Author's Note: This one is unfortunately only about seventeen pages, since I wanted to end it at a natural ending spot instead of a cliffhanger. After all, I'm just starting out as a writer, and it's best if I try new things. Still, I'm not sure about the last... oh, fourth of this chapter. It doesn't seem very well done to me. In fact, this whole chapter is kind of patchy, sorry about that.
Disclaimer: Yu Yu Hakusho is © Yoshihiro Togashi, Funimation, Shounen Jump, ADV Films, etc. I don't own Yu Yu, I just play around with the characters (and I'm not earning money by doing so).
I loves you, Porgy,
Don't let him take me
Don't let him handle me
With his hot hands...
If you can keep me
I wants to stay here
with you forever—
I've got my man
I loves you, Porgy,
Don't let him take me,
Don't let him handle me
And drive me mad.
If you can keep me
I wanna stay here,
With you forever
I've got my man
Someday I know he's
Coming to call me
He's going to handle me and hold me so.
It's gonna be like dying, Porgy
When he calls me
But when he comes I know
I'll have to go...
Excerpt of "I Loves You Porgy," sung by Nina Simone, written by Ira Gershwin, DuBose Heyward, and George Gershwin in 1935.
Kurama jumped up and smacked his head on the top of the sphere he was trapped in, his balance collapsing under a sudden and dizzying turn of mind and awareness. He couldn't remember which way was up, and his frantic, unreasoning attempts to understand that subtlety of space and time made him fall into a crumpled heap on the lower half of the chamber. He degenerated into a jutting mass of elbows, and writhed madly, trying to find a way out of this mess and earning nothing but bruises for his trouble. While the jerks and twitches and escape attempts that filled his life for the next few minutes were admirable, the struggles used up the hypothetically dwindling air supply even faster.
When he thought of this, Kurama bundled himself up on the bottom of the chamber and tried to regulate his breathing. If only he had his plants, he thought (his first lucid thought in a while), he could have used them to convert carbon dioxide into oxygen. That couldn't save him now, though—his plants were far away, a remembered dream of competency and power. Kurama's breathing sped up against his will as he thought of the possibility of suffering brain damage from asphyxiation. As his breathing increased and increased, he grew weaker and weaker. Feeling himself growing weaker, his breathing increased. It was an endless cycle that eventually culminated in his mind shutting down as he passed out, entering what looked like a deep slumber. In actuality, the man who'd been watching the last twenty minutes with undiminished glee thought with a curse, it was something much more dangerous.
The truth was, Kurama had been in no real peril, neither of madness nor of suffocation. The sphere was designed to slowly strip its victim of sanity, it's true, but it did so most easily through the use of a thick leather gag, the lack of which was the only concession made to Toguro's unfathomable announcement as he brought Karasu to his room. When it came to the tank's oxygen, Karasu's sardonic diatribe summed it up perfectly: there would have been enough, if the stupid little whore hadn't begun to hyperventilate. In all fairness to Kurama, though, the pump had been lowered too much, and he was left with only enough oxygen for drawing normal breath—not the panicked gasping he'd been reduced to. But that's all apropos of nothing.
When Kurama awoke, an eternity after that first realization, and a full hour after being rescued by his captor from the terror and torment that had reduced him to a pitiable ball on the floor of Sakyo's contraption, he thought quietly to himself that the events of the last few hours had to have been a dream, a nightmare of epic and hideous proportions. A little while after that flight of fancy passed, however, he realized that the burning in his lungs as he gasped for breath meant that what had transpired was not a dream, but his terrible reality.
Kurama began to shiver uncontrollably, afraid of what was to come, but more afraid of the exaggerated quiet that filled his head. He wasn't surprised to find that he hadn't been allowed clothing or blankets as he slept (or rather, as he lay comatose on the ground), and sat up from the uncarpeted flooring of Karasu's rooms with a soft sigh. Kurama welcomed the noise, but the second sound of the door opening received a frown and a shiver of fear.
He made himself look up at the person who'd just entered; but, rather than be confronted with the face of the familiar intruder, he was instead confronted with the object in his hands. Kurama's heart stopped beating. It was only for a moment, but it was there, an anomaly in the rhythm that brought a smile to Karasu's face.
"Do you know what this is, lovely?" Karasu asked, his tone conciliatory. Kurama looked on, aghast, getting up slowly as he stared at the item in Karasu's hands. He thought of his body—his beaten, tired, lacerated body—and how little more it could stand. "It's a cat-o'-nine-tails, dearest fox. I didn't like what you said to me during dinner yesterday." Karasu dropped the whip to the ground, handle and all, and slowly began advancing on Kurama. Kurama stood and met Karasu's gaze, trying desperately to keep his eyes and will steady as he faced up to the monster that had walked out of his nightmares and taken control of his life.
From outside the window Kurama broke to try and get out of Karasu's room, people stood and laughed, listening to the business-like sounds of Kurama's beating. It began with the thumps of the chase, then the grunts and scrabbles as he was dragged across the room, and then, finally, the horrible denouement of the cracks, punctuated by soft whimpers. The whole charade brought enjoyment to all the men and women who stood listening to it, happy to have seats to the next stage of Kurama's degradation. Karasu had chosen a time when Sakyo had all his business partners outside to take his revenge. From inside the room, Kurama could hear their laughter as he broke into sobs, barely able to stop himself from pleading with Karasu or curling into a supplicating gesture around his hands, which were lashed to the bedpost. Off to the side of the outdoor party, Toguro frowned to himself at the decadence of Karasu's display.
"You don't look very pleased," Sakyo murmured quietly in his ear.
Toguro grunted noncommittally. "I've never been a fan of Karasu's shows, Mr. Sakyo. It's nothing."
Sakyo laughed. "I find them quite enjoyable, really. Much more interesting than that match of his."
There had been a dot camera—the highest technology money could buy—in the sensory deprivation chamber. It could see in the darkness, and hear without the usual whir of mechanics and electricity, and yet it was so new even in the Makai that Kurama hadn't known enough to look for it (though in the early hours, when he was still coherent, he had suspected the presence of something like that).
Kurama's slow descent into madness had been eagerly viewed on a cinematic screen by all the mansion dwellers that could be spared. His frantic escape attempts, each more desperate than the last, had been a serious point of interest, and when he lolled on the bottom of the sphere, his eyes half-closed and dull, and his naked body shivering with fear, a veritable orgy had occurred among both humans and demons. Toguro found it all distasteful, and Sakyo watched in another room to get away from the vulgarity that surrounded him.
Despite his hatred of crudity, Sakyo's tastes were just as reprehensible in their own way. He preferred quiet viewings to loud, rambunctious orgies, though The Three Senses was one of his favorite torture devices. He had had many an excellent private masturbation while watching victims, usually females, break down under its effects. This time had been no exception.
He'd been impressed with Kurama's performance, actually. He'd held onto himself longer than most, and some of his efforts to flee had been quite intelligent, though tainted by his surroundings and feelings of desperation. One of his escape attempts, though Kurama would never know it, had almost worked. On top of that, his fear had been practically palpable, and Karasu wasn't the only one who found the little fox attractive. Kitsune were a specialty of Sakyo's, one of his favorite types of demon to break. He'd often thought Karasu too lenient and roundabout with the boy, and when Karasu was obviously torn between the brutal punishments he wanted to administer and Toguro's warning, Sakyo had been happy to step in.
Inside the room, Karasu smirked at the sight of Kurama's shivering, blood-streaked back cringing over his formerly white sheets. He was kneeling above the shredded coverlet, his beautifully rounded ass sitting on his heels and his cock resting limply on the bedding. Hopeless, helpless tears rolled down Kurama's face as Karasu's lecherous eyes moved from the cock and focused on the way Kurama's ankles curled in to protect his balls. Karasu, his erection straining once more against the waistband of his black pants, traced one of the stripes from its tip to where it ended on the right mound of Kurama's ass. His tongue replaced his hands in this endeavor, and he lapped up the blood in one smooth stroke, loving the feel of Kurama arching in pain and flinching away from his touch.
"You haven't spoken since you woke up, my beautiful fox," he observed in his usual light, amused tone, a thin line of red dribbling down from his stained lips. "Tell me what you think of your punishment."
Kurama turned his head away, battling his hatred and shame. Karasu reached over and grasped the handle of the whip, then carefully placed his hand where Kurama could see it. Kurama didn't need any more warning than that.
"You're a sick man," he whispered, surprised at the hoarse sound of his own voice. He hadn't wanted to speak again after Karasu had told him his mother was dead; but in this new life, where all he could do was spare himself pain, it made no difference whether he talked or not. His mourning was still the same, his pain still as deep, his agony, both in terms of soul and body, still too debilitating to be believed.
His mother, his brother, his stepfather, his would-be lover, his friends; every last one of them had been ripped away from him, like layers of skin being peeled off with a knife. He'd survived it, in a way—but a part of him was still back in his ningen house, going through the mundane instances of his life: helping little Shuuichi with his homework, chiding Yuusuke and Kuwabara for skipping school, watching his mother brew tea.
Here and now, in the depths he'd sunk to, humiliations were starting to become the norm for him. He almost—almost—welcomed the pain of the whip as a way to distract himself from his emotional trauma (a fact he chose not to share with Karasu). That almost, however, was impossibly large, and he'd never consider an easy route like suicide or self-mutilation. He would ride this out to the farthest conceivable end—whether that end showed itself to be perdition or a realization of all the retributions he'd dreamed of.
He shuddered as Karasu reached around his body and began to pet his cock, as if it were an animal. Kurama was ashamed at the pleasurable sensations that augmented within him, but he resisted his arousal with newly found skill. All he had to do was think of his mother and he was able to stop himself from responding to the feather-light touch. He felt a stroke at his entrance, and closed his eyes. As Karasu traced it with his finger, he let his head fall on his pinioned hands with a sob.
Karasu placed a surprisingly chaste kiss on Kurama's neck, smiling into the warm skin and soft hairs, feeling Kurama's heartbeat speed up with fear as his breathing hitched in expectation of a bite. "It doesn't always have to be like this, darling. I could be gentle with you, you know," he taunted.
Kurama bit back a soft yip at the feeling of Karasu's nail and fingertip teasingly entering him, and turned his head to fix Karasu with his hardest, most involved glare. "Lie to me all you want, bastard. It would be disgusting and disgraceful no matter how you did it."
He gasped and arched away from the finger that penetrated him dry, and then cried out as it hooked. Tears streamed down his face (what a difference a few days can make, hm? Karasu thought) as Karasu chuckled, regarding him calmly. The finger left with a cruel twist.
"I've decided to make good on my threat to sell you, if only for today. Your first client will arrive in a minute. I expect you to acquiesce as though it were me, understand?"
Kurama did, but said nothing, lowering his head to the knot holding his hands in place and surreptitiously teasing it with his mouth. His forelocks drooped submissively around him, in stark contrast to the anger on his hidden face. He felt Karasu place a light kiss on his forehead and then watched from under his bangs as he left.
Now was the time to act, Kurama thought. He'd already untied the knot that bound him to the bed, and it was the work of a moment to pull his hands free, rubbing them emphatically to get feeling back in his wrists. Karasu, unfortunately, was not quite finished with his slave yet, and entered at exactly the wrong moment for the genesis of Kurama's plan. As he pattered lightly to the broken window, he felt familiar arms wrap around him, eliciting a pained yelp as his wounds were callously jostled.
"Ah ah ah!" Karasu hummed, dragging the vaguely uncooperative escapee back to the bed. "I forgot to restrain you properly."
Kurama sneered at his captor, but said nothing. That irritated Karasu mildly. Usually the kitsune was more vocal; and, truth be told, he liked it that way. With the hushed silence Kurama seemed to have become prone to ringing in his ears, he couldn't quite find it in himself to talk. It was annoying, aggravating, and the insipid defiance that Kurama showed by keeping that pretty mouth shut couldn't be allowed to continue.
Karasu wrapped a hand around one of Kurama's wrists and slammed it into the headboard with a mirthless smile. He relished the strangled gasp he'd wrenched from that seductive mouth as the shackles clicked into place. Kurama resisted half-heartedly, trying in vain to escape Karasu's body as it pressed him into the headboard. He found himself bent over the wood by the hard abdomen that leaned against his own, and then slammed into the wall by a hand on the back of his head.
He yelped at the pressure that was put on the bleeding stripes, and mustered a growl as the second half of the manacles looped around the bed and were fastened to his other wrist. Karasu stopped the pressure of his hand grinding Kurama's head into the wall, and instead moved it and its counterpart to Kurama's hips. He yanked Kurama backwards and thrust himself forwards, so that two of the more intimate parts of their bodies were crushed together. Kurama hissed in pain, tears falling freely from his eyes.
"Perhaps," came Karasu's husky whisper, "I should break you in for them, hm? We could have a little lesson in manners, so you'll know how to treat customers. Who knows, you might even enjoy it." Kurama shook his head, panicked, and shuddered in fear as a long finger traced down his throat. He gulped, and felt the finger impede his Adam's apple. "What do you think, Kurama?"
"I think... I think..." He stopped for a moment, his voice just barely above a whisper. "I think... that the day I kill you will be the best day of my life, you deranged bastard."
Karasu paused, trying to decide whether to be offended by that, and then leaned in, sinfully close to Kurama's silken lips. "I look forward to it, fox," he breathed, smiling as he felt Kurama's frantic gasps on his cheek. Then, finally, he got off the bed, fixed his clothes, and strode out the room with all due solemnity. Kurama glared poisonously after him.
A few tense moments passed for Kurama as he worked frantically at the lock of the fetter, finding it more difficult than he'd anticipated. He'd only need another minute before he could use the chains as a bludgeoning weapon to escape from his... his 'client.' He tried to focus on the positives, which consisted of rich images of himself leading Karasu on a merry dance around the mansion, and perhaps finding a way to break the barrier. He'd hide the break until the opportune moment for escape, of course, and then it would be a question of seeing how far he could run without spirit energy.
It probably won't be that far, with Karasu on my trail, he thought, pessimism quickly overtaking his forced optimism.
That getaway was not to be, though, any more than his escape out the window was possible before it. The door opened with an ominous creak, and a rather large, rather ugly, and entirely unfamiliar demon strode hesitantly into the room. Kurama's nose twitched at the nervously overconfident look on his lumpy face. The demon immediately began to disrobe, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world to walk into a room containing a chained prisoner and start taking your clothes off, with neither a by-your-leave nor a polite address to the captive audience. Kurama hissed in disdain.
"You're my... ah... client?" Kurama sniffed, his dander rising. "I could kill you with my hands tied behind my back. Why don't you come over here and see if you can rape me?"
The demon snickered. "Oh, honey. It's not just me."
Kurama tensed as the door opened again, and then growled aloud as he recognized some of the nine youkai that entered as those who had fondled or laughed at him in the hallways. He'd managed to beat a number of them in the past, but some were too powerful for his current defensive abilities. Seeing a large group of interested and odious youkai intent on having their way with him filled Kurama with neither joy nor hope. To be degraded and used by such an obnoxious and motley crew, whose members sported pathetic power levels and rather flimsy grasps of hygiene, rankled him on a level he'd never quite been rankled before.
"It'll take more than you ten to subdue me," Kurama sneered, derisive.
"Show him the thing, Tada-kun!"
"Let's do it without that. He needs a lesson in humility, eh, Tadaharu?"
"Alright, alright!" Tadaharu, the first youkai and obvious leader, hissed as he turned from his gang and back to Kurama. "Karasu-san said it would. He told us that this'd even the playing field, though, and I hope it does," Tadaharu drawled facetiously. "We're all paying good money to have a chance at your showy ass." He held up a semi-precious stone that Kurama, despite his extensive knowledge of both demon, spirit and human world minerals, couldn't place. It was light lavender in color, and had been crafted into a loose gem shape and then bisected. Beautiful silver hinges held the two halves together, incongruous with the stone itself, which looked like one of the cheap love talismans available for a few pieces of gold at market fairs in more thickly populated areas of the Makai.
Tadaharu opened it with a rather ridiculous look of concentration, and placed it on the floor. He advanced on Kurama, who knelt, aloof from him and his cronies, barely able to muster any apprehension about their plan. As a superior youkai, he was so unused to looking at vermin like these as a threat that even now, even when in some ways he was as much at their mercy as Karasu's, he couldn't find it in himself to be afraid.
Then the first sparks of pleasure shot up his body, so suddenly that he started in fear. The gang of youkai exchanged grins as they watched Kurama's unclothed cock come up and hard in a comparative instant. The second spike of pleasure hit, and Kurama bucked into the wood to put some pressure on his aching shaft.
"Oh, oh, oh, n-n... ooooh..." He said, soft sounds of need escaping his lips. His mind was white-hot with blissful emotion, and the center of his reason very quickly erased to blank. It was lucky for him that he never heard the soft, sinister chuckles of the C-class demons as they surrounded him. It was lucky for him that he was so aroused he never focused on the feeling of his legs being spread roughly and his pelvis bucking wildly as his cock was manipulated by clawed hands.
It was unlucky for him that Youko was watching the whole thing, and thus a part of his mind still saw himself as he was under the influence of that mysterious jewel: back arched, legs open, writhing and sweating and groaning wantonly in pleasure, a look of utter arousal on his face. He thrust back against his captors in an effort to reach an incredible level of gratification, and impaled himself on the variety of things they used on him, from their fingers to their cocks to various objects they'd brought with them out of a perverse desire to see them inside someone.
Kurama knew full-well that the mouth was an erogenous zone, but, though he'd known that, he'd been amazed (though still far from in control of himself) when one of the demons stood straddling his arms and presented him with his dick, and all he'd wanted to do was lick it and suckle it and feel it in his mouth. He was a frantic, hedonistic ball, needing nothing more than to be fucked by something bigger and harder, to be filled, to have something, anything, relieve him of his aching lust.
It had grown dark and Sakyo's associates were long gone by the time they were finished. Kurama, though bruised, bleeding, and striped with cum, was hard again. He collapsed once more against the headboard and wall, having lost every ounce of strength to the ceaseless orgasms. He couldn't and didn't want to control his obscene moans as he rubbed his cock into the shredded, liquid-soaked bed sheets, wanting desperately to feel some kind of friction there. Tadaharu, stepping back into his pants, leaned down and closed the jewel.
Everything froze, as though he'd been thrown suddenly into the depths of the ocean or doused with ice water. His eyes, closed tightly with pained arousal, sprang open in horror as he looked down at himself. His cock went from full-mast, to half-mast, to stowed in the space of a minute. He was panting, he was bleeding, he was tingling miserably from what had just transpired, and, more than all the rest of it put together, he was ashamed. He let his head fall on his hands, still fastened tightly to the bed.
"What a whore," a demon said from behind him. His shoulders tightened in anger, while a burst of self-hatred shot through him like a bolt. It rankled, he thought. He realized that he was sticky, but unable to clean himself; at least not without the presence of mind or the appropriate energy to finish working the lock. It rankled, and even if Karasu's judgment day was far off, these drones would find that theirs had just begun.
Kurama unfastened himself from his chains when the first wave of fatigue was staved off, and slipped out of the room. He performed all the errands he'd realized he needed to do, then refastened himself to the post in order to catch a few nods of sleep without exciting suspicion in his captor's mind. Karasu, entering only a couple of minutes after he'd drifted off, took great pains to roll up his sleeves and clean him. He signaled the servants he brought with him to dry and remake the bed as he unfastened Kurama from the charmed manacles that had held him enthralled, a specious smile on his face. Karasu carried him into the bathroom, drawing a warm bath and lowering Kurama into it, careful not to wake him. Kurama was in the middle of a fitful sleep, and whined softly at the hands that cleaned off the blood, sweat, and cum that were spattered across his aching frame.
Karasu had to refill the tub several times with the help of servants, because each time the water would become colored by the filth that covered Kurama. The multiple ejaculations of eleven men, and the dried blood from his earlier whipping (aided by fresh blood as the scabs on his back cracked and peeled), were making it difficult to clean Kurama; but Karasu was finally satisfied. He lifted Kurama out of the pink-tinged water, and bandaged him carefully, a sickly smile on his face as he did it, before finally laying him gently on the clean, king-sized bed. He was amused to see that they actually had to bring in a new top mattress. He'd have to wait until the old one was laundered before doing something like this again.
"Good night, my sweet fox," he whispered, as if to a lover, and then left.
That night at dinner, Kurama wasn't present to view the early casualties of the plan he'd set in motion, though Karasu was. He breezed into the lavish dining room, content that Kurama wouldn't defy him again tonight, and brushing aside the compliments on his choice of punishment. He sat in his usual seat with that same odd, lascivious smile on his face, no longer hidden by his mask as he ate. Aniki Toguro kept giving him sly, knowing glances, and Otouto and Bui were both pointedly ignoring him.
With all of this together giving him barely a pause, the dinner was progressing smoothly, buoyed by the soft chatter and occasional snickering laughs from the cultured humans who surrounded him. Suddenly, the more acute of the humans and demons in the room started looking towards the door. Karasu immediately noted several things about the man that was about to enter the room: the intruder was bleeding, the intruder had no wounds, the intruder smelt of death, and the intruder was none other than Tadaharu, the lumpy-faced demon Karasu'd unleashed on Kurama earlier that day. The doors finally opened with a bang that startled only about half the hall's occupants. Tadaharu staggered into the main dining room, blood dribbling from his eyes and ears, and, in fact, every orifice (including the seat of his pants, to Karasu's disgust).
"He's killing us," He sobbed, his hands open in a supplicating gesture. "He's killing us!" A mouthful of blood coated his chin as he said that, and then, a horrified expression frozen on his face, he collapsed.
Toguro rolled his eyes at all the needless drama, stood up, and calmly removed Sakyo's plate from in front of him with one smooth, oddly majestic gesture. Karasu also stood, and, causing greater shock than the entrance of Tadaharu, dashed his own plate into the wall in a fit of rage.
"Toguro, more of your men will die today. I think you know what I'm talking about. I wouldn't put it past him to try the rest of us, too, so don't let anyone eat until I figure out the traitor he's subverted from the serving staff," was Karasu's slightly cryptic answer to everyone's unasked question. "Or," he said, his anger tilting the cynicism dripping from his voice, "...you could kill them all." Having delivered that speech, he strode out, his eyes terrifyingly demonic. He was obviously overcome with ferocious ire, and his birdlike fingers made soft circles on his pants, a sign that he was already preparing the bombs he would use. He looked truly livid, but this time Toguro could spare no pity for the fox.
"I wonder why Kurama chose now?" Sakyo asked calmly. "I don't think I understand his logic. If he had the power to kill demons, why not kill humans?"
"My demons are served first, and if they don't die, I eat a bite. If I don't taste poison, then the humans get food. It's much more difficult to poison anybody but the demons. Still," Toguro continued, made unusually verbose by a feeling that he should answer his employer's question in full, "I think this isn't going to be an epidemic. Most likely only those ten will die." He paused, and looked over at the doorway. "But this is dangerous. If he can get to them, it's only a matter of time before it's us as well. And, why now..." Toguro thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. He was probably trying to send a message he felt was too important to wait. Or maybe he felt he was losing himself so much that he had to strike back somehow. It's understandable, if foolish." He almost regretted the kindness he'd shown Kurama yesterday night, and sat down to continue eating his food. It was severely unlikely that Kurama had access to poisons strong enough to kill Toguro.
The door's bang was so loud that Kurama, despite his insensibility during Karasu's gentler ministrations, jerked awake, staring around him wildly. He saw the searing expression of pure hatred on Karasu's face and began to crawl numbly backwards, his mind blanking in fear. Almost immediately, he was entangled in the covers and fell off the bed with an ungraceful thump. A hand fisted in Kurama's hair and he was dragged up, completely off his feet, the blankets letting out a rasping cough as they slipped delicately away, revealing his naked, bandaged body. He was lowered until the tips of his toes could touch the ground, and then immediately dragged off by his hair. His feet strained and twisted, trying to keep up with the momentum of the madman wrenching out what seemed like huge patches of his scalp.
"Karasu, stop! What's going on?" He knew exactly what was going on, but at that moment he'd do anything to ameliorate Karasu's rage. A part of him had serenely believed that upon being flouted once again, Karasu would keep his cool and not do something in the heat of the moment that only Kurama would regret. Unfortunately for Kurama, Karasu felt he'd been disobeyed just one too many times in the last few days.
He found himself being taken to the large wooden antechamber on the third to fourth floor, right above a stone antechamber on the first and second floors. Kurama recognized it as the place where Toguro's low-class minions ate, trained and slept. He was unsurprised to find that it was in an uproar. Demons flickered back and forth around the plates piled in the middle of the floor. The nine promised bodies were laid out on a sheet, their limbs grotesquely twisted and their multi-colored blood staining the floor in pools. Kurama's face went blank as he was thrown forward, his legs contorting oddly as he was pushed to his knees. Kurama was held in place with a hand on his upper arm, while a foot dug into the top of his back, bending him over. He let his head hang down. Blood oozed from his bruised feet and his scraped knee, but he ignored that and the pain of his back, staring at the floor. He was the very picture of fatigue.
"Demons! This half-human upstart defied me and killed Tadaharu and his gang, your own comrades! What will you have of him?" Karasu shouted to the assembled youkai, as much a thespian as Kurama at times.
"Give him to us!"
"Kill him!"
"Break his bones!"
"Rape him, rape him! Show him what it means to mess with demons!"
With two-or-three-dozen demons in this antechamber, there were a lot of suggestions, all the youkai tripping over each other to come up with good ideas. The usual options arose, one-by-one: horrific torture and starvation, degradation, abasement, and subjugation. There were some who wanted to see him forced to perform sick sexual acts, some who thought that Aniki-san should be consulted (he was considered an expert on psychological torture), and others who believed Kurama should simply be fucked until he stopped thinking.
It was only in the rape fantasies that the demons showed any originality, though much of it offended even Karasu's sensibilities. In truth, people died often enough around these demons that they weren't too scuffed about another ten casualties; but the chance to torture and humiliate someone as seductive and beautiful as Kurama came very rarely to low-class demons like these. Toys like Kurama belonged to the higher-ups, not the scabs. They were all excited to get a chance at him, almost as much as the first ten had been earlier that night.
Finally, Karasu smiled. He leaned down so that only Kurama could hear him, and whispered, "What do you say, lovely?"
Kurama remained completely remote, ignoring them all in a frantic attempt to retain his sanity. "Do as you will," was his only answer. He closed his eyes, as if in pain, and tried unsuccessfully to control his shaking. Karasu grinned, and hurled Kurama to the wolves that waited for him.
"'Do as you will,' he says!" Karasu mocked loudly, moving from the entranceway to the side of the large door in order to lean against the wall.
And when they're done, he thought, I will never let the little kit out of my sight again. He'll stay with me always, performing any task I wish to see him do. He'll be beside me wherever I go, whomever I'm with, until he understands that it's useless to resist me.
He smiled again as the first demon dragged Kurama to his feet by the ever-popular hold on his hair, and captured his lips in a bruising kiss, his hand reaching around to knead Kurama's unresisting ass.
Useless.
To be continued.