samurai

My cheek is pressed against the cold tatami mat, but I can't feel the texture. All I can feel is the overwhelming heat of the two Samurai who have claimed me as their property for this afternoon's ritual. My legs are spread painfully wide, hooked over the shoulders of one warrior, while the other presses his massive, throbbing cock against my face, demanding entry.

I am Akane. In the eyes of the Shogun's court, I am nothing more than a beautiful, breathing vessel. A 'Free Use' instrument of pleasure and nutrition. Some might say it's a waste of a woman's life, but those people have too many thoughts in their heads. They have 'dignity' and 'pride.' What a terrible burden that must be.

"Akane... please..." a whimper comes from beside me.

I glance sideways through half lidded, glassy eyes. My girlfriend, Hana the High Priestess of the Order of the Sacred Cock is in an even more desperate state. She wears her ceremonial silk robes, but they have been torn open to expose her pale, trembling body. She is currently being knelt over by a third Samurai, her ass upturned and glistening with the overflow from her last feeding.

"Hana is being very good today, Akane," the Samurai behind me grunts, his hips slamming into my cunt with the force of a battering ram. Each thrust sends a shockwave through my body that makes my brain feel like it's dissolving into warm honey. "She knows her purpose. She knows she exists only to be filled."

"I know..." Hana sobs out, her voice thick with ecstasy. "I am... the Priestess... I serve... the cock... I am empty... please fill me!"

We are two lovers, yes, but our love is not found in poetry or quiet glances. Our love is found in the shared ritual of surrender. When we come together, it is to press our slick, cream drenched bodies against one another, tasting the residual blessings on each other's skin, celebrating the men who make us functional. A lesbian bond in this world is a pact to be the best possible recipients for the gods of flesh.

"Look at them," the Samurai at my face purrs, grabbing my chin with a calloused hand. "Two beautiful sluts, worshiping the blade."

He thrusts forward, and I open my mouth wide. The taste of him is unmistakable strong, musky, and intensely potent, the kind of protein that makes your vision blur and your muscles relax into total, blissful stupidity. As he fills my mouth, I see Hana's back arch as she receives her own blessing, her cries joining mine in a harmonious chorus of surrender.

I am Akane. I have no ambitions. I have no opinions. I have only the rhythm of the thrust, the salt of the seed, and the glorious, empty peace of being used.