Day 15 -Rape - Avatar: The Last Airbender

content warning: exactly what it says on the tin, this is pretty dark

Also, all characters are 18 or older obviously

The woman in the mask remained in the back of the tent where she’d been the whole night as the man next to her pulled his pants up and left. Azula caught her breath again and went back to trying to stare her down. She had given up trying to struggle against the restraints, several hours in all that did was deepen the burn and chafe some of the ropes were making against her skin. Her body was painfully stiff, held in the same spread-legged position for the five hours the sun had been up and now still here as the long dark set back in. Her cunt was raw and red, hurting in a way she didn’t even know it could hurt. At the very least, she wasn’t cold. A low but warm fire sat at her back like they were trying to slow roast her.

“How long do you think you have?” She spat at the masked woman. “It’s not a matter of if. I’m too important to just leave here. When they come looking for me, you’re going to wish they’d killed you.”

The masked woman remained sitting impassively.

“Not much of an interrogation if you don’t ask me anything. If our roles were reversed, you’d be singing like a bird already. The fire nation at least knows how to conduct war.”

“The interrogation has not begun,” The woman replied softly.

“You could have fooled me, considering that it must be your whole tribe that have raped me by now.” She sneered, “One of them must have been your husband, right? Was it at least good for you to watch, knowing he’ll never want to go back to your filthy, loose cunt?”

“Your resolve is a credit to the fire nation,” The mask didn’t move, its wearer spoke slowly, “But it is only making your ordeal worse. It will continue until your resolve fails.”

“How long do you think that will be? Clearly a day hasn’t been enough time,” Azula spat again, “Every hour that goes by, that’s another year I’m going to drag it out for you.”

“It will continue for as long as it needs to,” There was no more emotion in her voice now than there had been twelve hours ago.

Azula bit her tongue, the bitter sensation of realizing that she wasn’t making any progress was a bit of a blow. She didn’t doubt what she said, that her troops would come rolling through the village like a wildfire through brush, and that she’d see to it that everybody who was on her shitlist survived the raid so they could die very slowly back home. But it didn’t matter her confidence, even a drop of water on a stone eventually made leeway to the sea.

There was always an implicit threat of these things, being a female commander. It wasn’t a matter of the foe being vile or you being weak, it was simply playing for power. Until it happened to you, you couldn’t even know if you’d be the type to hold a grudge or not. She did, clearly, and she didn’t blame herself for it. Where the real anger came was with her squad, with herself for getting separated. It should have been a mission with a failure rate in the infinitesimally small, she had just gotten sloppy, unlucky, then desperate. Being alone out on a sheet of blank white ice that may as well have been the end of the earth punished all three mistakes. With no other direction, she had set out in the direction of smoke, knowing that it was as likely to be the enemy as an ally. What she hadn’t known was how much further over the featureless, burning horizon it had been than it had looked.

She had been stumbling, half-blind and likely half-dead in the snow when the water tribe scouts finally found her. Hands and feet numb to the point that they didn’t even seem to warm any more when she'd stop and heat them. They'd raised a collection of spears at her and she'd simply sighed.

"Finally."

The rest, really, was formality. They had made a tie for her around the sturdy center pole of one of their tents. Two rods which crossed the main one, her arms brought up above the top one and tied behind both her head and the center pole, then her ankles tied split to the far sides of the lower crossbar. Unable to cover her sex or pull away, her body was left open to be touched or struck and penetrated as whoever else was in the tent with her saw fit. She had to appreciate the ingenuity. They did with sticks and ropes what the fire nation did far more expensively with chains. She would have to remember the design for when she was back home.

For the first hour or two, a steady line of men had made their way in and then out of the tent, forcing themselves into her pussy one after the other and spilling their seed inside of her until it overflowed and ran down the pole and pooled on the ground. Now, perhaps having outlasted them to an extent, the flow of men was a trickle, and she had long moments like this to wait and stare down the woman in the mask. And, as it turned out, an incredibly talented bloodbender. The fire nation had tried to understand it for a long time, and now that Azula had first-hand experience with some of the more niche and precise uses of it, she had to admire both the physical and the psychological applications.

She had been trained to suffer indignities, war was war, but being forced to cum each time one of them raped her… if anything was taking a toll on her mind, that was it.

The first few men she had kept her jaw clamped shut and let them abuse her, then rewarded each with a spit in the face. Not letting them hear her voice, not begging them to stop or have mercy, that clearly bothered them to no small amount. Then the woman had been called in. After that, each time one of them would be about to penetrate her, the woman would make a series of gestures with her hand like she was trying to peel the rind from a melon with her fingernails. Azula would feel the blood shift under her skin like a muscle cramp, pooling and surging into her cunt, pulsing in her clit and making her leak wetness with or without her approval. Then for each man, no matter how small or large his cock, no matter how slow or fast he fucked her, no matter how long he lasted, even if he came almost instantly, her body would suddenly release with him the moment his seed touched the inside of her body. She would be unable to keep from crying out, even when she clamped her lips together and ground her teeth. Her throat had grown hoarse from voicing her pleasure over and over, only wettened when they came to feed her. A watery, oily fish broth that sat like air in her stomach, enough to keep her awake and alert, not enough to summon her fire.

One of the men came in. He had been in the tent more than once now, one of the few that either didn’t have a wife in the tribe or who truly got off on having something over her. He spoke for a moment with the masked woman in their language, she said something back and he pointed, she nodded. Azula watched him shuffled around behind her, then felt him playing with the ropes.

“You’d better make sure you don’t untie anything important,” She hissed to him, “You’ve been in here enough that I remember your face, you know what that means?”

He didn’t respond. She felt the pressure of the bar under her legs suddenly give way and then shift, making her wince as blood moved about from where it had pooled in her body and her muscles groaned in protest, he tied it again a little high up, meaning she had to bend her knees forward slightly, but she realized as well that she could actually move them about a bit now. Not enough to do anything useful, but enough to release some of the pressure on occasion.

“That means there isn’t a hole in the earth deep enough or remote enough for you, you fucking pig,” She tried to follow him with her eyes as he stepped out from behind her and toward a basket which sat on the ground near the door, “That means even if you run now, we’re going to scorch this whole stupid ice sheet rather than risk letting you get away.”

She watched his face to see, even if he wasn’t going to respond, if he was at least understanding what she was saying. If he did, he didn’t care. He found what he was looking for in the basket and stepped out of his pants. He was probably the largest of the tribe’s men, large enough to be painful when he wanted to or when she didn’t make the effort to accommodate him.

What he’d been looking for in the jar was a bowl full of the same fish-smelling oil that dominated everything in the tribe. The ropes smelled of it, the fire burning smelled like it, they all had it on their breath, whatever fish they extracted it from probably did more heavy lifting for their survival than the whole of all of them put together. The man tasted it for a moment, then dipped his hand in and started to rub it on his cock. Lubricating wasn’t something they’d bothered doing before. She wondered what the bent of it was. If this was something they were doing because they wanted to draw out how long her pussy would be able to hold up. If it was something they were doing because they wanted to make her cum without having to use their bending to do so. Maybe they just wanted to make sure she’d never be able to smell like anything else ever again. Honestly it would have been about as good of a torture tactic as they’d employed so far.

He said something she couldn’t understand again and the mask replied calmly, he laughed.

“Oh yes, very funny, I’m sure.” She groaned, “Don’t tell me you're losing your nerve on me now.”

The man stepped in and gave a smile full of crooked teeth, breath reeking of fish oil. He rubbed his slick cock against her pussy and the woman behind him made her gestures for what must have been nearing the hundredth time. Azula felt it again, the feeling of her blood suddenly stopping in her veins and shifting as a great mass, causing a blush that started in her stomach and ran down to the inside of either thigh, coloring her cunt bright cherry red. It was like a punch coming from inside of her, trying to get out through her pussy. Her skin seemed too tight, too hot. Her clit suddenly swollen fully again and pulsing with her heartbeat, raw and abused lips parting. Worse than the arousal, worse than knowing it was going to make her cum with or without wanting to, everything being so ready, so biologically overdriven for what it naturally existed for, made it so the skin-to-skin contact actually felt good. The feeling of slick, soft flesh against her own, exhausted and begging for relief from rough treatment, suddenly finding moisture and a gentle touch. Then he shifted his hips and the touch was gone, she felt the head of his cock press against her asshole only for a minute before it slid in roughly, spiking her with pain.

“You…” She gasped, “You fucking worm!”

She’d never prepared herself in any way for it before, the fire nation’s culture meant even the most sadistic torturers only saved their victim’s back entrance for the already broken, the personal playthings of sadists and undesirables. If one of her soldiers had even suggested sodomy, it would have been enough to have him drawn and quartered. Worse, she felt his disruptively large cock molding her guts around itself. Of course she was no child, she knew that sodomites, degenerates existed. She knew these things were possible, but feeling it happen, feeling her body respond to it, was a stinging standout insult on a day of nothing but.

“Fine,” She caught herself and tried her best to be impassive, to slip into the same dissociative state that had gotten her through the day so far, “Take your victory lap, make it count.”

It was a little stabbing cluster of discomfort and pain, the ring of her hole stretched raw and trying constantly to push the thing entering it back out again. She realized as it continued how her pussy still throbbed and ached. Her moisture still ran down her legs, clit pulsing even without any stimulation she would have considered pleasing. There she found the angle of it that she hadn’t before, that she was going to be made to cum from the one form of rape which she found truly insulting, truly unforgiveable in any context, let alone happening to her. She wondered if they knew, if the masked woman or this oaf of a man had any idea what they were doing to her or what it was going to make her do to them in return. If they knew, if this was intentional, then it was the most effective choice the woman had made since she entered the tent in terms of shaking her will and resolve. More likely it wasn’t. It was dumb, tribal idiots who longed for buggery finally finding somebody who they hadn’t fucked so thoroughly in every hole that the wayward breeze made them all whistle. It was like how a human could be told what not to touch or eat, but how sometimes the ultimate enemy was an animal. Likely purely by accident, they were insulting her as badly as she could humanly conceive of being insulted.

His cock felt larger than it ever had before, more onerous. She was intimately aware of the way his head was fat like a mushroom, how if he tried to pull himself completely out it would catch on the inner ring of her ass and pull like it was stuck. She could feel how he curved, how he scraped against the walls of flesh on one side but not the other. Her stomach turned, she felt genuinely queasy for the first time since they’d fed her their fishy gruel. Both the pain and the sense of her stomach being pounded, the feeling of her tormentors finding the last remaining bits of virgin flesh to defile, to mark with their smell and their filth. Now, she had been completely claimed, completely marked and owned in a way that she couldn’t just shrug off.

The man huffed and gave a few flailing thrusts, slamming his hips inelegantly against her butt before burying himself inside of her and releasing into her guts. He leaned in and pressed close, his smell and his warmth intimate and unbearable. His cum too hot to stand and landing against parts of her which recoiled and shuddered to be touched and to be colored by it. Then came the feeling of her blood shifting again, her clit suddenly on fire and her pussy alight with intangible stimulation like the moment of no return in a wet dream, then suddenly releasing, uncoiling in a way that was as toe-curling as it was unwelcome. She felt her ass trying to clench like it had every other time she had climaxed, but now biting against something, unable to complete the motion of musculature and squeezing impotently. A wet trickle came from her cunt and stained the bottom of her assailant’s tunic, a great wet spot to match the one he was leaving for her. She didn’t even try to stop from crying out, from making the weak, cracking noises of a woman who has already cum far more than she wants to and realizes she is likely to not get any relief. Not so loud as to strain her throat, not so quiet as to have lost her voice. Agony and release, embarrassingly hand in hand. Shame deeper than a mine.

When he pulled out she felt his cum spill from inside of her like she had become incontinent and she flushed with humiliation. The man patted her cheek and she had the wherewithal to spit, which just seemed to broaden his smile. Pulling his pants up and stepping back out of the tent again with a yawn and a stretch.

“I hope you didn’t think bloodbending and sodomy was enough to challenge my ‘resolve’,” Azula spat, “Because I’m still here, still thinking about how bad it’s going to be for you.”

“There are no blood benders in our tribe,” The woman replied calmly.

“Don’t play coy,” Azula felt like she’d been slapped in the face, “Why would you be here if not to humiliate me?”

“I am simply the medicine woman, here to revive you if you should pass out,” The mask obscured it, but Azula was certain she heard a smile.

“Fine, sure,” Azula knew it was a lie, but she could feel the seed of doubt settling in her head like a stone sinking into a lake. She had seen a blood bender at work, and while they hadn’t moved the same way, surely it was a quirk of the user, “When you’re back in the fire nation, we’ll find out your technique, no matter how long it takes.”

“Then you will be waiting a very long time,” The smile could still be heard.

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