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Tentacle Monster	By : SakikuTorakak Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Urahara/Ichigo Views: 9738 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, and I don't make any money from this

Chapter List
- 1-Tentacle Monster
- 1
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Urahara/Ichigo
Words: 10k
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Urahara always invents new things. And of course, they need to be shown to an appreciative audience. And even if the audience isn't very appreciative at first, Urahara can be very convincing. PWP
Warnings: anal, bondage, D/s, gags, oral, pain play, tentacles
A/N: It's a kink-meme prompt, but I can't remember either the kink-meme or the exact prompt wording. The scenario is something that hasn't let me go for more than two years. I finally managed to finish it, and now you've got lots and lots and lots of pr0nz!
--~--
Tentacle Monster
“Put this in your mouth.”
Ichigo stared blankly at the thing Urahara handed him. It showed strange similarities to the teething ring of a baby, just a bit smaller and with four leather bands fastened to it, two to a side. And it was black, not one of those lurid neon colors all babies apparently appreciated.
“And ‘this’ would be?” He let the thing dangle from the tip of his fingers, eying it suspiciously.
“A ring gag.” Upon Ichigo’s exasperated eyebrow, Urahara elaborated. “Not so much for keeping you quiet, but to prevent you from using your teeth. Deliberately or accidentally.”
The diameter of the hole in the center of the ring looked to be close to two inches, big enough to fit all four of his fingers down to the last knuckle. Meaning it was one fucking big hole where one could stick all manners of things through. He had trouble believing the thing would fit into his mouth.
Giving Urahara another suspicious stare, Ichigo was starting to wonder whether this really was worth the trouble.
Sure, sex with Sandal-Hat was mind-blowing, but the shop owner had a kinky streak a mile wide. Ichigo’s horizon had been definitely broadened since he had started sleeping with the ex-shinigami, broadened and stretched far beyond his imagination – just like other parts of his anatomy. Urahara had shown him things Ichigo hadn’t even thought possible, let alone pleasurable. But the shop owner had a knack for discovering what exactly got Ichigo going, even if the teen didn’t know about it yet.
So, in light of his past pleasurable encounters, Ichigo didn’t put up too much of a fight at Urahara’s encouraging, “Well, put it in!”.
It was a very, very tight fit. The ring felt even bigger when trying to get it into his mouth. Fortunately it gave a tiny bit, the rubber-coated plastic not completely rigid. After a bit of squeezing and a deft application of force, it sat snugly behind his front teeth, propping open his mouth uncomfortably wide. The four leather bands, two to each side, hung from the corners of his mouth while he worked his jaw a bit to get used to the faint plastic taste of the gag. To his disgust, he started to drool almost immediately since he couldn’t swallow his spit anymore.
Glancing Urahara with a punishing glare, he tried to ask, “What now?”, but it rather came out like “Haht naah?”. Including a bit of bubbling saliva.
Thankfully, Sandal-Hat seemed to have understood him nonetheless. “Now? Now, I’m going to tie the gag into place, and then we’ll get to the thing I wanted to show you.”
The gleeful twinkle in Urahara’s eyes certainly did nothing to reassure Ichigo, but he did let the shop owner fasten the ties. He had long ago found out that Urahara liked being all mysterious and surprise Ichigo with his ever-new crazy inventions. And judging from Urahara’s excitement, today was going to be spent with the mother of all inventions.
He merely grunted when the scientist stepped behind him and tied one set of leather bands at the nape of his neck, the other further up the curve of his skull. Honestly, he had no clue why Urahara thought the ring had to be fixed like that. Ichigo doubted that anything but a good amount of luck and force would budge the gag from where it sat wedged behind his teeth.
The scientist trailed a finger along the leather band, following it to Ichigo’s mouth and rubbed his stretched lips softly. Ichigo would have loved to answer by either sucking Urahara’s finger in or sneaking his tongue out, but thanks to his locked jaw that was just about impossible. Urahara’s finger continued to explore further, dipping into Ichigo’s mouth and testing the fit of the gag. It felt strange not being able to do anything but wrap his tongue around the digit as well as he could, laving it with the uncomfortable amount of saliva in his mouth.
Urahara smiled at him before withdrawing the finger, patting Ichigo’s cheek lightly with his other hand. “Good boy. Now, before the fun can begin, I’ll need to prepare you a bit more. Just think of it as body painting or something.”
The following chuckle and smirk wasn’t very promising in Ichigo’s opinion. It never bode well when Urahara wore such an expression.
“Undress yourself.”
With a glare, Ichigo obeyed the command but kept a very close eye on just what Urahara was getting. From the looks of it, it was two medium-sized pots, one with blue color, the other with red. Had the scientist really been serious when had spoken of body painting?
He watched as Urahara opened the blue one, dipping two fingers inside. “Hands.”
With deft strokes, Urahara painted thick blue lines around Ichigo’s wrists, two thinner ones twirling up his forearms, to his shoulders and along his upper body. Ichigo thought it looked like a wide-meshed net, at least the parts he could see. The color felt cool after Urahara’s warm finger left, sending a small shiver through Ichigo. It had been applied so thickly that it rose in a three-dimensional bump from his skin.
“Don’t let your arms touch your side. I don’t want you to smear the paint before it dries,” the scientist mumbled while he concentrated on making the lines symmetrical and even.
Ichigo grunted an assent, but felt a bit stupid standing there like he had been interrupted right in the middle of a jumping jack. Not that he would ever do jumping jacks in the nude as he was.
Once the scientist seemed to be satisfied with Ichigo’s torso, he started on his legs working upwards. Again a circle around his ankles, and then blue lines trailing upwards.
Ichigo squeaked quite unmanly when Urahara gently handled his genitals to draw an equally blue ring around the base of his cock and around his sack. Despite the clinical and cold touch, Ichigo felt himself harden a bit.
This drew a chuckle from the blond kneeling in front of him. “Eager to start already?”
Ichigo whined a bit, his noise growing louder when Urahara deliberately breathed on his waking prick. The shop-owner’s mouth was less than an inch away, and Ichigo’s dick was rapidly swelling to close the distance. Urahara hadn’t yet let go of his cock and balls, holding them slightly suspended. Probably so that the color could dry without getting smeared.
However, Ichigo didn’t care about the damned blue color. He cared more about the tongue he could see from the corner of his eyes. Thanks to his jaw being propped open so wide, he couldn’t properly bend down his head. And anyway, if he lowered his head too much, the spittle he wasn’t able to swallow dribbled out. So, instead of looking down, Ichigo had to rely mostly on his peripheral vision for what Urahara was doing.
He didn’t need his eyes though to discern that Urahara had just licked across the head of his prick. Ichigo’s breath hitched in a choked whine when hot moisture scraped across his sensitive flesh.
Instinctively he thrust forward to get more of the addicting sensation. But Urahara’s hand tightened painfully around his cock and quickly put an end to that attempt. Once again Ichigo whined, and once again Urahara only chuckled.
“Arms,” he reminded Ichigo, and Ichigo quickly lifted his elbows away from where they had almost sunk down to touch his ribs.
Breathing deeply but erratically, Ichigo tried to stay as still as possible while Urahara returned to licking the crown of his dick with renewed interest. His knees were trembling from the sheer pleasure shooting through him, his muscles corded in a desperate attempt to keep himself from thrusting further into that hot mouth.
The tentative lapping and the light but unmoving hold around his dick and testes was maddening. He clenched his hands, digging in his nails until he could feel blood. It was a pitiful attempt to distract himself from the actions further down south, and didn’t work all too well.
He knew, knew through instinct and from previous experience, that it would feel so much better if he could just get Urahara to change his teasing licks to full-mouthed suction. Or make him use those agile hands for more than just holding up Ichigo’s privates. Or do anything else that provided more stimulation.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, the bastard stopped. Ichigo couldn’t help the “Ngaah!” that escaped him, but at least that was better than undignified whining. And Ichigo completely ignored the fact that he had already done so.
Urahara laughed and moved his head away, cleaning the blue goo off his fingers. “Not quite yet, my dear, impatient Ichigo. As you can see, I’ve still got an entire pot of red color to go...”
Glaring as best as he could with his mouth propped wide open, Ichigo chided himself for getting his hopes up. Of course things weren’t going to be that easy. Urahara had never given him a blow-job without subjecting him to several hours of torturously pleasurable experiences beforehand. And getting strange blue lines painted all around his body certainly didn’t count as that.
“While the blue’s drying, I think I’ll give you a taste of how things are going to go.”
Urahara’s smile was not very reassuring. Ichigo watched the other with hawk’s eyes as he dipped his right index finger into the red paint and then approached the teen with the glob of color. Catching Ichigo’s shoulder with his left, Urahara slowly trailed his clean hand upwards until he could support Ichigo’s head from behind. Ichigo though was more focused on the digit drawing nearer and nearer to his mouth. Was Urahara going to feed him that red stuff?
“I’d suggest you not swallow this. It could lead to some…” Urahara paused briefly, looking for the appropriate words. “Some interesting complications.”
Oh dear. In Urahara’s language, ‘interesting’ was a synonym for ‘painful’ or ‘awkward’ or ‘pushing the boundaries more than you like’. Sometimes, it was a synonym for all three of them. Ichigo had learned to be very wary of the word.
Ichigo tilted his head backwards and swallowed a few times, getting rid of as much saliva as he could. Who knew how long it would be before Urahara allowed him to swallow again.
“Ready?” Urahara’s eyes practically gleamed with giddiness, sending a shiver down Ichigo’s spine.
Ichigo grunted a ‘yes’ and braced himself against the hand threaded through his hair. His eyes remained locked on Urahara’s, daring the shop owner to hit him with whatever he had planned.
“Excellent,” the sing-song reply came, and Urahara wasted no time in smearing the red paste into Ichigo’s mouth. “Remember, no swallowing.”
The red-coated digit danced over Ichigo’s tongue, his palate, his gums, his teeth, and Ichigo could already feel the saliva building up yet again. Fortunately, the paste wasn’t gross beyond a slightly lemony smell, because Ichigo had enough trouble keeping his tongue still and his swallowing reflex under control.
Urahara got more paste and smeared it on the insides of his cheeks, around the ring-gag, and over his lips. The expression of utter concentration on the ex-shinigami’s face would have been exciting to watch, but Ichigo was distracted by another sensation. His eyebrows furrowed as the spots Urahara had touched grew hotter and hotter. Slowly it got to the point that his mouth started to burn as if he was eating a very spicy chili.
Unnerved, he took a half-step back to get away from the finger in his mouth, pushing against the hand cupping the back of his head. “Nnngh?”
The answering smile he got was a mixture of oblivious bliss and wicked amusement that only Urahara knew how to pull off. “You’re already starting to feel it? Excellent. I’ve added some chemical irritants, mostly gingerols and capsaicin, which should cause a slight burning sensation. Don’t worry, the substances are perfectly harmless. They can be found in ginger and chili peppers and are what makes them hot to the taste. Now, be a good boy and hold still.”
Eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, Ichigo held still. His mouth was burning, and the way Urahara kept smearing more and more red paste onto his tongue and gums didn’t look very promising. But the shop-keepers digit was nice and cool against his hot flesh, and the slick and steady pressure with which Urahara massaged the paste into his mouth soothed the burn for a few moments. Another nice side-effect was that Urahara distributed the saliva that was collecting behind his lower teeth in generous amounts, to parts of Ichigo’s mouth that were starting to dry out.
It was just as well that Urahara had cautioned him from swallowing. Just imagining the burn hitting the back of his throat made him long for water.
Finally Urahara was done, and Ichigo was seriously reconsidering his decision to go along with the mad scientist’s plans. He wasn’t stupid. He knew where this was going to lead. There was no way that his mouth was the only place where Urahara intended to apply the red paste, not when it was nearly slick enough to act as a lubricant. And although the burn in his mouth wasn’t that bad, he very much doubted that the same could be said for other places.
The ex-shinigami wiped his fingers off on a rag, nearly thrumming with giddy excitement. “Looking good, Kurosaki-kun. You are going to love what is coming next.”
Ichigo was a bit skeptic about that. Urahara’s behavior didn’t promise anything good; but at least the other had put that infernal red paste away. Ichigo decided to give him the benefit of doubt, even if he was less than certain of things.
With a steady hand on his back, Urahara guided Ichigo over to the table in the corner, where a shoe-carton sized box was sitting right on the edge. It was black and slightly glossy, with the only visible opening being a two inch hole in the front. Ichigo couldn’t see if there was anything in the box, but he curiously eyed it. The hole was at an interesting height and at a suspicious diameter - if the table was about four inches lower, it would be exactly at his groin level.
“Kneel down.”
Pressure on his shoulders made Ichigo obey, trying to find a position on the tatami where his kneecaps didn’t threaten to dislocate - because the ‘kneeling’ Urahara was talking about wasn’t sitting in seiza, but rather like the ‘kneeling’ Christian worshipers did during their prayers.
Well, apparently he had misjudged the purpose of the box. Now that he was lower to the ground, it was right in his face. And he still couldn’t see what was inside, or if there was anything at all.
“Nngh?” he tilted his head questioningly at Urahara. Thankfully he had to look upwards, because the burning in his mouth seemed to have encouraged his salivary glands to approach peak production. In other words, he had trouble not to drool onto himself like an idiot.
“A moment, Kurosaki-kun,” Urahara chuckled. “I first need to show you what the blue color was for. Put your hands behind your back and get comfortable. And don’t worry about the color, it’s dry already.”
Ichigo did as asked, trying not to shiver when the ex-shinigami’s robes brushed his naked back. The scientist had stepped up right behind him, so close that Ichigo would be able to lean into him if he moved back only the slightest of fractions.
Strong and warm hands cupped the sides of his head, exerting a soft pressure. Urahara’s thumbs were caressing his cheeks lightly while his fingers tickled Ichigo’s jaw bone.
“Now brace yourself.”
Without waiting for an answer - not that Ichigo could have answered - Urahara suddenly raised his reiatsu and sent it tingling against Ichigo’s skin. It felt wonderful, heart-stopping, and constricting at the same time. Ichigo’s breath halted in his throat for a moment before he shivered with the sudden flush of arousal spreading through him.
Well, rather he tried to shiver. He very quickly found out that he couldn’t move anything but his hands and feet, restrained by something that was definitely more than simple spiritual pressure. It felt like his whole body had been encased in steel girds that had hardened to fit his current posture to the millimeter.
Urahara’s thumbs kept stroking his cheeks, while the scientist chuckled lightly. “You feel it yet? The blue paste is a very special material - viscid at room temperature, but under the influence of certain levels of reiatsu, it becomes ten times harder than steel. How do you like it?”
Ichigo thought the growing pressure in his cock - the more blood that was flowing downwards, the more aware he became of the blue line that had turned into a steely cock ring - answered the question sufficiently. He gave an appreciative grunt nonetheless, relaxing into his bindings that were holding him up. Now, if only he could get rid of the ring gag and the burning in his mouth…
“Excellent, excellent,” Sandal-Hat hummed, lifting one hand away from Ichigo’s face to tap the black box in several locations. “Time for me then to show you what the red paste is for.”
The hand returned to Ichigo’s jaw, and for several moments nothing happened. Ichigo was starting to wonder if he was supposed to do something, but between the mesh encasing his body and Urahara’s hands immobilizing his head, there was nothing he could think of.
Then a hint of movement caught his eyes. He looked closer at the hole in the black box, and indeed there seemed to be some activity going on inside. Fascinated, he watched as slowly, very slowly, a whitish-grey substance oozed towards the opening on its own accord. However, his fascination quickly turned into alarm when the substance didn’t make halt at the hole but actually extended into a writhing tentacle. A tentacle growing unfailingly towards his mouth.
“Nnnggghhh!!!” Ichigo protested and jerked back as far as his bonds allowed. His head thudded into Sandal-hat’s abdomen, muscles straining to break his bonds.
“Shhh.” The mad scientist stepped that half-step closer that brought him flush against Ichigo’s back. He held Ichigo’s head securely against his front, hands turning into soft but unrelenting restraints that prevented Ichigo from turning away. “This isn’t going to hurt you, Kurosaki-kun. In fact, I think you are going to like my new invention very much. It is programmed to only go after the red paste, and it can’t leave the box completely. You are in absolutely no danger, so relax and enjoy my tentacle-kun’s ministrations.”
Wide-eyed, Ichigo couldn’t do anything but stare at the tentacle that was still growing in both girth and length as more and more of the strange substance oozed out of the box. To be honest, it kind of looked like the white slime that oozed out when a soul turned Hollow. He was panting harshly, his hands clenching terrified into the fabric of Urahara’s pants. Only Sandal-hat’s unfailing presence at his back prevented Ichigo from stopping things right then and there, the tip of the tentacle already having grown beyond his field of vision.
He could understand now why the ex-shinigami had insisted on the ring gag. If the infernal toy wasn’t there, Ichigo would have clenched his teeth and lips so hard that not even a crowbar would have been able to pry them open. As it was, he couldn’t do anything but wait helplessly for whatever the tentacle was going to do.
The first touch on his lips was so soft that Ichigo would have thought he had imagined it if the tentacle wasn’t so cold. Room temperature, which felt icy on his burning lips.
He inhaled sharply and tried to jerk away, but Urahara held him fast, stroking his cheek bones in a soothing motion. “You’re doing good, Ichigo. Very good. I know you can do this.”
An undignified whimper escaped him when the tentacle returned for a second touch, this time probing a bit more insistently. Ichigo shuddered but didn’t move otherwise. Despite its obviously liquid state, the tentacle felt quite solid against Ichigo’s lips, coated only by a thin layer of slick… something. He was trying not to think about it.
Urahara’s calm breathing gave him something to focus on as it rhythmically rocked Ichigo’s head against his abdomen. Ichigo could smell the scent of Urahara’s laundry detergent, clean and warm, just like the feel of the ex-shinigami’s body against his back, his knees bracing Ichigo’s sides. And a bulge slowly growing against the back of his head and neck, being pressed against him every now and then. At least one of them was enjoying themselves. Ichigo tried to look up to make eye contact with the man, but the calloused hands on his face were gentle but insistent in keeping him from moving his head.
Urahara’s voice rumbled softly behind him. “Yes, I know it feels strange at first, but you are going to like it. Promise. Just give it a chance.”
Growing bolder, the tentacle rubbed itself against Ichigo’s skin, its cool pressure soothing away the burn of the red paste. Slowly, it explored more and more of Ichigo’s lips, but true to Urahara’s claim, it never went in places where there was no paste. Instead, it left behind a tingling relief that made his lips hypersensitive now that the heat of the burn was gone.
Having cleaned Ichigo’s lips of all traces of red paste, the tentacle began to dip inside. Ichigo could see that there was still more substance flowing out of the black box, making the tentacle even longer and thicker. It easily found its way through the hole in the ring gag and soothed the burn of Ichigo’s gums. It almost felt like a cool tongue exploring his mouth, and Ichigo took the dare to meet it with his own.
It felt like nothing he had ever felt before.
The tentacle was cool and slick, completely smooth. And it was a lot more prehensile than any tongue could be. A bit thinner, too, and rounder. Thankfully, it didn’t taste of anything, or Ichigo wouldn’t have been able to keep his revulsion in check. It entwined with his tongue in an insane French kiss, and Ichigo had to close his eyes so that he could just concentrate on the sensation instead of always seeing the black box and the tentacle’s liquid state in front of his eyes.
What had started out as rubbing his burning tongue against the cool tentacle for relief though, quickly turned into more. Ichigo couldn’t help the moan when the tingling slickness made his tongue hyper-sensitive and strangely needy. The tentacle was writhing more vigorously now, abandoning Ichigo’s tongue for spots of red paste every now and then. Every time though Ichigo managed to call it back by licking his sore pallet and gather up some more red paste that way.
It had grown warmer from the time spent in his oral cavity, and together with the increase in temperature, it had become bolder. Every touch left Ichigo’s mouth tingling as it explored every last crevice. He’d had no idea that his gums could be that sensitive.
Slowly, his whole mouth was itching with need, and now Urahara had to hold him back instead of encourage him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that the ex-shinigami was carrying on an appreciative monologue, but he didn’t pay much attention. He was too intent on bathing the tentacle with saliva from the growing pool in his mouth.
When the tentacle finally drew back, Ichigo moaned piteously and tried to follow it. He strained against the rock-hard bindings, panting harshly in his desire to get more. Once again though, Urahara’s hands held him back.
It didn’t take long before the last strand of saliva connecting him to the tentacle broke, leaving Ichigo’s mouth empty and itching with need. He whined, because his own tongue just didn’t cut it. Thankfully that was when Urahara took pity on him.
The shop owner stepped around Ichigo and shoved the table back, always keeping a hand in contact with Ichigo’s skin. With the other, he freed his own erection that was already leaking, same as Ichigo’s. Completely on their own accord, Ichigo’s eyes focused hungrily on the dripping cock, the need to have something fill his mouth almost overwhelming.
Urahara chuckled when Ichigo strained to lick his tip. “Ah, yes. I guess I haven’t mentioned yet that my tentacle-kun releases a substance that doesn’t only act as a lubricant but, in combination with the red paste, becomes a potent aphrodisiac, have I?”
Ichigo didn’t care. He was much more interested in the cock in his face, and the need to do something with his mouth.
“Alright, alright, I get it. Now, open wide…”
Briefly Ichigo glared up at the ex-shinigami, because there was hardly anything else he could do thanks to the ring gag propping his mouth open. Then he refocused on the hard, slightly curved organ and almost sighed in relief when Urahara fit through the ring without any problem.
He sucked and slurped, and generally tried his best to rub his itching tongue and mouth against the hot, hard flesh. Urahara’s hands fisted into his hair, but the ex-shinigami restrained himself from outright thrusting.
It was kind of nice not having to worry any about his teeth, thanks to the ring gag propping his mouth open. Instead, Ichigo could concentrate completely on licking the other's engorged head. He could feel Urahara's hands trembling as the ex-shinigami held himself back, breathing noticeably harder. Well, that was nice, but Ichigo wasn't content with only a head to play with and Urahara still so in control of himself. Too bad that any real suction was out of the question since it was impossible to build up a vacuum without his lips closing around the ex-shinigami's member.
Not one to give up on a challenge, Ichigo pulled out the heavy weaponry that had worked every single time so far: the Tongue-flutter. After several long swipes across the exposed glans, Ichigo swallowed as much of the cock as he could and began tapping his tongue against the underside in a slowly increasing rhythm. With every tap he pulled away a bit, and he knew it had to be absolutely maddening to slowly be wound tighter and tighter by anticipation of Ichigo's tongue reaching the head. The vein on the underside of Urahara's cock was so nicely sensitive, and then it turned into the even more sensitive flesh just beneath the ridge where Ichigo spent some extra time.
“You are going the death of me, aren't you?” the ex-shinigami groaned as his hands fisted harder in Ichigo's hair. Seemed that he had caught on to Ichigo's plan.
Ichigo couldn't smirk in response. Instead, he took a brief break to once again lick across Urahara's glans, before returning to the base of the ex-shinigami's cock and restarting the entire sequence. Gradually, he sped up the taps, until his tongue really was fluttering against Urahara's cock. He got rewarded by a longer and deeper groan, and he moved to start yet again.
The ex-shinigami was trembling, his sweaty fingers sticking to Ichigo's hair as he fought his body's reflexive urge to thrust. It was quite gratifying to see the scientist be the one to lose his control for once, and Ichigo only renewed his efforts in driving the other insane.
Urahara, who had been panting and trembling like a race-horse so far, finally thrust forward, through Ichigo's gag reflex and straight into his throat. Ichigo eyes bugged out as he swallowed convulsively, barely holding on to his control. His nose was pressed right into Urahara's groin hair, the coarse curls tickling his overly sensitive lips. It took several seconds before the scientist pulled back and Ichigo gasped a few ragged breaths, trying not to think about how he really liked it when Urahara forced him to take his cock that deep.
Then the ex-shinigami was back in his throat and Ichigo swallowed again and again; a short time to snatch some breaths, and then swallowing again and again and again until Urahara came. But even that didn't prevent the mess from forming as Urahara emptied himself into Ichigo's mouth with a groan.
Slowly the shop-keeper pulled back, panting as heavily as Ichigo was now that he could breathe freely again. He wiped his softening dick on Ichigo's lips, and Ichigo glared at him. He was never one for unnecessary messes, and he felt quite uncomfortable with the amount of saliva and semen dribbling from his mouth. As soon as Urahara let his hair go, Ichigo tilted his head back and swallowed through his sore throat.
A slight tremor had taken hold of Ichigo, mostly caused by the rock-hard boner pointing upward, and his utter inability to do anything about it. He whined a bit, feeling that his balls wanted to pull up but couldn't thanks to the blue restraints that held them back. Cruel as the scientist was though, he merely chuckled a bit as he tucked himself back into his pants and then gathered Ichigo close. It was a non-sexual contact, Urahara simply standing so close that Ichigo could feel the warmth of his body through the haori and the pants, the ex-captain laying a hand on Ichigo's cheek to encourage him to rest his head against Urhara's hip.
For a long time they simply rested like that, Ichigo quickly giving up trying to get some more stimulation out of the position. Urahara had positioned himself in the exactly right way that Ichigo's cock remained entirely untouched, and his petting hands on Ichigo's head were soothing instead of arousing.
Reluctantly, Ichigo calmed down, whining a bit as the ache in his jaw came to the forefront now that the pleasure clouding it was gone.
Thankfully, Urahara finally took pity on him. With a few deft moves he untied the ring gag, and to Ichigo's surprise managed to pull it out of his mouth without hurting him any further.
Ichigo's first action was actually closing his lips and swallowing the shitload of saliva. His second action was working his jaw to get rid of the ache that had built. His entire mouth felt loose, unhinged, as if it would drop open automatically as soon as he stopped concentrating on keeping it closed. And then, to Ichigo's surprise, Urahara dropped his reiatsu so far that Ichigo nearly fell forward - both from the absence of a force pushing against him, and from his restraints suddenly turning liquid again.
With a handwave, Urahara urged him to get up. Ichigo scowled but obeyed, eager to get up. His knees were abominably stiff, and he had been starting to get a cramp in his neck from straining to reach the scientist’s member. Oh, and of course from the uncomfortable position his jaw had been caught in.
He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, barely keeping his hands off his still-erect dick. He hadn't come yet, and despite calming down a bit and the strange cockring not being there anymore, he hadn't lost any of his hardness. But he knew that, should he try to touch, Urahara would surely find yet another way to torture him.
The ex-captain grinned into his face. “So, what did you think about my tentacle-kun?”
The only word Ichigo could think of was 'weird'. But that, too, would be a sign for Urahara to continue torturing him until he got a less negative response. Ichigo finally settled for “... Alright.”
Judging from the sudden excited gleam in the scientist's expression, that apparently was the wrong answer, too.
“Excellent,” Urahara beamed. “Then you're certainly going to enjoy the application I have designed it for in the first place.”
Alarm threaded through Ichigo. “You’re not-“
Urahara cut him off. “Now, now, Ichigo. I would be a very bad host if I let you leave this unsatisfied, wouldn't I?” He gestured to Ichigo's still erect member. “And what better way than to have tentacle-kun do its work? If you can’t be quiet properly, I’ll have to see about putting that ring gag back on you. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Ichigo scowled and turned his head away. “No.” His jaw was still too sore.
“Excellent! Now, spread your legs and lean forward, hands against the wall.”
Ichigo complied, still reluctant, but Urahara had never truly led him wrong. He hoped that it was true for this time, too, because try as he might, he couldn't imagine that it would feel good to have that... slimy tentacle grow up there. Not to mention that he hadn't forgotten the red paste. His entire mouth still felt hyper-sensitive.
As soon as he stood in an obscene rendition of a criminal about to be patted down by the police, Urahara raised his reiatsu yet again. Ichigo was completely frozen in his position, only able to move his head and fingers.
Urahara's eyes gleamed as he slowly twisted the cap of the red jar. “Good, good. You look mighty fine like this, you know, Ichigo? I'm almost tempted to take you myself.”
“Then why don't you?” Ichigo smiled at him as invitingly as possible, peering at the scientist from beneath lowered lashes. He'd much rather have the shinigami inside him than be guinea pig for the main test of yet another of Urahara's crazy inventions.
“Oh, no no no! That wouldn't do at all!” Urahara exclaimed. “I can't deprive you of the pleasure of my tentacle-kun. You hardly know what my handy invention is capable of!”
“I'm sure you could show me another time.”
The scientist smiled his slightly evil smile, the one full of humor but with a calculating glint behind it. The one that sent shivers down Ichigo's back. “Nice try, Ichigo, but you're not getting out of it. You're not scared of a bit of pain, are you?”
Annoyed that Urahara had outmaneuvered him so easily, Ichigo scowled yet again. “Of course not.”
“Then you'll be just fine!” the scientist beamed. As if he had left Ichigo any other possible answer.
Grumbling mentally to himself, Ichigo tried not to tense when Urahara vanished from his field of vision and moved behind him. One warm hand spread his ass cheeks, while the other returned with a cool glob of gel. Urahara didn't spend much time massaging it into his skin, just enough to make sure Ichigo's crack was covered. He could already feel the first tingles of heat when the ex-shinigami breached him unceremoniously, lubing up his entrance with as much of the red paste as possible. Urahara's fingers worked in and out of him, spreading the paste far into him. First one, then two, and then three digits at the end. Long before the scientist was done Ichigo's asshole was burning, and while the touch of Urahara's fingers was soothing, he made it worse, too.
“Urahara,” he groaned piteously, not even able to clench his ass cheeks in protest because that, as he had realized very early on, only intensified the burn.
The scientist chuckled. “Patience, Ichigo. Patience. See, I'm almost done. Only a bit more, like this,” Urahara's sneaky hand left his insides and trailed a hot-cold path to Ichigo's balls, fondling them a bit before giving his erection a brief stroke and making sure he swiped a red-coated thumb beneath Ichigo's foreskin, “and you're done. All ready to be taken by my new tentacle-kun.”
Ichigo nearly howled out loud when the burn on that most sensitive part of his anatomy, his glans, really hit. It was worse, much worse than the pain inside his ass, feeling as if someone had taken a lighter to the tip of his dick.
“I'm going to kill you, Urahara,” he growled, sweat beading on his upper lip, “kill you deader than dead!”
Urahara merely laughed and slipped away. Ichigo could hear the cap of a jar being screwed back on, and then running water. Probably to clean Urahara's hands from all the sticky residue.
The pain had a strange effect on Ichigo. It made him feel hot and weak, jittery in all his muscles. He was sweating and panting, and he would have loved to curl up if the blue restraints hadn't frozen him in place. His groin and ass were burning badly, barely short of unbearable. He'd born life-threatening injuries with barely a bat of his eyelash before, but somehow this pain was a whole other dimension. It made him feel faint and weak.
Behind him Urahara was working some more, carrying what sounded like the tentacle-box and its table to stand right behind Ichigo. The scientist patted his shoulder consolingly. “You're doing well, Ichigo. Really well.”
Ichigo grunted, not quite able to banish all pain from his voice. “Doesn't feel like it. You're still dead.”
“I doubt you will be saying the same once tentacle-kun comes out to play. Just be patient a bit longer. Oh, and by the way, you look delicious with all the sweat gleaming on your skin. I am very much tempted to taste you.”
A shiver ran down Ichigo's back. Urahara had a way with words that went straight to his groin.
He was panting openly now, shifting as much as his restraints allowed. He hurt, hurt badly in very intimate places, and it was only Urahara's presence that kept him from bolting. It wasn't that he trusted the scientist, but... well, maybe he did trust Urahara to push him beyond his boundaries to truly mind-blowing experiences. But was this going to be the day that Urahara pushed too far?
Ichigo's member had softened completely, no joy to be had from the pain, and he didn't know if he wanted to play along anymore. There were words he could use, words Urahara had told him to say if he wanted to stop. Did he want to stop?
The scientist appeared in his field of vision, a concerned hand stroking along Ichigo's sweaty brows and up into his hairline. “Can you hold out for me a bit longer, Ichigo? You remember how tentacle-kun took care of the burn in your mouth, yes? If you give it a bit more time to grow, it will help you with this, too.”
“Still- … - still g'nna- … - kill you,” he panted from gritted teeth. He did not want to think about the white liquid oozing out of that black box, growing towards his rear end. Or up his ass. Even if it would take care of the pain.
“You do that,” Urahara chuckled. “In the meantime, I think I can help you out a bit.”
Before Ichigo could protest any more help from Urahara, the scientist had already ducked beneath Ichigo's braced arms and come up between them to meet Ichigo in a thorough kiss. Alright, he didn't mind that kind of help. It almost distracted him from the pain of the red paste, almost distracted him from the cool touch brushing across his burning skin.
Urahara didn't let him go though beyond very brief breaks for air, which quickly developed into a problem of its own. His need for oxygen (or rather, his need to get rid of the carbon dioxide in his body, as Urahara had so generously informed him some time ago – the body's CO2 sensors activated a lot earlier than the oxygen sensors), the pain of not being able to draw a full breath for minutes on end was getting close to panic-level.
Fortunately, the scientist sensed his distress and pulled away just in time. Ichigo was close to hyperventilating, desperate to ease the burn in his lungs. The burn in his ass and groin didn't help things, either. It was good that the blue paint-skeleton held him up because otherwise, he was quite sure he would have collapsed by now.
“Remember, Kurosaki-kun,” Urahara panted, “the Taishinkoudoku?”
Shit, yes, Ichigo did remember. He swallowed hard. In between his struggles for air, the memories of the Taishinkoudoku, the Body Invasion Poison Urahara had fashioned after Kurotsuchi's shikai release, danced vividly in front of his eyes. Urahara had deliberately given the poison to Ichigo, and within minutes, Ichigo's entire body had turned limp as a rag-doll. Just about the only muscles he'd still had control over, had been his face.
And of course, Urahara had used that opportunity to teach Ichigo another lesson: that sometimes, it was better not to fight but go with the flow and accept things. Both pleasure and pain had taken on surreal qualities, simply because Ichigo hadn't been able to twitch a single muscle. Urahara had encouraged him to take it yet a step further, to let his mind take on the same state as his body – no tensing against pain or pleasure, simply feeling and accepting it.
Taishinkoudoku, Body Invasion Poison. The name had become synonym for one of the psychologically most intense experiences Urahara had put him through. For someone whose entire soul revolved around 'fighting equals living', it had been hard to come to terms with the fact that he had given in, and that he had enjoyed giving in.
Even compared to their usual level of awesome sex, it had been such a mind-blowing experience that Ichigo didn't outright say no. “You think –“ he panted, not quite able to get the words over his lips.
“I want you to feel, Ichigo.” Urahara, too, was breathing heavily, cradling Ichigo's neck and stroking a thumb up and down Ichigo's cheek. There was an incredible intensity in his eyes, just as his reiatsu crowded against Ichigo's psyche until there was no way out. “I want you to lose yourself in sensation. I want you to suffer pain at my hands and to suffer pleasure at my hands.” His voice lowered to a feverish whisper against Ichigo's ear, and Ichigo's entire body shuddered as his nose was pressed into the fresh laundry-smell of Urahara's haori. “I want you to come undone at my hands,” Urahara continued, “I want you to cry for me, to scream for me, to beg for me.”
Ichigo couldn't help the shiver. The ex-shinigami had a way with words that somehow hit the exact spot. He rested his forehead against Urahara's shoulder for a moment before he raised his head to chuckle through the pain still burning in his privates: “Make me.”
Instead of responding in kind though, Urahara patted Ichigo's sweaty fringe with a serene smile. “I believe you will do that of your own free will soon enough.” He looked briefly over Ichigo's shoulder, and the serene smile morphed into a sly smirk. “Tentacle-kun should be about to start convincing you. Do you feel it already?”
“Ngh!” Ichigo jerked. The cold hollow-mass had just brushed against the lower curve of his ass and stolen his words right out of his mouth. “Fuck, yes!” he cursed, trying to get away despite the knowledge that it would bring some pain relief.
But, caught in the blue steel-like paste as he was, there was no way out for him, and so the tentacle slowly made its way to the crack of his ass. He grimaced. It felt like a hypothermic dog was trying to lick its way to his privates.
And wasn't that a squicky image...
It encountered the red paste soon enough, wriggling harder against the burning spots. Slowly the tentacle was working its way down Ichigo's crack, and somehow the closer it got to his hole the more a strange kind of arousal made itself known. Arousal laced with a bit of disgust and revulsion crawling down his spine, but for some reason that only made it better.
Worms. Worms wriggling their way inside, it had to be. Or snakes. It was cool and twirling and teasing and twisting in a way Ichigo had never felt before, not from a finger, not from a cock, and not from any of the countless toys Urahara had introduced him to. He thought he felt every millimeter of it passing the ring muscles, poking against his skin curiously and licking against it, and it was maddening. It was slow and meticulous, licking an area completely clean before moving on to the next, and it only heightened his shivering anticipation.
Urahara was letting him bury his head in the scientist's shoulder, cruelly doing nothing to distract Ichigo from the sensations in his ass except for talking dirty. Very dirty.
“You feel it, don't you, Ichigo? My tentacle-kun is tasting you, tasting every millimeter of your hole. Can you feel how it is working itself inside? It's still very thin right now, but I put enough of the red paste into you that it can feed there for a long time.” Ichigo shuddered harder. “The more it feeds, the more substance it will relocate to the food source. It will grow bigger and bigger and will open you up so pretty for me. You think I should create a second tentacle-kun so that you can enjoy the feeling of two growing up your ass?”
“Don't you dare!” he growled. Ichigo's hole was starting to lose the burn and instead feel hypersensitive the way his mouth had felt earlier. And despite the revolting (and arousing, but he was still denying that) wriggling inside him he was starting to crave more, wanting to be spread wide and taken to his limits, and he couldn't do anything thanks to the restraints holding him. The pain in his dick only brought an insane counterpoint, not letting him get hard despite the pleasure shooting through him.
Urahara's hand rose to cradle the back of his head and press him further against the ex-shinigami's shoulder. “Then I probably shouldn't tell you that tentacle-kun can grow a second arm if necessary, eh?”
Ichigo jerked in his bonds and yowled a startled, “What?” Urahara's hand though prevented him from lifting his head and either meeting the ex-captain's eyes or looking down on himself to check the truth of Urahara's statement.
“Mmh, yes,” Urahara chuckled, his other hand coming up to stroke Ichigo's back. “But don't worry, tentacle-kun's brother won't touch what tentacle-kun has already claimed. You feel it already?”
What he had thought a ghost sensation caused by the enthusiastic wriggling inside his ass, indeed turned out to be yet another tentacle licking its way across his perineum. It proceeded to his balls and up his dick like a street of ants following a path made from sugar. Ichigo shook his head against Urahara's shoulder in denial, but he just couldn't get away.
The constant wriggling and licking against his skin was starting to wake his arousal again, despite how amateurishly the tentacles poked at him. There was no concentrated effort at jerking him off; it was more like uncoordinated touches that failed to take into account that his half-hard cock tended roll to the side when pushed from beneath. Nonetheless, by the time the limb had made its way up Ichigo's dick, he was completely hard and aching for release. And when it finally stretched to rub across his aching and pulsing crown, Ichigo could barely keep in a completely unmanly yelp.
There was still the other limb inside him, writhing and stretching him in a manner that felt utterly alien. The other, cool and soothing against his hurting glans, kept rubbing and twisting against his flesh until the burn had been replaced by a hypersensitive itch and that one tentacle just wasn't enough. It got to the point that he was close to sobbing for relief. His hips automatically tried to buck, but Urahara had placed the restraints in a fashion that he could move less than a centimeter, completely unable to find release or even friction.
He had never been so focused on his ass and his dick before.
And then the tentacle inside his ass withdrew, feeling warm against his hole from where it had been inside his body. Ichigo clenched down on it, trying to hold it inside, but it left with the same inescapable wriggling motion it had used to open him up. The only thing it left behind was a gaping emptiness that pulsed in time with Ichigo's heartbeat, and a desperate ache to be filled. It itched and it ached, and the poking and wriggling against his glans didn't do anything but intensify the unbearable stillness inside his ass. And then the smaller tentacle on his dick left, too, and Ichigo was empty and so hard it hurt, and everything was tingling and itching in a way that went beyond maddening.
“Look at me, Ichigo,” Urahara's voice managed to finally penetrate through the haze in Ichigo's mind. “Come on, I know you can do it. You did really great so far, and there's only one more thing to go.”
With wild eyes, Ichigo raised his head from the scientist's shoulder and couldn't keep his involuntary twitches in check. His hips wanted to thrust, his muscles shivered and trembled from the tension in them, and Urahara's gaze...
The scientist held up a blunt syringe for Ichigo to see, one where no needle had been mounted yet. Who knew where the ex-captain had gotten it from. A small amount of the red paste had been pulled up, and the way Urahara was palming Ichigo's dick spoke volumes of what he intended to do with it.
“No, no, no,” Ichigo shook his head frantically and tried to pull back, honestly beyond caring whether his reaction was cowardly or not. It was fire, and Urahara was planning to put it there, and it would hurt worse than everything put together so far, and –
Urahara just smiled at him and patted his cheek with the hand that still held the syringe. “You can take it, Ichigo. Remember the Taishinkoudoku.”
Without waiting for an answer, Urahara's other hand grabbed the head of his dick with thumb and index finger and pinched it just so until the piss-slit gaped open and Ichigo couldn't stop shivering. His glans were still excruciatingly sensitive from their first treatment and the subsequent reaction with the tentacle licking to the point that even air passing felt like a deliberate caress.
Although the scientist’s hands prevented Ichigo from watching what was happening, he felt the tip of the syringe being placed inside.
“Brace yourself,” was the only warning he got before Urahara pushed the lever.
Just as he emptied the entire load down Ichigo's dick, he caught Ichigo in a brutal kiss that was mind-blowing and trying to extract Ichigo's tonsils through his mouth, muffling Ichigo's litany of 'no's that were turning into a scream.
If his glans had been bad, Ichigo really felt on fire now. He couldn't prevent the tears of pain from forming in his eyes, and Urahara's hand squeezing the outside of his dick harshly didn't help any. He wanted to twist away, to hold his dick into the nearest source of water, to furiously scrub his urethra out, just so that the terrible pain stopped.
“Please, Urahara,” he begged unashamedly, trying to catch Urahara's lips in yet another kiss to maybe convince him to release the bonds.
The empty syringe was carelessly dropped on the floor as the ex-captain kissed back. “Look, Ichigo,” Urahara whispered against his lips, holding Ichigo's burning dick out.
Ichigo couldn't help but look, and a half terrified, half terrific whine grew in his throat at the sight of the white hollow-tentacle following blindly the scent of the red paste. It stretched long and thin like a vine until it licked across Ichigo's head, across the overly sensitive glans that it had already cleaned off before. It burned and burned and burned, but slowly an uncomfortable stretch and then relief began creeping down his piss-slit in a helpless, horrifying arousal. There was a hollow-tentacle growing down inside his dick, and every twitch and every lick it made went straight to his brain. Ichigo's entire dick was pulsing in time with his heart-beat, inside and out, and he could feel every millimeter of the tentacle working its way down in something that far transcended both pain and pleasure.
He never even realized that he was sobbing openly and crying mindlessly for more.
Urahara obliged him and knelt for a better angle. Without warning he pushed three fingers up Ichigo's newly reamed and sensitized passage, unerringly heading for his prostrate.
It was like fireworks going off. Ichigo screamed, hopelessly overwhelmed with the sensation that still had the tingling memory of pain attached but was all the more mind-blowing for it. He was getting stretched just like he had begged for before, and although it didn't drown out the pain in his dick it was beyond awesome and he panted for more. The ex-shinigami set up a brutal rhythm in Ichigo's ass, hitting his prostate every single time with the hand that wasn't occupied with holding up Ichigo's dick.
Ichigo's heart was pounding so fast that he thought it would jump out of his chest. He was throwing his head back and forth, trying to twist, to move into the sensation, to move away, to get more, to – he didn't know. He buried his head in the crook of his arm for a moment before he let it hang again, tears and sweat dropping freely down his chin, his nose. He was mumbling, begging, pleading, a broken man that only lived for the one moment when the overwhelming feelings inside coiled tighter and tighter until they reached critical mass and got that one tiny push that set off the chain reaction –
He snapped.
He howled as his balls drew up and squeezed their load out his dick, together with the last residues of the red paste past the white tentacle. He convulsed and convulsed and convulsed as Urahara kept milking him dry until his dick twitched in a futile attempt to squeeze out more. The tentacle had slipped out some time along the way, leaving his member tingling with the ghost-memory of its presence inside, and it was raw and painful and entirely glorious.
Slowly, Urahara relented in his ferocity, then stopped. Completely spent, Ichigo could do nothing but lean heavily into his bonds, burying his head into his upper arm and trying to get his breath back. He was not going to think about his clogged nose, the gunk in his eyes, the salty taste on his lips, anything that spoke of how much control he had lost.
“Shit,” was the only way he could sum up the entire experience. His body was still throbbing and he was slowly sinking into a post-orgasmic haze, and he just couldn't find any better words.
“You were beautiful, Ichigo,” Urahara commented softly, getting up to rest a palm on Ichigo's shoulder and brushing a fairly sizable erection against Ichigo's side in the process. “Will you allow me to cum inside you?”
Ichigo managed to raise his head and meet Urahara's eyes incredulously. “You're hard again?”
The ex-captain shrugged, completely unembarrassed. “What can I say? You were hot enough to bring even a dead man's prick back to life.”
Ichigo groaned at the incredibly bad pun and buried his head back in his shoulder. His entire body was starting to protest his prolonged restraints, but he felt just mellow enough that he didn't want things to end yet. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Thanks, Ichigo,” Urahara smiled and slipped out from beneath Ichigo's arms. He moved to Ichigo's back, always keeping a hand in contact with Ichigo's skin, and settled himself between Ichigo's spread legs. From the sound and the smell of it, Urahara was finally using regular lube to coat his dick before he spread Ichigo's hypersensitive ass cheeks and hilted himself in one slow but steady thrust.
All air was forced out of Ichigo's lungs. It would have made his knees buckle, too, if the blue lattice hadn't still held him up. His overly sensitive ass could feel every millimeter of Urahara slide in, and once inside he could feel the two-timed rhythm of their heart-beats struggling against each other. He was too spent to get aroused again so soon, but it nonetheless felt beyond wonderful to be filled like that.
He let Urahara set the rhythm and just hung on and let himself be fucked into oblivion. By the time the ex-captain released, Ichigo was nothing but a puddle of feel-good hormones that had given up any and all resistance. For some reason, his prick had started dribbling halfway through without ever getting hard, more than simple pre-cum, but not the convulsions of orgasm. Instead it had felt like an incredibly slow release streaming out of him until it was like his entire soul had flowed out with it, leaving only an exhausted and dry husk behind. Urahara had mumbled something about having to try milking Ichigo properly some time, and Ichigo had felt the twitch Urahara's prick had given inside him at that idea. This was probably going to be the theme for the next couple times, but Ichigo was too tired to care.
Equally exhausted after his orgasm, Urahara rested against Ichigo for a short while, lying against Ichigo's back. The blue iron-net was holding both of them up, as strong and rigid as it had been in the beginning.
“I'm going to get a cloth to clean us up,” Urahara finally said as his limp cock slipped out of Ichigo's ass to both their moans of disappointment.
Ichigo just grunted, too tired and embarrassed to acknowledge Urahara fully. In his exhausted daze time passed strangely – it seemed Urahara had just left him when the ex-shinigami was already back again with a bowl of warm water and a small towel.
With care nobody would think the scientist capable of, Urahara wiped Ichigo down – first his face, then his throat, his shoulders, his arms and torso, with special care to his sore groin and ass to catch the spunk that had leaked out, and then down his legs. Ichigo shivered a bit. He was slowly cooling down, and the damp cloth only accelerated the process. It was warm in the room, but Ichigo would prefer it to be warmer.
Urahara set aside the cloth and bowl, moving to stand next to Ichigo. The scientist grabbed him securely around his chest, the fabric of his haori brushing warmly against Ichigo's sides. “Careful, I'm going to undo the restraints.”
Slowly Urahara lowered his reiatsu, and Ichigo gasped. It was as if a weight that he hadn't even realized was there, had been taken away. Robbed of their support his knees and arms wobbled, and if Urahara hadn't held him so securely he would have crumpled to the floor. Awkwardly he tried to get his legs beneath himself, but to his discomfort he couldn't manage more than move his feet along behind Urahara's steps.
The ex-shinigami supported most of Ichigo's weight on the way to the futon in the corner, carefully lowering Ichigo onto the bed. For a moment the tension in Urahara's body suggested that he was about to get up and clean up the rest of the room. But to Ichigo's secret relief Urahara merely fetched a blanket to cover Ichigo with and sat himself comfortably on a corner of the futon and rested his hand on Ichigo's shoulder.
“Sleep, Ichigo. You did well today.”
And although Urahara's hand never moved in a petting motion, it was comforting nonetheless.
Ichigo never realized when he dozed off.

-- THE END --
- 1
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Tentacle Monster