Little Shaolin

BY : c0p13r
Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 7009
Disclaimer: I don't own 'BLEACH' and make no profit from this story

Little Shaolin


            The Second Division…  The Secret Force, the expert military, the assassins.  Its methods were crude and dishonorable, but that was their way.  They were disciplined and altruistic, too.  To them, their own flesh and blood was naught but a shield for the sake of the Soul Society.  And to that end, in all ways, they gave themselves in body and spirit.

            Shaolin did well to recount the histories and disciplines that had been instilled in her, even when the shadowed man grabbed the shroud across the bottom half of her face and wedged his cock through her lips.  She complied, sucking eagerly while the other anonymous freely stroked the slit between her legs, gathering her moisture and applying it to his own sex.

            Three men so far, she counted: the one who pressed into her mouth, the eagerest one taking roost between her legs after tearing her shinobi uniform, the other palming her small chest.  She accepted her role in the Onmitsukido; a lethal assassin, an aide to Yoruichi-sama, but still a female to be bred.  Once a year, she had to put up with this; the dark room with up to five anonymous men, each wearing their stealth masks to hide their identities from her and each other.  No paternal ties to the hypothetical child; the Onmitsukido way.

            The third man squeezed at her left breast, hard, and then put her hand on his outreached cock.  She did not like the roughness – not from him – but she dutifully rubbed his dick, coaxing it from half-mast to its full potential until it started to bead at the tip.

            Her eyes – bigger back then, full of vision – glinted in the near-invisible light, looking up at the silhouette petting her short hair as her lips rubbed his dick.  But soon, she felt to press of insertion.  It had been a while.  She removed the cock from her mouth to cringe.  The one between her legs had made his move, finding her current arousal suitable for entry.  An inch first, and a dragging whine accompanied the following three; the fifth and final inch gained a yelp when he gave her hips an accommodating tug.

            The petite girl was light, easy to maneuver.  The man growled that he liked it, and began fucking her hard, forcing her less experienced body to meet his method.  She let go of the other man, clutching at the flood bedding for support.  She could twist in a full rotation in midair, take a Hollow’s claws to her ribs and still hold her sword to fight, command a squadron of expendables to victory, yet she fell short in sex.  Here, the man dominated, as if they knew it was her.

            The up-and-comer, Yoruichi-sama’s favorite, the Fon…

            Yes, not hard to tell from her stature.  Other women had gained height and mass in the Onmitsukido; she had hardly grown at all.

            Her panting became heavier and heavier, feeling the man curve up her passage to meet with her womb, battering it again and again.  His hand found her throat and gripped.  The moans came out in wheezing gasps as he strangled her.  With a swear – at her or his own failings – he warmed her belly with his heat.  He poured and poured, thrusting to emphasize the longing for this release.

            He had been at her for no more than four minutes; men tried to last longer, but the disciplined life of the Onmitsukido prohibited fleshy pleasures.

            He waned and wilted, and she was glad for him to be out of her, slinking back as if defeated, going to wait for the others to finish.

            Next up, the man who had been in her mouth; he resumed his predecessor’s position, kneeling between her thin thighs and rubbing his head against her leaking snatch.  He went in, but he was gentle about it, reaching her cervix after a soothing series of strokes.  Groaning, he hugged her small body and brought her to his chest.

            She hated these men, the ones who treated her gentle – he kissed her on the mouth – and kissed her!  Worse than the rougher men, as if she would swoon to be treated delicately.  These men acted like gentle treatment would cause her to fall in love and search for him.  She would bite off his lip if it wouldn’t cause a clamor, and Yoruichi-sama would be disappointed in her fortitude.


            She closed her eyes softly, embracing the man around the neck and let her face settle in the crook of it.  His rocking was almost lulling like a boat on the tide, whisking her to memories.

            She remembered when she caught Yoruichi-sama being – in her mind – defiled, though Yoruichi-sama seemed to be having some modicum of fun.  She was lounging on her pillow seat, one glorious breast unhitched from her commander’s outfit, rolling in time with the unworthy’s eager thrusts.  Watching from the merest crack of the door, she hated herself for it, for leaving Yoruichi-sama’s side long enough for this undeserving slob to mount to the Goddess and ride her until his ungallant scheme fled into her body.

            She had seen the ill deed when he dismounted, pressing an ebony thigh aside to see the milky white vulgarity spill out of Yoruichi-sama’s womanhood.  The vile man; she would have slit his throat if she could identify him afterward.  It had only been a moment that she’d left her Master’s side; it had taken him just that long to defile her.  If she had stayed… it would’ve been her to know the Goddess’ lovely moans.

            If only that were true, but for the second time, witness from the ceiling…

            What had led her to creep in the narrow attic above Yoruichi-sama’s room?  Yoruichi-sama had been drinking, and the male company was sketchy and drunk as well, though donned in their combat gear.  The lot of them – Yoruichi-sama included – were gone by the time she finished her rounds.

            She was suspicious, or maybe just angry; a bit heartbroken, perhaps.  Stealthily, even with the guard posted around her quarters, she got to the crawlspace.  Even as small as she was, she had to crawl on her belly, relying on her arms to pull her along, her feet edging her closer and closer.  Beams of lanternlight cut narrow boards through the stuffy darkness, and she peeked through each one, and each time found an empty room.  She felt relieved for a moment, but she heard the devastating truth before she ultimately witnessed it, through a crack in the ceiling panels.

            The sounds of sex…

            But it was not the one undeserving like before.  It was the lot of them; five men, piled on and greedily took Yoruichi-sama.  Above, unknown the them, she watched, breathless as her idol made merry amongst the droves of dicks.  The smiling mouth wrapped around one, sucked, and then laughed against another that vanished in her mouth.  The ingrates grabbed her short hair, groaning loudly as they pumped in and out of her mouth, carefully treading to more intimate territory.

            Bits of Yoruichi-sama’s clothes were dismantled, garments hardly holding ground on her so the men – naked save for their concealing cowls and masks – could grab her sacred flesh.  The first man impaled her, and while he lost his voice to gasps and moans, she threw her head back and laughed jubilantly, much to the ache of the one hidden above.

            It was Yoruichi-sama’s elation that kept her from revealing herself.  Somehow, she could not bring herself to take that joy from the Goddess’ face.  It hurt still.  Men, for her, had been a duty; for Yoruichi-sama, they were a delight.

            One hole, twice filled; two men impatiently packed her apex, finally taking her smile and putting some effort on her face.  Another took her mouth, and she bowed forward when another wanted her unused hole.  Two between her legs, stretching her unimaginably, one in her mouth, and now one filling her jutting rear.

            It was enough to fill her with rage.  Yoruichi-sama was better than those filths!  She needn’t succumb to this debauchery.

            It was all she could do not to interfere, reduced to watching.  She wanted to rage on the men, remove their ability to breed before prostrating before her mistress and apologizing for interfering.  But she stayed herself and settled for angrily shoving down her pants to her knees, her ass lifted as if in presentation to a man behind her, and found the source of her pleasure.  Heavily-watered eyes continued to watch over the veil across her mouth, her moans transferred to husky exhales as she watched her Goddess violated.  By the time the stream of her lip-biting release arched from her quivering quim to saturate the roof above Yoruichi-sama’s head, the men, one by one, disengaged and burst across her lifted bosom.  For their viewing pleasure, she made a show of licking the white streaks from her ebony mounds.

            The memory was viciously interrupted.  The rocking of the romantic was botched, but the romantic had not finished; it was the third who was making his appearance, no less impatient than the one who had doubled up on Yoruichi-sama’s entrance.  And she herself now experienced it, another man’s cramming up against her occupied gash, forcing her open until she yowled like a cat.  But he made it in, forced her to take it, and his pace was vicious.  He pressed her forward to lean over the romantic, and then heaved himself at her insides.

            The two men were out of sync, no cooperation.  The romantic continued to rock in rhythm, the impatient went at her hard and deep, alternating between fast and slow, but always hard.  The more he went on, the more punctuating he was when he came against her cervical wall.  She seethed, and the merest swear left her lips.  The impatient hushed her, rebuking her language, and did something about her ineloquence for her by shoving two fingers in her mouth.  She endured and kept enduring until he shoved them deeper.  Her throat flexed.  She tried to keep it down, though her eyes squinted.  Detestable!  She finally gagged, spitting and pulling away, indecently slobbering over the romantic’s face.

            Someone fired off; she felt the heat again, tainting the depths of her body, swabbing her with the intent of sown seed.  She guessed it was the romantic, for the impatient one started up harder than before, growling and reinserting his two fingers into her mouth.  She choked, but then complied, sucking on them and hoping his bitter digits would retract soon.

            Not long at all…  His voice was gruff in his climax, cursing quietly as he drew her to his lap, muscling out the other man’s drained cock as he spent his own efforts.  He formed against the curve of her back, and when he exhaled, she smelled the reek of alcohol on his breath.  He’d indulged too much on this day.  Scent was a deadly give away for a Stealth Force member; she could hunt him down easily.

            But to her relief, her session was done.  All three men had filled her womb.  She’d fulfilled her obligation.  They’d all retreated from her, slinking off to the dark again as they had when they came to her.

            She relaxed.  The door would open and they’d be excused before she would be free to clean up… after going through the motions to help ensure impregnation, such as widening her pelvis through yoga, meditation and other methods suggested for successful childbearing.

            She hadn’t considered the fourth in the wings until he had gotten on her.  He descended like an enemy, and while she could have fought him off – prohibited violence – it was not possible when the three who had already taken her restricted her arms.  She struggled against them, demanding her freedom, but they refused, even the romantic.

            Unexpectedly, the fourth ducked his head between her legs, and it wasn’t until he kissed her that she realized that ‘he’ was a ‘she’.  Too delicate of lips, and the voice was feminine as she murmured against the slick snatch.

            The payloads that she had endured were stolen, swept from her body to head down the unknown woman’s gullet.  It wasn’t for pleasure; it was like a prelude.  The woman ate her thoroughly until the only heat that stayed was already barred in her room.

            The mystery assailant stood up, wiped her mouth while a suppressed noise of revulsion, and uttered a single apology.  Her feet flew.  She was no member of Onmitsukido; her footfalls too loud even for a novice.  The door opened, and for the briefest moment, she saw the girl’s clothing before fleeing.  A girl from the outer districts, with short black hair…

            But no time to identify.

            There was one more, and his approach repelled the other men.  She looked up, his hulking figure towering over her, his face hidden by shadow and mask, though he had pulled down the latter to shove something in his mouth to chew noisily.  The mask creased around his grin, and he said that a man of wealth does not wallow in the filth of his inferiors.  He must’ve paid the girl to clear his way.

            She swore at him, and his speed belied his mass.  He was over her, pressing down.  He was much heavier than the others, and double her height.  He stank of sweat underneath the overpowering scent of cologne; a luxury too few of Onmitsukido thought to afford.

            He chortled and promised that this was payback for undermining his authority during a recent mission.  She pulled from him, but he pursued, flipping her over, and grabbing her hip in his big hand.  Little runt, he called her, and he made himself known inside of her with a deep plunge.

            Bigger than the others; she bit back her cry as he filled her out nicely.  He grunted and complimented her grip; firmer than the girls at the brothel.  Whoever he was, a model member of the altruistic Stealth Force, he was not.  Monetary greed was a slippery illness that snuck through the Onmitsukido rank, infecting those weakest amongst them.  She’d been sold out, but she endured.

            It was her duty to breed.

            The large man pounded against her little rump, his gut wobbling against her with each impact.  And steadily, he brought her to gasp and grunt with each hammering.  His hand felt its largest when he seized her cowl and a fistful of her hair, yanking to make her seethe.  He dared her to give him an order now, but she did not.  She just splayed her hands out, grabbed the rumbled bedding, and took the fucking.

            He would not have that.  He demanded participation.  He paid good money for participation, but her will would not bow to gold.  The hand at her waist crawled around and found the hair-covered mound where he split her, and his smooth, rich hands fondled her clit.  Damn him, he was determined.

            She first tried to pull away, but his weight refused.  The hand that fisted her hair now pushed her cheek to the bed, prostrating her as he had his way.  Runt, he called her again amongst his heaving grunts.  He said she was not better than him, and then he cast his own ballot for her child.  His hips jerked, and then he let himself fall.

            She was crushed under his weight, panting as she unwillingly accepted his seed.  The white pool in her womb grew, indistinguishable cells squirming around, all unitedly searching for one of her eggs to fertilize.  She hoped his would not find soil.

            She was close to asphyxiation when he finally rolled off of her.  With a cloth in hand – another luxury – he wiped his cock clean and tossed it on her leg.  She just stayed sprawled on the bedding with her ass slightly lifted.  He chortled smugly at her and said she had a way to go.

            “If the Onmitsukido doesn’t work out for you,” he jeered coldly, “a whorehouse would do you a well.”


An idea that just popped to mind; couldn’t help writing it, and I may find time to smooth it over later.  I just wanted to get it out, though this might breed an actual story following Soifon in a tale of humiliation, compromise, and double-dealings

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