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Sang Sur les Roses	By : Saoirse Category: +S to Z > Utena Views: 2873 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Utena, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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It had crawled up her skin the wrong way; Utena meandered
strolling down the corridor to her next class. Should she let this bit of
information slip, the psychiatric ward would be her new home indefinitely.
Scanning left to right she could sense a transparent partition split hallways,
the cafeteria, classrooms, even sections of the campus down the center. There
was just not much interaction between students milling on either side of the
halls. They seemed perfectly content to carry on as per usual amongst their own
and not meddle into the affairs of the other side. A damp chill iced her spine
at her use of the phrases �their own� and �other side�. Was it so very long ago
that Jiya hobbled about with his cedar cane, the clutch whittled to form the
body of a hawk tapering down from its bulbous head to carve the warped and
rutted bark of the crag tree grumbling under his breath to what Utena
interpreted as complaints over a gimpy leg and hot water for his tea. He seemed
a lot like them, a foreigner in a strange country. That cane was at present a
permanent fixture resting by the fireplace willed into disregard since Aunt
Yurika changed the subject each time Utena broached the subject of grandfather
with her. A seed of discontent was sown when they buried Jiya, Utena�s presence
was unnecessary at the interment they said and the nine-year-old was left
behind without a sitter but the child was remarkably self-sufficient.

There were always doubts as to what took place at
the service, quite a bit of strangeness and hushed voices during the funerary
procession where Utena spent the majority of the time behind closed doors.
Grown-ups thrived on secrecy and Utena being the curious and brash sort decided
not to let up and became an annoyance to her aunt�s guests, she was ordered out
of the parlor by a woman who had a pair of prescription pill bottles rattle out
from her black snakeskin Anne Klein clutch bag and rolled to a stop on the
Turkish carpet. Her eyes were the color of dead grass with sickles of purple
and black scooping under them. She saw stressed silver uprooting from beneath
the mound of sable brown atop her tremoring head, her ankle bones protruded
nearing the bottom of her legs and her pallid flesh was waxily pulled over her
bones causing the simple black cashmere pullover dress she wore to slosh around
her frame like a hula hoop.

A handsome gentleman with salt and pepper hair and the
highest cheekbones marched to her side to deftly escort her by the crook of the
arm from the room. The simplicity of his dress bespoke his wealth, an
unpretentious black three-piece suit with a platinum watch chain streaking
thickly across the midsection of his silk lined midnight blue vest. Her spouse,
Utena suspected but the grasp on her arm was anything but husbandly. A
miserably mismatched couple with a word of honor to keep whose value was
dwindling. But this was the world. And Ohtori was also the world she must adapt
to regardless of its idiosyncrasies.

But there was nothing more disturbing to learn that in
Ohtori�s century-long existence, nothing was more valued than tradition and
ceremony. And who ever heard of a Student Council presiding over the faculty? Without any intervention whatsoever from the administration? In the world she grew up in the scholastic chain of command was commonplace:
teachers, counselors, and administration. It was preposterous how a group of
high school aged teenagers could usurp so much power over the school they
attended. The cost of tuition for the average student was astronomical but the
Seitokai with their ranking had to break the bank, private dorms, and the
Seitokai office at the foot of the tower, individualized uniforms and exclusive
classes. It was said they had the highest GPAs in the school; Kaoru Miki the
Seitokai�s secretary was 15 and enrolled in the university�s college courses,
but his twin sister Kozue wreaked havoc on his personal life lynching any hopes
of her brother dating. Truly she was the Beautiful Leopard Arisugawa-sensei�s
imouto Juri. Captain of the fencing team, a super model that Utena recognized
from countless glossies and the covers of Vogue, Esquire, and Maxim
just to list the top of her resume. Her shocking tangerine gun barrel curls
were the only flamboyance about her entire character; her turquoise eyes were
tautly guarded as her defensive techniques.

Captain of the men�s kendo team was Saionji
Kyouichi, the son of legendary Juu-Dan Saionji Arihiro. There were always major
differences of opinions in kendo rankings; it became replete with controversies
as kendo universally branched. The All Japan Kendo Federation will argue that
there is no Juu-Dan in kendo and that Kyu-Dan is remotely attainable with only
one percent of the Hachi-Dan applicants passing the Hachi-Dan examinations. But
there are the exceptions where there are swordsmen who rise up from the herd
that simply swing the bokken and aggravate the sensei. They are the chosen few
who carry the spirits of Musashi and Yagu, where the katana is an extension of
their hand. And for warriors such as Saionji Arihiro the title of Juu-Dan was
specifically reserved for them then put to rest for posterity. But his son will
also join the rankings when his time came. The Vice President succeeded as
captain from second when his childhood friend and rival were promoted to
Student Council President. Saionji could be recognized everywhere, his
spiraling hip-length evergreen tresses, soft as swan�s down was his most
distinctive feature. It was frequently pulled up as he was garbed in his gi and
hakama when he wasn�t in class. His temperament ran hot and cold fluctuating
uncontrollably in the last few months, he could powder cinderblocks with a
glare from his radiant lilac eyes. Then there were times he was completely
accommodating, dressed in jeans and riding his 10-speed, pulling behind him was
his jade locks the wind whistling in his hypersensitive ears. He knew every
secret path in the forest back home, named every track imprinted in the trails,
hidden streams, waterfalls so beautiful one�s chest would constrict from a
leaden glove clamped around the heart. The heavenly spray caught the sunbeams
so perfectly that the rainbow arching earthward was surely a bridge to
paradise. But all that fell into the tedium of real life after his twelfth
birthday.

Kiryuu Touga, renowned for his sexual prowess and
family�s estate off campus where he and his younger sister, Nanami, both
resided quite alone with their parents in Innsbruck running the family business
from their European offices. When Touga�s father wasn�t working their parents
frequently holidayed with the Ohtori family, however since the Chairman�s
illness went terminal over the summer vacation the Ohtori clan had secluded
themselves in their compound at Shimane to wait out the inevitable. That of
course didn�t deter the firstborn Kiryuu a bit. Touga excelled academically,
served as the men�s kendo team captain, a charismatic orator, could take
command of any situation- whether planning a banquet or diffusing a crisis- and
had the panache for debate as any Prime Ministerial candidate aspirant. He was
the clear choice for Student Council President. His looks were a bonus and sold
the Deputy Trustee Chairman when he made his decision on who to appoint for the
new Seitokai. His scarlet mane was a bone straight silky fall Touga often toyed
with and no one was ever sure if he were trying to articulate his boredom or
was an act of seduction. His body was whittled to perfection, a sword fighter�s
leanly muscled physique with definitions of his musculature on his torso that
made him so vain that he refused to wear underclothes.

The bed in his dormitory, a private wing of the
Seitokai offices, was a windmill for sundry females and males fortunate enough
to gain Touga�s favor and attention. And save for the few who knew his
personality quirks that the bed in his dorm was an exact copy of the hickory
four-poster draped in baby pink satin and lace the daunting colossal
centerpiece of his bedroom in his home so few had the privilege to gain access
to. It gave rise to the forbidden erotic fantasy of a chic Parisian bordello in
a Nineteenth century red light district. Saionji often accused him of being the
prettiest prostitute he�d ever seen and that Touga should include sex in his
draft for world domination, and then Touga proceeded to �force� his dearest
friend into that bed where his magical mouth and equally stunning indigo blue
eyes brought Saionji closer to eternity than he�d ever hope to desire. These
four beings were the most dubious she ever encountered, Utena resolved to keep
her distance. They were given a wide berth whether making their group
appearance on campus or alone, but there were that unusual apathy from half the
mob again. While some were star struck, adulatory screeches and shouts to win
their attention others shrank away or acted as though nothing was out of the
ordinary. They sought protection from behind the clusters of teal steel lockers
and others who were bold enough glowered wakizashi at the Seitokai following their
movements as they glided along oblivious to everything. And that sent Utena out
the following Saturday evening, her wild thoughts churning as a tugboat on the
Pacific thrust in a tsunami. Once again she sought solace in the planetarium
but this time she allowed herself not to get entangled in the stars and her
depression and departed with more than an hour left to the audio presentation.

No school campus in the country on weekends was this
still as Ohtori�s. There were no imposed curfews, no regulations that stated
doors had to be shut during class hours, and there was no private security
force patrolling the grounds. What came close Utena hypothesized was a pair of
life-sized black marble Russian tundra wolves, silent sentinels flanking the front
gate. Flawless turbulent emeralds were set deep in the eye sockets. Scanning
high above her were classroom quadrants all in hibernation waiting for the
sunlight of Monday morning to revive them. But her objectives were the dorms
and here was where things went off-kilter: not a single window was open or had
a light shining through. It was the start of spring and the evenings were warm,
the centralized heating ducts didn�t provide air conditioning until the early
part of July so was it correct to assume everyone owned a fan? Windows and
doors were bolted; thermal draperies seemed to be the fashion craze since no
one in possession of their full wits could move around in the dark, and
stealing over the school�s wide breadth like the pallid shadow of a banshee was
the full moon. Now Utena was no expert on lunar phases, nor was she
particularly stellar in the astrophysical portion of her science class, but a
full moon in the first week of the month could not be right. It was the dull,
outlying clash that wrung her from grousing and putting speed on it she
followed the sound.

It was heard twice more forcing Utena to back up and
retrace since the acoustics were capricious at this school. The sound bounced
off the high and long limestone warrens and panting on the loggia boxing in the
rose garden courtyard she saw on the cobblestone at the foot of a row of
concrete sinks a golden pitcher lay on its side, one of the five spigots ran
thinly before Utena shut it off. This sophisticated tea rose garden breeding
every color must have care several times a day and the gardener must have been
the one to fall victim to assault before being carted away. Turning the pitcher
in her hands admiring her warped reflection looking like something in a
funhouse mirror in the gold plating she set it down on the sink�s thick ledge
and just before bolting to find assistance when activity and noise was softly
heard coming from the hothouse. Through a sheen of condensation she made out
three figures, one advanced on the smaller, the third the same height as the
first was perfectly still. He appeared to be posing. The Plexiglas had to be
soundproofed since nothing else was heard. On silent feet Utena burrowed deep
walking on her knees as JSDF Special Forces launching a surprise attack and
made herself inconspicuous behind the shrubbery getting a better vantage point.
There was odd movement of limbs and all appeared to be on the ground, something
was pitched and flurried down on the organic soil before Utena�s window. It was
an Ohtori girl�s sailor fuku; the placket of buttons was intact however the
overblown feminine sleeves were outstretched. Then something joined it bouncing
twice then clattered harshly on the stone, a pair of pruning shears. Utena
pulled the sleeve of her black off the shoulder midriff over her hand heel and
wiped the glass rotating to rid the wetness.

�Am I dreaming?� Sprawled like an offering
was a girl clad only in her bobby socks and brown penny loafers, her orchid
hair a blustery flat cascade about her naked body. The finely shorn curly
triangle at the crux of her thighs gleamed, her skin the creamiest caramel and
she had the bold red marking of the Hindu on her forehead. At the hollow of her
throat was a slash of silver, looping around her swan neck was a black leather
belt, a crude leash. Her captors at last made themselves known, with his back
turned she saw his jaws work furiously ranting a tirade though his demeanor was
antagonistic it wasn�t virulent so it was safe to assume Saionji wasn�t
shouting. Ignoring his friend and cattily smirking as he threaded his long,
white digits through her scalp Touga just basked in the moment. They both
disrobed, so sickened and appalled Utena clapped a hand over her mouth to
prevent herself from screaming or retching. Her body bent on revolt wanted to
storm in but she knelt frozen for the first time unconfident of her abilities.
Two kendoka masters versus one girl who had three years fencing experience, who
would she place her bet on? The Indian girl inched forward on tiny knees after
Touga jerked the belt lightly coaxing her head up to become eyelevel with his
pelvis. Clearly powerless to prevent this violation her brow smoothed into
pliancy, but then something happened. She wet her lips. Lengthy curves of the
narrow, delicate pink meat traced her full lips glossed with plum lip rouge.
Her leafy green eyes misted and without hesitation she did what Utena was
horrified to even contemplate. Hollowing out her cheeks she wet his organ with
sumptuous strokes of her mouth pausing only to swish her tongue around the
bulbous glans and blushing stalk. Touga dreamily lolled his head back, his mane
tickling his buttocks flouted the Indian girl�s supplication and as his cut
pectorals rose and fell he began to speak with slight difficulty through parted
pretty lips. Utena was no lip reader and waited, but it occurred to her a brief
lighting flash in her harried brain why she remained there. If she were
disgusted as she claimed to feel, why did she not flee the scene?

Quaveringly she felt the first discharge of juice
prickling between her legs. The girl lifted Touga�s impressive cock and swaying
her head gently mouthed his scrotum shiny from her salivary juice repeatedly
savoring the flavor of her own �rape�. Saionji behind her covering her
pantherine figure, an erotic combination of light and dark, his pile of
whipcord muscle attempting to meld with her penetrated her moist sex heavy as
an overripe fruit lancing her to the quick with jabs causing her to rock so
forcefully on her splayed hands over the stone slabs Utena was certain blood
would pool there any second. Her muffled grunts seemed painful around Touga�s
cock but the amethyst-haired girl was determined to sate him, and the faster
she worked her jaws on his cock the quicker her own release was upon her. Saionji
too was emitting sensually robust sounds of his own, hot lust sluiced his
tortured limbs piercing the Indian girl�s with no end in sight and he could
care less. When her orgasm finally overtook her boneless flesh slackened and
became suppler to stretch her like a hammock between a pair of redwoods.
Saionji released himself firing copious amounts of seed into her so much so
that it seeped out onto the floor. The girl withdrew her lips with a pop and
Touga spilled abundantly on her impudent plentiful brown breasts. They swung
coated in white; the deep rose nipples grazed the cool stone as she delved her
tongue into the cock�s slit before studding it with departing kisses. And then
her eyes met Utena�s. But before either girl could freeze over Touga seized the
Indian girl by the base of her cranium, clumping her hair. He pulled her up
higher on her knees and spoke to her gravely devoid of feeling.

The double glass doors banged open, by some strange
miracle none of the glass panes suffered any damage. �What did you see Anthy?�
Touga smoothly questioned the naked girl obstructed from view behind the men in
varied appearances of dishabille. Saionji with his shoes untied and his cyan
trousers unzipped, Touga fully clothed without a single wrinkle. Utena crouched
tightly in a vaulted stained glass window big enough to fit her 100 yards away
eighty feet up from the ground on the western wall of Ohtori�s chapel. Several
hours passed before Utena swung to a bough of the nearest maple and shimmied
down to stealthily return to her dorm. And as she retired to her single, she
too locked her door and window then draped it heavily.

TSUZUKU
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Sang Sur les Roses