Tuesdays with Shuuhei

Rangiku Matsumoto may have looked like a stereotypical blonde with her big, giant boobs and wide, seemingly guileless eyes, but her Barbie-like appearance belied her strength and an iron will. It suited her purposes when people only saw the image she portrayed and underestimated her. When someone, particularly men, thought she was nothing but a pretty face and a great body, it made them ever-so much easier to manipulate. If there was one thing Rangiku Matsumoto liked more than clothes and sake, it was having her way.

Normally, her adorable, little captain was a tad immune to her charms, and this particular Tuesday he insisted she do paperwork. She hated paperwork. Phrases like passionately and with the burning strength of a thousand fiery suns came to mind when asked describe exactly how much she hated paperwork. She’d pled cramps and bloating to her captain, knowing full-well how much he hated the mysteries of the female reproductive system.

He hadn’t seen through her little ruse; after all, she’d played the part to the hilt, digging through her desk drawers for a pad that bore more resemblance to a diaper than a feminine hygiene product. Grabbing her stomach and moaning, she’d even asked if he knew where her hot water bottle went.

The only problem was that she couldn’t use ‘The Period Excuse’ more than a few times a month or he’d get suspicious. Not that she didn’t have millions of other excuses; it’s just that ‘The Period Excuse’ was very nearly failure proof. And fun. The look of utter terror on his face when she said words like ‘clots’ or ‘heavy flow’ always made her day.

And that was how she ended up in a bar far away from her usual haunts on a Tuesday afternoon hiding her reiatsu. She couldn’t risk her pint-sized tormentor finding her if he showed up looking for her at any of her usual hangouts.

The bar smelled like armpits, but the sake they served was tolerable. So she stayed, getting happily buzzed until darkness fell over the Soul Society. A cool breeze played with her hair as she walked home, smiling and nodding at people she knew in passing. While she didn’t admit it to anybody, it was possible she used the alcohol she consumed in great quantities was to dull the pain of Gin’s treachery. Then again, it was equally possible she just liked to drink.

In stark contrast to her lackadaisical attitude at work, her quarters were perfectly orderly. Everything had its place, and there was a place for everything. She walked through her impeccably organized living area to her equally neat bedroom. After she flipped the sheets back, she methodically took her uniform off and folded it before placing it carefully in her hamper. Next was the silver chain she wore, placed gently in a nearly empty jewelry box. If cleanliness was next to godliness, Rangiku was about as close to godly as possible.

She’d just slid into her favorite pink, light-as-air silk kimono when she heard a scratch at her door. After a quick glance at the clock on her nightstand, she ignored the noise. She took a seat before her vanity and started to run a brush through her hair; one, two, three, four... A few seconds later she heard the quiet hiss of the sliding door opening on its track. The strokes of the brush through her hair didn’t falter; eighteen, nineteen, twenty…

His presence was familiar, and not entirely unwelcome. After all, she was the one who had proposed their little, private meetings. Once a week, he would come, and later that night so would she. It was a simple agreement between two consenting adults; one she felt was mutually beneficial. But he wasn’t supposed to be there yet.

The fabric of his uniform made a soft whisper of sound as it slid over his skin. She saw his body slowly revealed in the reflection of the mirror, admiring the way his muscles moved, the way the shadows and light played over his flesh. She looked away, focusing instead on her own familiar mirror image while she continued to run the brush through her hair; forty-four, forty-five, forty-six…

She felt him move behind her, felt the air currents shift as he settled himself on the edge of her bed. She ignored the anticipatory flutter in her veins as he removed his armbands and then his choker and placed them on her nightstand. She ignored the need to hurry and concentrated on the task at hand; eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two…

Her nipples had hardened on their own by the time she’d reached a hundred. Rather than give in to the urge to turn around and start what he’d come for, she unscrewed a small jar of moisturizer and said, “You’re early.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” he responded as he stretched on top of the folded back covers of her futon. She swiped three fingers through the lotion and massaged it into the skin of her face. She saw him looking at her in the mirror and raised a single eyebrow at his absurd remark.

“I was very clear when we made this arrangement. You were to be here at precisely nine thirty, not nine twenty-five and not nine thirty-five. Do not make me regret-”

“What difference does a few minutes make, eh?” he interrupted.

Rangiku’s lips tightened nearly imperceptibly. She continued rubbing the lotion on her face and ignored his stupid comment. He sighed heavily as it became clear that she was paying him no mind. Once she’d finished, she divided her hair into three even sections and carefully braided it.

It was exactly nine-thirty when she turned to face her visitor for the first time. She allowed a small smile to slide across her face as she stood up and turned to him. She loosened the belt and the pink robe fluttered to the floor at her feet. His eyes widened, as they did every time he watched her disrobe. Miniscule pink panties sat low on her hips.

She permitted herself to feel a flush of pride as Shuuhei’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. With more wiggle than absolutely necessary she slid the scrap of fabric off her hips, and watched as his penis hardened and rose.

She didn’t let on, but male physiology absolutely fascinated her. All that blood diverted and pumped to genetalia for the purpose of sex. All that interesting biology at play with an end result, hopefully, of gratification and, possibly, procreation. Which she didn’t hope for- at all. But still, the basic mechanics of sex were very interesting, even from just a technical standpoint.

Still smiling, she knelt at the foot of her bed. She saw his muscles tense in anticipation of her next move, and that pleased her to no end. She was looking forward to reminding him who was in charge. With a few well-practiced moves she had pulled the canvas straps from beneath her mattress and secured his legs. She gave an extra tug, making sure the bonds were not only tight, but uncomfortable.

His wince sent a spear of desire straight through her. She got up and crawled up his body, letting her hard-tipped breasts brush the length of his legs and chest. She knelt so her legs straddled his chest and her knees were wedged under his shoulders. When she leaned over to tie his arms above his head, her breasts enveloped his head and she felt the warmth of his breath on the skin between them. He grunted slightly as she jerked the cord a final time. With a satisfied hum she sat back to admire her handiwork.

She scooted backward, rubbing her wet sex down his chest as she looked at his face. The room was dim but for the flickering light of strategically placed candles. His face, nearly as familiar as her own, was taut and fierce- a stark contrast to his obsequious position. She was once again struck by just how attractive he really was, especially laid out the way he was, a feast all hers. His muscular legs were stretched out at a slight angle, his corded arms tied together at the wrist extended over his head. His chest was free of hair, but there was a thin strip of it running from his navel to a sparse patch around his cock.

The facial scars and tattoos didn’t diminish the strong, clean lines of his face, but rather added interesting counterpoints to what could have been simply ordinary symmetry. She ran a hand down his right cheek, her nails faintly tracing the three ridged scars.

“You know I dislike it when my routine is disrupted,” she purred.

He jerked his head, up then down.

“And you won’t be showing up early anymore, will you?” she continued, a smile and the promise of sex in her voice, even as her fingers curved around his chin and squeezed painfully.

He tried to move his head, but the force of her grip prevented him. “Uh-uh, I want to hear the words…” she said as she tapped the tip of his nose with her free index finger.

“No, Ran, I’ll-”

“I’m sorry, what did you call me?” she interrupted as her eyes went stormy.

“Matsumoto-sama,” he hurried to interject, as a wonderful combination of fear and craving hardened his dick even further. “I’ll be here precisely on time from now on, Matsumoto-sama. I’m sorry…” he finished as she finally released his jaw.

“Good boy,” she said as she ran her index finger across his bottom lip.

With a well-practiced move she reversed her position, so she faced away from him. Then she inched her way backward, presenting her dripping slit to him. When she leaned back and covered his face, he licked her once, right up her center, just the way she liked to have her cunnilingus started off. Then he settled into a rhythm of pressing the flat of his tongue in slow circles around her clit followed by quick dives with his tongue pointed and stiff into her wet depths.

If his hands were untied he’d be plying his fingers all over her silky skin, touching her everywhere he could, tugging on those big, hard, pink nipples…

Forcing his mind away from all the things he couldn’t do, he concentrated on the sweet torture he performed. It wasn’t long- it never was- before her thighs were shaking from the effort of keeping her body upright. Just a little bit more, a few more swipes, a little more suction on her sweet, swollen clit as he lifted his head to get a better angle and she burst.

She fell forward with a sigh, allowing tremors to wrack her body as the orgasm washed over her. Tension, pent up aggression, all the worries she kept locked up tight, leaked out of her with every caress of his tongue, with every pulse of her climax. Her braid brushed against his upper thigh as she nuzzled his erection from her new, prone position. Her mouth was hot and wet as she enveloped his cock with her mouth.

Try as he might, he couldn’t quite help the jerk of his hips. The vibration of the hum she made deep in her throat went through him like a lance, and he nearly sobbed. She sucked and bobbed her head up and down, running her tongue over him in ways that made his eyes cross. He tried to concentrate on keeping his own movements smooth and fluid, but it was so hard. As she tickled the extraordinarily sensitive divot under the head of his penis with her tongue, he concentrated single-mindedly on the motion of his own tongue inside her. Not yet, couldn’t give in to the need for release just yet.

Rangiku’s hand snaked its way over his thigh to grab his balls. She squeezed gently, sort of rolling them in her palm. The head of his cock nudged the back of her throat and he mindlessly thrust forward. She hm-hmmed, the signal he was finally allowed to come, and he let himself go with a quiet whimper of near pure satisfaction. The first time they’d been together, he’d been so shocked that she was a swallower, that she seemed to take such a primal enjoyment out of licking and savoring everything he spilled, but now… Now he was merely thankful.

When she shifted and rolled off of him, he missed the view as well as her deliciously solid weight, but he anticipated the next part of the ritual they performed. Seven weeks now, seven gloriously perverse, submissive encounters and he still wanted more. He’d never been one for being dominated; preferring that role for himself, but Ran was something else. Every encounter left him wanting more, wanting to please her more.

She allowed herself a few moments to collect herself, staring at the shadows flickering back and forth on the ceiling as she settled herself for the next round. When she sat up, the flush in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes were pronounced, her mind already set, already looking forward to the next act.

With that same ease she settled herself over him again, this time letting her pussy trail a moist path along the length of his dick. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders as she rubbed herself against him, allowing the very tip to just barely catch the opening they both wanted him to penetrate.

Every time it seemed as she would just do it, let him slide in, she’d roll her hips and he’d slip right across her slick folds. The stimulation, the rubbing against her clit made her clench her fingers into claws that scratched his skin. She’d make him heal himself before he left tonight, as she did every time, just to be certain there was no physical evidence of their interlude.

He strained against his bonds, even though he knew the price, he couldn’t quite control the demand of his body to try to enter her. All that heat, all that wetness- it was too much for her to ask that he not at least try to penetrate her. It didn’t work, trying to hurry her never did. And there it was- his punishment. Her left hand moved from its spot on his shoulder and trailed across his clavicle, down his chest. Her sharp nails bit into his nipple as she twisted harshly.

“Uh-uh, you know better than to rush me, don’t you?” she breathed into his ear.

He shivered even as pain coiled a hot path across his chest. “Hmmm, Shuuhei?”

“Yes, Matsumoto-sama, I’m sorry,” he hated the whining edge to his voice, but she’d kept up the rubbing, along with the pinching and now he was reduced to that; to begging, “Please, please, just do it, fuck me.”

She liked it when he begged. He hadn’t the first few times they’d done this, and she hadn’t even known that he was capable of it. Strong and willful Shuuhei pleading, for her. She decided to do just that anyway, to give in to his begging, even though it would set an atrocious example. She flexed her hips and used leverage to wedge him the first little way inside her. Her breath caught in her throat at the sweet intrusion.

Wonderfully, agonizingly slowly she lowered herself further, feeling his blunt head scrape softly inside her tight pussy. The width of him almost hurt, almost, but not quite, as she stretched around him. Their bodies trembled in unison as she allowed and controlled the long, leisurely slide into her. It took forever for it to end, for her pubic bone to touch his, but it wasn’t enough, it wouldn’t ever be enough.

Her thighs tightened around him as she raised herself up, ever-so slightly, ever-so slowly. He could feel her interior muscles flexing, pulsing around him; driving him closer to the edge he wasn’t allowed to cross. Not without her permission.

Then she pushed down and her nails bit into his flesh as she threw back her head. A long, low moan filled the room, her or him? Did it matter? Of course it did. She was in charge; he wasn’t allowed to make a sound, not yet anyway. Reality bent as she pinched his nipples mercilessly, as she ground herself against him in small circles.

He counted in his head as she rode him, trying to distract himself from the inevitable. He was close, so close, and he didn’t dare cross her, but he couldn’t hold it anymore. With a quiet whimper he came, his hips jerking up, his head thrown back against her soft pillow. She came, too, a muted, sort of half wail ripping out of her, as she clenched around him, milking him, wringing him dry.

She lay down, her face resting against his sweaty chest, breathing his musky scent. His rib cage expanded and contracted as he gulped for air. She patted his head once, twice and slithered off his body. Her legs weren’t quite steady as she padded out to her living area to get some water.

Sweat trickled and tickled across his skin, and he felt an itch form on his right nut. His arms started to throb and the discomfort of his position slowly filtered through the post-coital bliss. He wriggled against his bonds trying to loosen them just a little, trying to find a more comfortable position.

She watched him squirm for a few seconds from the darkened doorway. She felt… something. A sort of tugging sensation in her chest. With a shrug, she pushed it away, as she had almost all inconvenient feelings since the betrayal, and walked back in to her bedroom slowly sipping water. As soon as he noticed her, he stopped any movement. Ice tinkled atonally in the glass as she set it on her nightstand before she resumed her position straddled across his chest.

She dipped her fingers in the glass and carefully plucked an ice-cube out of the water. She brought it to her lips and sucked thoughtfully on it as she regarded him with that wide-eyed, patently false innocent expression she did so well.

“Are you up for another round? ‘Cause, you know, if you’re at all uncomfortable, I could simply let you go and we could just finish this up next week,” she said after she stuck her thumb and forefinger into her mouth to pull the ice-cube back out.

His cock had already hardened again. The hand holding the ice trailed down her neck, and then down her chest to swirl first around one, then the other peaked nipple. Upon contact with the ice, they tightened further, into hard nubs that made his mouth water. She leaned forward and they swayed gently just in front of his mouth, mere inches from his mouth.

He strained to reach them, sticking out his tongue in his desperate attempt, but wasn’t quite able to manage it. She had effectively and thoroughly distracted him from her question.

She could feel his breath wash across her sensitive breasts, and knew exactly what he wanted. So she did the opposite. She leaned back and traced the ice-cube down the center of his chest. Swirling it around so it made goose-bumps appear in random patterns on his skin, she looked at him from under her lashes as she said, “Well… Are you ready to play some more, or do you want me to let you go so you can go home?”

All thoughts of his physical discomfort were gone, completely replaced by the primal urge to copulate. “Fuck me, please, just fuck me now, Ra-” he started to say her first name, but she interrupted him.

“Uh-uh-uh! What do you call me?” she asked with that cloying sweetness edging her voice that meant he was going to pay for his slip. She dropped the ice-cube back into the glass with a plop.

“Matsumoto-sama! I meant Matsumoto-sama…” his voice trailed off as she levered herself off of him.

“That’s the fourth time tonight you disobeyed the rules. We set ground rules before we even started this thing, and I need to be absolutely, 100% certain that I can trust you to follow them. To the letter. Every single time we are together. Now, how do you think I should handle this?” she asked as she paced around her bed.

His blood pressure rose and it felt like his heart was going to pound a hole right through his chest. She’d punished him before, when he slipped up, but he’d never fucked up as much as he had that night. He was both terrified and intensely turned on. He could practically see her mind churning, mulling all her options. She stopped in her tracks suddenly, and tapped the perfectly shaped nail of her index finger against the dent in her bottom lip in an exaggerated pose of contemplation. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded one of the candles.

“Punish me,” he whispered and took a deep breath, “Matsumoto-sama.”

She smiled and he closed his eyes as she picked up the candle. She dripped a trail of hot wax across his chest. It was an odd, searing sort of sensation at first then it mellowed to delicious warmth. Except she kept dribbling it back and forth, creating new blazing tracks over the old cooling ones, pain heating his blood. He sort of eased into the ache, allowing it to wash over him, getting used to it.

Then she trailed lower. His eyes popped open and he looked down just as a single drop of was perched at the rim of the candle, poised to fall right on his swollen manhood. He was just about ready to scream for her to stop, when she burst out laughing and moved the candle away from his crotch. The single molten wax droplet spattered the very top of his thigh and he sighed in relief.

“Oh gods, that look was classic!” she said between gasps, “You should have seen your face… Ahhh, well, what do you call me when you are in my home?”

“Matsumoto-sama,” he whispered.

“I can’t hear yo-ou,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“Matsumoto-sama,” he said firmly, clearly, loudly.

“And when do we meet?” she asked with a beatific smile.

“Tuesdays at nine thirty,” he answered.

“And who decides what happens here, when and in what fashion?” she asked with deceptive sweetness.

He knew what she wanted to hear, and while a part of him wanted to rebel, another part of him didn’t want to give her an excuse to end the bargain. To end the pleasures only she wielded. “You, Matsumoto-sama,” he said as he looked her straight in the eyes.

That was precisely what she wanted to hear. She sat down on the edge of the bed and languidly stroked his re-burgeoning erection. The ice was back in her other hand as if by magic, floating cold, slick trails across his wax riddled upper-body. Then both of her hands left his body, and her mouth was on his cock. Sucking, licking, tracing the pattern of the veins there with the tip of her tongue.

As soon as his hips lifted to meet her mouth, she released him. He missed her heat as soon as it was gone, but her body covered his with its exquisite silky textured skin and he couldn’t feel bereavement at the previous loss. Then his cock was enveloped by her moist heat, and he lost his senses. Nearly mindless, he lifted his hips in time with her downward thrusts, making them both pant with unrestrained pleasure.

This time he didn’t even feel the sting of her nails biting into his flesh.

This time she screamed his name as she came.

Once her interior muscles stopped gripping him quite so convulsively, she came back into herself, realizing what she’d done. She’d not called anybody’s name in the heat of the moment since long before Gin abandoned her. Without allowing herself the luxury of enjoying the aftermath of her orgasm, she rolled off of him and cradled her head in her hands as she perched on the edge of the bed.

She asked herself what she was doing. She couldn’t allow herself to be attached. That never worked out well, for either party involved. Being friends with benefits was one thing, but…

Shaking off the disturbing conclusion to that thought, she knelt at the foot of her bed and released the canvas straps that bound his legs. After vigorously rubbing his ankles and shins briefly, she sat back on the edge of the bed and untied the strip that bound his hands. With a hiss, he lowered his arms to his side, and just laid there for a while.

The marks on his body confused and excited her. The rub-marks on his ankles and wrists from the bindings, the scratch marks on his shoulders from her nails, the twisting trails of wax across his chest. On one hand she felt awful for marring his pale perfection, and on the other she wanted to do it all over again and more.

Kidou wasn’t really her thing, but she whispered the healing incantations she knew best and watched as his skin knit itself back to normality. He looked at her as if she’d grown an extra head once the kidou had done its job. Maybe she had. It certainly wasn’t normal or part of their ritual.

He got off the bed and rolled his shoulder and shook out his legs. Her strange behavior was weirding him out. He was supposed to heal himself. That was the way it had been done in the past. That was the way she insisted it was done. She was much better at it than he was, though. His wounds were gone, nothing more than memories and wax.

His clothes chafed his skin as he pulled them on, and he wondered if she would invite him back the following week. There was nothing he wanted more at that moment.

When he looked up, she had her robe wrapped around her body. He knew what her body looked like under that pale pink silk, and he wanted more. He wanted more of her body, of her mind. He wanted her, even if it meant being taken on her terms.

He lingered at her front door as she fiddled with the edge of her robe. “See you next week, Matsumoto-sama,” he said with a small smile.

She leaned close and gently placed her lips against his. They hadn’t kissed before, and the contact was electric. His tongue ran along the split in her lips and when she opened for him, he dove in like he did when he licked her pussy. She tasted like sake.

When she pushed him away, he felt the loss acutely.

“See ya same time next week, Shuuhei.”

~*~

I know I said I'd finish my other fic before I worked on anything else, but I couldn't help it... And worse- this isn't even close to what I had planned for my next project. ARGH.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. I sure had fun writing it. Review or rate and let me know what you thought...

Chapter title is a song by mewithoutYou. It goes without saying that the standard 'don't own/make money from' disclaimer applies.