Darkdarling - Another Akio Sex Dream
Apparently I was some sort of
transfer student, and I had just enrolled in Ohtori Academy. I spent
most of my first day just wandering around in between classes, taking
the ambiance of the place, the white stone columns and the little
courtyards—it was so different from the schools I was used to back
home. Compared to the boring linoleum and enclosed halls of my old
school, this was a heaven beyond match.
I eventually got lost (as I always do in places
that are completely new to me), and I vaguely remember searching
for someone that I could ask directions from, but there didn’t seem
to be anyone around. Noticing a large clock on the wall, I saw that
it was midnight, and far past the curfew. I was supposed to be in
The first tremor of worry rippled through me.
What if I couldn’t find it? I couldn’t very well sleep in the hall,
and this place was so big compared to my old school—I took a deep
breath, steeling myself for the idea that I might have to stay up
all night searching for my dorm. Fully prepared to explore all night
if need be, I turned a few more corners and became not only lost
but hopelessly lost.
Eventually I came into the administrative wing.
I’m not exactly sure how I knew what it was—there were no offices
that I could see, and nothing to indicate that it was a place of
work at all. In fact, it looked more like an art gallery than anything
else—there were large still life paintings of fruit and flowers
on the walls, which were gold-colored, and in the center of the
room was a railing around a cutout that looked down on the floor
below. I walked over to the rail, trying to get my bearings, but
I knew no more than that I was on the second floor of the building.
I felt a sudden touch at the nape of my neck,
and instantly jerked away, facing the person that had come up behind
me without my notice. “I’ve been watching you for a while,” he said,
his white teeth flashing against skin the color of milk chocolate.
“You do know that it’s against the rules to be in the Rijichou’s
wing, and that it’s hours past curfew.” My every sense started to
mutter danger warnings; somehow I knew that this man was not normal.
“I know,” I said, unable to look him directly
in those sea-green eyes. “I can’t help it that I’m lost. I’ve been
searching for the dorms for that long.” I couldn’t help but wonder
exactly why he was wearing a purple tie with a red shirt. It was
an unusual color combination, to say the least, but he pulled it
off admirably. The apprehension inside my mind began to grow as
he planted one hand on the rail beside me, too close to my waist.
“Your hair is exactly the color of a palomino’s
mane,” he said wonderingly, delicately running his fingers through
it and lifting up a lock so that he could see it better. He was
really far too close for comfort.
“It’s called bleach,” I snapped. “I use a lot
Instead of becoming offended, he smiled. “You’re
tired, and I can see that you’re uncomfortable. The first day at
a new school is always hard, especially one so far away from your
home. I’m Ohtori Akio, the Rijichou, and I’d like to personally
welcome you to Ohtori Academy.” At the word personally, he leaned
forward a little, and I involuntarily stepped back. There was more
than a hint of predatory hunger underneath that smooth surface.
“Th-thank you,” I stuttered. I can only excuse
my inanity by saying that it was a new place, with rules that were
different from my own home, and I wasn’t sure exactly what they
were yet. At home, I would have been much more confident knowing
that an older man was so obviously hitting on me; here, I wasn’t
sure exactly what he was getting at, and it seemed sinister for
the Chairman to start talking me up at some ungodly hour of the
night when I was lost and supposed to be asleep in my dorm.
Of course, there was a rather large part of me
(my libido) that was all for this idea. Ungodly hour or not, sinister
or not, he was gorgeous.
“Do you like art?” he asked, taking a step closer
to me. At this point, I was pressed against the railing, so I couldn’t
back away any farther. I nodded mutely. I’m sure that my eyes were
wide with fear and that craving, but for now the fear was winning.
“Let me show you around,” he purred.
I nodded again. Apparently there were to be no
consequences for all the rules I’d broken tonight; it helped to
alleviate some of my anxiety.
His hand came up as if to pat my cheek, but it
ended up trailing gently along instead, following the curve of my
jaw underneath to my throat. “Good girl,” he said, his voice reminiscent
of raw silk and dark chocolate.
I instantly bristled; I hate being called a good
girl. It’s like being told that I’m a dog—obey orders and be a good
girl. I’m a cat person—I’ll do what I want, when I want, and if
I don’t wanna, I’m not gonna.
He laughed quietly, as if he’d heard my thought,
and then tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. We walked around
the rooms—I don’t remember how many there were, just that there
were definitely more than three, each with the same railing and
cutout floor in the center. Despite his fingers skating over the
back of my hand every so often and the way he held me too near,
I managed to converse semi-intelligently about the paintings. Art
history has always been an interest of mine, and I don’t deny myself
the chance to indulge in it. I don’t often deny myself the chance
to indulge in anything.
As we talked, the paintings grew less and less
familiar, until Akio was doing most of the talking, introducing
and acquainting me with the mythology behind particular paintings.
I knew nothing of the story; it was something about a Bride, and
a Prince, and I had never heard anything like it. I did recognize
echoes of myths I had read (another interest of mine), but nothing
rang completely true with those that I had heard.
Finally, we came to the last painting. It was
of a girl with purple hair, her back turned, long locks cascading
down the back of her pink outfit. There was a white hat on her head
and a suitcase in her hand. She was obviously walking away.
“This is my sister, Anthy. She left last term,
and I haven’t seen her since.” Akio’s voice sounded calm and even.
He seemed not to care that she’d left.
“Did you paint it?” I asked, at a loss for something
to say. My voice held a ripple of fear, but desire threaded through
it like a red ribbon. I couldn’t understand what it was about him
that frightened and excited me so.
“I painted all of the paintings you’ve been admiring
in the last two rooms,” he chuckled. His other hand crept into mine,
seizing it firmly, and the skin all over my body suddenly went on
alert as he stroked the tender flesh of the crook of my elbow.
“And the story?” I asked, trying to distract him
with conversation. If he was talking, maybe he would lose interest
in whatever plans he might have had. “What does it mean?” I still
wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to lose interest or not.
“I think you know what it means,” he said, his
eyes turning to mine and pinning them effortlessly. Panicky desire
roiled in my stomach; I couldn’t look away, and I wasn’t sure I
would want to even if I could. I suddenly felt as small and terrified
as a rabbit caught in the open by a wolf. Before I could react,
Akio’s arms had snaked around me, crushing me against him, and his
silver-lavender head dipped down so that he could taste the pulse
at my throat. One of his hands moved down, smoothing my short teal
skirt over my hip and then creeping underneath it. I couldn’t muster
the strength to resist—I was too torn between terror and sensuality
to even try. His lips traced a line up to my ear, and he murmured,
“Shall we go for a drive?” The hand under my skirt slid up my buttock
and then down the front of my panties, skating lightly over the
fabric, his nail scraping at exactly the right spot.
For aching seconds, I couldn’t even breathe. Desire
was not the word for what I was feeling. Thirst, perhaps, if I had
been a desert explorer who had just found an oasis that seemed likely
to have been poisoned. I teetered on the edge of drinking that deceptive
water for what seemed like eons, my body stiff with uncertainty
against his, and then abruptly my answer came in a near-soundless
puff of exhalation. “Yes…”
His finger pressed hard against me and he laughed
quietly into my ear as my hips thrust up to meet it. “I knew that
you’d agree. Come with me.” The pressure of his finger lessened
and then surged against me once more, drawing up into a lingering,
grinding stroke before it left. I sagged into him for a moment,
the fear heightening alongside the thirst, and then he stepped away
from me and began to lead me out of the door of the building.
I don’t remember the details of the walk; one
moment I was leaving the art gallery, his arm around my shoulders
and my body trembling with alternate waves of terror and desire,
and the next we were in the car. I was in the passenger’s seat,
and the car was accelerating far beyond the normal speed of any
car. Once we had stopped accelerating, Akio laid a hand on the shoulder
of my seat; at his touch, it began to recline. He turned to face
me, the red shirt open down the front and his hair loose and whipping
in the wind. “It is painful,” he said softly, a tiny trace of sympathy
on his face. “You’ll become used to it in time. And you’ll have
all the time in the world to become used to it as long as you stay
within the boundaries of Ohtori.”
My hands, clasped in my lap, made a frustrated
little movement. “I understand what you’ve told me,” I said. To
still my hands, I reached up and pulled off the red tie; the wind
tore it from my fingers.
A slow smile curved his lips. “You’ll be mine,”
he whispered, and I was vaguely amazed that I could hear it over
the rush of the wind.
“I’m yours already.” The fear, the thirst, began
to increase to a fever pitch. My hands trembled. I reached up to
the throat of the white shirt and began to unbutton it, fumbling
uneasily with them.
Almost tenderly, he caught my hands, pressing
them down to the white leather seat and unbuttoning the shirt himself.
There was still time to turn back, I thought desperately. There
was still time to say no.
I didn’t. Akio moved closer to me, leaning over
to place moist kisses on the sliver of skin that the halves of my
shirt had fallen open to reveal. Starting at my collarbones, down
the center of my chest, those kisses began to burn on my skin. I
cried out softly as he went lower, goose bumps breaking out on my
flesh, and as his lips touched my stomach and his tongue darted
out to circle my navel, my fingers threaded through his hair. Thirst
was now stronger than fear.
Unexpectedly, I felt a strong pull, as if some
connection had been made that was tearing my very soul from my body.
My back arched; I felt a frantic need to escape somehow, the rending
pain of my spirit separating from its anchors in my body centering
in the pit of my stomach—right beneath the spot Akio was kissing.
Despite that, my fingers tightened in his hair, holding him in place.
The warm puff of his laughter prickled my skin with lust. It was
unbearable, this exquisite marriage between pleasure and pain, and
I gasped for the breath to scream just as I felt my soul give up
its last connection to my body. The pain began to fade to a remotely
bearable ache; Akio’s lips continued their descent.
And then the goddamn phone rang and woke me up.
I hate people who call early in the morning.