Nejire Hado Meets a

It had been a while since you had heard about a hero's exploits. Years, in fact. You think, anyway. Sometimes you like to sit in your cage and reminisce about your childhood, picturing your old dreams of working hard enough to become a hero. To help people, to put your Quirk to use for something positive, for something truly good.

You sigh, leaning back against the cool iron bars with your eyes closed and knees pulled to your scrawny chest. Those memories were just sad at this point, something too hard to think about. Sometimes, you even wondered if heroes helped anyone, but hoped they did. Believed it, even. Still, you knew by now that they would never help you.

Thinking about the past was hard at this point, anyway. You try, brow furrowing in concentration, but as usual you can't even remember your original gender. It seems as if you're only left with a handful of your old dreams at this point, along with the whisper of a name: Ren.

Suddenly, your entire body tenses, and you let out a wordless scream. Your throat contracts in agony. Your eyes shut as your naked body thrashes and bruises against the meshed walls of your prison, electricity stunning you into a frozen submission.

A few seconds later, the feeling passes, albeit slowly. You feel yourself shaking and panting, your body on fire, but slowly look up with a smile. If you don't it will only get worse.

A face looks down at you from above. Grinning, with pointed teeth protruding from a reptilian face. Blue lightning plays across the man's fingers as he finally says, "Oi, cunt, get your head out of your ass and come with me. Now."

He zaps you again, his eyes brightening as you groan and push your feet against the wall of the fortified, slightly large dog kennel. As always, when you come down from the pain you almost open your mouth to scream at him, to beg for a chance to get up first. But he clearly knows that you haven't been given a chance to leave your cage let. You've long since learned about the sadism of your "masters," as they liked to be called. Saying anything only makes things worse. At least it isn't the wife this time, she's somehow even crueler.

He waits, eyeing you. Finally, he says, "Good, here's the key."

You scramble as the key gets tossed at you, trying desperately to get to it as quickly as possible. With shaking, tired hands you grasp it and stretch your fingers outside of your cage. You move as fast as you can without dropping it. After some fumbling, you manage to finagle the key into the padlock and pop it open with your outstretched fingertips.

"Took you long enough."

"Wait, ju-"

Your words are cut off as yet another volley of electricity flies into every muscle you have. Locked in agony, you writhe as much as your stiffened body will allow for what feels like hours. It can only be minutes though, or perhaps seconds. You hope.

When the bastard finally releases you, he taps his foot impatiently and says, "C'mon then."

Biting your tongue, literally, you shakily stand to your feet. Your body is already in the process of healing you, but there's only so much it can do when you're being starved of energy. God, you hate that you need it, but you do.

It seems like they like you to be beaten up though. They certainly don't do anything about the deep cuts on your chest, bony back, and concave stomach. You rub your aching neck as you follow the man down the hall, limping all the way.

As you pass by a metal door, you glance at your reflection. Gaunt. That's the only word that can come to mind. Dark eyes stare back at you, sinking into a thin face. If your life depended on it you couldn't find a speck of fat on yourself. The white shirt you're wearing is torn to shreds, only barely hanging onto your short, wiry frame. At one point they let you wear pants, but now that your body can't sustain itself they like to let you and the patrons see your smooth skin where genitals used to be.

You shake your head, seemingly for the thousandth time, unable to picture yourself. Your real self. If there ever was such a thing.

Nowadays, it's all just a hazy pattern of waking and sleeping and **** and denial and pain. No room for memories, no ability to heal, to change, to feed. You **** back a sob, hating yourself for needing to feed at all.

"Hey, focus up freak."

"Yes master," you say to the ground.

The man raps on a door. A brief scuffling sound emanates from it before it opens. A portly man with gray hair and small glasses peaks out the door, sporting only boxers.

The man sees you and grins, his eyes lighting up. He turns to your reptilian captor and says, "This is the bonus package? What do I have to do?"

Your master says, "Yes sir, this is the bonus package. You don't have to do anything at all. Candie has a wristwatch, and if she pushes the red button it'll get the shock of its life. Its quite well trained though, so that hasn't been necessary. The watch is just a precaution. And it will watch the wall while its inside, with earplugs in. Unless you'd prefer otherwise, of course."

"Of course." The man looks at you like an obese man about to chow down on a dessert. Long ago you gave up the hope that one of the patrons would give a fuck about you. It's all the same, every damn day.

You put in the earplugs offered to you and then stand in silence despite your quivering legs. The earplugs were an ingenious design, really. You couldn't hear enough to know what was happening or make out words, but they let in just enough sound to keep you alive with a few clients a day. Usually.

The man finally realizes you are waiting for him, and ushers you in impatiently. You step into the dim room lit only by candles. If you looked around, you're sure that you would see a lavish bed and well decorated, softly colored walls. Candie, one of the more cruel yet alluring prostitutes, would be lying naked and using all of her acting props to pretend like she wanted this man in bed.

Instead of looking, however, you just silently move into your corner and stare straight ahead. You really are a well-trained dog, you think, wishing yet again that your body would just collapse and let you end it.

With a deep breath, you relax your body and forgo your focus. Soon, you know that your pheromones are releasing from your body. Within minutes a soft, inconsistent, and nearly imperceptible sound permeates your earplugs. They're fucking.

Your body shakes in **** need. You hold your arms around yourself, only managing to refrain from sobbing due to your knowledge that Candie would punish you for it whether the client liked it or not. Not that you have the liquids for tears anyway. The shaking was another thing they tried to beat out of you for a few years, but the beatings never took. It was just the automatic response of a body in withdrawal.

Behind you, you can sense the sex. An image pops into your mind of Candie thrusting her hips, her modest tits bouncing wildly in his face. Luckily they didn't know you could do that. Not that it was nourishing or anything. Still, you can't even imagine the horrors they'd put you through to prevent it. Their clientele tended to be quite private.

The heat in the room kept going up. It's unlikely something someone else would notice, but the sexual desire of the two people behind you is starting to drive you wild. You can feel it in the way their bodies move and in their biology. The guy seems extremely pent up, which is good for you.

You shiver, fingering a gash on your right side that's starting to close. On the one hand, it's nice to know you probably won't die of malnourishment tonight. On the other hand, if you heal too much Mr. Reptile outside might get it into his head that the whip laced with bone would be a good choice for tonight. Followed by his trademarked electric shocks, of course. He was certainly predictable, not that it helped you any.

Your eyes widen slightly. The man behind you is clearly about to cum, and with your pheromones, Candie will be there with him. It takes all your willpower to stay facing the wall.

Just before he finishes, you feel Candie jump off him. She reaches to grab something, still near finishing herself, and turns back to the man. He grunts, cumming in pent up waves in Candie's direction. Normally, you knew that she preferred to stand off to the side and let the male clients finish in their condom, but you assume that this must be one of the rare wealthy and clean clients who paid an obscene extra fee.

As the man ejaculates towards Candie with something in his hands, you feel Candie come to her own squirting climax. However, one of her arms seems a little too low and open to be touching herself. Her mouth opens, and you like to think that her screams somewhat reached your ears.

Finally, the two lay down on the bed, spent. Candie presses the good button, and your master enters the room. That must mean that the two are safely under the covers. In their post-orgasmic states, you can still sense them, so you can tell that they seem to be cuddling.

Electricity courses through your body and you manage a small scream, falling into the wall. It's over in a second. With bleary eyes you look up at the reptilian man, blinking.

"Slaves look down." He opens his hand and your hair stands up as you writhe on the ground, dry heaving and at a loss for any sort of thought. Finally, he lets up and you come down from your torment, breathing hard.

He spins you around. You try to cover your eyes, aware of what will happen if you look at a client, but he kicks you and grabs your hair. The sharp pain would make your eyes water if that were even possible, but you finally get the message and look where he's pointed your face.

Before you, a plate and a cup are resting on the ground. Cum. Male on the plate, female in the cup. That's what Candie's hands were up to. But why?

This isn't exactly a time to question the gods. You dive forwards, mouth already open. Just before you reach it, you hear the man behind you say, "Uh uh uh, nice try."

You see stars. Exerting an uncharacteristic amount of will you refrain from breaking the plate and manage to fall backward. Above you, a man laughs on the bed. Candie chuckles along with him, but you only really register it when the electricity finally stops.

While holding Candie, the man on the bed says, "Too slow, too slow!" He breaks out in cackles yet again, and Candie joins him while he fondles her breast.

"Want another stab at it?" The reptilian eyes you sidewise, waiting to pounce.

You're not sure if you'll be able to help yourself at this point, but you try. Once upon a time, you might think about making a run for the cum. By now though you know you're just not fast enough. At this point, the only question is if you'll get hurt more by not playing their sadistic game or by playing it.

It turns out the answer was the former. You sit still, eyes shut, shaking as you desperately fend off your aching need for cum. After a short while, you hear the man on the bed say, "C'mon, do something."

Your tormentor shocks you immediately. It lasts several times as long as before. When it's over you can barely think. Everything feels... scrambled, or something. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your captor slip on his patented gas mask, which mostly protects him from you.

"Tick tock, tick tock," says the man on the bed. And he's hard. Seriously. He's fucking hard right now, already. Suddenly, you get where this going. The guy's sadistic fetishes spring into your mind. It all makes sense now.

Instead of diving forward, you close your eyes and push out as many pheromones as possible. It doesn't do anything at first, and you flinch when the man beside you starts to raise his hand. Suddenly, Candie and the man on the bed flush. You feel their sexual energy peak. They dive into a hungry kiss, grinding their naked bodies together. After a few breathless moments, the man sits up with his back to the wall and Candie begins to ride him, her hands splayed out on the wall above his head.

He stares at her tits for a minute, thrusting in time with her, then looks back at you. Hungry. The hands beside you twitch. You realize that a dive at the food is probably what's required for the least frying here. Which is good, because you're not sure if you could hold yourself back for much longer anyway.

With a growl, you propel your battered body across the floor. The man on the bed groans and you can feel his excitement grow exponentially. For a split second, you think you might have a chance to turn the tables when your hand brushes up against the plate. Instead, you feel a familiar and agonizing feeling course through your veins. Your heart stops beating, but it doesn't matter. Not for you. Especially with those two fucking in your eyesight.

Hell, as bad as it is to be locked in undying agony, this whole experience is healing your body a bit. It's clear to you now that the bony whip will be on the menu later.

Finally, the man and Candie cum and it makes its way into your subconscious. You feel a little better when the electricity stops a moment later, the orgasms fueling your shaky recovery. You can tell that the man creampied Candie, which is just another power bonus for you. Not enough to do anything besides make you need the cum in front of you marginally less, but still.

You weakly fall forwards, towards the plate. No one notices since your captor's eyes have momentarily been drawn to Candie hurling obscenities at the man. Apparently, he paid just for you and a privilege or two, not the full experience. He could've lived if he just pulled out. While they're distracted you lap up one lick of the still warm cum on the plate, too scared to have any more. It isn't enough to do much, but it's your first taste in months. Maybe it'll help you with the pain later or something.

You lean back just before the reptilian man beside you glances over, swaying on your knees. He pulls you to the corner of the room, clearly ready to wreak havoc on the quivering mass of fat on the bed. Even with all you've been through, a small part of you wants to help him. Maybe you are a bit too forgiving. Even if you would be willing to try, though, you can tell that you can't. Standing was going to be a no-go for a little while.

As your captor steps menacingly towards the man on the bed and Candie angrily gathers her clothes, a red light bathes the room, and a loud alarm blares.

You look up, confused, and see an alarm light set into the ceiling. Huh. You guess they just never needed that before.

In a blinding flash, your master pulls a pair of handcuffs from his belt and chains you to the heavy bed frame. You imagine that you could have moved this bed at one point, but you and he both knew those days were well behind you.

"Stay here," he growls at you. Turning to Candie, he adds, "Get to the merchandise."

Her eyes go wide before she nods and flees the room, her clothes still just pressed to her bosom. You watch her naked rear get in gear. The way it jiggles and her embarrassment work together like a light refreshment that aids the recovery of your jello body.

To the man on the bed, he menacingly added, "I'll be back for you too." With that, he turned and sprinted from the room, his hands up. You pitied the jackass that must have broken in to make a quick buck from a whorehouse. Good luck with that shit.

Your eyes turn to the man on the bed. His eyes stare at nothing. Clearly, he drew the short end of the stick, and nature decided to give his fat ass a predisposition towards freezing when under duress.

Your mouth is dry. Almost too dry. You raise your handcuffed hand as the alarm blares, looking at him expectantly. Maybe he'll let you go for a bit of protection. You don't allow yourself to hope, of course. You just figure that you might as well go through the motions.

As expected, your motion got the guy into gear. He threw on his pants and shirt, not bothering with underwear, and never glanced at you once before he was out the door. Probably trying to run and get away from his punishment. You remember the last time someone tried that; they were back in a month. Well, their charred head was back.

As you sit, you hear a commotion below you. Which is odd, because the floors and walls are several feet thick and made out of solid steel. A faint whirring sound reaches your ears, and occasionally it pops in a loud, explosive sound.

The delicious scent from the plate and cup reaches your nose now that your pheromones have been absorbed and died down. It's all-encompassing, and you find yourself absentmindedly pulling on your restraints while waiting for the inevitable **** that would be coming whenever the masters finished up torching their unwelcome guests.

You feel odd. Bubbly. Tingly. Like there's something inside you that you can use. As your fried brain thinks about that, you see something flash by your door. You see periwinkle hair, a flash of green and yellow. And a face that looks at you with... concern? Pity?

No, you must be imagining that. Just another hallucination.

The whirring sound returns in full **** and you feel it in your chest as it hits its explosive and energetic peak. Metal peals, as if a door was torn from its hinges, but that's stupid. Unless the masters were incredibly enraged.

Shit.

Your eyes widen. Tingly. Powerful. Not as hungry. You realize that you licked cum.

Suddenly frantic, you look down at your arm and focus in. It's been so long since you had enough juice to do this, you just hope you have enough. You tap into your training, taking slow, measured breaths, and find in yourself a slight fetish for tentacles. Ugh. Then, you focus on your hand.

At first, nothing happens. You almost stop, giving into your broken psyche, but you dig in deep by allowing yourself to feel your first modicum of hope in years. After a minute of painfully staring you feel your hand start to restructure itself. Your bones fade away as the cells change their essential characteristics. Your skin turns to a shade of light purple and becomes slimy.

The transformation stops early, and you can tell that you're out of juice. That's now working in conjunction with the electric **** from earlier, and you can feel your body decaying, failing to rebuild. Your eyesight dims, but you manage to power through now that there's finally an end in sight, a sliver of a chance at freedom. And hey, if you fail you won't have to do this anymore. In that case, you'll get to spend some time with your friends in the dirt. So this is a win-win, really.

The bones in your hand are almost completely gone, and you're left with a thin and floppy mess. It was a thrill to transform again, even if it was your last time. With an agonized grunt, you pull your tentacle hand through the constricting handcuffs.

You got it done. You're finally free. If you can get out of here, at least. And also get enough power to, y'know, live.

You crawl on the ground, your exposed ribs sliding painfully against the floor. Your arm is shrinking slowly in front of you, and you can see patches of skin that almost look like they're boiling. You're sure that your insides are the same way at the moment.

The cum-covered plate hits your hand and you smile. A genuine smile. You hope it's the first of many. Desperately, you lick the drying plate. It doesn't do much, but you can feel your skin starting to calm down, if only a little.

Behind you, you hear feet being dragged across the floor. You look back, still licking the plate, and see your two captors. You almost drop the plate, tensing in fright, but then notice that they have some sort of mechanical gloves on. And also that they look simultaneously enraged and frightened. The only other time you'd seen that was when they brought up divorce last year, but this was gloriously ten times worse.

They are whimpering, not even speaking as they get thrown back into a wall, their feet tied together as well. The wife saw you and snarled, letting out one final, "Freak!" before being moved out of sight by an unseen assailant.

It was fair, though. Your heart sank. At this point, you think that you were probably about to die at the hands of an even more powerful villain. At best they would ignore you so you could escape, but what then? Your memories of society are hazy at best. You probably need some sort of ID at least, and it's not like many people will just be willing to drop trow and give you a "meal."

You're pretty sure that there's something called sexual harassment, or something. Regardless, it might be better for you if this did end tonight. Even if you can't remember the finer details of your past right now, you do think that your Quirk didn't exactly make you Mr. Popular. Or Mrs. Popular. Huh. That's probably another issue right there...

You feel your skin moving again and realize that the plate is about as clean as you can make it. Tossing it aside, you grab the cup. Some of Candie's juices are still in there, and you chug them down greedily. Your vision continues to dim, and you feel a headache unlike any you've felt while not under the effects of a lightning blast. Well, you might have felt something similar way back when the masters were testing out how to keep you on the brink of ****. News flash: BRINK of **** is not equivalent to ****.

The cup is empty, but you see your arm is still swirling. Or maybe your vision is. Regardless, you need more. Some of it is surely dried on the cup, right?

Without a second thought, you shatter the glass, though you do it softly enough to keep the shards nearby. Figuring that if you lived your cuts would go away after a night of passion, you dive in, lapping at the biggest pieces of the mug. It does cut your tongue, adding a decidedly iron taste to your precious, squirted juice, but you pay it no mind. You're mostly able to avoid that pain, at least.

You sit there for a while, losing vision and licking the shards of the mug. The sounds outside dim, but you barely notice. It seems to you as if you're gaining a small amount of vitality, but at this point that could mean anything. Passing out seems inevitable even if your body does heal enough.

Unfortunately, that's how she found you. A creep, lapping up the discarded cum of his or her or their or its tormentors. You know you were failing to have any self-control, that you were cursed to be enraptured by the taboo in life. To be the taboo in life. At least you never got the chance to fail as a hero.

That's the sort of thing your totally healthy mind was thinking when she walked in anyway. Well, that was a much lighter version of the darkness inside, but you get the gist. It is your brain.

You hear her trod in, though you don't fully register it. You're too focused on the cum. And the fact that your cuts are starting to fade a bit. The muscle in your right bicep wasn't even split anymore. It's been a long time since that was the case.

You jump when a high-pitched voice says, "Hi! I'm Nejire Chan, the hero!"

The... hero? What? You turn and see a cute woman staring excitedly at your quivering form.

"Sorry I couldn't come in here sooner, but I was soooo busy with those villains out there. We got the goods though, don't you worry about that!"

You manage to stop licking for a moment and say, "Um, wha-"

The bubbly woman obliviously cuts you off, her eyes alighting on your hand. She says, "Oh! Is that a tentacle? Are you a squicky octopus or something?"

"No, I'm-"

"Woah, what's up with your skin? Are you malleable or liquid or what? C'mon, what gives? Oh oh OH! Is that why your cuts are getting smaller?"

What a weird girl. You absentmindedly lick the shard of the mug in your hand, then say, "Well, not exact-"

"Did you just lick that glass? That's weird. Not good for you too, y'know. Or is it?" Her face scrunches up in momentary confusion.

"It kind of is, um-"

"Really, are you serious? Why? What's your Quirk? You must have one!"

Before you can say anything, she looks down and says, "Hey wait, are you a guy or a girl? It looks like it's changing down there. SORRY!" She averts her eyes, giggling nervously.

Wait, it's changing down there? That's going to take power. You start to think, trying to figure out if you're seeing her fetishes or fantasies or anything. Things are coming to mind, but it's hard to grasp anything. Maybe because your vision is getting darker and you can barely see. Yeah, there won't be many more seconds of lucidity left. Hopefully, this woman can actually help. It's hard to get a read on her. Did she really beat the masters? Did she have help?

You say, "Did you have-"

She bounces, yellow light momentarily bouncing from her hands, and says, "Wow, you're changing even more! Do you do that on purpose? C'mon, spill it!"

You open to respond to this buxom beauty, hoping to get a word in edgewise. Your body's typical perfect timing comes to the fore as your vision goes completely black. You barely feel your head hit the floor. The last thing you hear is a muttered, "Oh, should've led with asking if he was alright."