satoko ayakura | 綾倉 聡子 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thewisechild) wrote2025-02-01 06:54 am
thewisechild) wrote2025-02-01 06:54 am
Entry tags:
fic: eggplants (bleach x-over)
EGGPLANTS
?
Somehow Ume, sitting on her knees on a mat near the sliding doors out, seems to know that Satoko is watching her, although Satoko is only sparing her fleeting, sideways glances, the way she has learned to observe people without getting caught back home and still uses here, in her new home. Nevertheless, sidelong glances don’t appear to be a foreign method of observation in the Kuchiki Manor and perhaps that is the reason Ume is not surprised by it.
Neither surprised nor shaken.
She remains seated, waiting to be addressed by her mistress, currently busy reading a scroll of poetry she’s had retrieved from the library. The steward himself brought it to her quarters. An original, Satoko-sama, he'd informed her. Not because he didn’t expect her to handle it with care, but because he wanted her to know why she was supposed to.
Currently, none of the waka really register with her. Is it because she’s not truly that interested? If nothing else, her mind is properly preoccupied, that much is true.
Satoko thinks about Byakuya-sama. Byakuya-sama who’d gone down on her the previous night, bringing her to the kind of climax that would no doubt live in the whispers of Yukina-san and her friends for days, it had been so unmistakable, Satoko had been fighting to breathe in the wake of it, staring up at Byakuya-sama while he slicked himself up to take her, get himself off in her. And while she loves that, too, she’s decided, she had still watched the motions of his hand on himself and wanted it to be some other part of her. Some other deep, intimate part.
Licking her lips, she closes the book and lets the original collection of old waka rest in her lap. Then, she glances back over at Ume.
Ume doesn’t raise her gaze from the mat floor, but she shifts slightly, uneasily.
With a sigh, Satoko finally says her name, making the servant girl raise her face immediately and look over at her. “Yes, mistress.”
And because she can’t stop imagining Byakuya-sama’s cock in her mouth, slicking him up, getting him off, she’s thought about the same thing for days now, Satoko finds the courage to ask, in quite an unaffected voice, despite the throbbing of her heart, “have you performed fellatio on a man?”
The servant girl’s blank face betrays how she doesn’t understand the question, most likely the rather clinical word threw her off. Satoko clarifies after a second, “what I mean is, have you sucked a cock?”
The blankness becomes understanding, then realization, then a harsh blush across the bridge of the girl’s nose. Ume, however, doesn’t falter either. “Of course, mistress,” she replies. Satoko thinks, if it’s so self-evident, why hasn’t Byakuya-sama asked her to do it yet? Doesn’t he like it? Doesn’t he trust her to perform well? Doesn’t he want her to?
She keeps her hands cradled in her lap, fingers curving around the spine of the book lightly, adjusting its weight on her thighs. A long moment passes where she doesn’t say anything and in which Ume seems to question whether she has said too much, in turn. Satoko takes a deep breath, releases it, forces herself to be brave.
Her husband is the Captain of the Sixth Division, if she can’t be brave, perhaps she doesn’t deserve to put her mouth anywhere near him, after all.
“Will you teach me?” she wants to know.
Ume stares at her with wide eyes for a moment, then she seems to run through an internal arithmetical problem that she doesn’t voice neither the process nor the solution to out loud. Instead, she straightens up and nods, sliding her foot forward as she gets up, her yukata wrinkling around her movements. “How big an eggplant should I get?” she asks.
Eggplant, Satoko thinks, confused for a second, until she realises and it’s her turn to blush. For the first time since Byakuya-sama started taking her to bed, she feels actually timid. Hesitantly, she measures out an approximate size, Ume studying her hands, the amount of air between them, meaning something else, intently and nods.
“Small eggplant, in that case.”
At Satoko’s expression of protest, the servant girl clarifies, “small eggplants are easier to swallow, so it’s a good thing, mistress. You got lucky.”
Satoko relaxes, as if she’s in fact defended Byakuya-sama’s honour and won.
“I’ll be right back. Please excuse me,” Ume says, bowing before she takes her leave.
In the meantime, Satoko stays behind with her original book of poetry that she reads none off, her breath caught in her throat and her lips feeling suddenly dry, which can’t be good for the poor eggplant. She wets them again.
When Ume returns with two deep purple egplants, one slightly bigger than the other, Satoko has to admit to herself that even the smaller specimen looks awfully big compared to the whole cavity of her mouth.
Sitting down next to her quietly, Ume hands over the vegetable and smiles in a way meant to bring comfort. “You don’t have to worry about all of it, just stroke what you can’t fit inside. He should appreciate that.”
And in this space, they’re suddenly sharing, her maid and her, Satoko thinks no one should dare to remind Ume that having opinions on what the master should and shouldn’t do could rightly get her fired in any other context.
Seeing as contexts that involve eggplants must surely operate by different rules, isn’t that so?
Neither surprised nor shaken.
She remains seated, waiting to be addressed by her mistress, currently busy reading a scroll of poetry she’s had retrieved from the library. The steward himself brought it to her quarters. An original, Satoko-sama, he'd informed her. Not because he didn’t expect her to handle it with care, but because he wanted her to know why she was supposed to.
Currently, none of the waka really register with her. Is it because she’s not truly that interested? If nothing else, her mind is properly preoccupied, that much is true.
Satoko thinks about Byakuya-sama. Byakuya-sama who’d gone down on her the previous night, bringing her to the kind of climax that would no doubt live in the whispers of Yukina-san and her friends for days, it had been so unmistakable, Satoko had been fighting to breathe in the wake of it, staring up at Byakuya-sama while he slicked himself up to take her, get himself off in her. And while she loves that, too, she’s decided, she had still watched the motions of his hand on himself and wanted it to be some other part of her. Some other deep, intimate part.
Licking her lips, she closes the book and lets the original collection of old waka rest in her lap. Then, she glances back over at Ume.
Ume doesn’t raise her gaze from the mat floor, but she shifts slightly, uneasily.
With a sigh, Satoko finally says her name, making the servant girl raise her face immediately and look over at her. “Yes, mistress.”
And because she can’t stop imagining Byakuya-sama’s cock in her mouth, slicking him up, getting him off, she’s thought about the same thing for days now, Satoko finds the courage to ask, in quite an unaffected voice, despite the throbbing of her heart, “have you performed fellatio on a man?”
The servant girl’s blank face betrays how she doesn’t understand the question, most likely the rather clinical word threw her off. Satoko clarifies after a second, “what I mean is, have you sucked a cock?”
The blankness becomes understanding, then realization, then a harsh blush across the bridge of the girl’s nose. Ume, however, doesn’t falter either. “Of course, mistress,” she replies. Satoko thinks, if it’s so self-evident, why hasn’t Byakuya-sama asked her to do it yet? Doesn’t he like it? Doesn’t he trust her to perform well? Doesn’t he want her to?
She keeps her hands cradled in her lap, fingers curving around the spine of the book lightly, adjusting its weight on her thighs. A long moment passes where she doesn’t say anything and in which Ume seems to question whether she has said too much, in turn. Satoko takes a deep breath, releases it, forces herself to be brave.
Her husband is the Captain of the Sixth Division, if she can’t be brave, perhaps she doesn’t deserve to put her mouth anywhere near him, after all.
“Will you teach me?” she wants to know.
Ume stares at her with wide eyes for a moment, then she seems to run through an internal arithmetical problem that she doesn’t voice neither the process nor the solution to out loud. Instead, she straightens up and nods, sliding her foot forward as she gets up, her yukata wrinkling around her movements. “How big an eggplant should I get?” she asks.
Eggplant, Satoko thinks, confused for a second, until she realises and it’s her turn to blush. For the first time since Byakuya-sama started taking her to bed, she feels actually timid. Hesitantly, she measures out an approximate size, Ume studying her hands, the amount of air between them, meaning something else, intently and nods.
“Small eggplant, in that case.”
At Satoko’s expression of protest, the servant girl clarifies, “small eggplants are easier to swallow, so it’s a good thing, mistress. You got lucky.”
Satoko relaxes, as if she’s in fact defended Byakuya-sama’s honour and won.
“I’ll be right back. Please excuse me,” Ume says, bowing before she takes her leave.
In the meantime, Satoko stays behind with her original book of poetry that she reads none off, her breath caught in her throat and her lips feeling suddenly dry, which can’t be good for the poor eggplant. She wets them again.
When Ume returns with two deep purple egplants, one slightly bigger than the other, Satoko has to admit to herself that even the smaller specimen looks awfully big compared to the whole cavity of her mouth.
Sitting down next to her quietly, Ume hands over the vegetable and smiles in a way meant to bring comfort. “You don’t have to worry about all of it, just stroke what you can’t fit inside. He should appreciate that.”
And in this space, they’re suddenly sharing, her maid and her, Satoko thinks no one should dare to remind Ume that having opinions on what the master should and shouldn’t do could rightly get her fired in any other context.
Seeing as contexts that involve eggplants must surely operate by different rules, isn’t that so?