The evening had sunk into its meridian. The outgoing tide has simmered down. In some places there is a lull, but it is like that of the eye of a hurricane. In the deep of the night, the dregs, the sediment at the bottom of the coffee cup would emerge and it was encouraged and celebrated in Tokyo’s Red Light District. The dark hours when men’s nerves become taut with the help of inebriant courage and women's fears escalated, inflamed by the ubiquitous, raptorial gawking of the latter. It was the very time for people to make love in overpriced love hotels, or kill each other, or sometimes both. Such was not uncommon in Kamurocho.
The seldom stretches of pavement that were not under flashing lights glowed like pale blue china under the dull spring moon, especially the plethora of tight alleyways. They glistened with a somber silverness. They were foreboding, but also a welcome pardon from the lights that throbbed continuously like a migraine - one that only intensified (Y/N)’s.
(Y/N) knew when the lights flipped on, it was past time to get back to her apartment. When she was alone the blaze of the lights became unnatural, hostile and menacing. Much like a monstrous vulture that hovers, biding its time. She knew her long-time boyfriend, Majima Goro, lurked the streets every night and undoubtedly had his men posted in certain areas to keep an eye on her as she got off work and made her way back home.
The throngs were unusually boisterous and it caused (Y/N) to be on high alert as she slunk past. Work that day had been enervating which made the noise of street venders and shop owners ushering potential customers their way even more grating.
She eyed an alleyway and calculated about where it would lead out. It was a shortcut, but it looked like a Stygian slit of perpetual mist and darkness. Like the border between the worlds of the living and dead. Was it really worth it to duck through?
The sooner she could get home, the sooner she could take some medicine for her aching head and lie down in the peace and quiet.
(Y/N) took a deep breath and ambled down the snug path, trying and failing to appear in control and intimidating. Maybe she would have been to a stray cat, but not to another human being.
It wasn’t as bad as she had anticipated. The alleyway cut int between two restaurants. She could smell a hint of sizzling pork, burnt bread, and the fragrance of wine.
At the end of the alley, a pitch-black silhouette slid in front of the very light her eyes were pasted to.
(Y/N) jumped, but managed to steady her breath and force down the panic that was bubbling up.
‘He’s not going to hurt you. He’s not going to hurt you.’ Her mind echoed.
However, instead of veering to one side of the walkway, the man continued down the middle. It was beginning difficult to ignore the loudening alarm bells. The menacing aura held her in a tightening grip and fear became a tangible, like living force that crept over (Y/N). Soon, she became immobile, but her finger was hovering over the ‘0’ of ‘110’ on her cellphone.
The scuff and slosh of the approaching footsteps through the puddles were getting closer, but she dare not look up.
Soon, he was right in front of her and she was looking straight down at his shoes. The steel-tipped dress shoes were a staple of her boyfriend’s trademark attire and in an instant, everything clicked together and she stuffed her phone back into her pocket.
Majima and (Y/N) had discussed plans to act out a fantasy where she was overpowered and forced to surrender to him. Of course, all details were fleshed out and they even picked out a safe word that would be used in the event of (Y/N) becoming too discomfited.
Majima said he would do it, but (Y/N) never had any idea when or where. Quite honestly, the idea they had once discussed had wiggled its way back into the recesses of her mind after months of her arduous, day-blurring routine.
Go to work, go to work, go to work.
(Y/N) looked up at who she knew in her heart to be Majima, but who her mind screamed was a threat.
The man could have been a statue, but (Y/N) could hear the low hiss of his measured breathing and see the smooth lapels of his suit move with every breath. She shivered at his daunting, enigmatic intrigue.
A part of her, maybe more than just a part, screamed at her to run in the other direction.
She knew it was her boyfriend in a disguise, but her body betrayed her, feeling wobbly and still bristling with anxiousness. Perhaps, in retrospect, that was part of the high.
Quick as a lean bird of prey, the “Hannya-Man” lurched forward and grabbed both sides of (Y/N)’s head. He pulled her close, a gilded fang poked her cheek and stubble scraped her chin.
She stiffened when his mouth slammed into hers. Since his top lip was shielded by the row of carefully crafted teeth, he opted to simply feel his tongue against hers. A strange sensation began to well in her chest, starting as a dull burning that soon began creeping its way around the rest of her body.
The whole situation was taboo, but the shame was being greatly overshadowed by yearning.
“P-please don’t hurt me.” (Y/N) squeaked. Her performance was endearing. Perhaps a piece of her was not acting.
The Hannya-Man took a cautious step forward like a he was creeping up on a frightened doe. An upsurge of stimulated fear-spiked arousal snaked down her spine. A hand on her shoulder forced her face-first against the adjacent wall, while another snapped around her wrist.
Why was his sheer intimidation and demandingness so sinisterly delightful?
“Mr. Hannya Man…” She whispered to herself, losing herself in a flurry of tingles. The masked man shoved her skirt up over her back, revealing her plump, curvaceous lower half and grabbed handfuls. He rolled and squeezed her flesh like he was examining a ripe fruit for picking.
A hand came down against her panties, spanking her covered slit. (Y/N) yelped and held onto the wall for dear life. Her reach wrenched up and she peered down the alley, heart thundering at the thought of someone having heard her.
The mask’s golden fangs pressed into her shoulder and (Y/N)’s fingers continued to dig into the paneling of the restaurant.
He rutted against her like an inexorable dog, making sure she could feel his swollen member through his dress pants. Feeling satisfied with the way she was tensing and arching unconsciously, the Hannya-Man unzipped his trousers, and pulled his cock free from his briefs. He let it rest heavily in the cleft of her buxom hind.
He was so torrid. His skin was on fire. (Y/N) could have melted into a puddle and joined the tiny pools of mucky rain surrounding them.
Fingers came to jerk her panties to the side, replacing the soft feel of her underwear with the throbbing heat of his cock. With fingers in his pubic curls, holding himself steady, he pushed his length along her wet slit, back and forth, sticky wetness smearing all over her lips. (Y/N)’s breath hitched as she convulsed with a strong shiver.
She heard a sniff of amusement at her pule, but other than that minute break in character, Majima showed no sign of dropping the veil. He aligned their sexes and forcefully shoved his hips up to meet hers. He pressed up harder until the head popped inside. Her clammy hand came up to muffle a squeal of discomfort. There was a distinct pressure that grew in her loins as she was stretched wide open. (Y/N). This simply urged the shrouded man onward as he grinned wickedly, instantly starting up an unforgiving pace. His extreme seductiveness was at the boundary of horror. Drool dribbled from (Y/N)’s pretty lips as she panted loudly, tightening her grip around his neck while the other hand shyly covered one bouncing breast.
It felt like him. She knew the feel of his deliciously-thick, curved shaft. His hips moved like his. She focused in on the hand wrenched around her wrist. It felt like his hand – rough, but warm, surprisingly un-calloused due to his habit of wearing gloves. She thought she could even hear the familiar ‘tinking’ of his gold chains bouncing against his chest from beneath his crisp collar and immaculate bowtie.
Through her closed eyes, she could tell people were passing by due to the lights angling into her lids being obscured every few seconds, accompanied by not-so-distant conversation, laughter, and droning over-the-phone exchanges.
‘Somebody will see me like this! What if it’s someone from work?’
Her mind shrieked, but it only seemed to make her lower half tighten and flutter more manically.
A honied cry broke to bits in (Y/N)’s throat as she struggled to keep breathing while being pounded so hard. As if involuntary, her hand snaked down and fingers brushed over her soaked nub, trying and failing to rub in time with his slams. She let out a choking sob as she gave every last shred of dignity over to The Hannya-Man.
Her eyes opened and she braved a glance to her right. For a moment, she watched as the people passed, most without even taking a glance down the alleyway.
“No, please not here, sir.” (Y/N) played along, feigning unwillingness. Her voice was so small, the Hannya-Man nearly missed it. “I can’t…let someone see…me like…this.”
The girl’s toes curled painfully as the coils tautened in her abdomen, heralding her inevitable release. Her body felt incredibly weak and heavy, but she was astoundingly sensitive. (Y/N) could feel every twitch and throb of Majima’s thick length as he buried himself in her over and over again.
All semblance coherency was swept away in the wind when a particularly rough thrust that had (Y/N) clapping a hand over her mouth and nearly slamming her forehead against the wall.
Nearly instantly, a hand came up to rip hers away from her mouth, a wordless dare to let her sounds ride off on the spring breeze for all to hear. As he continued to devastate her bruised hole, the familiar stranger seemed to pull his tanto out of thin air. He drew it against her thigh. The edge of the blade running across her smooth skin was intoxicating.
(Y/N) offered only pitiful, nonsensical whispers, eyes bleary with surprise and excitement.
Her heart leapt when he dragged the gleaming tanto from her voluptuous thigh, over her hip, past her navel, and nestled it between her breasts, on her sternum.
Not needing to support her or drive her onto him any longer, his free hand ducked underneath her sweater, while his hips did all the work. Her supple thighs, ass, and breasts, all jiggled in tandem with his movements. His hand slid across her velvet skin, finding her breast from beneath her embellished bra, kneading before giving the nipple a few biting pinches.
Despite trusting Majima with everything in her, panic still rose in her throat, but it only added fuel to the mind-anesthetizing euphoria. The blade still being held against her chest was sliding back and forth with his movements, but the careful pressure conjured up little more than a sting.
The fingers that were absentmindedly pressed to her bud, began to move once more – in hurried circles. (Y/N) was dipping over the edge on the comprehension of the situation alone, when she started rubbing herself it was if every nerve in her body snapped at once and sparkled as a moment of idyllic distress washed over her with more fierceness than she ever believed possible, especially in her dazed condition. (Y/N) cried out softly and froze at the sinful squish her wet slit made as she took him inside over and over.
She heard a muffled hiss, then the man behind her bore down as he felt her heavenly-silk walls clamp around him and spasms ripple through. The Hannya-Man clenched his teeth and squeezed (Y/N)’s breast and the handle of his knife as his orgasm hit like a tidal wave that washed through his core and out through his wiry limbs.
His breath was a bit uneven for the first time during their entire escapade and he made his first real sound of approval – a guttural rumble as he felt (Y/N)’s insides weakly hug and spasm around him as the reverberations of her high left her body pulsing with elation.
Then, the soreness set in.
However, her headache did not return with the rest of her feeling.
The buzz of the people going about their business faded back in.
(Y/N)’s mind awoke from its pleasure-deadened state.
Huffing, (Y/N) turned to the figure behind her, while adjusting her skirt. The Hannya-Man’s long fingers seemed to hesitate on the mask. His lips were parted, his breathing labored much like (Y/N)'s. He pushed the wooden mask up, revealing his upper lip. It was gleaming with moisture. In the dark, she spotted the inviting cupid’s bow, the trimmed facial hair, and his nostrils flaring with each breath.
They stared at each other for what felt like minutes, just trying to collect themselves and process what had just taken place in such a vertiginous frenzy.
“Ya okay to walk?”
The thick overdone Kansai made her heart jolt, but in the warmest, happiest way.
(Y/N) looked past Majima and saw the top of her apartment building peaking over nearby shops. It was only about a block away.
“Y-yeah.” She rasped, looking back at Majima.
“I’ll meet ya at home in a few. That okay?”
(Y/N) grabbed her purse off the ground and positioned it on her shoulder again, then nodded with a tired smile.