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“Say, Ticket…”
The booze in her Nursefather’s voice is enough to make Yoshihide’s blood run cold. She’s freshly eighteen, but she still tenses when Valencina speaks to her - she’d stopped being hopeful when she was around eight or nine. She holds her ground there, refusing to turn around to face her, back straight and fingers curled around the tight hilt of Arayashiki, trying to ground herself.
She knows that tone of voice - somewhat, that is. There’s something unfamiliar there, and that unsettles Yoshihide.
“I have no time to talk to you,” Yoshihide mutters.
A low chuckle rolls out of Valencina, but Yoshihide can tell that she’s pissed at the rejection. Maybe the liquor is nulling some of her rage. The sound of Valencina’s chair scraping back is deliberate, boots hitting the worn floorboards - heel, toe, heel, toe - like she’s stalking corned prey.
“Aw, c’mon now, Ticket,” Valencina slurs. “You used to call me Mommy. Or at least Mother. Remember? When you were small and sweet and still needed someone to wipe your nose after a bad lesson.”
Yoshihide scoffs, shoulders hunching. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
Valencina’s presence creeps closer - warm, heavy, reeking of smoke and alcohol and heavy cologne. Yoshihide feels her before the touch: the brush of long fingers sweeping Yoshihide’s dark hair behind one ear, tucking it with exaggerated care. Then the press - Valencina’s front molding flush against Yoshihide’s back, hips slotting in against the flat plane of her ass like they belong there. One arm snakes around Yoshihide’s waist, lazy but possessive; the other hand lingers at her jaw, tilting her head just enough to expose the line of her throat.
“Yeah,” Valencina breathes against the shell of Yoshihide’s ear, voice dropping low and rough. “You look like a woman now. I just noticed.”
Valencina’s palm slides down, tracing the sharp jut of Yoshihide’s hipbone through the thin fabric of her training clothes. Fingers splay wide, pressing in until Yoshihide can feel the heat of her through every layer.
Valencina’s breath is hot and unsteady.
“Still so skinny,” she murmurs, almost fond, as if she’s capable. “But these hips… they’ve filled out nice. Bet they’d look even better bruised.” She rocks forward once - subtle, testing - grinding the hard line of her pelvis against Yoshihide’s backside. “You always did take punishment good, Ticket. Even when you hated it.”
Yoshihide’s grip on the scabbard tightens until her knuckles ache. Cutcutcutkillkillkillgetoffme, she thinks. Her pulse hammers under Valencina’s thumb where it strokes lazy circles over her carotid. She should draw the blade. She should cut her down. She’s cut down worse things than this woman before.
But she thinks of Araya, and just as easily as she melts for her daughter, she surrenders to Valencina. She can’t lose any more memories. Even if Arayashiki could cut this away - these dirty, filthy memories - she couldn’t afford to lose more precious moments with Araya.
“Speaking of. I fucked you once before. You were - mm, uhh… fuckin’ what? Fifteen? You cried,” Valencina says, sounding not the least bit sorry.
Yoshihide’s stomach lurches so violently she nearly gags.
Fifteen, and the memory doesn’t need to surface fully for her body to remember. The sour reek of liquor on Valencina’s breath that night in particular, the way the tatami had burned against her cheek, the way her own cries sounded animal and alien. She’d bitten her own tongue until it bled just to keep from screaming loud enough for the whole House to hear.
(Even if they did hear, they’d have done nothing at all).
“Fifteen,” Valencina repeats, softer now for the nostalgia of remembering Yoshihide’s misery. “You bled on my sheets. Little red flowers…” A deep sigh against her neck. “You were so tight I thought I’d split you in half. But you took it. Always took it.”
Yoshihide’s vision tunnels. The room narrows to the heat of Valencina’s chest against her spine and the slow grind that starts up again, hipbones to ass.
She wants to scream. She wants to drive Arayashiki backward through Valencina’s sternum and twist until the blade sings against bone.
Valencina must revel in the surrender. Must know that Yoshihide can’t fight back; that her venomous words are all but lip service. A dog that won’t bite.
“That’s my Ticket…” Valencina purrs, obscenely hot and damp against the back of Yoshihide’s neck. “I’m not into kids, y’know that? It’s just that - Shiomi Yoru’s the only other woman in the house, and I only have so much ahn to pay for whores… it’s not like it happened again, anyway. You understand, right?”
Yoshihide’s breath skips as Valencina’s unexpectedly large hands reach around to grope at her chest and squeeze.
“These could be bigger. Hey, you’ve got the Dihui Star’s blood, so why’s her rack bigger than yours?” Hands wander down, slimy and repulsive and disgusting andandandandand. “This ass is flatter, too… I like my girls with a bit more meat on them, but beggars can’t be choosers, eh.”
Enough. Enough. Enough. Enough. Yoshihide thinks of Valencina behind her, fingers twisting inside her, and then a strap-on cock that feels - felt - like it might split her open, and she snarls, turning around, pushing her away.
“Get your fucking hands off of-”
The shove catches her off-balance just enough to make her stagger half a step. Her boot scrapes loud against the floorboards. For one heartbeat the only sound is their breath: Valencina’s ragged from rage, and Yoshihide’s eerily still.
And then, Valencina laughs.
“Ohhh,” Valencina drawls. “There she is. There’s my little bitch of a fighter… my little bitch of a daughter.” She straightens slowly, rolling her shoulders, laughing again and again underneath her breath. “Thought you forgot how to push back.”
Yoshihide’s still got one hand braced on Arayashiki’s hilt, the other fisted at her side. She’s shaking—not from fear, not anymore, but from the sheer white-hot effort of not drawing steel right here and painting the walls with what used to be her Mother.
Valencina steps forward again, and faster this time. There’s no more stalking preamble. Yoshihide tries to sidestep, but she’s too slow, and -
Valencina’s hand snaps out like a whip - long fingers clamping around Yoshihide’s throat with bruising precision, pinning her back against the wall behind them with a dull thud that knocks the breath out of her lungs.
The wood creaks behind her skull as her head spins.
Valencina crowds in close again, chest to chest now, using her greater height and weight to trap Yoshihide’s smaller frame. Her free hand slams down over Yoshihide’s wrist - the one gripping the sword - twisting hard until the scabbard clatters against the beam. Not enough to break anything. Just enough to remind her who’s stronger when it’s raw muscle and not cursed technique.
“You forget yourself, Ticket,” Valencina hisses, voice stripped of slurs and syrup. Every word is bitten off clean. “You don’t get to push me. Not after everything I gave you. Not after I kept a roof over that pretty little head and food in that ungrateful, bitch mouth.”
Her thumb presses into the soft hollow beneath Yoshihide’s jaw, forcing her chin up to lock eyes with her. Valencina’s pupils are blown wide: rage and liquor and something uglier twisting together.
“You think you’re grown now?” She squeezes her throat as Yoshihide twitches and groans underneath her. A child again, beaten and broken and bruised and helpless. Black spots Yoshihide’s vision. “You think those hips and that attitude mean you’re not still mine to handle?”
Yoshihide’s lips part on a soundless gasp. Her free hand claws at Valencina’s forearm - nails digging in, drawing thin red lines - but Valencina doesn’t even flinch.
“Stop…!” Yoshihide rasps, voice thin and shredded.
Valencina leans in until their foreheads nearly touch. Her breath smells like cheap whiskey, mouth twisting into a sneer.
“Stop, oh Mommy, stop,” she mocks, voice a low rasp against Yoshihide’s lips. Her hand, the one not locked around Yoshihide’s throat, slides down without warning. It forces its way past the waistband of Yoshihide’s thin training pants, past the cotton of her underwear, until callused fingertips find slick heat.
Yoshihide jerks hard, a choked sound strangling in her crushed throat.
Valencina freezes for half a second, and then laughs.
“Oh my god,” she breathes a half-laugh, fingers parting slick folds with obscene ease. “You’re fucking soaked. Dumb bitch… is that what all those years of discipline did to you? Make your cunt drip when I hit you?”
Two fingers push inside without preamble, curling deep on the first thrust inside. Yoshihide’s hips snap forward involuntarily before she can stop them. her knees buckling against Valencina’s thigh, the wall the only thing keeping her upright.
“Look at you,” Valencina murmurs, pumping slowly, deliberately, letting the wet sound fill the space between them. “Clenching around my fingers like you’ve been waiting for this. All that snarling, all that ‘get off me’ bullshit, and your cunt’s dripping for Mommy anyway.”
She twists her wrist, thumb finding Yoshihide’s clit and circling once. She hadn’t touched her clit the last time, but it feels -
Yoshihide’s head thumps back against the wood hard enough to make herself dizzy. A broken whimper slips out despite the chokehold. Her nails rake deeper into Valencina’s forearm, but she doesn’t push away. The shame burns hotter than the stretch.
Valencina leans in, lips brushing the shell of Yoshihide’s ear.
“Bet you hate how good it feels, little slut,” she whispers. “Hate that you’re this wet just from me manhandling you. From me reminding you who you belong to…” Another slow, deep thrust as Valencina scissors her fingers, stretching Yoshihide’s cunt. “Masochistic… fuckin’... whore. Just like your Mother. Bitch loves when I smack her around.”
Yoshihide’s hips jerk forward again - small, helpless twitches she can’t suppress. The wall scrapes her shoulder blades raw as Valencina pushes against her trachea, leaving her gasping and whimpering little nothings, pleas that die before she can even speak them.
She hates it.
She hates the slick, obscene noise every time Valencina’s fingers sink back in. She hates the way her own cunt flutters and clenches, greedy and traitorous for her own Nursefather. She hates the heat pooling low in her belly, tightening like a fist, coiling despite every screamed internal command to stop, or to fight, or to die before she lets this happen again.
Valencina knows, of course. So she makes it worse.
“That’s it,” she murmurs, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Give it to me, Ticket. Let Mommy feel how much you still need this.”
Yoshihide’s head lolls. Tears leak hot down her temples, tracking into her hair. Her nails are still buried in Valencina’s forearm, but the scratching has turned weak, frantic, almost pleading. Her body is winding tighter and tighter, muscles locking, breath stuttering into ragged little sobs she can’t swallow.
No. No. No.
The orgasm hits like a blade between the ribs.
It rips through her without mercy. Her cunt clamps down hard around Valencina’s fingers, pulsing and spasming, flooding slick heat that drips down her own shaking thighs. Her knees give completely; only Valencina’s body and the hand on her windpipe keeping her upright. Her hips buck once, twice, grinding mindlessly against the heel of Valencina’s palm as aftershocks ripple through her.
She comes so hard her vision whites out for a second.
And then, there’s nothing.
The room recedes.
Valencina is still there - chest heaving, breath hot against Yoshihide’s neck - but she feels miles away. The laughter starts low, rolling and victorious.
“Beautiful," Valencina drawls somewhere distant, smug, almost tender. “Look at you. Still my good girl after all.”
The words slide off Yoshihide like water on glass.
She doesn’t feel the rough fingers slipping out of her, doesn’t feel the hand easing off her throat. Doesn’t feel her own body slumping slowly down the wall until her knees hit the floorboards with a dull thud, doesn’t even remember to breathe.
There’s only the high, glassy ringing in her ears, the wet smear between her legs, and the familiar taste of copper where she’s bit through her lip.
She closes her eyes and reaches inward, desperate, for the one bright thing she still has.
Araya.
Small hands reaching for her after training, smearing sticky rice grains across her cheek while giggling. Araya asleep against her chest, tiny breaths warm on her collarbone, trusting her completely. Araya’s voice, high and bright, calling “Mommy!” like it’s the easiest word in the world.
Her daughter. Her reason. The only part of her that never belonged to Valencina.
The ringing in her ears softens. Her heartbeat steadies, not calm but steady enough. The floorboards are still cold under her knees, the wet ache between her thighs still humiliating, but it’s distant now, like pain happening to someone else.
Valencina says something else, mocking and expectant, but Yoshihide doesn’t hear it. She smiles weakly, only hearing Araya’s laughter echoing somewhere safe inside her skull, blood and tears dripping down her cheeks.