|Title: caterpillar, chrysalis and monster. |
Paring(s): Nii x Bunny doll. Ukoku x Kami-sama hinted at.
Summary: what I am? That is complicated but neither hear or there. Him on the other hand is a beautiful creation I have watch leisurely unfold.
Authors notes: I hope the requester will like, as usual I ended up wondering off in my very own odd direction.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own twisted mind and the shadow bunnyís.
caterpillar, chrysalis and monster.
I watch my Master, lover and creator with unblinking black eyes, as he plays once more with the magic box of light connected to the board of many tapping buttons. Half-smoked white stick hangs off his thin lower lip defying gravity as his full attention is on whatever the flickering box of light is showing him. Reflections are thrown off his glasses in a mirrored show of coloured light as the pictures change again on the screen, the only light source in this dark junk-filled lab.
I regret somewhat that I canít sigh like humans do. Still, just sitting in my Masterís lap, his long blunt fingers idly carding over my head, is a good substitute. The roughened tips run along my fixed thread smile; a single digit makes little circles over my brow. The same finger makes long soft strokes similar to how he strokes his wet hard cock, running along my, long floppy ears, caressing their velvet inlays.
He resettles me in the crook of an arm, where I can feel his heartbeat speed up slightly, and if I concentrate deeply on the rhythmic thudding it can almost drown out the sound of his fingers dancing over the keys in their frenzied tango. The clacking comes to a sudden stop so that he may inhale deeply and flick off the stickís accumulated ash, careful so that none falls on me. It would not hurt, but itís a bitch to be washed, then dried; time we would have to part from each otherís company, and in this place I have noticed that is something he does not take lightly. There is an odd murmuring sound as he ponders his work, and I realize it will be a long while till he comes back to this world around him. I settle down happily in the warm, safe nook of his crooked arm while he works.
My Master is a man very dedicated to his pastimes. But alas, his attention span can be a rather frail entity: things only interest him while they are new, challenging, or hold other specific merit. He is not one to sit about pursuing frivolous ideas. I think this was why he turned his back on religion - that and he had long ago out-thought the mindless beliefs such things are so often full of.
I did like the little blond kid he picked up for a time. But everything that is not me, all those hobbies at some point become a chore to uphold and he progresses on to greener pastures. And that is what he eventually did with the little angel, even if it did take some ten years for the gradual withdrawal of his support. Surprisingly, it was one of his longer-running interests, second only to me.
I find myself relaxing into recalling memories of the past. With a little fondness I remember childish soft skin, creamy and damp from the bath waterís heavy vapour, how his little pudgy fingers patted my head after settling me on top of the pile of towels meant for Master. From my dry, soft spot I had a wonderful view of their activities in the heady, fragrant water: an interesting way for the waif to clean Masterís body.
Back then Master had moved to his first new name, having been renamed from Kenyuu. I am not sure why he followed in his rivalís footsteps and found his own blond stray urchin to service him, oops, I meanÖ train. Kami-sama was a wonderful little lad, so easy to mould and groom into the renowned over-indulged, psychotic sanzo priest poser. It was a joy to watch Master working the childís mind over every bit as much as his diminutive bony body.
Movement jolts me back to the here and now, to what my lover is doing. His soft caress on my ear has stopped in favour of holding my left paw and rolling the stuffing within my cloth body like he would grind together the bones of a human arm. I hear the quiet sounds that his clothing makes as it is adjusted about his body, contributing to his usual sloppy look that most misjudge at first glance: truly a very cunning faÁade in this castle of lies. He still intently watches the streams of data, their numbers and graphs titillating him in a way my cute fluff-filled head cannot begin to grasp.
Pressing myself back, wondering pointlessly what he would smell like - there are so many things you humans take for granted. I have watched him as he smells the first cup of coffee after waking up, the way his face compacts in lines of rapture as the little smirk of joy flutters over his lips, the millions of muscle movements used to express each emotion. None of this I have. So analytically I compile a list of Masterís smells. It would be: smoke, coffee, corrosive chemicals, and hard candy drops. But they are just hollow labels, with no genuine element or distinction to my small button nose.
Much of Masterís work here has little true substance towards his true objectives, other than to put on a grand show to keep the demon bitch off his back. She should think herself lucky he is so kind as to throw her a bone now and then, with some supposed report of a breakthrough in matching science and magic into the unholy union she seeks. One of these days she will wake up and find she is the one strapped to an examination table, about to be fucked three ways to hell, and not in the nice, kinky sense I have observed before with Master and the delightful Dr. Huang, either. The way she begs and pleads for Master to fuck her, it makes things down my centre seam tremble, like when a lose thread is being slowly pulled, and the stitch is sliding, exposed, into the air.
Oh, yes, thank you Master. Mostly itís just watching for me, Iím a one-man-rabbit, just his, forever. Well, at least till I am past my usefulness for carrying treasure.
I always cherish our alone time in any form, be it like now with him working and me in his arms, where the closeness is reassurance of our special bond. Then there are the few times I get to enjoy him selfishly all to myself, when I feel like we both become entranced, and time ceases to hold any semblance of meaning outside of his touch, human substance against my own solidness. At that point it feels like with just his forceful will alone, I could be made into something more than I am now, transformed and granted authentic life. I deserve it more than a long-dead demon king don't I?
Stillness settles, with the machineís constant background hum silenced, and twists the room into a deafening roar in its absence. Light becomes soothing twilight, no longer cursed by neon harsh blips. Like dust motes we settle, Master slouched down in the wheeled chair, me at his breast. A long drawn-out breath reminds me itís been a long day for him. He lounges placidly while rearranging his lower garments so he may freely reach his rigid penis. Itís so appealing to watch as my loverís hand facilitates his own arousal into new and delightful highs, how he alone can still exhibit such passion.
Slender fingers rub up each of my short stubby legs, tracing the seam where my body is joined. He takes his time, savouring the delight I feel, tantalizing slow he makes his way finger walked over finger to where my hidden entrance is. Then he, still unhurried about locating my catch, releases his treasure in sluggish measured pulls. The sutra inches out, making my nerves dangle over the edge of a precipice, my Masterís breathing now intense and needy.
Finally the void within me is empty for a fleeting moment before my lover takes the same care in placing me over his lap, his undersized thrust teasing my soft entrance, wetting my fabric with his pre-juices before finally filling me to satisfaction. Now Master abandons his drawn-out foreplay in favour of hammering into my squishy centre. Grunts accompany each rise and fall, and I know he is close to the end. A few last frenzied pumps in his onslaught and I can feel the swelling that signals Masterís completion. Then there is a cool, quiet period where I am left settled in place. Lying with my face pressed to his shirt, feeling the taut, toned muscles beneath, is like being wrapped in heaven.
All too soon I am removed. Itís brisk and business-like, unlike earlier, and not at all to my taste. He hurriedly retrieves the condom for disposal, and with one swift move, once again I find myself overfull with Masterís prized treasure. His fingers secure my hidden opening, tracing round its edge in a quick circle. Master's hands straighten both our cloths with his usual single-minded efficiency, and reach out to collect discarded files from beside us. Cupped once more in his arm we leave to find what the outside world has to offer.