Disclaimer: I wish they were mine, but alas, they are not. The writing is mine, though.
Title: Depraved.
Rating: M.
Summary: Sango cannot believe how depraved she's become.
A single month of being married to him casts her into utter depravity.
She thinks about it with flaming cheeks and quickened breath, wandering how this transformation was brought about, for she was always so chaste, so pristine; and now she is shocked to the core at how depraved she's become.
For one thing, she lies with her husband frequently- extremely frequently- and in broad daylight, while her little brother is running outside in the company of the girl she tried to sacrifice but a few weeks ago for the sake of the man who spends more time in her bed than tending to his holy business. Her lovely little brother, with his sunny freckles and slowly mending soul, who leaves the house at daybreak with a beet-red complexion and half-baked excuses, spends the entire day outside and takes his meals with the old priestess, just to accommodate his sister's ever broadening depravity.
She is depraved, utterly depraved, and what's worst still is that she seems to enjoy it so much.
She lies on the floor of their newly built hut in high noon, not even bothering with the futon or a tatami mat, while her husband works his magic between her widely spread thighs. He's a skilled lover, but it's hardly a surprising fact considering the many sexual conquests he's had before he settled down with her. His hips rise and flutter against her own, causing her to squirm with the maddening ache of an on-the-verge climax and press her slick thighs against his equally moist skin. He's doing this on purpose, building something within her and leaving her on the edge of a precipice long enough for her to go mad with lust and beg- beg- him to fuck her as hard and fast as he can (yes, she's used the word 'fuck' at least a dozen times now, that is how depraved she's become). So when she whimpers against his chest and tries to meet his hips in a futile attempt to ease her exquisite sufferings, he grins wickedly against her skin in a way that clearly contradicts his vocation and moans appreciatively in her ear.
"Sango," he groans and finally dives into her like a man on a quest, "all these years searching for nirvana, when all along it was here, between your heavenly thighs…"
She gasps in startled audacity, breathes something vaguely coherent about blasphemy, but climaxes nonetheless. She arches into her husband, who tries his best to morph into her, and clings to him until the tremors leave her body. Once she's able to breathe properly, she embraces his neck and relaxes. She smiles coyly at his satisfied face and shakes a finger at him.
"For shame, anata," she teases, "such depravity! Is this what you will teach our child when it grows up?"
Her husband, still hard at work, huffs in amusement and kisses her lips.
"Stop teasing me with hypothetical children, wife!"
And suddenly she sees it- the opportunity for sweet revenge- to tease him and drive him to the brink of madness as he drives her every single time they meet in intimacy. With bold enthusiasm she presses her hot hands to his backside, pushing him further, deeper into her body; she arches against him and with a soft sigh, barely audible in his ear, she breathes the words of his undoing.
"I've missed my courses, Houshi-sama."
Sango smiles triumphantly when she hears his startled gasp and feels his buttocks clench involuntarily as his spills himself inside her womb. He shakes above her from the shock, his damp forehead pressed against her shoulder as he tries to regain his breath and composure. She waits with bated breath for a look, a glance- anything, really- that will give her an inkling of how he feels at the present; when several long moments pass with his face still pressed to her skin, she begins to feel anxiety and dread seep into her fluttering heart and she tenses. At last he lifts his head from her shoulder and stares at her with wonder and such naked emotion that makes poor, wretchedly anxious Sango blush to the roots of her tussled hair.
"Sango," he breathes, "truly?"
She nods shyly and squeals in glee when she's suddenly attacked by countless kisses from her enraptured, amorous husband whose odes to her beauty, her loveliness and her amazing hips make her laugh widely in happiness and relief.
And when dinner comes and she sits by the fire with her two favorite men, and her husband's loving eyes look at her as if she is the greatest gift the Gods could bestow upon this earth, Sango can't help but think that perhaps being depraved is not such a terrible thing after all.