Chet slung an arm around Drake's shoulder. "Meet Drake, my evil younger brother. Drake, this is…Asato." Somehow, the hesitance in introducing me to his family member irritated me. 

"We've met," I replied curtly. As I turned to head to the bedroom to change into my clothes, the towel wrapped around my waist slipped a notch, exposing my bare hips. Somehow, I managed to grab the fluffy material before it slid further below.

A wolf whistle from Drake got me shooting him an annoyed glare, but I accidentally stared at the pair of intense green eyes behind him. They were riveted on me, and coolly met my stare head-on. Green eyes that were clouded with lust, desire…and perhaps something a little more. Wherever his gaze trailed, a blazing heat followed. 

I gathered some bravado. There wasn't any need to be fearful of him. He was just some nerd I could knock down in seconds if required. "Stop your fucking staring. Don't think you'll get to do this shit again." 

With that, I stormed into the bedroom and closed the door. The moment it shut, I slumped down to the floor, back braced against the door for support. I buried my face in my knees as I tried to make sense of my feelings.

I liked Chet but was intimidated by him? That was just so fucking twisted. I raised my head slightly and frowned, remembering some of the phrases that Drake had so carelessly spouted. 

Then, something fell into place; Chet knew me. From the past that I couldn't recall.

If that was the case, then why the pretense? Why didn't he acknowledge me? Had I done something he couldn't forgive? 

A sharp jab of pain caused my head to throb, as my mind swirled in a kaleidoscope, a myriad of voices encased within. A blurred image of a man trying to tell me something. I struggled to focus on his words, although the pain was escalating. This was my only chance in regaining some of my lost memories, and there was no way I was going to allow it to slip from my grasp. 

A scene from a time far away unfolded before me, just like characters in a play.

"Hey, Asato. You look nice."

"I always look nice." A voice that mirrored mine and was followed by a snort.

A slight pause. "Yeah, you do. Makes me jealous, sometimes."

"Hontou? Maji de? Kawaii ne, omae." I saw myself pushing someone against the wall, molding my body against his in a passionate embrace as my lips found his. 

"Asato. Asato!" Someone was shaking me roughly by the shoulders. It jarred me awake.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain seeped away. Only then did I realize that I was holding my head in both hands, fingernails digging into my skull. My breathing was shallow and ragged as I struggled for composure. 

"Daijoubu da." I batted Chet's hands away and whispered, "Sawaranaide." 

It pissed him off. I knew it did.

To his credit, he got up, patted me on the head and left me to dwell in my thoughts alone. As I stared up at the ceiling, feeling vulnerably fragile for the first time in my life, I couldn't stop those words from playing repetitively in my head, taunting me.

More than those words of passion, more than words of love, I'd remembered something else; something that had saddened me to the point of almost breaking. 

It had happened the night before the accident had occurred. The night my lover had delivered those cutting words.

"You bore me. Let's break up."

And yes, my lover had been Chet. 

*****

Japanese terms:

Baka. Idiot.

Ki wo tsukete, ne. Be careful.

Fusaken ja ne!  Don't fuck around with me!

Chotto matte.  Wait a minute.

Da mé.  No.

Kawaii sou. How pitiful.

Kitsui ne. Tight.

Kimochii ka?  Does it feel good?

Kimochii...ja ne. Doesn't…feel good.

Mou...ikizou! Iku!  Enough…I'm cumming! 

Hontou? Maji de? Kawaii ne, omae. Really? Are you serious? You're really cute.

Daijoubu da. I'm fine.

Sawaranaide.  Don't touch me.



Identity Ch. 02



EDIT 10/14

1.

The superheroine known as American Eagle is standing in the back of a city bus, making her way home. It's late, almost midnight, and outside the bus there's heavy rain pelting down. The bus is mostly empty at this hour. So there are plenty of free seats if the superheroine wanted to sit down. But she doesn't—she prefers to stand, holding one of the support poles. Partly this is because of nervous tension. She feels too jittery and jumpy to sit down. That isn't the only reason, though. She is feeling rather sore, down there. It isn't real bad, thankfully. A faint throbbing. But she can tell it would flare up worse if she put any weight on her bottom. So she's not going to do that, no sir. 

The driver and the other few folks on the bus, they don't know a superheroine is riding with them. They don't recognize her, because she isn't wearing her costume. It was taken from her, earlier that day, and she doesn't think she'll ever get it back. And though she has several replacements, of course, hanging on a rack in the Eyrie (her base), she doesn't think she'll be putting any of those on, any time soon. The career of American Eagle was brought to an end, this evening. And it had been bad finish. "Bad" didn't seem like a bad enough word for it, actually. Something like ignominious was probably more appropriate. Or ghastly. Yeah. It had been a ghastly, ignominious end for American Eagle. There wasn't going to be a recovery or a restoration. Not for her in that suit, anyway. Somebody else would have to take on the role. 

Some things you can't bounce back from. You just can't. 

She'd have to start fresh. Reinvent herself completely. Whole new costume, whole new approach. Only way to go forward. Unless she was just gonna quit altogether. Was she going to have to quit?

Hell, she didn't know. She honestly had no clear idea, at this moment. She didn't want to. Or probably she didn't. She hoped she wouldn't. But that was as much as she could say, right now. 

She'd need a new name, too, obviously. American Eagle was ruined for her. Forever. 

It seemed to her, the more she thought it over, there was really no superheroine on this bus, after all. Just a plain regular girl named Stephanie O'Brian. That wasn't her secret identity anymore, just her only one. All she had left. Even if right this second her costume would magically reappear, like a gift from God, it wouldn't change what had happened. She couldn't bear to wear the thing. Never again. It was too spoiled. 

She wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She kept feeling like she was about to start again, but then she wouldn't. No more tears would come. She must have cried herself dry, before that villainess got done with her and set her loose. 

Still couldn't believe that had happened ... Never would have predicted it. Thought the bitch was certain to kill her, after the sex. Or else sell her to some other bastards. But she hadn't done either of those things. The crazy bitch just untied her finally and let her walk out of there free! 

"That was fun, honey," she'd said, "Super fun. See ya around. Be careful on your way home now. This isn't the nicest neighborhood." 

She'd given Steph a hoody to wear, and that was all. A neon yellow hoody, slightly too big for her—which was good, 'cause it hung down her thighs low enough for decency, more or less. Zipped up tight, nobody would know she didn't have anything else on underneath it. She'd put the hood up, too, even before the fucking rain started pelting down, simply for comfort's sake. Not that anyone would recognize her face. But she didn't want anyone seeing her like this, even so. She didn't want any sons of bitches to be able to remember her face in detail, whether they knew her name or not. She would just be an anonymous, entirely forgettable figure in a baggy yellow hoody, with her hands in her pockets and her head slumped down. 

She didn't manage to become entirely unnoticeable, though. Her legs attracted some wolf whistles, as she hurried down the sidewalk. It was a bunch of construction workers. Crude bastards. Did they realize how fucking cliché they were? Didn't it trouble them even a little?

"Snazzy shoes!" one of them hollered. 

Because she didn't have any shoes on at all. The villainess hadn't given her any. She thought she heard another of the men call out something about "dirty dumbfuck hippies," but she didn't catch all of it—she might have misheard him completely, as well as the man before. In fairness, it later occurred to her, the whole group might really never have been addressing her, not once. It could have all been just in her head, or aimed at someone else, more likely—plenty of other people were passing back and forth in front of them, including several women dressed far more ostentatiously than she. Raver kids in shiny silver coats, with spiky dyed hair and facial piercings. Two very tall women strutting hand in hand in trenchcoats, mirrored sunglasses and WWII soldier helmets. The wolfpack of rude bluecollar thugs could have been targeting any one of them. 

She found a handful of change in the pocket of the hoody. Wondered if the villainess put the money in there deliberately ... When the storm struck, five minutes later, turned out she had just enough coins to board the bus. She doubted that was a coincidence. 

Her poor unprotected feet were filthy, soaked and aching, from the sidewalks. Ice cold too, and her legs. She had hoped they'd warm up in the bus, but so far that hadn't happened. Damp as it had got, the hoody was keeping the rest of her fairly snug. Actually it was a bit too warm, now. And starting to itch inside, all over. It reeked of cigarette smoke. She couldn't wait to take it off, when she finally got home safe. She'd stuff the damn thing straight into the trash. Then take a hot bath. 

Maybe slit her wrists, once she was comfortable in there. No, she wouldn't do that. She wouldn't sink that low. Probably. Hopefully. 

In fact, if she was honest with herself—if that was still possible—it was much more likely she'd end up masturbating, in the bath. Using the shower massager, like she often did. Yes, even as sore as she was. Even despite all the nasty twisted shit she'd been subjected to, before the villainess let her go. 

Or rather, it would be because of all those things. Flashing back to them, over and over. As she couldn't stop doing. Flashing back over and over to how it had felt. All of it. All those awful things she'd been made to do. Made to feel. 

It had gone on so long. The bitch kept it going for hours. Impossible to satisfy or tire out. Made her strain so hard. The more you gave her, the more she wanted, the more she demanded. "Again! Yes! That's so good! Do it again now! Keep doing that! Just like that but harder now! Harder! Can't you go any harder? Can't you? Come on! Come on! Come on!" 

It had been so terrible. It had been hell. The most terrible day and night of her life. She thought it would never end. So nasty, so messy, so disgusting, so wretched. So violent and agonizing and above all exhausting. She thought it would kill her. Before the end of it, she had wanted it to—she had prayed that it would. But it hadn't.

The worst part—the unspeakable, hateful, but irrefutable truth—she had enjoyed it. She hadn't wanted to, and she had hated herself for it ... but there had been pleasure. She was forced to feel pleasure. Unasked for, unexpected, and unwelcome, of course. Hateful, harsh, savage, ugly pleasure—but extremely potent sensations, undeniably gratifying, and unforgettable. The villainess was simply too skillful at that stuff. Too experienced. And in addition, Steph had needed to completely cooperate with her, all through it—she had to play along with everything that was demanded of her, no matter how crazy and twisted. She couldn't try to fight or hold anything back. She had to submit completely. She had to perform. Because she had to make sure the bitch stayed interested and occupied with her. Otherwise if she had lost her interest, she would have gone away and blown up that summit, like she'd originally planned—using Steph's own costume to gain access to it. Unless she'd only been pretending from the start—the briefcase bomb she'd been displaying might not have been real. Just a mind game, to trick her into obedience. A mind fuck before the proper physical fucking ... Steph couldn't take that chance, obviously. Lives were on the line, or seemed to be. Hundreds, perhaps thousands. So she'd sacrificed herself. Her dignity, at least. Her spirit. She'd become the bitch's plaything, absolutely compliant. 

Possibly it was the most heroic thing she'd ever done in her whole career. A case could be made, couldn't it? Possibly it was a greater sacrifice than the so-called ultimate one would have been ... giving up her life. Certainly it was a harder form of martyrdom to face, both before and after. A martyrdom of disgrace. There was no shame in making the other sacrifice, simply dying. Or even if there was, you didn't have to live with it afterward, since you were dead and gone. You didn't have to carry the guilt and humiliation home with you. 

These thoughts should have comforted her a little, but they didn't. It wasn't working. She'd saved lives! But still, the disgrace was too strong. The shame ran too deep.

The images, when she closed her eyes. Hell, she could still see them with her eyes open. 

That enormous rubber cock in her face, shiny and dribbling with her own saliva ... and later on, with other juices ...

That enormous rubber cock, pumping between her breasts ... and pumping between her legs. Pumping her vagina, and later her butt, far as it could shove, fast as it could drive. Which turned out very fast indeed. Watching it move like that, and the feeling of it as she watched it do what it was doing ... And hearing the sounds it made, and that it made her pussy make, all the juices, and her butt too ... and the other sounds over top that she made herself. The grunts and gasps that became moans and whimpers. The moans and whimpers that turned to howls, and then screeches. She would curse, and she would beg, then switch back to cursing again, and simply screaming. 

The villainess's vagina, too. She could see it as vividly as the rubber cock, like right then in the bus it was really still in front of her eyes, inches away, or less ... She would remember every detail forever, felt like. Steph knew it better than her own by now. Every single hair, every crinkle. Three teeny-tiny birthmark specks beside it, in the upper crease of the left thigh. Faint pale scarring above, partly but not totally covered by her bush, the little arrowhead the bitch allowed herself. Burns, they looked like. Like maybe hot grease had dripped on her there, or somebody had put out cigarettes on her mound ... 

The villainess's butthole. Yeah, Steph got to know it just as thoroughly, just about. Staring back at her like an eye, right in front of her nose.

Not the sights alone. The tastes too. Steph could still taste them all in her mouth. Each distinct flavor. Her conqueror's rubber cock. Her vagina. Her ass. 

She could have handled the rape, by itself—if it had been an ordinary rape. That was just a particular form of injury, if you made yourself look at it with cold professional objectivity. Which is what she would have done. It was the easiest way to cope and recover. 

Looked at like that, it was intrinsically no worse than getting shot or getting stabbed or getting beaten. And she'd dealt fine with several other awful agonizing injuries on that same level. She'd healed and got back on the job. But how could she possibly process the unspeakable unbelievable pleasure of what she'd been subjected to, on this night? There shouldn't have been pleasure in it, but there had been. And that was unforgivable. It had turned into a seduction. A ravishment in the other sense of the word—she had been physically and mentally conquered not with brutal sexual violence but with violent sex—violently delightful sex. She'd let that happen. How had she let that happen? 

The bitch had tortured her ... tortured her to the brink of insanity ... but somehow she'd been able to do that solely with pleasure—unspeakable, vile, nasty, shameful sexual pleasure. It had been violent, excruciating agony—yet the bitch had never actually hurt her, not once, the whole time. Not the bare defenseless flesh of her body, anyway. Only her heart and her spirit. Despoiled and befouled forevermore. 

She had been made to orgasm a dozen times, before it was over. She knew that because the villainess had kept a careful count, as they went along. Ten was the goal she'd set herself, when they began. But the final score ended up being twelve. 

Strictly for the prisoner, that goal. The villainess herself had only gone off a couple times, far as Steph could tell. Maybe three or four—Steph might have missed a couple, during her own frenzies. But undoubtedly the wicked bitch had been far more interested in her prisoner's climaxes than getting ones for herself, all the way through it. That had surprised Steph. She hadn't expected it. But of course it made sense. The whole thing was above all else a power game. The bitch had been tripping out primarily on her dominance, proving it over and over, each time Steph's unwilling body gave up another humiliating climax to her. The giddy glories of conquest. That was what she wanted, rather than orgasms. Or else that was what she needed to get them, those few she achieved for herself. 

Was that what made her what she was? Was it what had turned the crazy girl down the dark path to perversion and evil? Simply a difficulty getting off in the ordinary fashion ... Maybe that was too simple an explanation. But then again, maybe not. Steph knew very well for herself what that was like—to have trouble of that kind. She'd never been very good at sex, to be perfectly frank. She'd never had much luck in romantic endeavors. Back in high school and college, she'd discovered she just wasn't much good at connecting with men in that way, and no men she'd ever been with had ever turned out much good at giving pleasures of those kind to her. 

These embarrassing issues, as difficult and troubling as they had become in her youth, were by no means the principal motivation for her eventual dedication to superheroics. But they were part of the reason; that couldn't be denied, either. The career of a superheroine is often isolating. Even dehumanizing. Steph had been grappling with unhappy feelings of isolation and dissatisfaction most of her life. Why am I like this? she would ask herself. Becoming a superheroine had turned out to be the best, most rewarding answer. It didn't matter if she wasn't much good at the ordinary affairs of normal life, because she had rejected a normal lifestyle altogether and pledged herself to higher, nobler purposes. 

But of those that reject the normal, or find themselves rejected by it, so many turn the other direction, don't they? It's so easy to do. Giving themselves up to their worst and darkest impulses. It's what that girl must have done. Pledged herself to villainy. 

It was so strange—the girl had taken absolute control over her body, and Steph would never be able to understand how she was able to do it. What the secret was. "You've never come before, have you?" the bitch had said to her, "Not once in your whole life, have you? I can tell. Just looking in your eyes, I can tell." And Steph hadn't bothered trying to argue with her—but she'd thought the girl was wrong. She thought the girl was deluding herself. But now it seemed it was Steph who had been deluded. She had thought she knew what it was to come, as well as anyone else did. Even though it wasn't something she experienced often, and not easily. And when she had, it was always something she made happen by herself, usually with her shower massager in her bath ... But those orgasms were nothing at all like the ones the villainess had set off in her. Not even close. She read once in a magazine that nobody can give you as much sexual pleasure as you as an individual can give yourself, and that everyone would be better off if they'd accept this fact—that real sex can never be as gratifying as masturbation, so nobody should expect too much when they hook up with someone. 

The villainess had disproven that assertion. Steph didn't understand how it was possible, but she had. 

A lot of it must have been just from not knowing what the girl would do next. Where she'd move, when she decided to change their positions ... and then, what parts she'd decide to target. And then the pace she'd choose to set ... how fast she'd go, or slow ... not knowing how it would feel, each new shift. The anxiety churning in Steph's belly, from not knowing those things, not being able to prepare herself ... the pounding crushing dread she'd felt. But also, of course, anticipation ... more and more of it, inevitably, as things progressed. When you're playing with yourself, it's impossible to surprise your own body, isn't it? While in the villainess's clutches, it was one shock after another, after another, after another ...

She never could have imagined taking pleasure in most of the things that had been done to her, and on top of that, all her most baffling and disturbing responses were triggered by little silly tricks, rather than big and obvious stuff. The big and obvious stuff didn't astonish her quite the same way. Like coming from having your butthole reamed by a giant dildo. Sure, it was dirty and it was humiliating and she hadn't expected that to happen. But at the same time it wasn't enormously shocking, when it had. Not really, when you think about it. 'Cause you knew the world was full of people that liked having their butts fucked; it wasn't a particularly unusual thing, straight or gay. Turned out she was the same. Her butt was wired the same way. She'd just never realized it before—never allowed herself to try it. Never given the question much consideration. Now she knew, 'cause she'd experienced it. The big rubber cock reamed out her butthole, and as awful and humiliating as the sensation of that was, it had nevertheless triggered, eventually, another intense orgasm. She could deal with that, though. She could adapt her thinking without too much strain. It was a little like finding out she liked the taste of anchovies on pizza. Like: Really? But still, all right, fine, whatever. Startling as it was, it wasn't the end of world. They wouldn't offer the topping if some people didn't ask for it. And having a taste for sodomy was probably a far more common thing. Wasn't half as freaky and deviant as people pretended it was. 

But then there was all these other little weirder things ... Like having her ears nibbled. Normally that would be a yucky, gross sensation. Made her squirm even imagining it. And sometimes the villainess had bit them really hard, really sinking in her teeth, like she was going to tear them off her head—but still at the time, in the moment, Steph had liked the feeling. Not that it wasn't gross or hadn't hurt, because it sure as hell had, just as the cock claiming her ass had, but she'd liked the yuckiness and that particular pain, both equally. It was the same as when her hair got pulled, or her ass got slapped—they were all demeaning torments that gave you a similar giddy rush, at least if you felt them at the same time as you were being fucked. When your body was being subjected to sexual pleasure, then adding pain didn't manage to spoil the pleasure or distract you from it, but only added to it. Pain, and the accompanying sensations of disgrace and shame, combined and transformed into another separate species of pleasure, an extra layer. Different than real pleasure, but equally strong—or no, possibly stronger. Like your nervous system was too busy processing good feelings to register bad ones properly. Bad turned to good. But still staying bad. Yeah, that was probably how it happened. Once your system crossed a certain threshold, all stimulus registered as sexual. You really could get your brains fucked out. The villainess had propelled her to that point, and beyond it. 




Identity Ch. 02



The villainess had used her wicked devious mouth in the same way on Steph's feet. Licking them, nibbling them, gnawing on them. Tickling them with her tongue. Finally sucking on her toes with the same intensity she'd sucked on Steph's earlobes, and her nipples, and her clit. And Steph was compelled to respond to that merciless suction the same way, every single time, and at the same level, for each of those parts of her body. It shouldn't have been possible—but she had. She'd been made to come by the bitch sucking on her toes! Just from that by itself! As if each of her toes had transformed into another clitoris! It was insane, but that was what had happened. That was what it felt like. 

At one point, after her eighth or ninth surrender, she tried to fake the following one. It was the only way she could think of to try to take back control of herself. She thought she could prevent her captor from forcing any more orgasms from her if she pretended to have them before they happened. It seemed like a good idea at the time—a minor, dinky victory, but still something to cling to. If she'd managed to fool the bitch, she wouldn't have been completely done in. A last tattered secret scrap of pride would remain, unsullied in her heart. But she didn't pull it off. She wasn't a good enough faker. The villainess saw right through the scheme. And punished her for it, with a brutal spanking. 

The worst of it, though, was that she came again for real while she was being spanked like that, her bare ass bent over the villainess's knee—which still was clothed in the sleek blue tights of her heroine costume. The hand that paddled her buttocks without mercy still wore the red glove that was also part of the uniform. 

It didn't even take the dildo to make it happen again, that time—the toy had been set aside. (Though it was brought into play again soon after.) Nothing was penetrating her pussy or her asshole at all, while she was being spanked. But someone after half a dozen steady smacks, she was brought to another climax, even so. Just from the pressure of her pussy mashing down against her tormentor's knee. Her swollen, jutting clit—so hard it was a wonder it didn't tear a hole in the tights on that knee, like the tip of a nail sticking out of her. It burned, when it was pressed. And her ass had started burning the same exact way, each time she was spanked. They had both burned so hot and yet so good, every single time. And more and more, hotter and hotter. She had screamed and she had begged for mercy and then begged for more. And then climaxed, for the ninth time, or perhaps it was the tenth. She had climaxed without even being fucked that time. Just from having her ass paddled, and her pussy mashed against her tormentor's knee. 

That was definitely the worst of them—the most disgraceful one. It stood apart from all the others in her memory. 

That was the one she would be thinking about, when she used the shower massager on herself in her bath. That was the one she wouldn't be able to stop reliving, over and over again. 

She just knew. She could feel it. As soon as she made it home, it would happen. She wouldn't be able to stop herself. 

She was corrupted. And there was no cure for it. The wickedness had got inside her, and taken root. She could never go back to the person she used to be before. Never. Not knowing what she knew now. 

2.

We jump ahead a few months ... 

She calls herself Attrition now. She still considers herself a heroine—one of the good guys, fighting for justice. But she operates very differently than she used to. More of a no-nonsense street level vigilante. Much more oriented toward direct, aggressive action—as opposed to the careful, meticulous detective work and the worldwide ambassadorial duties her previous role included. She's no longer the goody-goody that American Eagle always was. No longer a particularly ideal role model material for young people. That sort of stuff isn't important to her, like it used to be. She's let all those aspects go, and she doesn't miss them. Or at least not very often, not very much. Now she concentrates on the filth in the gutters. Tackling it on its own unrepentant terms.

She's not afraid to fight dirty anymore. She doesn't hold back. 

When she catches bad guys—or bad gals—she doesn't take them to the police, like she used to. Like all superheroes are meant to, as a matter of fact. Instead, she punishes them herself, right on the spot of the capture ...

She ties them up and whips them. And then after that, she lets them loose, but with the understanding that if they misbehave again, she'll see to it they receive another dose of the same medicine. 

She's only starting out again, so in the last few weeks, she's only got to do this to a couple baddies, thus far. But now it's got to be said—it was very satisfying, on both occasions. In fact, she enjoyed it more than she expected to. More than she had planned on. There was a physical buzz to it, by the end. Almost nearly a sexual thrill. That was a little worrying. But not enough to make her want to stop and rethink her approach. Oh no.

At least not until after she finally finds the villainess that ruined her previous identity ... and pays the bitch back in full measure. No luck yet. She still doesn't even know what the girl calls herself. She never got around to telling her, on that day. Hard to believe. Out of character, for a supervillain. Probably she never realized. Maybe she thought she had told her, or maybe she really did, but Steph simply hadn't heard her. Maybe she'd said it before Steph had fully recovered from that stun gun she used on her. 

Attrition's new costume is yellow and black—more black than yellow. Based on a wasp, though she decided she wasn't going to push the insect thing too far. No bullshit bugeye goggles or retarded looking fake wings or wobbly antenna. Her stinger, of course, is simply her whip. She's got quite good with it—lots and lots of training. She can inflict a great deal of pain with the thing, without doing much lasting physical damage. Which takes skill. More than one might guess. Her objective is to discipline and humiliate wrongdoers, but she's promised herself never to take any lashing too far. She doesn't want to go around crippling people. She isn't out for blood. That would spoil the game for her. 

Perhaps it's unhealthy to think of it as a game. But that's what it is, for her. That's what crimefighting has turned into. A twisted game, for twisted people, who can't help themselves. This is the kind of person she's turned into. This is the only way she can cope. 

Her rage must have an outlet. So she's taking to the streets again, and she'll pay baddies back with their own badness, as much as she can. Whenever the opportunity presents itself. She'll channel her corruption where it might still do some good. 

This is what she tells herself. This is what she has to keep telling herself. 

Tonight she's doing very well. She's just defeated and bound three villains at once, all by herself. That's not something American Eagle ever managed to do, not even on her best day ...

It's two corrupt cops, and a freak they've hired as henchmen. 

The cops are females. Vice detectives named Dillan and Sage. They're a striking looking duo, and almost too good looking to take seriously, like a couple actresses that should have their own TV show. They were recently put in charge of shutting down the city's prostitution rings, but instead they've just taken control of them, with the help of their superhuman enforcer, who calls himself Tazmaniac. He's a monstrous beastman with a lot of hair and bulging muscles, and like the cartoon character he based his name on, he can turn himself into a little cyclone, for short periods. But not when he's in chains, like she's got him now. And both his bosses the same. Their arms are all stretched up tight over their heads, manacled at their wrists. All three dangle side by side on their tiptoes from sturdy rafters, in this dingy warehouse they were using as a meeting place to count and divvy up their money, when Attrition dropped in to surprise them. Took them down without a fight, using a grenade of short-term knockout gas. Piece of cake. 

"You better let us go," says Detective Dillan, "We're police."

"Dirty police," Attrition corrected.

"You've got us wrong," Sage tries, "This is all a complex undercover op. Your interference is gonna blow everything. You gotta believe us!"

"I don't think I do. You can fool your superiors easily enough, but I've been watching you work. I know what's what." 

"The whole city's gonna turn against you, if you kill us."

"I've no intention of killing you. That's now how I operate. You're not gonna learn anything, if I just put the three of you down." 

She'd torn off both the women's trenchcoats, and their blouses, and pushed their slacks and underwear down around their knees. She left their brassieres alone, though one of the shoulder straps on detective Dillan's snapped, during her whipping, so the cup on that side dropped down. After that, Attrition couldn't resist the impulse to target a flick or two at that partially exposed nipple. Just gentle ones—playful snaps, barely brushing the tippy-tip of it, with the very tippy-tip of her whip.

Sage, the blonde one, lost her shit a lot sooner than Dillan did, whining and blubbing after only a couple strokes, and she'd didn't seem to be faking it ... and though it took a good while, her partner eventually broke down just as bad, bawling and begging for mercy. 

It was music to Attrition's ears. 

Tazmaniac had a more surprising reaction. He never begged, but bellowed and yelped and howled right from his first blow. Sounded exactly like a dog being beaten—not like a man at all. Yet at the same time, his cock got hard. It only got more enormous the more she beat on him. But it wasn't the pain and embarrassment he was responding to, or not just his pain and embarrassment alone. Because she noticed he never took his eyes off the detectives, and his expression was eager every time she lashed either one of them instead of him again. It was clear he was enjoying their punishment and humiliation as much as Attrition was herself. He probably wouldn't have reacted the same way to this situation, if his pretty bosses weren't on the scene, getting the same treatment. Or at least not as powerfully. Or maybe he would have. It would be interesting to try a solo session with him some other night, to find out. There was bound to be another night ... It was very unlikely, after all, that a freak like this would learn the lesson he was supposed to and behave himself in the future. Especially since this supposed punishment was turning out so exciting for him. 

And it was just as exciting for Attrition, and in the same exact way. She was swollen, tingly and wet under her costume. She could feel it soaking through her tights. Good thing she'd designed her new outfit with a long overtunic, so she had the extra layer of a skirt covering her crotch. 

Then she decided all at once that she wanted to take things further. Much further. Why not? She wanted see the beastman fuck his former bosses, while they were chained and stripped like this, helpless and forlorn and crying. Bitches deserved worse punishment than her whip alone. This would teach them a proper lesson. Let them be exploited as completely and as terribly as all the countless women they'd chosen to exploit for their own greed—women it had been their duty to protect! Bad cops are the vilest and scummiest of criminals. 

She wondered how she could make this work ... Tazmaniac couldn't reach them in the position she had him strung up, but of course it would dangerous and idiotic to let him loose. She could try simply extending his chain—giving him a bit more slack over that rafter. 

Was the chain long enough to allow that? It might be ... Just so long as she didn't let him pull it out of her hands completely, when she unclipped this end of it to pay more out ... Would he cooperate, if she told him what she wanted? 

It occurred to her that if she made this work, she would have to masturbate while she watched it happen. She wouldn't be able to wait until later, when she was alone. She wouldn't be able to help herself—she'd have to do it while this was happening right in front of her. The urge to get off had built up too intense now. Lust had taken control of her mind. 

The power of it, too. Controlling these three. Having absolute control. They were her playthings now. She could do anything she wanted to them, anything that occurred to her, no matter how wild or obscene—no one could stop her. Nothing held her back. She didn't even have to feel guilty. These were vile scummy criminals and they deserved whatever dreadful punishments she felt like dreaming up. She could shamelessly indulge herself, all night long. Set loose all her darkest impulses. 

It was going to be glorious.



Identity Ch. 03



My apologies for the delay in writing. Was swamped with work and it took a very polite wake-up call from a reader to stop procrastinating. Hope you guys like it. P.s. This work is pure fiction. Practice safe sex, kids. ;)

*****

"Want something to eat?"

"No."

"Want some ocha?"

"No."

"Want to talk about whatever's bugging the shit outta you?"

I looked up at Chet, the man I was supposedly in love with. "No."

I ran a hand through my dyed-blonde locks as I struggled for words. After a moment's hesitation, I nodded. "I think so. But I want some questions answered."

He looked pensive as he took a seat beside me on the leather couch. "Ask away, but there are some things that I can't comment on." He shrugged at my indignant glare. "Shoot."

"Fine. I want to know why you never bothered to fucking tell me that we used to date." I had the deepest satisfaction of watching him whirl his head around to stare at me, beautiful lips slightly parted in shock.

After regaining composure, Chet asked, "How did you remember? Wait. I guess I answered my own question." He glanced at me from under long eyelashes. "You...remembered?"

I snorted indelicately at him. "No, my fairy godmother told me that I was a fucking homo. Of course I fucking remembered!" 

He arched a brow at my profanity but didn't comment on it. Thank God he didn't because I was this close to losing it. 

"What exactly do you remember? How much?" I noticed that Chet phrased this question with extra caution. 

Pissed, I stood up to hover over him and gripped the front of his pale blue T-shirt with my fists, pressing the back of his head hard against the sofa. "No, Chet. I want you to tell me why you didn't bother telling me about us when we first met. You could have acknowledged me, at least. What was so fucking difficult? A "Hey, good to see you again!" would have been nice. Or maybe even a "Man, it's been awhile." Something, anything, to indicate that we knew each other!" I was overwhelmed with emotions so raw at this point that I found myself yelling at him. 

"But you know what really happened? You pretended that we were strangers. Were you that ashamed of our past relationship that you couldn't even bring yourself to say hi? Do you know what it was like for me to return to this place-" I gestured around with a wild wave of my hand. 

"-Japan, and have no one come up to me to ask about what I'd been up to? I wondered if I had been an asshole with no friends!"

I was oblivious to my surroundings. I was annoyed, frustrated and disappointed in myself, and it didn't help that he was just sitting there, looking nonplussed and undisturbed by my display of anger.

After my outburst, I just felt drained. I sank to the couch heavily and ran both hands through my wavy hair. Bad habit. 

I drew in a shaky breath, but when I spoke, my voice was once again calm. "The worst thing was, although I couldn't remember anything about myself, I liked you the moment I saw you." 

I scoffed at my own stupidity, and didn't meet his gaze. "Pathetic. Nasaké nai désu. I obsessed about you, wanted to know everything about you. Baka mitai. And here you are, knowing exactly who I am, and you're avoiding me."

Chet scowled, a dark frown marring his face. "It's not like that, baby." Now that ticked me off even more, if that was humanly possible.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh. So I'm your baby now. Only when it's convenient to pacify me, you call me that." Fuck this. 

I got up and headed for the door. Chet grabbed my arm, but I knocked his hand away and snarled angrily at him. "Don't. Just don't ever come near me again. You can take your fucking explanations and go right to hell." 

He raised both hands in surrender. "Fine, no touching. But this was supposed to be a two-way conversation. Let's talk more. Alright?"

Was it just my overactive imagination, or did he look slightly desperate? "No, Chet. You obviously couldn't stand the sight of me. Let's just pretend we're strangers again. If you care the slightest about how I feel, just stay the fuck away from me. I'm done." 

And with that, I walked out the door.

The following day, I didn't see Chet in class. His friends hadn't seen him all day, either. 

Okay, so I asked about him. So what? Now that I'd released my hidden resentment, I began to speculate. Maybe I should have given him a chance to justify himself. 

At night, alone in the bathroom, I stared at the reflection in the mirror. It was only then that it dawned on me; I was truly alone. Instead of trying to find out about what had happened between us, I'd recoiled away from the truth, afraid like some goddamned coward. 

Afraid of what? Rejection? Well, Chet had never said he liked me or anything, not that I could recall. There was nothing to lose by trying. And then there were those secrets he was trying to conceal. Why?

I paused in the middle of brushing my teeth and pondered. My gut told me that there was more to this story, and I was determined to see it through. Those hazel eyes in the mirror demanded to know more. I agreed. Tomorrow, I'd ask Chet to explain himself. 

At 3 am, I was jarred awake by the sound of someone's fist banging on my front door. I peered through the peephole and opened it, allowing two rude visitors to stumble through. 

"What the fuck? Are you guys insane? Do you know what time it is?" 

Drake looked up at me, before dumping the unconscious Chet on the floor. Ouch. A large bump would probably emerge from that impact. "Yeah. We need to talk."

I folded my arms and tilted my head to one side, eyeing the tall man. "You'd forgive me for being not quite so elated, especially when that's coming from a guy your size." 

He cast me a wilting glare. "Ha ha. Very funny."

As the strong stench of alcohol wafted to my nose, I pinched my nostrils shut. "He's dwunk, isn't he?"

"Mm hmm. Pretty drunk. The bartender dialed the first number on his cell and it was my sad fate that the number was mine." He sighed theatrically before shooting me a meaningful look. "Seemed like he was having some trouble digesting some harsh parting words his one true love spouted." 

He stretched his long frame over the sofa and gestured to a spot next to his feet. I glanced at those big feet and immediately wished them off my expensive leather couch. I chose to sit at my recliner instead. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Look. I know you and the big guy here had a major argument. Things are just not what they seem, you know."

Chill. I counted to ten and still ended up sounding irritable. "What is it with you guys and secrets? You know everything and won't divulge anything. Enough with this big hoo-ha and just. Fucking. Explain."

Drake scrutinized the annoyance on my face and smiled. "Know what? I changed my mind." He rose to leave. 

I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Wha-? Then what the fuck did you come here for?"

He shrugged, grinning at me. "I suppose I came to deliver a package. Go easy on him, would ya?"

I strode to the door and barred his departure. "Oh, hell no. You're not going to leave me with-" 

I looked down at a very unconscious Chet.

"-that thing on the floor."

That drew a chuckle from Drake. "Poor bastard. I'll tell him you called him that. He'd be thrilled," he drawled sarcastically. Then he looked me in the eye and held my shoulder gently. "Hey, you do like my brother, don't you?"

Noncommittal, I blinked. "I guess." I wasn't about to admit it to Chet's brother, even if it was true. A man's got to have his pride. Besides, I knew a few male models who clinched the Top Gossips list. People who claimed that men don't gossip surely lived in a cave. 

"Yeah. He does like you, too." He cast a sympathetic glance at the drunken heap on the carpet. "Even if he won't admit it." My heart pumped a little faster at that, and he winked at me.

"So, sayonara, dude. The only Jap word I know. Take care of that jerk for me, eh?" 

"Yeah." 

The wooden door closed behind him and I was aware that it was just the two of us. Alone. In my fancy apartment. 

Chet was drunk, but still very appealing. Well, first things first. 

I slid my arms around his shoulders and marveled at the well-formed muscles under my hand. Just for a second. "Up you go, buddy." 

He wobbled unsteadily to his feet and leaned heavily against me for support. I steeled myself against the warm breath against my ear. "Come on, Chet. Up!" 

His body obeyed my command as we staggered towards my bedroom. 

Halfway to the bed, he whispered against my ear. "-Armani."

I turned to look at him, startled that his alcohol-dulled mind could even form a fashion term. "What?"

Chet smiled at me and reached up to smooth a lock of hair from my forehead. "Idole d'Armani. Your cologne."

He stumbled onto the bed, and pulled me down with him, pinning me under his body. 

I was trapped. Somehow, his hands had caught my wrists in the tumble. I swallowed nervously, but I was proud of how in control I sounded. "Let me up, Chet. Not funny."

He gazed down at me; the heat and desire in his eyes almost seared my skin as he branded my lips with his. He ran his tongue over my lower lip, teasing them to part, and when they did in a low moan, our tongues danced in a mating ritual of their own. He released my left wrist only so he could gently cup the back of my head to better angle his head and deepen the kiss, turning it to molten fire.

I could barely even breathe, much less think as my recently-freed hand stroked down his back, only to end up squeezing his right butt cheek, eliciting a deep groan from him. 

That was a mistake, because it was then that the beast was free from its cage. He tore at my pajama bottoms in a frenzy, ripping the delicate material from my skin and took in the sight of my flushed, naked body. 

"Asato," he whispered. "Asato. Oré no mono." With that, he dragged his hot mouth all over my body, laving kisses on my neck and chest, and stopped at my nipples. 

By now, I was breathing hard and I couldn't even think of stopping, although I was probably going to regret it the morning after. I stilled my breathing and teased him, "Like my boobs?" Despite my efforts, my voice came out sounding low and husky.

Chet met my amused gaze with a somber expression. "Very much so, and I did fantasize about sucking them. Again and again."

Before I could respond, his tongue swept out to taste the erect little nub, teasing it before taking it into his mouth. "Fuck!" I cursed as I tried to remove his shirt as well, needing to feel his bare skin against mine. He switched attention to the other nipple, swirling his tongue around the dusky aureole before grazing his teeth lightly with it, causing my body to jerk in response. 

Large hands gripped my legs and spread them apart as he settled between them, knees forcing them wider. An alarm went off in my head, warning me that this was territory I had not delved into before. However, the sight of his naked chest had me capitulated when he pulled off his shirt, intense eyes on me. I roamed his chest with my bare hands, delighted at the feel of naked flesh that was somehow distinctly familiar. 

Again, he leaned down and trailed kisses at my neck, tasting the salt on my skin and chuckled at the leaping pulse he found there. "Excited much, are we?" the low murmur against my neck sent shivers up my body as I started to lose control of myself. Yet again. 

I kissed him frantically and unzipped the front of his jeans hurriedly and reached inside. "Whoa, whoa. Relax, baby." He caught my hands in his. "We have all night."

I bared my teeth at him in the semblance of a snarl. "No, dammit. I want you now." I shoved him on the bed and proceeded to have my way with him.

If only. He rolled me over and we both struggled for the dominant position as we tumbled around on the bed. 

The winner was Chet. He looked at me and victory was written all over his face. "You don't know how long I've wanted this...how long I've dreamed of you. Just like this."

Right then, I felt his hard arousal press against my ass, the bulge in his boxers apparent. I braced a hand at his shoulder, wanting to protest, but his lips weakened my resolve again as his talented tongue traced the shell of my ear, then nibbled at my earlobe. 

"Chet, chotto matté. Oré...I can't – I don't-"

Chet rotated his hips against mine, grinding that delicious cock against my sensitive hole, pleased when he heard my moans of approval. "Don't, Asato. Don't think. Just feel." 

He shifted lower on my body and his breath fanned my own aroused cock. "I like that you're this hot for me. My Asato." He licked off traces of pre-cum that had smeared my abdomen, and teased the swollen knob with his forefinger. 

"Kuso! Chet!" I arched my hips up in pleasure. Fuck. If I was sober, I would kill myself for ever being this wanton. 

His warm hand closed around my throbbing cock and tightened slightly. But not stroking. 

"Chet." I almost pleaded. 

"Mada da yo, be patient." He smiled at me, and I hated that sadistic side of him just then. He wanted me to beg. Well, fuck that. He could wait forever. 

Or not. My body needed release and it needed it now. Frustrated, I tried to push his hand away. Fine, if he wouldn't do it, I could do it myself. 

He caught my wrist and pushed it away, all the while observing my impatient reactions. "Why don't you...fuck my hand?" he suggested.

I gritted my teeth against the humiliation and turned a shade of pink, furious enough to want to call it a night. "Why don't you go fuck yourself, you perverted sadist?" 

Chet smiled at my irritation, and decided against whatever he had been planning. Good.

His hand stroked my cock in a fast rhythm, sliding up and down, thumb rubbing in circles at the tip. The contrast of the sudden movement compared to the still hand from before coaxed a gasp from me. 

"Motto. Motto, Chet." I demanded for more as I fucked his hand. Ironic, considering this was something I had been so adamant about not doing just minutes ago.

The stroking increased its pace as I gripped at the sheets, body covered in a light sheen of sweat, lips slightly parted in pleasure. I moaned, watching my swollen cock slide in and out of his closed hand as my hips started undulating to a faster rhythm. 

Panting, I blinked as I realized what he was planning to do. "Chotto, Chet! Kitanai da yo!" His tongue darted out to taste the tiny hole, and my ass muscles twitched in response. 

He looked up at me, eyes glimmering with heavy lust. "How can it be dirty? I've been wanting to taste this part of you," and resumed swirling his wet tongue around the sensitized nub. 

I had never felt so exposed before, until now. I groaned when he finally stopped rimming my ass, only to delve his tongue into the wet hole, moving in and out. I shuddered as the first wave of orgasm swept through me, and my stomach contracted in response. 

The bastard gripped my cock hard, stopping me from reaching the climax. "What the fuck-? Let me cum, Chet!" 

He withdrew his tongue from me. "Mada mada, Asato." He took a tub of Vaseline on the bedside table and coated his fingers with it. I used it to moisturize my hands. I had a feeling that I wouldn't look at it the same way again.

I swallowed, heart pounding with anticipation and dread. Chet traced my asshole with his middle finger, merely teasing it as he ran kisses up my neck. "Chikara o nuité. I won't hurt you, Asato."

My breath caught as his finger pushed inside, and moaned as my body adjusted to having the feel of something inside. His finger moved in and out repetitively, and I was barely aware of him adding more Vaseline to his fingers. All I could feel was the mounting pleasure. 

By now, three of his fingers were stroking me, in and out. When I opened my eyes, I noticed the fierce concentration on his face, and the tiny beads of sweat that clung to his skin.

He became aware of my staring and directed that burning gaze at me. He kissed me, possessively claiming me as his. 

"Mmph, Chet. Oré wa-" I was cut off mid-sentence when he withdrew his fingers from me, and I muttered a protest. "No, keep it there."

Chet chuckled, and nibbled at my neck. That was going to leave a mark. "Da mé. I want to mark you, as mine." 

Something big and hot pushed insistently against my virginal hole, and my breathing grew shallow as I tried to will my body to accommodate his thick girth, hands gripping hard at the sheets. "Da mé. Hontou ni...dékai da."

I forced myself to breathe, as he slowly but steadily slid into me, allowing me to adapt to the feel of him. 

"Stop seducing me, dammit. Asato, chikara o nuité. Let me in. Sou da yo, ii ko da né." Despite his words, he was gritting his teeth in focus as he tried not to move. 

Experimentally, I shifted and he cursed. "Fuck, Asato. Are you trying to kill me? I'm trying to restrain myself here!" 

And then his supposed restraint broke. He slowly withdrew, and slid right in to the hilt. His thick cock started to plunge in and out in an erotic rhythm, eliciting low groans from me as he plundered my previously virginal hole. 

His thrusts became faster, harder, as I strove to match his rhythm, nails digging into flesh. I left teeth marks all over his shoulders as his cock fucked me relentlessly, driving me to moan encouragingly against his shoulder. 

"Motto! Hayaku!" My fingers dug into his taut buttocks as he thrust harder, indulging my demands. I reveled in the sounds we made; his deep growls matching the erotic slap of flesh against bare skin.

Chet shuddered, and I knew that he was close. He started fucking in fast, short strokes, letting me feel every pronounced ridge of his cock as I stroked my own cock furiously, matching the same rhythmic thrusts. 

"Fuck, that's hot," he murmured as he pinched my nipples, making me jerk in response. 

Moaning, I felt the first tremors of my climax. "Da mé da. Iku! Oré wa iku!"

My ass tightened on his throbbing cock as I came all over our stomachs, breathing in harsh gasps, cum dripping from my cock. Then, I realized that my lover hadn't cum yet. I ran both hands up that toned chest, pinching his nipples as I sucked hard on his neck, still trying to catch my breath. "Naka ni dashité hoshi," I whispered.

His intense gaze snapped to mine. "Ii ka?"

Wordlessly, I reached around and squeezed his ass cheeks, groaning as he continued to ram into me. Without warning, I slid a finger into that tight asshole and I could feel his cock shoot cum inside my sore hole. He thrust deeply into me, his cock plunging hard with a few short jabs as the last jets of cum spurted inside me. Groaning, he fell next to me on the bed, drained but sated. 

"Fuck, Asato. You're a maniac, you know that?" Chet pulled me into his embrace, our bodies still attached. As his cock slid wetly out of me with an audible pop, I groaned at the sudden loss, feeling his warm semen trickle down my thigh. 

He kissed my cheek. "Daijoubu?"

I grunted an affirmative as I began to drift to sleep. 

"I didn't want to cum inside, not for your first time. You really are crazy." Vaguely, I noted that he didn't sound too displeased. Nor did he sound too drunk. 

Then I was in La-la land. 

The smell of greasy bacon and eggs permeated the air. Blinking groggily, I sat up to decipher that delicious aroma, only to grimace at the soreness of my butt and hips. 

I looked down at my state of undress, and was immensely grateful; Chet had taken the time to carefully clean my body of semen. I was now wearing a clean pair of my favorite black boxers. 




Identity Ch. 03



I tried to block the images of last night's tryst from my mind and began my painful journey to the bathroom. Ochisuité, Asato. Relax. 

By the time I stepped out from the shower, Chet was completely forgotten. 

"Ohayou, Asato. You look...yummy." Or not.

I tightened the navy-colored bath robe around my waist and pretended nonchalance. I had no idea what to say to him. I took advantage of a drunken dude, for fuck's sake!

"Morning," I mumbled, as I sat carefully at the dining table and noticed the extra addition of a white rose in my mini antique vase. "Why aren't you gone yet?"

He looked utterly scrumptious with his black corporate glasses and messy dark blonde hair. I shoved down the urge to reach out and straighten it. "You're not going to pretend last night never happened, are you?" Chet arched a brow in my direction.

"Depends," I mumbled through mouthfuls of scrambled eggs on toast. "If you're finally willing to relinquish some of those classified mysteries of yours." 

I turned to face him. "Look. Whatever happened in the past is over. If you want to be with me, now, then tell me about us. Because I want to know more about the person I used to be."

I gathered all of my courage and looked him in the eyes. Those beautiful sea-green eyes. "Suki da yo. Daisuki da."

His eyes widened at my declaration, throat constricting to form a reply, but to no avail. I snickered at the comical expressions flitting across that nerdy face. "You should see yourself. You look as though I just told you that today's Judgment Day."

A scowl darkened his features. "Sou ja nakuté! It's not like that, asshole. You just...caught me off guard." 

He held my arm and gave me a soft kiss on the lips; it was sweet and gentle, but it turned my world upside down, much more than those passionate kisses he'd given me before. "Me too. I love you, too." 

He chuckled and licked his lips. "But I think I tasted bacon. Oily and greasy and-" I punched him on the arm.

"-and addictive, was what I meant." We sniggered, yet another dumb new couple sharing a private joke.

Half an hour later, we were curled up at my sofa, watching an episode of Merlin on my flat screen TV. Chet reached for the remote control and turned it off. I turned to frown at him. "Hey, man! I was watching that."

"Not anymore, you aren't. And I'm ready to tell you now, about us." He slung an arm around my shoulders, staring off into the distance. 

"It happened a few years ago, back in February..."

Japanese terms:

Ocha. A general term for Japanese green tea, popular among the Japanese.

Nasaké nai desu. I'm so pathetic.

Baka mitai. Just like a fool.

Sayonara. Goodbye.

Asato. Ore no mono.  Asato. You're mine. (Literal translation: You're my thing/person)

Chet, chotto matté. Oré- Chet, hold on. I-

Kuso! Chet! Fuck! Chet!

Mada da yo.  Not yet.

Motto. Motto, Chet! More. I want more, Chet!

Chotto, Chet! Kitanai da yo! Hold on, Chet! It's dirty!

Mada mada, Asato. Not yet, Asato. (Literal translation: Not yet not yet, Asato. It's just slang.)

Chikara o nuité. Relax your body.

Oré wa-  I-

Da mé. No.

Da mé. Hontou ni...dékai da. I can't. It's really...too big.

Sou da yo, ii ko da né. That's right, that's a good boy.

Motto! Hayaku! More! Faster!

Da mé da. Iku! Oré wa iku!  I can't. Cumming! I'm cumming! 

Naka ni dashité hoshi. I want you to cum inside me.

Ii ka? Is it okay?

Daijoubu? Are you alright?

Ochisuité, Asato. Calm down, Asato.

Ohayou, Asato. Morning, Asato.

Suki da yo. Daisuki da. I love you. I love you the most. (Literal translation: could also pertain to "I like you. I like you a lot.)

Sou ja nakuté! It's not like that!