Proper Thanks

BY : feamel
Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 5656
Disclaimer: I do not own bleach, and I do not make any money from writing about it.

A friend of mine requested that I write this story, and I put it together in about two hours, so it might be a bit rough. It's about a month old, but I figured I should post it on this site since I've never done any work here before. Hope you enjoy it!


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Cold, wet, and lonely. Those were the three words that best described the hole that they had thrown her into while they weren't in need of her unique power. Orihime was laid on her side, arms sprawled out in front of her with her hair spread in a radiant crown across the dark stone of the dungeon floor. She occasionally moved her steely gray eyes to regard the lone door, hoping for contact of any sort. Often, she would be harassed from the entryway with a few harsh words, veiled threats from some of the more vicious residents of Hueco Mundo. The only one who tended to enter her room was the one named Ulquiorra, often to try to force her to eat, but it was no use. She looked from the floor to a nearby table, its fluttering white cloth flowing along the skirt beneath gleaming kettles and plates of nourishment. Before she came, she had said her one goodbye to the man she cared most for, and yet she had not been satisfied by her own departure. She didn't want that to be the last time she ever saw him.

She was in a strange place with no hope of escaping, and her life had suddenly grown to feel meaningless. She stared high above her floor, no longer enraptured by the closed door. Instead, she beheld the lone window—barred with iron, or some spiritual construct that appeared to be iron, anyway—and looked upon the moon that never seemed to leave the frame. It shone down into the center of her rather accommodating room; in truth, the prisoner sometimes felt as if her captors were trying to lull her into a sense of security. She had been used once, already, to heal the arm of some wild man with bright blue hair before the eyes of Sosuke Aizen, the cruel being who resided over the dark kingdom she had been escorted to. Her room was that of a princess, but her soul was trapped in a far deeper pit that she wondered if she would ever escape from.

As she wallowed in her self-pity, she heard footsteps in front of her door—not uncommon, but not welcome, either. She felt her stomach growl. Were they bringing more food? It would all go to waste, if so. She hmphed with resolve and folded her arms under her massive chest, causing the swollen mounds to press tightly against the fabric of her sweater. She had been told that a new outfit would be brought for her, at some point, but she found it difficult to grow excited about the concept. Foreign clothes in a foreign land, surrounded by foreign people—as the moments ticked by and she felt her own solitude, she wondered how long she could retain the grip upon her sanity.

But the door was indeed being visited, and although it had been locked, the key was turned from the outside. That should have been another sign that it was the pale, white-faced enigma with the green eyes and symmetrical stripes down his cheeks—but as the opening swung out and light rushed into her chamber from the outer hall, Orihime gasped quickly toward the silhouette. As her eyes adjusted, she saw her visitor. He was familiar, to her. A tall man, bulky but not excessively so. He wore an open vest, showing off a rather fresh scar that began below his neck and ran all the way to the open hole through his lower gut. His short, spiked hair that was the color of a robin's egg was gleaming within the light that spilled over his shoulders. He had the long bottom half of a robe dangling from a loose belt around his waist, keeping his legs covered from sight and the elements. He wore his recently-regrown arm with bitter resentment, and when his mouth opened to speak, the fragment of a broken Hollow mask moved along with his jaw to create a ghastly visage. “Hey there, healer girl,” he remarked with distaste, raising his upper lip in a snarl, stepping into the room without being invited.

Orihime gulped, getting herself off the floor to avoid looking helpless—something about the man, other than just his face, scared her to the core. There was an untamed energy within him—lashing and boiling, blue and fierce. As he took a single step nearer, she tensed every muscle in her body and shuddered an inward gasp, clutching one hand over her heart and checking to see if she had even still been alive. Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump. On her feet, she still felt small as his lazy posture drew a little closer. One hand was in his pocket, but the other was scooped beneath a heap of folded white cloth. Her eyes were drawn to the bundle, and she narrowed her brows with confusion. “Y-you're the one bringing me my new clothes...?” She asked tentatively, her soft, gentle voice no louder than the whisper of a moth's wings.

The visitor, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, smirked dangerously beneath cold eyes as he turned his head slightly away from her. “Oh, I insisted on making the delivery...” he declared to her coyly as he stepped further into the room, his eyes roaming along the young girl's terrified, trembling form. The color of his gaze matched the mess of his hair, and he had faint swishes of similar coloration around the outer rims of his sockets to accent his cruel stare. He ran his tongue along his lips, then along his teeth behind them as he stepped to the nearby table. He laid the white garment with black trim upon that table in a careful flatness, then picked an apple from a tray and brought it to his mouth, tearing a thick hunk of the fruit from its body and chewing it obnoxiously. “I've been meaning to thank you for what you did out there,” he mumbled through each bite as he gnawed up the fruit.

Orihime gulped again, blushing slightly as she caught her eyes wandering along his structure. As he got closer, she could see the definition in all his muscles; he was strong. Stronger than Ichigo, perhaps. The thought made her shudder, but not in a good way. She had momentary fantasies of her savior, her orange-headed hero, busting into the door to save her—only to be immediately cut down by the terror who filled the room with his boundless pressure. She spoke with worry. She had a bad feeling about the visit, clothes or not. “You're welcome...” she hushed with her eyes turned down to the floor. She couldn't bear to look at him, nor any of her captors. They were too difficult to comprehend, and she felt like she didn't want to know more. “I don't like to see people suffer, so...I heal whomever happens to be hurting,” she explained further, taking a subconscious step backward.

Grimmjow smirked deviously as he swallowed the last bite of apple, seeds and stems be damned, and turned to look at the big-busted young woman with shameless attraction. “Yeah, well, that's a sentiment I don't share,” he said with a harsh tongue. His smirk turned into a grin. “In fact, I've always kind of gotten off on suffering, you know?” He slowly advanced toward the girl with his hands in his pockets, swaying his shoulders from one side to the other to flow with his steps. “In fact...I kinda have the urge to make you suffer...”

“M-make me s-suffer?” Orihime managed to stutter through her tightened chest and throat. She was backing away from him. Every step she took was an accident, some instinctive retreat, but she dared not override her impulse to flee. She looked past him to the door—he hadn't closed it. Could she make it if she ran? Surely one of the others would reign in their comrade. He was clearly one of the loose cannons of the group. “Why would you want me to suffer...? I thought you were here to thank me...”

Grimmjow sneered at her, his eyes narrowing and his forehead scrunching a little. “Yeah, about that...do ya have any idea how humiliating it was to have you fix my arm in front of all those assholes out there?” He shook his head and clenched his teeth, grinding them together behind curled lips. “Now I'm the wounded puppy dog...the sap who needs a filthy human girl to lick his wounds for him...” He stopped his advance, sighing and tilting his head up, taking his attention off of the girl for just a moment to look upon the moon through the prison bars. “Maybe this isn't fair...there's so many people to blame, here...in a perfect world, I'd have my say with every one of 'em. Unfortunately, since Lord Aizen's keeping too close an eye on me and your friend Ichigo isn't coming for you, I'll just have to settle for taking every one of my frustrations out on you alone.”

The girl with the orange hair felt herself gulp again, but she was more focused on the rapid increase of her heartbeat. “Y-you wouldn't hurt me...” she bluffed, expecting there to be some rule against touching her. “Your master won't let you get away with it...”

She pushed a button, there. “Hey, little bitch, he may be my Lord, but not my master. I haven't got a master!” He shouted, an echo of his rude voice filling the room while his eyes flew wide open, the upper left lid twitching slightly as his anger rose. “Maybe you need one. Maybe it oughta be me.” He began his approach again, this time taking steps a little faster. “How about it, human? I think I'll make you into a personal bitch of mine...it won't be hard. You don't seem all that tough...”

Orihime blushed fiercely at the thought; she didn't know what to make of his ranting, but she felt vulnerable. As he stepped closer, she winced and put her arms over her face, guarding herself from his view. Though, the man wasn't looking at her face—his gaze was lower, focused upon the bouncing, soft flesh beneath her sweater, which she had put no conscious effort into blocking. “I just want you to leave me be!” the girl frantically chirped, shutting her eyes and trying to imagine that she was safely protected. Her powers kicked in by that silent wish, and a triangular shield manifested itself with a soothing orange glow a few inches away from her, risen to keep her unhinged harasser at bay. She peeked her eyes open, noticing that her view of Grimmjow had been colored by the barrier. Confident behind that layer, she brought her arms down and put on a tough visage. “Don't underestimate me!” she harshly shouted, feeling her voice rise in confidence. Maybe she could take care of herself.

Grimmjow made a tch with his tongue against his teeth, and his hand moved to the hilt of the sword at his hip. With a flick of his thumb, he freed the blade from its sheathe by an inch, then he grasped the hilt with his thumb at its tip, taking a casual, upside-down hold upon his weapon. With a quick swipe that cut the air itself, his sharp zanpakuto cleaving through the orange blockade with ease, cutting it from corner to center before it shattered completely, its fragments hitting the floor like falling glass. “Don't make me laugh, little girl,” he sighed, placing his weapon back into its holster with a metallic slinking sound; his hand then went to the belt that held his lower robe in place, untying its cloth sash to loosen it up. “Anyway, this is boring me...let's cut the shit—get on your knees and open wide.”

Orihime felt her heart skip a beat. Did that mean what she thought it meant? She had been expecting him to hit her, berate her, but...there were lines that she had never expected him to cross. She shut her lips tight as if to defy his order, then she shivered along her spine. As she watched his hand play with his sash, she had a feeling that she wasn't going to like what he did next.

“I said get on your knees!” Grimmjow let go of his loosened sash and lurched forward with a quick stride, placing himself in front of the prisoner while shoving a heavy fist into her gut, punching the wind out of her without remorse. Orihime coughed and stuttered, gasping for breath as she doubled over and stumbled back; she felt her shoulders, back, and rounded butt hit the wall all at once. Her ankles trembled and her knees folded, but she stayed shakily on her feet as she leaned against the stone support. Her defiance was amusing, but it wouldn't last. “The longer it takes you to do as I say, the more I'm gonna do to ya before I'm satisfied...you oughta just obey me. Save yourself a world of hurt...” He growled at the end of that suggestion as she kept her eyes off of him and clutched her stomach in pain. He brought his hand to the side of her head and grabbed a thick bunch of her hair, yanking the long strands downward and bringing out a shriek from his victim. The sound of her pain gave the arrancar a jolt of excitement. “Mm, or just keep on resisting...” he murmured with a lick of his mouth, wetting his lips as he forced Orihime onto her knees with the pain of her scalp. “I like the sounds you make when it hurts...”

The girl felt the weight of herself collide with her knees brutally, and the shock of agony ran all along her nerves with ruthless quickness. She whimpered pathetically after her first involuntary shriek and she didn't risk trying to stand again. There was severe strength behind the first punch, but the pull upon her hair was only meant to force compliance—he would torture her, if he had to, and she knew it. She thought back to her primary motivation. Survive. With that in mind, she slowly, skittishly looked up through her unsettled hair to view her assailant with hesitant obedience. There were tears forming along the corners of her eyes and she couldn't clearly see—the blurriness was taking over, both from the pain and the gloss of salty sorrow. “L-like this...?” Her mouth slowly opened, soft lips parting with painful reluctance. Her tongue folded against the roof of her mouth, as if she didn't want to let him see down her throat—there was shame in the act of complaince, and so she did her best to cover what she could. She felt sick in her stomach, but her fear was powerful. If she didn't obey him...she wouldn't die, even if she wanted to. Death would almost have been preferable to her current fate, but the terrible monster before her would certainly not allow it.

“Close enough,” Grimmjow replied with a casual huff. He watched the girl shiver at his feet with her knees on the floor and her heavy chest heaving with fearful breaths. Oh, how he looked forward to abusing that luscious body of hers. First things first, though—he wanted to make her feel the humiliation that he felt after having his body repaired by such a weakling. Although he was thankful for the restoration, he resented the publicity of it. He was only getting even for that, after all. His hand returned to his sash and unceremoniously tossed it away from his waist, followed by a harsh tug on his skirted robe, pulling it open without hesitation. As the outer layer fluttered away like the tablecloth at his back, Grimmjow further removed the layer of black pants that resided beneath. He wasn't in a hurry, per se, but he did have an open mouth waiting for him. He tossed his sword's sheathe aside, letting it clatter carelessly along the ground to get it out of the way.

Next, he looped his thumbs through the elastic waistband of his pants and drew the black fabric downward, letting the thickness of his arousal show itself as a spire against the fabric as it throbbed. Then he tore the band down past his trapped length with a quiet groan, allowing it to spring free. He was well-endowed, and the thickness of his shaft was pulsing with eager intentions as the 6th Espada stepped out of his pants and kicked away the shoes beneath. He gave a sigh of freedom as his musky scent filled the corner of the room. Orihime, meanwhile, was watching it unfold, petrified. She knew what a man's crotch looked like, but she had successfully avoided being so near to one in such a state before. She looked upon his twitching girth and she immediately closed her mouth and covered it with her hand, repulsed by the idea of what was to come next. Though inexperienced, she wasn't completely ignorant—she had heard her friends talking about various sexual acts before, but she had never been willing to try them herself. She refused to let that thing be put into her mouth, regardless of the consequences. Her eyes squeezed tight, begging for rescue in the back of her mind.

Grimmjow didn't seem to like the way she turned away. He had been mostly gracious, so long as she did as he asked, but she was already disobeying him? “Ah ah ah,” he chided, leaning forward and grabbing the girl's head by the hair, pulling up harshly and partially lifting her off the ground, causing enough pain to force her to take her hand off of her mouth and scream. As she tried to use both hands to wrestle her hair free of his strong grip, her howl of pain was silenced by a taste like salty leather that pushed against her lips, squeezed between her teeth, then found the back of her throat with an alarming suddenness. She tried to scream louder, but she was stifled—she could hardly breathe with the intrusion in her mouth. Her body shuddered with absolute disgust, but as she tried to pull her head backward to escape him, she banged her skull against the stone wall. She whined against the stiffness of his wretched cock, gagging within her throat as she felt the rounded tip trying to dig its way deeper.

Nnnghaaa, this is what you're really good for, little bitch...” Grimmjow growled as he loomed over her, stuffing her face full of his dick and looking gleefully down upon her crying eyes. As tears rolled down her cheeks and her hands lifted to his hips to try to push him away, fingers squeezing and nails scratching, he felt a surge of pleasure. “Oh yeahhh,” he slurred, letting his tongue hang lewdly out of the side of his mouth. “I do like it better when you resist...” He forced his hips against her hands, shoving them back with no resistance. The girl wasn't even near strong enough to fight back, although he liked to pretend that she was. It made the game much more fun. As she choked and simpered and tried her hardest to flee, he pinned her head to the wall and angled his body in such a way that her throat was forced open and the full length of his shaft was slid into her mouth.

Orihime struggled to breathe, struggled to move, but her body was in total shock as she was forced to swallow the solid girth. It was too long and too thick; she couldn't take it, but she did take it. Her legs fought to move, but her body was bent too far backward by the way she was being positioned against the wall. Her upper thighs burned with effort, but her muscles were far too stretched to be of any use. She cried openly, but she couldn't even sniffle—her airways were thoroughly blocked. As the taste of her foul captor's arousal filled her mouth and coated her tongue, she squeezed her eyes tight and tried to bite down upon him. Consequences be damned, she wasn't going to allow herself to be raped.

As Orihime bit down, Grimmjow felt it—but his body was unnaturally sturdy from head to toe. His skin was as resilient as a diamond, and the young girl's teeth failed to even draw blood. Instead, he felt a slight pinch upon the sensitive skin of his cock's base, and it sent a little shock up his loins. “Nngh, yeah...do that again...now you're getting it!” He tossed his head back with the delight of her accidental stimulation and he began to yank his hips backward, vacating his shaft from her throat with a long exhale. Just as Orihime began to catch her breath, it was quickly taken from her again by another harsh thrust of the massive cock that speared her mouth. She felt her skull hit the stone behind her again as her face was thoroughly fucked. Her hands tried in vain to push him off, her body tried to slip away between his legs, but it was futile. She was trapped, and as she coated her cheeks and the shoulders of her sweater with salty tears, she had no option but to allow him to use her mouth as his personal fucktoy.

He slammed his cock in and out for a long while, but eventually the stimulation came to a peak and he shuddered from ankle to shoulder. His hands came to either side of Orihime's wet cheeks, clamping her face harshly against the wall and holding her steady. “Ahhh...here we go!” he shouted with wild debauchery, clenching his teeth and shutting his eyes to focus on the pleasure. Her warm, slick mouth felt marvelous along his shaft, and the wet sound of his constant back and forth had driven him wild with need. He had plenty to give, and the first load was going right down her throat. He heaved and panted, driving himself to that first release with a haste born of endless possibilities. The sooner her filled her mouth, the sooner he could move on to someplace else. She was all his—every inch of her. And he was definitely only getting started.

The first spurt of his seed came with a thick rush through his shaft, the underside inflating with the flow as the heavy ejaculate ran along the tube to freedom. He buried himself deep inside of Orihime's gagging, choking throat with one more mighty shove, calling out with a savage groan that contained no identifiable words. His body shuddered and went into spasms as each wave emptied into her mouth. The girl had never tasted cum before, but she was immediately acquainted with its unique, chunky texture and salted flavor. It was at once horrible and pleasant, some strange combination of total aversion and natural allure. She tried to avoid swallowing, but the head of Grimmjow's dick was so far past her throat that she didn't need to swallow—it trickled into her stomach on its own, and she could feel every sticky rope as it clung to her esophagus and gradually slid down. Without warning, her rapist pulled himself out of her throat and began to manually stroke the veiny throb of his shaft; his release wasn't finished yet. He looked down at her with a demeaning grin and began to allow the pressurized surges to splash against her face, eyes, hair, shoulders, and chest. Eventually, the onslaught of seed came to an end, and her attacker took a moment to admire his work. Her face, neck, and sweater were all lined with white essence, and she began to smell it in fine detail as she tried to recover from the shock of being used. As she trembled, her hands fell limp and her eyes were forced shut by the weight of slick fluid upon her lids. There was silence, save for his and her mutual panting, and then Orihime braved the task of bringing her hands up to wipe away the spunk that had collected along her eyes.

Her vision was blurred, and it stung as little bits of the seed seeped into her eyes. She winced, blinked, and shook her head, trying everything she could to clear her mind. When she found clarity, she saw the nude man standing over her with his hand offered down. She didn't take it, not until he spoke with deceptive kindness: “Let's get you changed...I'd rather not have Ulquiorra seeing that we've made such a mess of your clothes.”

We?, Orihime thought with vile, putrid hate. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she had just been soiled, and it could never be taken back. Her mouth was still heavy with the taste of his cock, and her tongue could still feel the weight of it as it slid along. She swallowed as many times as she could, but the flavor wasn't going away. She could feel the heavy quantities of his release sloshing around in her stomach as she eventually grabbed his hand and stood up with his help. She said nothing, but her body moved on its own. Her hand was being pulled along as she was taken to the table which carried her new outfit—the one that was almost identical to those worn by her captors. Were they trying to turn her into one of them? She was in a daze as she stood there, playing the previous few minutes over and over in her mind. Her head still throbbed from where her skull had struck the solid stone each time a cock was jammed in her throat—her stomach still throbbed with what was sure to become a set of bruises where she had been punched.

She was so out of it that she didn't protest while Grimmjow's hands positioned her beside the table. He faced the girl away from himself, then took each of her hands and laid them onto the eating surface in order to have her prop herself up. “Now, let's get these useless clothes off of you...” he murmured sadistically, setting his palms to her hips. He squeezed her frame through her pants, sliding his palms across her ass before giving a selfish spank. He felt the softness beneath her garment and he squeezed with lustful purpose. “Yeah...a whore like you won't need any of this...” He asserted, then dipped his hands beneath the lower hem of her sweater. He began pulling the shirt up over her back, revealing pale, smooth skin an inch at a time and running rough knuckles along her spine as he raised her top. His face leaned in, and he pressed the smooth side of his cheek against her lower back, grinning wide as he felt the way she tensed reactively. Her skin was warm, and her muscles taut. She said nothing, still too broken by the trauma, but her actions were resistant. He kissed along her spine, suckling her skin along the way as he pulled her sweater up and over her head, forcing her arms up to allow it. She had worn a bra, a dark black one, but its back half was seized by Grimmjow's possessive fangs and he tore the whole affair into pieces with a single jerk of his head.

Orihime felt her tits sag out of the supportive bra, massive and heavy. She whimpered again, regaining some of her consciousness as she realized that her upper half was naked and her back and shoulders were being suckled. Despite the unwelcome nature of those abusive actions, she couldn't deny that there was a certain perverse pleasure to be had—he was a man who seemed remarkably good with his mouth; from time to time, he even nipped at her flesh with the sharp canines, drawing little trickles of blood. Truthfully, Orihime was relieved to have her cream-colored sweater pulled away. She still had his mark upon her face, but at least her chest and shoulders were clean once more. She looked down, seeing food laid in front of her, then she looked back to see a cruel grin laid upon her shoulder; his chin was pressed against her neck and the bony protrusion of his broken mask was digging into her skin rather painfully. “How do you feel, worthless human whore?” He asked without pulling punches. His warm hands slid around the girl's bare tummy, caressing around her belly button before gliding up beneath her ribs. His calloused mitts seized each of her bared breasts with a stern grip, squeezing them tightly and running his thumbs against her nipples.

She resisted the urge to moan as she was fondled, biting her lower lip and squeezing her eyes. Her fluffed pink nipples gradually turned to tightened buds in response to the man's deft ministrations; although she felt the urge to vomit from disgust, her body's natural reactions were making her feel filthy. “S-stop,” she pathetically murmured, but she had been rendered weak, both in mind and spirit, by his furious claim upon her throat. As Grimmjow tortured her tits with gentleness, she felt her breaths quicken and her crotch begin to feel warm. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to conceal her sudden sensations. “Don't touch me,” she said more firmly, determined to keep her dignity despite being so thoroughly handled.

As expected, her 'lover' did not stop; in fact, he pinched her nipples tightly between his thumbs and forefingers, pulling on each massive lump to stretch them away from her chest. She groaned in pain and his ear rested upon the back of her chest, gauging her heartbeat. She was nervous, terrified, and...he caught a whiff of wetness from below. His grin turned twisted. “Oh...you want this, you dirty slut...” He pressed his softened crotch against her covered rear, grinding his hips firmly upon her plush behind to work himself back to a quick state of excitement. “Well, I won't waste a chance like this,” he whispered against her ear, tucking his mouth against the lobe of her left side. He nipped her loose skin, and he heard her sob with fear and resentment.

The girl was struggling to control herself. Her breasts were enormous, and every inch of them felt sensitive to her rapist's strong, warm touch. She screamed “No!” as harshly as she could, but it was barely a whisper in practice. She thought of how much he had hurt her, of how badly he had shamed her—was still shaming her—but her body wouldn't obey; she wouldn't stop feeling a certain pleasure mixed in with all the pain. She felt her ass being brushed by a stiffening cock, though, and that was enough to snap her back into resistance. She got a sudden urge of energy and she turned herself around, causing Grimmjow to take a step back while his little toy gave him a harsh stare. “You're a monster...I won't let you touch me anymore!

Puzzled, the Espada blinked with an incredulous look on his face. He looked upon her as she stood in front of him, her massive chest free for him to behold in all its bosomy glory despite her defiant tone. He chuckled, then laughed outright, causing another echo through the room. “Heh, that's rich...you think you've got a choice.” He pushed himself forward again, finding himself enjoying that angle quite a bit more than the previous—she had really nice tits, and he discovered a fondness for having them facing his direction. As he pounced, he shoved her against the table, lifting her off of her feet with the sheer force of his hands upon her shoulders. He scattered the trays and kettles that had been laid upon the table, sending it all tumultuously onto the floor as Orihime's top-naked body was thrown across the wooden surface. She mewled desperately, whining and kicking at his chest, but she only succeeded in having her legs bent backward, eventually having her ankles hoisted over the male's shoulders, preventing her from closing her thighs. She was still wearing pants, but there was a noticeable wet spot along her crotch, then, coloring the light brown trousers with a thick patch of aromatic slickness.

“Get off of me!” Orihime shrieked, and as she tried to kick at his neck and pull her legs back, he loomed closer and closer, forcing her legs to bend up and over her face, rounding her ass and lifting her hips off of the table, imposing more of her weight upon her shoulders and upper back. “I said get off!!

Grimmjow scoffed, then slapped his plaything across the face with enough sharpness to draw a trickle of blood from her lip. “Shut up and take it!” He snarled, giving her an intense glare. His hands dropped from her face to instead slide down the contours of her naked sides, fingers clutching her malleable skin with lustful hunger. He sighed with enjoyment, feeling the texture of her bare flesh against his hands. Eventually he came to the waistline of her pants, and her raised legs made for quite the easy path—he pulled the pants away from her ass, stripping her panties along with them and exposing her bubbly butt to the cool air of the perpetual night. He stopped for a moment to give her another spank, this time feeling flesh on flesh and hearing the proper smack of skin. His hand left behind a shallow pink print that eventually faded away, but then he gave yet another spank on the same place, earning a wince and a yelp from his victim. The red mark lingered longer, that time. His cock throbbed against her thick bottoms, then he aggressively tore them off of her legs and exposed her thighs, calves, ankles, and feet. He ran his blue eyes from head to toe, kissing along her inner calves and the sides of her feet with sordid desires.

The girl writhed and tried to shimmy away, but she was held in place by powerful hands and the subtle pull of Grimmjow's reiatsu. She couldn't escape. She was nude and cold, and her face was already covered in his cum—and she knew what came next, as she tried desperately to put her hands between her legs and cover the slick, pink puffiness crowned by a tuft of her orange hair. She blushed intensely, shaking her head as her legs were suddenly pulled apart and Grimmjow's face was buried between her breasts; they parted to either side, hanging over the edges of her chest with their bouncing bulk. He kissed and sucked upon her mountainous breasts, licking them copiously and drenching her skin with his saliva. He laid savage nips upon the tips of her nipples, drawing little dots of blood with his fangs which he licked up with sadistic glee. “Good girl,” he murmured as he swallowed her coppery flavor. “My good girl,” he asserted.

Her hands were taken away from her crotch by a single forceful grip, yanking them away sternly enough to bruise her wrists. She felt her moist folds licked by the cool air, wetness causing her to shiver as it was evaporated from her thighs. She tried to clamp her legs shut, tried to turn herself, but she was trapped around her rapist's broad hips and chest, as well as beneath his firm arms. “N-no, anything but that!” She struggled, heaving her body up and down, trying to reclaim her arms as they were pinned above her head by a single one of Grimmjow's powerful hands. As she struggled, she felt his stiff girth being pressed against her stomach, its tip tracing around her belly button as if to mock her. She froze with fear as she looked forward and saw that he made solid eye contact. Her soaked breasts were covered in tooth marks, and she had been given his full attention.

His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, and with every heaving breath the girl took, she received more of his scent. His gaze was mesmerizing, in a horrible and off-putting sort of way, but she found herself locked into it. Every time her naked inner thighs brushed against the solid muscle of his outer abdomen, she felt herself quiver. Her body was sensitive; she had rarely been touched. Being handled so brutally, so carelessly, was actually proving to almost excite her. But she couldn't accept that. She was being raped, and there was no way to change that. Still, though, she looked upon him, and with a slow, careful descent, he laid his lips upon her soft mouth and sucked against her silky skin. She felt a sort of affection in that lustful press, and when she felt his tongue slither over her own mouth, she leaned her head backward—but her arms slowly came up to find his shoulders. Rather than push him away, she neutrally grasped his firm musculature, her nails digging against his unbreakable flesh with building frustration. Orihime was a virgin, but her body's heat was telling her not to be one anymore. Did she want to be fucked on that table, in that strange land, by that savage man? Her mind said no, but her body pushed her crotch up against his abs, laying a trail of her juices against his skin. She bucked with a sort of animal desperation, as if no matter how much she hated it, she knew it was inevitable—and she wanted to get it over with.

“Mm,” Grimmjow whispered against her lips as he felt her heaving lower body against his stomach, his cock being brushed against the underside of her ass during the rhythmic invitation. “You were easier to tame than I thought...” he pressed a hot kiss to her mouth again, then buried his tongue past her lips. She didn't reciprocate, and she even seemed to want to bite him, but she didn't. She hung in a neutral state until one of her hands slipped from his shoulder to the back of his head, and suddenly she was pulling him closer, begging him to reach deeper. Her legs began to gently loosen their grip upon his midsection, her thick thighs pulling apart to gradually make herself available, allowing her shameful cunt to be accessed without protest.

As Grimmjow pulled away from the kiss and the protruding bone of his mask left a slight indent in the girl's cheek, she looked up at him with a watermelon-hued blush. “J-just get it over with...” she said with shameful acceptance. “Do what you came to do, and then leave me be...” She turned her head away, closing her eyes and feeling tears well up. That was it, then. She had consented, though under duress. She had told the soulless monster to lay claim to her virginity, and she had no doubt that he would do it without caring for her comfort. And she was right.

“If you say so,” Grimmjow murmured with a confident laugh. Despite her early defiance, she was rather easy to train with a mix of pleasure and pain. She wasn't a soldier; she wasn't a slut, either. She wasn't accustomed to his methods, and so she was easy to manipulate. Once she relaxed her struggle and even succumbed to her carnal impulses, Grimmjow took one of his hands between his own legs and guided the stiffness of his cock along the center of her crotch. He brushed its pulsing, lubricated length through her groomed patch of hair, then further down to pass over the concealed nub of her clit. Touching that sensitive bud with his own nerve-rich tip sent a pleasurable groan through both participants, which filled the room with a chord of desire. Then, suddenly, he placed his cockhead against the base of her opening and found the entryway into her deeper canal. The warmth was so inviting, and the fleshy barrier that stood unbroken so delightfully pure. He took a deep, slow breath, dug his face into one of her massive breasts, then shoved his hips against her thighs and forced his cock to pierce her virgin depths, tearing apart the thin layer of her hymen and causing the girl's thighs to shudder and her head to throw back. She cried out in sharp regret, lamenting her loss of innocence and the surge of hurt that took over her senses. She sobbed again, unsure of which emotion to embrace—the lust, the shame, the fear, or the hopefulness that she might be rescued.

She had never in her life felt so irrevocably violated, yet so satisfyingly full; to experience both at once was a surreal condition that she could never have prepared for. She felt her toes curl and cramp as her thighs quivered and the muscles of her back, abs, and ass went tight, trying to force the pain to quell itself as she was stuffed full of a strange, cruel man's rod. She could feel every inch of it as it pushed her inner walls apart, and he was too large for her inexperienced passage to accommodate. She wanted him out, and so her body squeezed defensively, but that only served to make the way even tighter, which resulted in another failed attempt just like the bite to his shaft.

“That's a good girl,” Grimmjow mocked, clenching his teeth against one another and nuzzling her breast with careless ownership. The naked, crying, shuddering, pained young girl was filled with his cock and had, in a way, asked for it to happen. He felt no remorse, so when his cock reached as far as it could reach within the high-schooler's pussy, he made absolutely sure that he rotated his hips and flexed his rear, pushing himself into her as far as he could go and ensuring that every single speck of her sacred depths had been touched by his unholy penetration. “How's it feel?” he asked her with a sultry murmur into her ear. “Oh, I can tell you love it...you're squeezing so hard...” He panted above her, practically drooling with the power of fulfillment. Claiming the girl's virginity had been a perfect compensation for his humiliation in front of his peers, and he saw lots of potential for her stay in Hueco Mundo.

She was quivering and gasping too hard to give a proper answer, but as she got used to the stabbing pain in her depths, she eventually started to feel the little wisps of pleasure that came along with such a physical act. She was given time to adjust, for her walls to stretch out of their comfort zone, and when she felt herself loosening just enough to no longer be in excruciating pain, she trembled up and down her spine and felt her legs curving slightly on their own. Her heels pressed against Grimmjow's lower back, absent-mindedly pulling him inward. She said nothing, too ashamed to voice her incidental enjoyment; she had been thoroughly humiliated. It was bad enough that she was stripped naked and fucked against her will—but it was even worse that she had been tricked into allowing it. Craving it. And when the man who forced her onto her back with her legs spread had been satisfied by her acceptance, he instantly began to take her with wild urgency.

His hips reeled back, then launched forward as if loaded by springs. The sudden force caused Orihime to choke on her own saliva mid-swallow, and her breaths came harshly through her nose. She groaned at the pace, unable to keep up with the rush of emotions that claimed her. It was all the same as before—fear, disgust, regret, pain, and a dash of pleasure. But it came faster, then. She moaned out with ragged huffs, filling the air with the sound of her strained protests. “N-no,” she whispered against Grimmjow's ear as she buried herself against his neck, finding small comforts in the strength of his body. He felt so clearly in charge that she found it easy to confide in him. “Stop it, you're hurting me...”

Good,” came the breathless reply directly into her ear canal. His tongue dipped in to really send home his lack of compassion, soaking her ear and then biting the top curve of cartilage to draw a little blood, which was licked up just like the welling at her nipples a short while before. As his lower body heaved against her, slamming her full of his erect desire, his hips slapped her thighs and created a nice echo of lewd sloshing and squishing. Fluids began to leak out of Orihime's slit as she was taken—blood from her virginity as well as naturally flowing lubricants. She was blushing all across her body, her flesh going from a nice, pale cream to a shade of strawberry, with extra flushing along her ass where she had been spanked and across her cheek where she had been slapped bloody by a single, true strike. She huffed, puffed, and moaned, and with every new thrust she felt herself transitioning from fear to want. She wanted him to continue, but she didn't.

It seemed like hours passed with the repetitive thrusting of flesh on flesh, muscle on muscle, cock on cunt; their bodies were both sweating against one another, making for a slippery connection at their chests where Orihime's enormous mounds were flattened by Grimmjow's powerful hardness. He squished her against the table, and his hands continuously found new pieces of her to fondle, new crevices to slide his fingers through. His grip followed her thighs, calves, ankles, toes, hips, buttocks, tits, shoulders, arms, fingers, cheeks, and hair. He ran a marathon upon her surface with deft probing, taking advantage of every ounce of her helplessness. “You're mine, now,” he snarled into her ear, oblivious to all else. She was his only focus; his prize. His compensation. Fucking the prisoner was the least he would accept after being made a fool of; and he'd probably do her again as soon as he got a free moment.

Over and over, he rammed into her once-virgin hole, stretching her to the point of making her belly gently distend, showing the path his shaft took once he disappeared from view into her tightness. The soothing warmth of her depths made him rather glad that she had been brought in. She was an exotic piece of ass that was made entirely his by fairly simple means. As he pumped away at her moaning, slithering body, he imagined that the rest of her friends would be just as easy to vanquish. With thoughts of crushing Kurosaki Ichigo's head in, he shut his eyes tight and clamped himself down to Orihime's shuddering flesh, embracing the softened pudge that lined every inch of her. She wasn't fat, but she was certainly plush in all the right ways. As he tensed with an array of hasty, finishing thrusts, he felt his victim also tense and close her legs around his waist, drawing him in and inviting him to fill her with his load.

He obliged her with another long howl of total appeasement. His head buried into her neck and his teeth nipped the soft, unbroken skin there. A non-vital area was pierced, and she seeped blood into his mouth as he drank her essence. He could tell by her flavor that she was nearing a climax, a thought that gave the male a strong sense of dominance. The poor thing had been so completely demoralized that she was already resigned to being his property. Her toes were curled, her gut tightened with a growing pressure. She was going to lose her mind, and the nearness to such a thought-shattering orgasm was conveyed through every twitch and turn of her legs and arms. She arched her back, shoving her chest into his and lifting from the table. The table itself was knocked out of alignment, pushing around some of the fallen cups which had rolled beneath them. As Grimmjow's cock surged with another heavy release, Orihime's walls shuddered around him, seeking to squeeze every ounce of his seed from his loins while also spilling forth with her own seeping fluid, soaking her rapist with the reward of a job well-done. She had no time to feel embarrassed anymore, not did she even remember what it was like to feel reserved about the whole matter. Through the course of a single session, she had been rather enthralled by the experience of sex with a Hollow—perhaps there was some ethereal sensation that wormed into her head, or perhaps she simply was a slut just waiting to be awoken, but the fact was clear: as she writhed in total pleasure and allowed wave after wave of potent seed to flow into her deepest reaches from Grimmjow's throbbing dick, she was already looking forward to his next visit long before he had even pulled out.

In fact, he pulled out just as he had done earlier—before he was totally empty. With sweating, heaving breaths, he jerked his cock out from Orihime's depths, allowing an already-copious amount of seed to dribble free of her loaded entry, seeping down her thighs and ass and coating the table with a mixture of aromatic liquids, both hers and his. He stroked himself mightily with a strong hand and harsh roar, allowing his thick shaft to spray out a few heavy ropes of his essence, the first of which landing across both of the abused girl's ballooned breasts; layering them with white strands that came one after the other. As his release wound down, the spray landed closer, coating her stomach and her upper thighs, until he eventually ran out of juice for his second release. He realized that he had possibly overdone it, and without a word he collapsed forward, laying his head against his captive's chest, using her as a pillow while his hands grasped her rear for support. “That'll do...for now,” he murmured lazily, ignoring his own seed upon her soft upper body.

Orihime had been in a daze ever since she was first struck and choked by the man now laying upon her naked, slickly coated chest. It had all gone so strangely as to feel like a nightmare. As the bliss of their erotic coupling came to pass and fade away, her gray eyes became emptied by the horror of what had happened to her. As she looked at the shock of blue hair nestled between her breasts, she began to hyperventilate, the regret returning once her blissful orgasm had fully dissipated. She felt the tears returning and her legs trying to kick him off, but her body was used up. All of her energy was gone. She had been fucked to the point of near-paralysis, and all she could do was lie there upon the table with an arrancar between her legs and her 'new' clothes only a few inches from her face. She looked over to the pristine garments, untouched by the raunchy activity of a moment earlier, and contemplated her future. Was she going to die there, used and abused every night? Or would Ichigo come to save her, despite her never expecting it to happen? One thing was certain: her stay in Hueco Mundo was certainly going to be a life-changing experience, even more so than it already had been.

Grimmjow whispered something from within the stifling pleasantness of Orihime's huge breasts, something that might have been difficult to hear. “I'll get you outta here sometime...to really repay you,” he murmured with a rare dose of sincerity. Of course, that time was still a ways off. Until then, he was going to take full advantage of having her there...

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