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Kikue Mugen

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Gojou Hajime
by Kikue Mugen   

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Category: 

Gay/Lesbian/Bi

Type: 
Pages: 

241

Copyright:  Sep 05 2008 ISBN-13:  143824567X/9781438245676
Fiction

Barnes & Noble.com
Samurai on Samurai

During Japan's 1800's the samurai
became dissatisfied with the shogun
for opening their isolated nation to
the Western Barbarians. Many
rebelled and plotted to overthrow
the shogun and restore their emperor
to a seat of power. The shogun
arranged a band of expert swordsmen
to manage the revolution. Given the
name, Shinsengumi (Newly Selected
Corps), the brave men were
commissioned to eliminate the unruly
samurai and ronin, sanctioned to kill.
The men lived for the moment, for their
lives could end in an instant. Under
stressful circumstances some of the
men turned to one another for comfort,
but how far did they venture from there
into the realm of taboo? - A
fascinating historical, gay, yaoi,
erotic fiction for the adult reader 18+.

Excerpt
“Damn you!” The hefty hatamoto spat out at the boy of nineteen years. “Did you honestly think you could get away with playing me for a fool, Hajime-kun? You were hired to do a specific job ahou, not steal from us!”

Hajime Yamaguchi, the third child of Yuusuke and Masu Yamaguchi, was a part of a respected family who settled in Edo and worked hard at maintaining the high respect of their community. Outwardly, Hajime seemed troubled, evidence of the unceasing energy that often caused him to experience conflicting battles within. He’d sometimes spend hours occupying himself with various antics. His recent escapade had him suffering in a most atrocious predicament.
Hajime yearned to do well, uphold the law, and honor authority. His main objective in his young life was to work at making his surrounding safe and secure for everyone in the community. Like any other youth, Hajime was young in his thinking, and inexperienced in life, but that didn’t discourage the young man from doing his best.

The hatamoto had private districts, and they set their priority in securing their areas using their own police force. That was where it all began for Hajime. He had been falsely accused of lifting money from the samurai’s till.

About three months prior, eager to do good deeds, and desiring official recognition, Hajime volunteered to do odd jobs for the hatamoto. He believed the promise made to him by the hatamoto: If he carried out his assigned tasks well, and had no complaints against him, Hajime would officially be recruited as part of the hatamoto’s security force and be paid well for his efforts. Unfortunate for Hajime, he did not get that far.

The samurai struck the boy across the face, “Where did you hide the money?”

Hajime spat back, angry as hell, “I am telling you, I took no god-damn money! I was set up by your filthy group!” Hajime seemed unafraid of being bullied into confessing to something he had no part of.

The samurai chuckled deviously, and then sadistically eyed the sarcastic lad. “Oh—yes, yes,” the samurai nodded, “this is going to hurt you more than you know.” He took the boy’s twine bound wrists and secured them even tighter than they originally had been.

“Ow, itai! Damn you!” Hajime exclaimed. The snarl upon his face was like a wild, captured animal that was willing to do anything to gain its freedom again, given the opportunity.

The large, broad-shouldered samurai dragged the boy over to a wooden post that was located dead center of the vacant building.

Hajime, a tall young man at five feet and eleven inches, was taller than most men in the surrounding area. However, the samurai that bound Hajime’s wrists together was strong indeed—built solid like a well-fortified rampart. Standing next to the samurai had Hajime appear puny in comparison.

Although the samurai was very handsome with dark, deep-set eyes and defined, sharp features, no one could deny the sense of a sadistic shadow that lurked behind his stunning façade. It was proven to many who knew the samurai that he had an unquenchable appetite for torture. If he had no one on his agenda to interrogate, the cunning man would often fabricate his own story by formulating reasons to take innocent people into custody under false charges, and then satisfy his animalistic appetite by performing unspeakable rituals upon them. This time, the samurai had worked events out perfectly to set-up his present victim—Hajime.

“I am sure you will not find it comfortable being tied in this fashion,” said the samurai as he checked and rechecked the binding with which he secured Hajime’s wrists. He thoroughly enjoyed the sight of Hajime’s extended arms and straining muscles that stretched way above the young man’s head. The twine, tightly secured with double knots, hung over a rod of iron that ran completely through the vertical post. Every movement Hajime made caused the twine to saw deeper into his skin.

“Ahahaha!” The man burst out in a sadistic, hysterical crackle once again. His anticipation of perverse pleasure made him drool like a hungry wolf watching a pig at roast over an open fire.

“I should have done this a long time ago, Hajime. To be honest, I thought about it so often, over and over again,” the samurai clutched the side of his head; “I did not have a reason—until now.”

Hajime tossed his head to the side sweeping the long hair that had fallen from its binding. “I see… Now I have no doubt in my mind that you were the asshole who set me up! What is your reason behind this?”

The hefty samurai bellowed, walked over to Hajime and looked straight into the young man’s eyes. “If I am guilty of your asinine accusation, what do you suppose motivated me to carry things this far?”

Hajime smirked in disgust, “It is common knowledge that you are a perverted animal, and this is the only way you are able to act out your sick, base instincts.” He spat at the ground in the attempt to rid his mouth of the oozing blood that resulted from the samurai’s initial blow to his jaw.

“Oh? Are you implying that people are talking? I don’t believe you. No one talks about me.” The samurai hesitated and thought, do they?

Hajime snickered, eyed the paranoid samurai and added in a cold tone, “Everyone knows you’re a sick bastard.”

The man backhanded the boy hard, across the face. “You are naïve! Look at you!” The samurai stepped back and folded his arms behind himself, and then began pacing a short path in front of Hajime. “You are the son of a respected man!” the samurai exclaimed with force, and then he went on to say, “ you are handsome and on the verge of fully being matured. Yet—you do not know to whom you belong.” You have ideals, yet you can only dream of being better than you are. What for? Hmmm?” He stopped and turned to face Hajime once again. “You are a nobody, but you yearn to be somebody!” He grit his teeth and snarled, “So, you thought you could join us and make a mark for yourself, but look where it got you!”

Hajime’s cheek burned from the samurai’s hard strike. He glared at the man and squirmed in his attempt to loosen the twine that was wrapped tightly around his wrist.

The samurai snickered as he moved closer to Hajime. He took the boys face in his rough hand and admired the reddened welts that were appearing upon the side of Hajime’s cheek.

“Hmm… yes, the color suits you,” said the samurai, “I wonder how it would wear across your buttocks. In fact, I wouldn’t mind seeing this color”—he pressed a thumb on the cracking skin— “all over your body.”

Taking Hajime’s kimono obi into his hand, the samurai yanked the tie, which caused Hajime’s kimono to flit open. He licked his lips like a hungry animal, and then he ran his eyes over the boy’s chest and abdomen slowly—lustfully.

Hajime continued to glare at the disturbed, older man, and shuddered at the thought of what the sick, demented samurai had in store for him. He looked around the barren storage house, and tried to determine what he needed to do to obtain his freedom. Surely, his life could not end this way; he hadn’t yet met his goals for making a mark in the world. This can’t be the end! Hajime thought.

The samurai shouted, “If you don’t tell me what you did with the money, you are mine to do as I please!” He was obviously becoming very impatient.

“How can I tell you where the god damned money is when I don’t know what the hell you are talking about? Why don’t you just drop the act? I know you set me up!”

“Then I will enjoy torturing you for no good reason. Everyone else will believe that you had indeed taken the money, and they will also believe that you were tortured to death simply because you refused to tell the truth.” The man moved closer to Hajime, placed his hands under the lapels of the kimono and observed how smooth the boy’s skin felt under his rough fingertips.

“Ahggh!” Hajime gasped aloud—repulsed. He tried to kick the man, but the attempt was blocked. “Keep your hands off me, you disgusting pig!”

“Oh? You don’t like this? Then…” the man lowered his hand and ran it across the boy’s fundoshi that was plainly visible through Hajime’s parted kimono, “…how about this? Hmmm?”

Hajime bit his lower lip and shut his eyes tightly in his attempt to visually escape from what the samurai was doing to him. The sight of the man’s lust filled eyes was sickening for him to look at. Hajime struggled against the twine that held his arms over his head by his writs. The cords cut deeper into his flesh, burning him as the blood drizzle down his arms.

“I must say…” the samurai held himself back from taking the boy right then, “…it isn’t easy for me to leave you right now, but I must complete my evening shift. Don’t worry though, I shall return to finish what we’ve started.

“You can go to hell,” Hajime snapped and winced from the pain in his arms as they began to cramp.

WHACK!

Another powerful strike against the boys face instantly turned his other cheek as red as a ruby. “I’ll give you some time to think about my proposition. You see—this doesn’t have to be an unpleasant situation. Why don’t you think about moving up in the ranks quickly? If you are willing to accept your position in my troop, I’ll let you live. In return, you simply give me what I want from time to time.”

The samurai walked over to his swords that were leaning against the wall. He tucked one into his obi, then held the other in his hand and walked back toward his captive.

“I will leave you for now, however do think it over.” The samurai leaned into the boy, set his mouth against Hajime’s ear, and then whispered— “Let me help you decide. If you don’t agree to my proposal, then use this time to prepare yourself to be fucked and disposed of.”

The samurai stepped back and inserted his second sword into his obi, laughing ominously as he left the young man hanging there against the cool wooden beam.

Hajime didn’t want to allow his mind to think about what the madman had planned for him. He didn’t want to imagine it at all. He tried freeing his wrists again, but they were bound too tightly. The twine was very strong and his struggle only sank them deeper into his flesh. With each movement he made against the rope, more blood seeped from the wounds. It hurt him like hell, and so did the samurai’s words. The mere fact that he was soon to be violated made him sick. Tears welled in his eyes, but Hajime refused to cry.

“Samurai do not cry,” Hajime heard his father’s voice running through his mind. Will I ever see my father again? He thought. If only he had listened to his father’s warning about the corrupt band of samurai who were up to no good in the villages.

Time passed and his arms were numb from being stretched over his head. His legs trembled from standing there too long. Hajime closed his eyes and tried to fill his mind with good things, pleasant things that would dull the pain. He had no other choice, but to endure.

“Soji…” Hajime whispered into the quietness of the empty room. “Soji,” he said a little louder as thoughts of Sojiro Okita, a good, close friend of Hajime’s rescued his thoughts, which otherwise, would have been as dark as the darkest night.

Soji lost his parents of the Shirakawa Han, a direct retainer of the shogun, at a young age. He was practically raised at a common hangout of Hajime’s—The Shiekan Dojo. Hajime and Soji became friends due to their common interest in swordsmanship. Although Hajime did not enroll at the Shiekan Dojo, it didn’t stop he and Soji from developing a close relationship.

Despite the pain that Hajime was in, the thoughts of Soji brought a smile to his face. Hajime was on his way to meet with Soji when the crazed hatamoto coaxed him into going to the interrogation location. The last thing Hajime remembered was walking through the door to the empty building. Later, he woke to find his wrists bound together, his hair let down to hang across his face, and he felt the throbbing, intense pain on the backside of his head and jaw from a couple of blows he had taken.

Hajime realized that the samurai was about to return shortly. It was close to the changing of work shifts for the hatamoto. The troops were out doing their regular rounds collecting protection money from the village merchants. Hajime had knowledge of that, but was not yet recruited to participate in the action.

The temperature of the building dipped considerably since Hajime first arrived. It had been four hours, no—closer to five hours, since the samurai left him standing alone in the vacant room. A chill hit the front of his body like a cold hand against his warm flesh and it caused his skin to prickle.

Darkness flooded the room as the sun began to sink below the horizon. Hajime couldn’t see behind him, for he hung with his back against the wooden beam that faced opposite the entrance. Nevertheless, he heard the familiar sound of the door sliding open, and then it shut again, echoing through the vacant room, and fading into the next. He knew that the dreaded moment arrived as he heard the foreboding footsteps of the samurai approaching him from behind.

Suddenly, Hajime felt the samurai’s hot, rough hands reach up from behind. The stubby, sandy-like fingers slid under the front opening of Hajime’s kimono, and then he heard the samurai’s sultry voice. It was strong; yet smooth—the breath, heavy-laden with the musky aroma of rice wine.

“Have you decided to take me up on the proposition? Hmmm? Or… will I have to coax you into it?”

“Only a son-of-a-bitch would agree to such a degrading deal as that!” The young man exclaimed wearily, cringing at the touch of the samurai fingers against his nipples.

The man released his hold and walked around Hajime to light a lamp, and then he turned to face the young man. “Huh, huh, haaa,” the samurai chuckled. With a gleam in his eye he licked his lips with desire for Hajime who was incapacitated before him.

“You don’t seem to want to cooperate, do you?” The man removed from his side the two swords he worn while on patrol, and set them to lean against the same wooden beam that held Hajime captive. He removed from his sleeve, a very small knife and held it to the young man’s throat.

“What the hell?” Hajime saw the lust in the man’s eyes as the samurai advanced closer to him.

“Perhaps this will help you to agree and accept the business arrangement I offered you earlier.” The samurai pressed his torso against the trembling boy, held the small weapon against Hajime’s throat, and dropped his other hand to the boy’s groin.

“You sick bastard!” Hajime spat and turned his head to the side, “Get away from me!”

“Not until you tell me. In fact boy… you have me so worked up I think I’ll just have my way with you whether you agree to the arrangement or not,” the samurai said as he kneaded Hajime’s flaccid organ between his fingers through the thick fabric of the boy’s fundoshi.

“Ahggh…nnooo!”


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