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BUNRAKU REMIX	By : scarecrowslady Category: 1 through F > Bunraku Views: 1379 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bunraku, nor do I get money from this writing. The original work "Bunraku" belongs to Guy Moshe.

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BUNRAKU

Amongst the Wolves

When the samurai submitted to the cuffs of the local enforcement officers, he had no real idea of what would come next...

“I hate paperwork,” the sergeant smirked at the slight samurai, who sat before him on a low chair, hands cuffed behind his back. “Paperwork, you understan' me, is of the devil – down there with policies and taxes.”

Yoshi's fleeting smile offered nothing. It was a small challenge of a sort – an “I am not intimidated by the fact that you have taken me captive” message which the sergeant recognized but did not comment on. The police officer knew it would all change within the hour.

“Which is why paperwork is for the zenith of night, for the time of slow minutes and boredom,” the tall blond man smiled down at his captive as he rose from his seat to stalk around the corner of the desk and loom. “Now, is a time for...” He leaned forward. Yoshi's back stiffened. “Play.”

Hard lips met hard. Yoshi tried to twist away – but the sergeant wouldn't have it. Pudgy, yet strong, fingers rose and trapped his chin immovably. Another hand lifted, fingers running up the pale, slim neck – enjoying the play of muscle and tendons which jumped with rising tension. Closing his eyes, the blond sergeant (Karl, to his friends) forced open the Japanese man's mouth. Without thinking – on automatic – Yoshi's foot lashed out, knocking the Sergeant off his feet. At the clatter, three men rushed into the room and laughed at the sight of Yoshi sprawled over the Sergeant – the taller man hadn't the let samurai go, pulling Yoshi down with him.

Yoshi gasped as he felt the man – already hard pressing up between his legs. Darting to the Sergeant, Yoshi's eyes widened at the barely contained lust found there.

“He can't get enough of y'guv,” one whistled in appreciation as Yoshi tried to pull away, arching his back (invitingly – but he probably doesn't know it the little fucker). “I'd take what's on offer – even if he's all cock.”

“I didn't think y'd go for ass,” smirked the second. “You switchin' sides? Watch yer back, gennelmen!”

“Hardly,” sniffed the first. “Just saying, Darby, if y'arn't afraid to seize the chance... who knows what opportunities present themselves?”

More laughter.

The third officer pulled Yoshi to his feet – and the second man (Darby) abruptly fell silent at the sight of the pale, heaving chest almost fully exposed as the crumpled hakama slid back – at the sight of the wild eyes, the long tumbling ponytail and the wet, swollen lips. Small, but delicate in their thinness. Twice as beautiful matched with the murder in the slight samurai's eyes. He understood then what this was all about – power.

“Y'like what yer seein', Darby?” asked Sergeant Karl. “I think we've got a treasure'ere – something a little untamed and broken – but... when I'm done with'im, yer more'n welcome to try out yer hand.”

“He's a tough hoss, Captain,” the silent third man shook his head. “I'd be careful like if I was yer.”

“I'm sure that he will come ta... understan' his position,” the Sergeant leaned forward again to claim Yoshi's lips.

Yoshi's teeth flashed, drawing a little blood and he twisted away, trying to kick the Sergeant, but the third officer held him still, twisting his arms up painfully. Karl laughed and slapped the samurai four times until the flat of his hand burned and the thin cheeks had turned a rough scarlet. As the samurai's head lolled, trying to collect his strength, the red hands fell, tracing the thin muscles of the neck down to the pale chest. Rough hands spread down – over the Samurai's nipples, jerking him to life. Someone laughed sharply – cutting through the suddenly heavy atmosphere – and the pent up lust.

Glancing around, realizing the quality of silence for what it was, Japanese spilled from his lips. Yoshi realized that for the first time in a long time, he could taste fear on his tongue – and before he could get out some suitable English – something that would change their lust to anger – something that would turn the tide toward a place he could understand and control – the lips descended again, moving from his mouth, down his neck, licking his collarbone before swirling around his nipples.

It's hard to stifle a whimper of pain, but it's twice as hard to still a moan of pleasure. It had been far too long for the samurai – the memory of a woman too faint – so that he found himself abruptly at odds with himself. He cursed the enemy – and himself for that weakness.

“I think he likes it, the fucker,” the first man said.

“Think he gets wimmin much as one of'em samurai, Kato?”

“Eh... well, he's gettin' some now.”

The third, quiet man let Yoshi go as Karl drew Yoshi close, his hands jerking open the sash and pulling off the stiff black material – his lips never leaving the quivering flesh. For a moment, there was blissful silence – Kato rubbed his groin absently, feeling his interest perk at the sight of the samurai's mouth silently mouth obscenities (no doubt). Then the dark eyes flew open – feet flew forward again, missing the Sergeant's groin – and everyone was on him again.

Fists pummeled – swearing filled the cool night air of the Sergeant's office – and the Japanese found himself curled up on the floor. He got to his knees only to be kicked down again. Cracking his eyes open a little, he could see the black bars of the cell they would eventually throw him into. He hoped. Soon. They would get tired.

Someone pulled him to his knees, taking pleasure no doubt in his imperceptible flinch as the bones of his shoulders protested sharply. Voice floated overhead – debating something – the adequate amount of English he knew hardly helped at a time like this –

“...pretty lips gotta be good for sumthin'...”

“...blow job...”

“...idiot! Puttin' a man's treasure near some'un as feral as a dog! He's only good fer one thing.”

Without warning, Yoshi found himself slammed down onto the wood desk. Pain lanced as the open cuts on is face scraped against the hard wood. Paper and writing utensils were hastily removed – and as cool air hit his thighs, as the realization that the Sergeant's desire still ran strong hit the samurai, the slender Japanese tried to twist free. Was slammed down again – his feet knocked apart – thighs spread – and he could hear, like a broken record some one laughing at him. He realized it was himself. Yoshi hoped that he managed to keep it inside. But all hazy worries disappeared, after a finger and then two stretched him uncomfortably. The third finger brought a moan to his lips as he felt something give – tear – and there was the comforting cool of the blood which ran down his thigh, bringing some sort of crystal clarity to the haze of shame and pain.

“Holy shit, the fucker is tight. Better'n those damn whores...”

“And cheaper too.” Another laugh.

Yoshi wasn't sure if that was good or bad – but when the middle finger hit something – a spark ran through his spine up into his head – something white and breathless and (oh kami!) so good. They wanted to come out – words of pleasure – so he bit down hard on those traitorous lips until he could taste blood on his tongue. Blood on his thighs – and blood filled his heart – his mind – as the Sergeant's fingers were replaced with something thicker and longer and harder and more cruel.

The rhythm was fast and uncontrolled. Yoshi took it in silence and plotted his revenge – and held in the pain as his father would expect of his son – but when the Sergeant shifted, something inside him sparked again and his back arched and his hips jerked and someone's hand was stroking his cock until the head leaked cum and when his tormentor came inside of him, he too found wordless light in a sharp white orgasm. After that, he lay there spent, panting heavily (gasping) as Darby and then Kato took turn.

When it was over, the samurai found no strength in his legs – or power to respond – so when they beat him and threw him into the cell, he could only find the presence of mind to pull his clothing back on as though what had happened had never happened... and the samurai vowed that when the time came (not if, when), they would find the price too high to pay.
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BUNRAKU REMIX