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Pedophilia Dreams	By : DeniPie Category: +S to Z > Samurai Champloo Views: 7547 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai Champloo, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Pedophilia Dreams
- 2-disclaimer
- 1
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Just another little
ficlet. A Mugen one this time, no this isn’t the follow up to
“When the Bough Breaks” its just something I’ve
been thinking of writing. And don’t worry about ‘The
Electra Complex’ I’m halfway thru chapter 5, I just
needed to stop and write this quick ficlet because its been grating
on my mind.

Deni

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Pedophilia Dreams

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Her skin was always so
baby soft. Not that he had ever been in the situation to hold or
touch a baby, but he imagined this would be exactly what it would
feel like if he had. This feathery softness, warm and yielding
against his hard, calloused, scarred body, like lying on a pile of
swan down. Sometimes he took his time, running his hands along every
inch of it, and other times he bit, slapped, and bruised it, so it
would be more like his own. He hated the contrast of them. Her pale
complexion unscarred and bathed in innocence; while his own was dark,
filthy and flawed. He wanted her to be more like himself. Taint her,
dirty her, hurt her until he was all she could depend on.

She was a child. Still
just a little girl begging for love and tenderness from all who would
never give it to her. Maybe that’s why she never asked those
things of him. Mugen imagined she looked at Jin the same way she
would look at her father. With those wide, yearling eyes, glazed over
with admiration and devotion. It made him want to vomit. He was
always rougher with her on the days she looked at the stoic samurai
that way. She needed to be punished for her infidelities. Something
he found himself doing more often as her affections grew, even going
so far as to almost throttle the very life out of her once. She had
been staring at the other man an awful lot that day, but when he came
to her that night she didn’t fight him like she frequently did.
Instead she closed her eyes and Mugen could see her lips moving,
silently forming a name that wasn’t his own. His large hands,
still covered in dirt and sweat from the day’s exertions, went
to her throat, his thumbs slowly pressing into the base of her
esophagus, he didn’t realize he was slowly squeezing the breath
out of her until she began to thrash, pull, and cry.

He thinks he likes it
better slow, though he never minded taking her hard and violently.
Her body was adolescent at best, lacking any sort of feminine curves,
breasts, or any wiles remotely womanly, and yet he wonders why no one
else has ever made him quite this hard. The littlest of things could
send a craving twitch straight to his groin, her little fingers
moving to brush strands of hair out of her eyes, her tender mouth
opening unabashedly into a wide yawn, her eyes lighting up in
fascination at something beautiful. Sometimes she says no, sometimes
she says nothing at all. He honestly has no idea why she even bothers
to say no anymore, the outcome is always the same. He prefers to come
to her when she sleeps alone. There’s just something that stirs
him about entering her private space in the dark, pulling back her
covers like a monster from the closet. He pins her to the matting,
and she’s helpless again, she can’t stop him. Because he
can’t stop himself.

It reminds him of
their first time. It was shortly after the incident with Mukuro and
Kohza. Half drowned and exhausted on the shore, she was the first
thing he saw, hovering over him with watery hazel orbs. He wanted to
pull her down and lick the tears off her face. Leaving trails of
thick, dripping, saliva along her cheeks. Of course he had seen tears
many times before. People, men, women, and children, crying for their
lives and the lives of their loved ones, crying out of terror, out of
fear. But no one had ever cried for him before. And that night
he showed her the price of her compassion.

Mugen needed rest and
recuperation after that day, and they had managed to find a few cheap
rooms. The sky was dark, the moon was high, and he waited, biding his
time, and Jin gradually drifted to sleep a few feet away from him.
Soundlessly standing up, he carefully slipped out, moving down the
hall, counting the rooms along the way. 4, 5, 6, and he stopped at
the seventh room, sliding the doors open, not caring if they made a
sound or not.

She was there, in the
middle of the floor, lying on her thin mat under a few sheets and a
comforter. His eyes fought quickly to adjust to the darkness, and
slowly the abyss twisted and sharpened into forms and shapes. She was
on her stomach, hair down and thrown carelessly over her forehead and
face, one knee drawn up by her torso, while the other stretched out
behind her. Arms shoved under her pillow, she cuddled it in an
unconsious hug. Stepping over to her, the details became clearer and
more defined the nearer he got. Out of the sun and light, she looked
smaller, paler, and so much younger. Her face was free of expression,
fear, worry, and now only appeared smooth and youthful. Sleeping
deep, and soundly, she was so trusting, not instantly awakened at a
pin drop like he and Jin. She had no need to fear the dark and the
unseen. Maybe after this, she would.

Pulling down the
sheets, Mugen easily climbed over her, straddling her shapeless hips,
leaning down until his bare chest touched her back. One hand glided
down her little body, bunching the bottom of her yukata up around her
stomach. She didn’t begin to wake until his fingers came up to
wrap themselves around her forearms, gripping them tightly, pinning
them where they lay. Immediately feeling an unfamiliar burden
weighing her down, her eyes shot open, her mouth ready to scream for
help that she probably expected to come from him. He quickly stifled
her cry with one hand, as the other looped around her upper body,
trapping her arms underneath her. But that didn’t stop her from
thrashing and bucking madly, like a wild sparrow locked in a cage
much too small.

She must have caught
sight of the tattooed rings around his wrist, or maybe she just
recognized the body on top of her, because her struggling came to a
halt and her head tilted to the side to look at him with startled and
questioning eyes. He was somewhat surprised, because this was not the
look of a person who thought they were in danger. She seemed shocked,
disgruntled, and confused, but not afraid. Not of him at least. He
was curious if this was where a normal person would feel guilt, or
shame for betraying such unwavering faith. After a moment or two of
waiting he gave up because the feelings never came.

Using his weight, he
pushed his chest against her fragile form, forcing her firmly into
the mattress, his hand still clamped tightly over her mouth. She
didn’t fight, not even when he used the hand covering her lips
to press her head against the floor. He wanted to laugh at her
stupidity. She honestly thought he was changed. That he was a better
person since their journey started, that he was a ‘good man’
now. Did she really believe she had taken a murderer and turned him
into a hero? No, men like him didn’t magically become different
with a kind word or two. You can’t erase 19 years of
conscienceless existence and heartless pillaging in a few months.

His body easily
spanned the small length of her own, and he briefly wondered if he
was cutting off her air. Releasing the thought from his mind as
quickly as it had come, he shrugged his hakama off his narrow hips.
Pausing for a moment, he could feel her stiffen under him as he
positioned his pelvis snuggly between her legs. A panicked flood of
muffled noises reverberated under the hand over her mouth. She
writhed and wriggled frantically, like a mouse trying desperately to
get out from underneath a cat’s paw, but he was simply too
heavy, much too heavy.

A short breath caught
in his throat when her fanatic squirming caused certain parts of her
to brush against his hardness. Suddenly rearing up he slammed both
hands into the middle of her back, right between her shoulder blades,
shoving her brutally against the floor. He had, had enough of this.
It was time for her to grow up. Her mouth was already open and ready
to scream, but was cut off with a hot searing pain piercing her like
a branding iron. He thrust violently into her, inside a place that
seemed impossibly too small for him. He heard her choke on her own
cries for help, the pain pummeling down any coherent thought. There
was no lubrication to keep him from ripping and tearing her child
walls apart as he beat himself into her without a care.

Leaning back down,
laying his chest against her back, he again covered her mouth, moving
his own to touch her jaw line, whispering filthy, repulsive,
debaucheries quietly into her ear. Telling her how he loved the feel
of her around him, how he would remember the sensation of her
maidenhead tearing on his tip for the rest of his life, how he was
going to fuck her forever and there was nothing she could do to stop
him. She was wailing now, sobbing the oddest things. Begging him to
stop, crying that it hurt, but the thing that stuck in his mind was
her bawling ‘why?’ Why was he doing this to her? She
thought he was her friend, how could he hurt her? An uncontrollable
lightning-like sensation shot up his spine, making his toes curl, his
muscles lock, and the backs of his legs go numb.

The next thing he knew
he was spent, laying on her back, his head over hers, his seed
dripping slime down their thighs, slithering down the backs of her
legs like a sinful muck. She was still now, crying quietly, as he
caught his breath. His lungs returned to him and he lazily opened his
eyes, watching the dark room blur and fuzz before coming back into
focus. A warm liquid was gliding over his hand now and he realized he
was still cupping her mouth. She coughed and sniffled, dried tears
caking onto her face, and snot crusting around her nostrils and upper
lip. He was struck with the strangest impulse to wipe her cheeks and
tell her she was okay, that she would be fine. Quickly shaking the
inclination off he found that he couldn’t get her voice out of
his head. ‘Why?’ why was he hurting her? What had she
done? Why was he doing this?

Wiping the sweat off
his forehead he climbed off of her lithe body and to his feet,
tugging on his hakama, before starting towards the doors. Opening the
panels he stopped to take one last look at her, and she was staring
him. She was looking at him with pained doe-eyes brimming with tears
as though he had just said something to hurt her feelings. Seeing
that he had caught her staring she quickly hid her face into her
pillow, resuming her weeping. Why was he doing this? He was Mugen. He
was a pirate, a thief, a murderer, a rapist, a drunk, it was just
what he did. People like him didn’t change, they couldn’t
be redeemed and he didn’t want to be. It was like the story of
the scorpion and the swan, some people just couldn’t be helped.
No matter what you did they always went back to their basest nature.
But why was he doing this to her? Mugen shook his head and
stepped out the doors, heading back to the room he shared with Jin.
He just couldn’t stop.

And he didn’t.
Every chance he got, he came to her again and again. Slowly, she
stopped fighting so much, but she never stopped crying. At this point
he didn’t know whether she was crying for her or for him.
Perhaps it was a mixture of the two. He thought it strange that the
samurai still hadn’t noticed anything, but if he had he didn’t
make it known or try to stop it. Every now and then she would ask him
‘why’ again. He never answered her, but the question
lingered in his mind. Why her? What was it about her that dragged him
back every time? Sometimes, after he had come to her, he would watch
her sleep, curled into a little protective ball, as he got dressed.
She was so small, so young, and not so innocent anymore. And he
wanted to cover her, absorb her, mold her into him, and maybe fucking
her was the only way he knew how to do that.

If he stopped now, she
would forgive him, he could tell just by the way she looked at him.
Like she was begging him to stop, pleading that she would forget the
whole thing and let it all go back to normal. It was becoming
irritating fast, because she simply didn’t get it. This was
normal. What was abnormal was the way things were before. Now he was
back to himself, back to what he knew. What was different was her. He
had never had such a fascination with a woman before, but she wasn’t
a woman, not really. She was still just a little girl. A little girl
being taught dirty, womanly things. Things she shouldn’t have
had to learn so soon. Things he knew she was desperate to forget.

Fuu had jumped him
once, pounding on his chest when he came for her, wailing and sobbing
for him to leave her alone, that he was driving her insane and she
couldn’t do it anymore. Ignoring her hysteria, he knocked her
to the ground, stripping her like a man gone wild before driving home
inside her womb. Inside her, he found peace, sedation, euphoria. It
was like an opiate heaven when he was cumming within her, his world
blurred and reality seemed to shift. And then he came down, gently,
floating back to earth to rest on her feathery body. His head moving
up and down with the breathing inside her chest. He wanted to curl
into her and never come out, stay in that shifted reality forever.

And for a moment he
thought that was actually possible. The last time, she was so tender
and docile as his hands moved over her chest, her stomach, her legs.
She even wrapped her arms around him at the end. Her hips pivoted and
bucked against his own, and it was unbelievable. His breath was lost
and he was afraid he would never get it back. Her fingers flexed over
the span of his shoulders and she pushed him, turning them so she was
on top. He watched her, guided her, as she gyrated against him, her
hands splayed across his chest. It was an erotically disturbing
sight, but he couldn’t tear himself away. He couldn’t
stop. She looked so wrong up there, on top of him, riding him like a
lessoned whore, doing things she had learned from him. It was
supposed to be alluring and should have set him off like a rocket,
but it didn’t. She didn’t look right; she didn’t
look like a sex goddess but rather a child being forced to perform
the grown-up tricks she was trained.

When it was finally
over, when he was spent beyond consciousness, he collapsed against
the grass, raping the world of its oxygen. Gathering her in his
bronzed arms, he welcomed sweet oblivion. That night he dreamed of
her. She was smiling at him, wrapping herself around him and even
kissing him. And then, just like that, her image faded into the
darkness and she slipped through his fingers like black sand.
Groaning as the sunlight peeked through the forest canopy, his eyes
fluttered reluctantly open. He rubbed his forehead, still exhausted
from the prior night, and that was when he noticed that his arms were
very empty.

Scanning the ground he
stopped, finding her lying in a pile of his clothes. He yawned, not
remembering when she had left, and got up, strolling over to her
before kneeling by her side. She was in a tight ball and tangled in
some of his clothing. Gripping her shoulder he gave her a light
shake. His mouth working into a frown when she didn’t respond,
and he noted that she had gone a snowy white and felt cold and hard
to the touch. He swept his hakama and haori away from her body and
his heart froze in his chest. His own sword was protruding,
grotesquely from her stomach, skewering her through the midsection
and out her back.

He couldn’t
breath as he pulled her to him, her head falling limply back over his
forearm. She was cold and stiff and no longer Fuu. She was so little;
he felt more like he was holding a tiny doll than an actual person.
He had never noticed how rounded her cheeks were, she still had much
of her baby fat. Her eyes were closed, but she didn’t look
peaceful. She looked dead.

Laying her back onto
the ground, he yanked the jutting weapon from her belly, unflinching
as a spray of blood spattered onto his face with a disgusting
‘pitter-patter’. Throwing the sword to one side he leaned
down to her, resting his head against her cold naked chest, shutting
his eyes. Her body was icy and pimpled his arms with goose bumps as
he lay against her. In his head, she was warm, and looking down at
him with watery eyes. Her skin was still so baby soft.

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Pedophilia Dreams