Title: Le Vice Anglais

Author: Priestess Skye

Genre: PWP

Word Count: 2883

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Contains a lemon. If you are too young or don't like lemons, this is not your thing. Also contains mentions of BDSM

Canon/AU – AU

Posted for Ebony Silks

History Theme

The musty smell of mothballs and aged parchment did nothing to deter them as she weaved them through the narrow passageways, holding his hand the entire time. Up one aisle, down another, and down another still, their destination still not in sight.

She could see the occasional student sitting at a nearby desk, ear buds in their ears, and books wide open as they studiously took notes, something she should be doing in here. But she ignored them, and turned down yet another corridor, glancing back at her partner mischievously. Five years ago if somebody had told her she was going to use the library for something other than study, she'd have laughed them out of town as she hated the building.

The low, yellow lights, the eerie silence with the exception of the occasional whisper or the sounds of a page turning in one of the ancient texts, or the scribble of a pen as it made its way across the page. Then there was the dampness that seemed to be trapped between the stacks, creating a perpetual cold all the time. What a glorious invention the Internet was as it kept her out of the library as much as possible.

"Almost there," she whispered to her partner, before making her way down yet another aisle. There was no mistaking the trademark smirk on his face as he realized the direction in which she was heading. Until recently, she hadn't known this section existed, not until she had heard through idle gossip as to what its current use was.

How could she resist?

"Rare books," he murmured, as he stopped her by the door to the private chamber. "I would never have thought," he glanced around at the titles on the shelves, saving some to memory for future use. He had forgotten the room was here, but he hadn't forgotten the rumours. How could he where everywhere he turned somebody was talking about it.

"It's empty today," she stood before him, suddenly nervous and twisting the hem of her black tank top in her hands.

But he chose to tease her a little longer, ignoring the need that was growing to a fierce level. "First edition manuscripts of some of the greatest philosophers from enlightenment, Voltaire, Rousseau, I should remember these when assigning readings in the class." He swept his hand lovingly across the old leather binding of books, feeling the intellectual power roll off in waves, despite the fact that the authors who had written these books were long dead.

"There are already excerpts from each of these books in our readings, Taisho-sensei," she murmured as she moved to stand next to him, trying to figure out what he found so fascinating about old texts.

"Excerpts are not the same. Students should be aware of this room and the treasures it holds, the history that's contained in it. In these four walls you'll find stories that date back to the dawn of time and texts that you would never find anywhere else but has had a large impact on the world and how it's shaped today. Knowledge is power, Kagome," he looked down at her. "Reading an excerpt from a text published two years ago doesn't have the same heady experience as reading the same excerpt from the original text. There's something about reading a text that was once written by these men several hundred years ago, it's easier to get into their heads if you see their words printed on a page that could have been read by them, or other great scholars of their time."

She watched in awe as he continued to peruse the rare book section, pausing momentarily throughout to open one of the books and gingerly flip through it. She had no doubts that they would eventually show up on one of his reading lists, ruining the sanctity of the location as more students would need to use the room for actual studies.

"Why Western history?" she asked him, suddenly, her curiousity getting the better of her. "You've lived through the ages here, you have plenty of first hand knowledge about Japanese society as it aged, grew older, endless amounts of wisdom gained that you could share with your students. And yet you teach Western? Why?"

He glanced sidelong at her, taking in her wide brown eyes as she looked up at him. "Why are you taking Western history?" he countered.

He watched her chew on her bottom lip for a moment before answering, the simple action she gave no thought to shot through him, and he wanted nothing more than to ignore the answer and take the soft flesh into his own mouth and see if it tasted as good as it looked. Will power won out and he focused on what she was saying instead of what she was doing.

"Because, I think, to do well and understand the world, we need to understand how the west operates, how it came into being and developed the way it did. Japan does a lot of business with western industries. It doesn't hurt."

"That's all good if you were studying undergrad," he noted as he scanned through several more titles. "But you're writing a thesis on Western History for your masters. There has to be more to it than that."

Finding what he wanted, what he knew he was there, he pulled the book out and flipped it open, scanning the pages for the article he was looking for. He didn't bother waiting for her answer. "You asked why I chose to focus on Western History. The answer is simple." He set the book on the table.

"Le Vice Anglais?" she asked, her eyebrow quirked.

"Among other things. Japanese history is riddled with violence. The violence comes in many different forms, but it was forged upon the basis of strength and formality. Despite the changes, we have always been a very strict, formal society. The West, while also violence-ridden, was filled with scandal of the variety that you would never see here."

Gold eyes watched her intently as she glanced at the drawing in the book, as a rosy flush spread quickly across her chest, as her breasts started to swell with anticipation.

Gold eyes watched the pulse jump at her throat as she took in the implications of what was about to happen.

"We have Geisha's here," she murmured, her eyes unable to move from the sketch, a naked man drawn up on a hook and pulley machine by his hands, leaving him utterly vulnerable to the woman behind him.

"That is true," he circled her, a predatory smile gracing his face before looking at his surroundings. The room was dark, private, empty, and while damp and cool, it would only add to what she would feel against her heated skin. "But, we as a private society don't speak of them. The Europeans flaunted them."

Slowly, he took her hands into his and pulled them high over her head with one hand. "We would never hear of a woman who would build a business upon her lecherous thoughts," he whispered into her ear as his other hand worked his belt.

His breath was hot against her skin as he continued to speak. "Imagine a woman who took such pride in her work, who was so well known for what she did she would have men and women, both rich and from nobility come from all over Europe just to have a taste of her." She felt the coarse leather of his belt bind her hands together over her head, before he moved her backward across the room. "Imagine a woman who started a whole sexual movement that even today continues to ostracize people if it becomes publicly known they participated in such activities."

While flogging was something she could never see herself getting into, just hearing her professor speak of it made her tremble. In fear, in anticipation, in nervousness, in hope, she wasn't sure if it was one or all of the above. His hands caused a fire upon her skin as he trailed them down her sides before settling them on her hips. "I think here should do just fine, keep your arms up," he murmured, before lifting her slightly off the ground.

Her feet still touched, giving her a bit of leverage, but just barely, she noticed, as she looked up to see her hands hanging off a hook in a wall. 'How convenient,' she thought before squirming around. "Just fine," he murmured again when he noticed she was suitably restrained.

Hands slid back down her body, stopping at the hem of her shirt as he began to rub the smooth, taut skin of her abdomen. "Take Theresa Berkley as an example of this," he continued to lecture as he played with the button on her denim skirt, before slipping it off. "She managed to turn BDSM into a career in nineteenth century. Remember her name, there'll be a quiz later."

"Theresa Berkley," she repeated breathlessly as his hands trailed back up to her waist, his claws occasionally scraping the tender spots, sending shivers up her spine and nearly making her moan.

"That's right. She is probably the best-known dominatrix in the nineteenth century. She ran a small brothel in England. Her area of expertise was corporal punishment, for those who wanted it." His hands slipped beneath her panties, squeezing her ass with his claws, pricking it several time with his claws, in just the right places, she noticed as the pleasure from the pain coursed through her. Wriggling against him, wanting him to do more, she opened her mouth to moan. "Shhh…" he whispered. "You don't want the whole library to hear you."

"She was known as the governess," he continued as he slowly slipped her stripped her of her underwear, rubbing the black satin between his thumb and forefinger before placing them on her head, covering her eyes and enshrouding her in darkness. "She was an expert in all instruments of torture, they say. She even invented one of her own, the Berkley horse, if I recall correctly, and men and women would come from all over to be flogged, brushed, pricked and tortured to their heart's content. It became the latest sexual craze across Europe."

He pushed against, lifting her shirt and slipping the front over her head, adding to the darkness and exposing her to him in almost all ways. "BDSM has evolved since then though. It's no longer about pain, torture, the application of strong physical force for pleasure. It's about trust now. Full, complete trust in your partner – no, keep your legs down," he said when she moved to wrap them around his hips.

"There is still pain, sometimes," he explained as he brought his hand down upon her ass in a resounding slap, before rubbing it, the tingling sensation heightened by the darkness driving her insane, making her whimper. "But it leaves no injury and is meant to release endorphins." She nearly cried out again as he cupped her, one of fingers slipping inside her, stroking her, setting her on fire.

"Sometimes," he leaned in real close, nibbling on her neck for a moment before speaking again. "Sometimes, sex isn't involved at all. It's all just foreplay to reach the sublime level."

This time she did cry out, a combination of ecstasy and frustration as he brought her closer to the edge.

"Don't worry," he chuckled. "I plan on having my way with you, after all, this was why we came here to begin with."

She felt the emptiness overcome her as he removed his hand and stepped back. The sound of his zipper echoed in the tiny room, a sound usually so quiet she wouldn't hear it, only it was heightened due to her blindness.

Whimpering, she reached for him, hands bound above her head, arching her body off the wall desperate for some sort of contact. Any contact. His touches, his words, her helplessness all led her to a state of frenzy, caused a thirst in her only he could quench.

He laughed again, a full, deep laugh, at the picture of her squirming. Oh yes, he knew the effect he had on it, he reveled in it, and had to admit, she the same on him. Watching her, the light, soft touches, the noises coming from the back of her throat all drove him to the brink of madness.

"Do you trust me, Kagome?" he whispered into her ear, running his tongue on the shell of it.

"Yes," she hissed at the heat of his mouth.

"Do you trust me so completely to do what I want to your body while you hang there helplessly?" His hands grasped her hips and parted her thighs, and he nearly bit his tongue as he began to rub himself against her.

"Yes," this time she nearly screamed, and it was all the incentive he needed.

Taking her mouth into his, he plunged into her, groaning at the tightness. He kept forgetting how petite she was, but then, her moans were proof enough that he wasn't hurting her. The tantalizing piece of flesh that had been tormenting him all day, was his as he nibbled and sucked on her lower lip, rolling it between his teeth and tongue before crushing her mouth with a bruising force.

One hand on her hip, the other on her breast squeezing, she felt the air knocked out of her time and time again as he moved in and out, slowly, then with increasing speed and strength, and she could do nothing but stand there and let him dominate her in every way.

His mere presence was overpowering as he continued his assault on her senses. Licking, stroking, he ran his fangs over the juncture in her neck, tasting the sweet tang of her blood where he nicked her a little too hard.

Eyes red, he continued to pound into her relentlessly, his primal side forcing her to submit to him, drowning in the sounds of her whimpers.

"Call my name," he growled as he realized how close to the edge he was. "I want you call my name when you come for me, not Taisho-sensei, my name."

Her head thrashed side to side as she could do nothing but feel him. Feel on her, inside her, all around her. There was fire building up inside of her, more intense than any she'd had before.

"Oh God," she nearly screamed as she felt herself falling over. Over and over he continued to thrust into her, faster and faster yet.

"Sesshoumaru," she called out as the last coherent thought left her mind and all she could do was feel, her body convulsing violently against his.

She lay crushed between the wall and his body breathing heavily as she came down from her high, blinking slowly as he removed her shirt and underwear from her head, and lifted her from the hook. "Wow," she breathed and looked at his knowing smirk. "Hey," she started. "You're still wearing your clothes."

"I am," he confirmed.

"Then why did you have to take mine off? It's going to take me twice as long to dress. You could have just lifted the skirt. What if somebody had walked in, they'd have seen me half naked."

His smirk only grew. "Because I am the dominant partner, you are not. You were told to trust me," he frowned slightly. "I would hope you would trust me enough to make sure nobody would walk in on you like this."

It was her turn to frown as she realized she had hurt him. He would never admit it, but she knew that a lack of trust could do a lot of damage, unlike the way he could easily brush off some of the simple, inane callous remarks. "Hey," she turned so she was looking him in the eyes. "You asked earlier why I decided to focus on Western history. I lied to you, it wasn't for a better understanding of the west."

"Oh?" his curiousity piqued, he quirked his eyebrow in anticipation of her explanation.

"Yeah, it was so I could get close to you," she turned away, blushing, embarrassed that she was revealing this much. He, on the other hand found the blush endearing. "I had noticed you in my fourth year of my undergrad, but you were too busy with the grad students to pay any attention to me. I was going to apply for my Masters anyhow, but this gave me the incentive I needed to pick the focus of my degree."

He shelved the book he had left on the table, lest some other student stumbled upon it. He didn't want to share it. "Well, I think it's a good thing I put in the request to assign you a new thesis advisor in my place" he mused. "It would give you an unfair advantage over others."

She smiled, before walking out the door. "I think I've picked my thesis topic though."

"Oh?" He followed her out, shutting the lights behind them. The room around them was still empty, nobody had heard their sport.

"Yeah," she grinned, tongue in cheek. "Le vice Anglais."

END

AN

Theresa Berkley is in fact a true historical figure. She was a well-known British dominatrix who owned her own Brothel at 28 Charlotte street, near Soho London. While she practiced BDSM, her specialty was flagellation. She was considered an expert in all forms of sexual torture and had men and women from all over Europe come to her brothel for chastisement from her. It was her practice of absolute privacy for clientele that kept them coming back and making her an extremely wealthy woman. She also did indeed invent the flagellation device, The Berkley Horse.

Now BDSM dates back to the 9th Century BC where a cult in Sparta practiced flagellation, and although practiced by people throughout time, it didn't really become, and I hate to use the word popular as it's something that exists on the fringe of society, but still, it didn't become popular until the 18th, 19th and 20th Centuries. As stated in the fic too, it evolved from strictly flagellation as BDSM encompasses many ideas now, not just sexual torture.

Le vice anglais, for those who want to know, translates to The English Vice, and it's what many of the French dubbed BDSM and flagellation.

And as a standard warning, anybody who is seriously interested in this practice, you need to do your research as it could be physically and psychologically harmful and dangerous, if practiced in the wrong way. There are numerous groups and clubs around the world that hold low-pressure informal gatherings to answer questions of those who are interested about the practice, but aren't sure.

Whew! Now, when I wrote this, I had no intentions of going in this direction. It was supposed to be a simple romp in the library, but things evolved as you can see :).

Disclaimer: Inuyasha and co. do not belong to me, they belong to Rumiko Takahashi