Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10305578.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      モブサイコ100_|_Mob_Psycho_100
  Character:
      Reigen_Arataka, baby_reigen_basically, OC_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      VERY_UNDERAGE, welcome_to_non-con_paradise, Omorashi, Bladder_Control,
      Sexual_Violence, Public_Masturbation, Public_Nudity, there's_a_minor_with
      implied_sexual_experience_in_here, Bugs_&_Insects, unsanitary_i_guess,
      Blood, A_tiny_bit, Anal_Fingering, Foot_Fetish, a_bit_of_violence_too,
      some_unnecessary_references_to_religion_some_people_Will_Not_Like, really
      long_descriptions_of_things._lack_of_punctuation, Humiliation, in_which
      small_reigen_is_abused, my_writing_is_a_bit_peculiar_(just_a_bit), Other
      Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added
  Series:
      Part 1 of sour_pork,_spring_rolls
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-15 Words: 3753
****** agrodolce is the dressing ******
by orsyd
Summary
     here's the party dip, there's the hungry predator; please let the
     feast begin
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
She kneels before him, small forehead resting next to his ribcage, big eyes
staring at the pulse that moves his damp shirt in the places that stretch,
fabric wide enough to trick her eyes into not seeing his bulging lower stomach,
a part of him that echoes like the sound of iron shoes inside a tunnel with
every heartbeat, heavy footsteps pressing to his bladder, urine moving in waves
synchronized to the beat within his body.
His gasp for air is not enough, the acid hug of desperation unbearable now,
when frantic pants are the desperate and superficial way his lungs work to not
further contribute to the sharp pain inside his guts nor to the need of relief
his bladder screams, instead giving strength to what feels like the fine and
single thread that insists on keeping his sanity together. That's what he needs
now, while soft hands tease his skin, lingering on his ankle for what feels
like an instant until they begin to pull at the cords of his shoes.
"Hey, Taka-chan," says the voice, "your feet still hurt, right?".
Before he has the chance to manage his breathing rhythm and say no, she's
already scratching and pulling at the shoelaces of his left shoe, the swollen
foot not enjoying being teased. She finally unlaces it and is fast in pulling
his foot out, the smell of cheese suspended in the air, hot blood concentrated
in the vessels of his sensible skin.
Her face lowers as she moves his foot up until her nose scratches the wettest
part of his sock and inhales. He sighs at the relief of cold air meeting damp
cloth and boiling foot, sighs at the pleasure the nose that moves over
sensitive skin is giving and drowns the banging of his bladder and the phantom
pain of his bruised skin, even if it's just a bit.
The nose is soon replaced by fingers gently running over the fabric of his
socks and a signal is sent through the nervous system to his brain, promptly
catalogued as something close to a pleasurable tickle; a foreign sensation both
his foot and leg respond to by slightly twitching, giving in to the hands that
soon peel the sock from his skin, exposing the swollen, reddened foot and two
throbbing blisters, the embarrassing smell of aging cheese spreading through
his nostrils.
The girl watches and sighs contently, cheeks flushed and small knees embedded
in the dirty floor, tiny pieces of precedence unknown suffocated between skin
and inert ground; and ironically it's kind of how he feels, pressed between
pleasure, pain and the wall that's the only thing that keeps him steady while
preventing his body from moving and his knee from buckling further when the
hands resume their tracing and now massage the balls of his foot, starting from
the middle and going outwards; movements slow but fingers steadily pressing
against the set of kitten muscles, lubricated by the sticky perspiration of his
skin.
The fingers come down and there's a rhythm to them, a pattern that makes him
slowly close to coming undone, and it's painful in ways it probably shouldn't
be, his bladder trembling, heartbeat quickening all over his body, a throbbing
that reverberates in his dick.
With her nails she traces the contours on the sole of his foot, action greeted
by a shiver that rocks his body. He bites his lower lip, eyes fixated on
fingers and nails he can't see but can feel, hypnotized by the sensation. She
realizes and the hands stop moving, foot being held between them as her body
shifts and her head moves farther down.
Her mouth traps his big toe and starts to suck on it, eyes lifting to meet his
heated gaze, teeth trapping the bulb of the finger and slowly letting go while
her hands come to life again, massaging right in the middle of his sole, and he
lets go of his bladder control without realizing, and it just lasts for a
second, really; but he doesn't see the dark spot staining his pants as much as
he feels his wet and warm urine seeping through the fabric of his shorts,
wetting the length of his dick and dripping a bit to his balls. Her teeth sweep
under the portion of his toes that's obscured by the thin shadow of his nails
and he feels his will wither, hip thrusting into nothing once, desperation
translating into the moan that comes out of his throat. He feels the urine
pressing into his urethra, liquid gathering inside the thin conduct, and he
realizes he can't see straight, a world of things with blurry edges and vision
nearly doubling on the sight of the wet tent in his pants and the feel of the
whole mouth devoting to his foot and the two hands that add to the swelling of
his balls.
But then one of them moves up his soft leg and painfully pressures on the
hardness of his dick, and before he has time to thrust over the hand it travels
to the lower part of his stomach, revealing and caressing the pulsing bulge
between his hipbones, and shoves hard against it.
And all he sees turns white and his right hand feels for the wall behind him
looking for support, even if he's still conscious enough that he feels the piss
he's secluded escaping his body and the sound it makes when it collides against
the ground, something wet against something that's not, how it kind of sounds
like filling a glass with water; still conscious enough to feel the way his
fingers curl and his nails stab his skin, but his mind is drifting way over his
head, far enough he hasn't got to pay attention, hasn't got to care.
But his vision returns quick enough that he can still see the drops falling to
the ground; his wet pants suffocating the skin around his crotch, dark stain
inexplicably expanding up instead of down, soaking anything underneath. He sees
a mouth and he sees teeth and tongue, hears a gulping sound and finds eyes
looking up and straight into his. He imitates the action, throat constricting
against dry muscle, and one of his arms gets up to wipe the tears in his eyes
and the snot in his nose, choking on a sob.
The tent inside his pants is barely there now, wiped away by the stream of
liquid coming out of his dick, and that's the only relief he gets before
foreign hands grab his wet pants and pull them down. He snaps out of his frozen
state and tries to grab the hands and put them away, his blush even darker,
speech never coming to him. But the fingers are as strong as they're soft, and
when the clothes are removed the only thing he can do is cover his wet crotch
with both hands, heartbeat like a punch against his eardrums.
He's still looking down when the girl gets up on her feet, and didn't need to
look up to see how much taller she was compared to him, how sharp her shoulders
looked in the shadow extended on the ground.
"Taka-chaaaaan," the girl begins as she closes the space between them, hot
breath against his cheek, "don't you want to know how to kiss a girl?".
Not wanting to hear a response, she closes the space between them and takes his
lower lip between hers. His eyes open wide, and he can't seem to move his
mouth. His articulations feel like they're glued together with cement, his
hands pressing even harder against the wet skin of his dick.
Soon, the girl gets away from his face, an annoyed look showing on hers. "Guess
not", she says as her hands wrap tightly against his and pull them away from
his skin, uncovering his crotch, "but we can still have some fun".
He yelps when he feels her fingers grazing his soft dick, and he squirms
against the wall. A knee comes up to meet his wet balls as it tries to pray his
legs open, but he fights to keep his knees together. In response, the girl
punches his stomach hard enough to stop his squirming, and a hand moves to his
balls and pinches the slightly wrinkled skin. He screams and bends at the
waist, and the girl takes advantage of the situation by forcefully spinning his
small body until his chest is grinding against the wall he's been using for
support. His right arm is wrapped inside a tough hand, and he lifts the left to
separate his body from the wall. He feels the girl's bosom flush against his
back, and her mouth is so close to his ear he can hear it open, and the sound
of her tongue moving make him gulp, sending shivers down his spine. "There's no
use fighting, y'know?" her lips say, wet sounds resonate against his teeth,
"and besides, you shouldn't be hitting girls".
He looks down and sees their feet. She's standing on the tip of her toes, the
fabric of her shoes wrinkling in the lines between fingers and foot while she
shifts her position a bit more to the right.
The breathing in his ears disappears, and he finally can hear the high pitch of
the voices of kids, maybe his age. They're playing around the school, he
realizes with horror.
The abrupt sound of rustling clothes comes from behind, and he suddenly feels
the girl grinding against his hip, lower body rocking back and forth, the soft
and slightly wet fabric of her panties the only thing separating their hot
skin. She's moaning behind his head, sounds muffled by the lip between her
teeth. She's probably heard the kids, too; the rhythm of her hips is getting
faster now, almost erratic; her forehead resting against the crown of his head,
wet breath dampens near the nape of his neck.
He feels the air shuffle against his wet skin, and a hand is quickly placed
around his dick, the girl's chin sitting on his shoulder,eyes looking down. His
trapped arm struggles as the hand starts to pump, a suppressed whimper about to
come out of his throat. His chest is pressed closer to the wall, his left
nipple scraped against the rough construction. His labored breathing condenses
on the surface of the wall, and he feels how the rhythm of his heartbeat shakes
the building and reverberate through the walls.
The hand comes down between his legs, caressing the skin between his balls and
anus and he feels her smile on his cheeks as his dick stiffens. She moans when
she curls her fingers around it and he tightly closes his eyes, the image
engraved on the inside of his eyelids, and he wants to burn it to ashes and
disappear, praying for the hand to stop, praying for it to stop feeling good.
Tears come to his eyes again, his lungs incapable of stopping the leaden lump
that grows inside his throat, making him lightheaded. He doesn't understand how
he could possibly feel so wrong when his body seems to feel so right.
The hand pumping his dick tightens a fraction, thumb and forefinger stimulating
the head and his legs weaken, his body slumps forward and the darkness starts
to vibrate around him. He feels like throwing up and his stomach twitches as
his auditory system picks random noises, fueling his paranoia. But the fingers
press so, so good and the pace is so, so fast and his eyeballs start to roll to
the back of his head, balancing its movement as he feels it falling forward,
dry mouth agape in a silent scream.
The hand stops and his body feels like jelly when the girl peels off of his
back and puts three fingers in his mouth, the hand gripping his arm becoming
stronger as she keeps forcing herself over him, keeps taking without giving.
His mouth closes against the fingers, teeth sinking into their flesh as his
face grimaces at the foreign taste invading his tongue. She starts grinding
against him again as the fingers push their way further down his mouth only to
come back, slowly repeating the pumping on his dick inside his mouth. Suddenly,
the hand jerks too fast, too deep, and he gags around it, thick saliva flooding
his mouth. It's painful when the fingers slowly come back, and the foreign
taste mixes with the iron of blood on his tongue. Saliva slowly drips on the
floor when the fingers come out, wet and shiny, like coated in clear lip gloss,
a thin string trembling between the hand and his lips, but then the hand is
gone and he can momentarily breathe again.
He shudders, confused when he feels something slick and warm spreading his
asscheeks before associating it to the fingers wet with his saliva. A nail
softly scratches the delicate skin of his perineum and it hurts, but it's
nothing compared to the sudden pain he feels when two small fingers make their
way inside his ass and start moving up and down, left and right, and he has to
scream when a third one is introduced, effectively closing his mouth with a
powerful bite of his lip afterwards. The feeling of being this full is foreign,
uncomfortable and really painful, but he's not yet given the time to process it
before a powerful feeling of pleasure elicits from within and his nails dig
into wall and flesh and blood stains his teeth, his back arches and his dick is
hard again, all the previous struggle and stubbornness gone and replaced with a
silent resignation so loud that the girl's mouth comes near his ear again, a
smile obvious in the sound of her exhale, and says "see, Taka-chan? I can even
make it good for you, too". He responds with a moan that's muffled between
teeth and lips and tears and blood, and she laughs, a sick way of humoring his
agony as she thrusts her fingers harder. He fixes his eyes to the wall before
him, aware of the ripped muscle inside his ass and terribly conscious of the
way his hips thrust down on the fingers, his body addicted to the unfamiliar
pleasure and shamelessly fucking himself at a frantic pace.
While the heat clings on his skin and beads of sweat roll down his flushed
skin, his trembling nervous system is still terribly aware of every movement
that's going on his back and of the ringing pain going through his arm.
Everything seems to pulsate around him, the edges of the world blurring with
every heartbeat.
He swallows, aware of his closing throat, and his saliva feels as thick as
petroleum sliding down his esophagus, liquid managing to avoid entering his
windpipe. He pushes his forehead against the arm that keeps his face from
hitting the warm wall as tears dry out by the heat of his flesh, and he
accidentally looks down.
He sees his tiny dick, the shape of a vein at the side of it; how it pulsates,
going up and down with every jab he feels inside his twitching ass, mimicking
the feeling inside out. He can even notice the slowly burning pleasure going up
in his urethra as his small balls tighten more and more with every sharp
contact against his prostate and he sobs, snot coming down his lip and to his
chin, trying so hard to stop the hot and heavy urge of wrapping his own little
hand tight around his dick, spreading thick precum over the already lubricated
foreskin, pumping a sweet contribution to the immediate immolation of his body;
and instead of the bloody fingers that restlessly keep penetrating him he feels
like he's being fucked on an altar with a holy cross, divine eyes digging into
his retinas, watching every slight movement and expression of pleasure that
comes across his face.
Instead, his vision focus on the drop of translucent liquid adorning the head
of his twitching cock like a pearl and he grinds his teeth together as his
sight tunnels on the precum, and he notices: a black dot that climbs trough his
balls to the shaft, small legs stroking the vein along his dick, making its way
to the reddened head and going around it. He freezes as the ant resumes its
walking and gets to the top, small head and smaller antenna making contact with
the drop of liquid that rests on his slit.
He's still frozen when the ant gets swallowed by his precum and tries fighting
against the superficial tension of the thick liquid. It's only an instant, but
a scenario starts playing in his head where the liquid pearl gets swallowed
again into his dick, pulling the ant inside with it, slowly rubbing its way
into his bladder or maybe inside his balls, tiny black corpse getting swallowed
deep inside his body while he's being fucked from behind-
Then the tension breaks and the liquid falls to the ground, along with the
insect and a thrust so deep he chokes around his spit, but he can't close his
eyes, not when he feels millions of tiny legs crawling up and down his body,
sliding into his ears and nesting in his eardrums, resting in his nostrils and
tickling down his lungs, thrusting into his ass along with the fingers and the
blood, choking him in company of his drool, and God, he wants to scream so bad
everything stops, he wants to scream because this can't be happening to him
even if the pain and pleasure in his body tell him otherwise and he will just
wake up from this bad dream at any second now.
The illusion is broken when the hand that's been keeping his armlock goes away,
fingers pressing on the skin covering his hipbone, massaging his belly fat
before they suddenly go down and wrap around his dick, and he has never felt so
confined while being also free, his hand landing on the wall, supporting his
whole body. He moans and sobs as his dick is stroked, the hand steady on the
fast pace, lips and teeth and tongue nibbling at his neck, fresh tears rolling
to his jaw while some fingers thrust inside him and others stroke his cock and
pleasure waves rock his body. He tilts his head back, mouth wide open in this
lightheaded state where his lungs don't seem to work and he forgets all about
his surroundings, about his teachers finding him, about his classmates
screaming his name, he forgets all about his parents discovering him being
fingered by a girl a year his junior and cumming on a wall in the back of the
school, surrounded by the smell of filth and trash. He forgets about it all
when he feels his eyes start to roll inside the darkness of his brain, ass
walls tightening around the fingers fucking him senseless on his back as the
pleasure becomes solid and rapidly swims from his ass and dick to every part of
his body and he feels something big fall into his mouth, limbs tickling his
tongue, and he bites and his eyes go wide-
The hand is still pumping when he comes, cum dripping down the fingers and the
wall, adding to the mess of the floor, and he swallows. His legs give in and
trembling knees buckle under his small weight as he falls over fluids and
starts to reek, spread ass up in the air, softening dick and tightened balls
hanging between his legs, and he can feel the now cold air getting inside his
large intestine, he can feel his belly growing cold, but he still tries to
vomit because he feels legs running up and down his stomach, sees cockroaches
moving away from him and he's had enough of this, he wants to go home, far from
the blood, sweat, saliva and semen the insects seem to be so attracted to; he
wants to vomit himself inside out, to puke his thoughts and memories of this
afternoon over the mess of the floor until he only remembers his name.
But there is a tongue on his stretched entrance, traveling all the way down his
balls and perineum, wet muscle crawling over sensitive skin and soft cheeks are
grabbed by rigid fingers as he tenses, feeling himself being slowly licked
clean.
Soon, the hands and tongue are replaced by wet fabric and he lowers his back,
not quite sitting in his repositioning, not peaceful but quite numb. He vaguely
thinks about the blood inside of him, gooey and sticky against his walls while
he takes in his surroundings.
The noises that were once so strong and powerful are now so faint and he can
even hear the sound of the air being occasionally cut against the angles of the
piles of trash that surround him. The worst thing is the smell, one of the
senses that's been abused over the course of the day; the stink of rotting food
glued to his sinuses that sticks to his skin, sinking in the wetness of his
body, soaking all the way to his bones. He stinks, too; sticky with a mix of
fluids, and if sex smells of anything he has to think of the mixture that
enters his throat and nose every time he inhales, about how hot and sickening
it feels against the back of his nasal cavity; the humidity in the air making
it worse.
He pulls up his exhausted body, balancing his weight on shaking extremities,
and stretches his arm to distribute it on the wall. He starts to walk, ignoring
the sore pain that floods every part of his body, blocking away any perception
in regard of his surroundings or of himself; trying to focus on moving forward
with every step, eyes trained on the floor in front of him. There's a distant
thought remembering him of the longevity of cockroaches, about how long they
can live without their head, how many diseases they carry and how they are able
to survive in extreme situations, and he tries to make the thought pass as
another noise, to make it gone with the wind, to make it shatter against the
sharp edges of the bags of junk and never return again. He can't, so he looks
in front of him and just keeps walking.
End Notes
     - in which Reigen doesn't say a single word.
     English is not my first language and this is kind of long, so please
     notify me if there's anything wrong with the writing.
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