What Daddy Don't Know
folder
Bleach › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
4,006
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Bleach › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
4,006
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
What Daddy Don't Know
What Daddy Don't Know...
She's a doll, Ikkaku's more generous friends warn him. Not a real girl at all. She wasn't born, she was made in a test tube, others sneer. Nobody remembers her ever being a baby. Or, she's a creation, they say, some kind of sick clone. Rumor has it that he made her from himself, man, and if you're sticking it up her it's like you're sticking it in him and if that don't wilt your boner right quick then you're too far gone for help, and you might as well resign yourself to becoming sick Mayuri's next experiment.
One thing is for sure, Ikkaku thinks, as he slips into her quarters, everybody seems to know. That is, everybody except her father.
Nemu is asleep on the floor, one arm bent under her body at an unnatural angle. At first he'd been livid at the way her father treated her -- if she was his, he would treasure her -- but she assures him she's never truly hurt, and from the way she can twist her limbs back into place with her hands all the while occupying him with her tongue, he's finally come to believe her. She does this now, after he's carefully petted her awake by brushing her hair back away from her face.
She smiles slowly, opens her eyes even slower. "Ikkaku... You're here."
Nobody else says his name like she says his name.
"They called a captain's meeting," he explains. "But we probably don't have much time."
Compliant, like she's been trained, Nemu lifts her skirt. This obedience, that borders right on submission, bothers him sometimes, but generally only afterward, when he's holding her against his chest and she's nestled into the hollow between his jaw and neck. Right now she's holding her skirt around her waist and he's been hard the whole way over here. He pulls her into his lap, facing him.
"When will father be back?" she asks. This is part of their routine. An unhealthy part. But now she's reached between them and removed his cock from his robes with deft fingers.
"Probably less than 20 minutes," he guesses. The shorter the amount of time he tells her, she wetter she gets. He can feel it happen as she's straddling the top of his thigh. He lifts her effortlessly, and then he's inside.
"He'll kill you if he finds you here," she breathes as she rides him. She loves him, and he loves her, so Ikkaku can ignore the way her eyes widen when she says that. Eerily, he can see her entire pupil, outlined in white.
"He'll hurt you bad," she repeats. "And then he'll kill you." Though what she says is strange, what he's seeing now is what the others don't see. If she were a doll could he get her so wet that he'll have to towel off before he leaves her? If she were some kind of creation, would he feel her shuddering around his cock like this? Would somebody bred for total obedience have to bite his shoulder to stop herself from screaming?
"It will be slow..." she murmurs, as the last of her orgasm whimpers out.
"But he doesn't know," Ikkaku whispers into her sweaty hair.
"No," she agrees amicably. "Not yet."
END
She's a doll, Ikkaku's more generous friends warn him. Not a real girl at all. She wasn't born, she was made in a test tube, others sneer. Nobody remembers her ever being a baby. Or, she's a creation, they say, some kind of sick clone. Rumor has it that he made her from himself, man, and if you're sticking it up her it's like you're sticking it in him and if that don't wilt your boner right quick then you're too far gone for help, and you might as well resign yourself to becoming sick Mayuri's next experiment.
One thing is for sure, Ikkaku thinks, as he slips into her quarters, everybody seems to know. That is, everybody except her father.
Nemu is asleep on the floor, one arm bent under her body at an unnatural angle. At first he'd been livid at the way her father treated her -- if she was his, he would treasure her -- but she assures him she's never truly hurt, and from the way she can twist her limbs back into place with her hands all the while occupying him with her tongue, he's finally come to believe her. She does this now, after he's carefully petted her awake by brushing her hair back away from her face.
She smiles slowly, opens her eyes even slower. "Ikkaku... You're here."
Nobody else says his name like she says his name.
"They called a captain's meeting," he explains. "But we probably don't have much time."
Compliant, like she's been trained, Nemu lifts her skirt. This obedience, that borders right on submission, bothers him sometimes, but generally only afterward, when he's holding her against his chest and she's nestled into the hollow between his jaw and neck. Right now she's holding her skirt around her waist and he's been hard the whole way over here. He pulls her into his lap, facing him.
"When will father be back?" she asks. This is part of their routine. An unhealthy part. But now she's reached between them and removed his cock from his robes with deft fingers.
"Probably less than 20 minutes," he guesses. The shorter the amount of time he tells her, she wetter she gets. He can feel it happen as she's straddling the top of his thigh. He lifts her effortlessly, and then he's inside.
"He'll kill you if he finds you here," she breathes as she rides him. She loves him, and he loves her, so Ikkaku can ignore the way her eyes widen when she says that. Eerily, he can see her entire pupil, outlined in white.
"He'll hurt you bad," she repeats. "And then he'll kill you." Though what she says is strange, what he's seeing now is what the others don't see. If she were a doll could he get her so wet that he'll have to towel off before he leaves her? If she were some kind of creation, would he feel her shuddering around his cock like this? Would somebody bred for total obedience have to bite his shoulder to stop herself from screaming?
"It will be slow..." she murmurs, as the last of her orgasm whimpers out.
"But he doesn't know," Ikkaku whispers into her sweaty hair.
"No," she agrees amicably. "Not yet."
END