Story: UY Splitter

 

Of all the girls present, Sakura was the one least likely to enter a relationship with Ataru Moroboshi. She is, by some measures, the most beautiful in a traditional sense. Long dark hair, a pretty face, a healthy curvaceous figure with a healthy bosom, long legs, a slender waist, and yet - 

Healthy, was she? That was an appellation that could only be applied relatively recently. For most of her life she had been lonely, sickly, beset by all manner of disease spirits that delighted in tormenting her. One day a cold, the next the mumps, then perhaps she'd suddenly have a nasty twinge in her arm, her legs, a stomach ache a headache toothache - the gamut of illness would be run. It had left her childhood ruined. She could not play with the other kids, and the specific reason for it would shift around on a daily basis but would retain, at its core, the same exact root.

She was too ill to play. She'd grown up like that in a family full of exorcists - and not a one of them had noticed what was happening to her.

That says a lot about their competence, really. Their empathy as well. None of them thought to check her for disease spirits? It would have, should have been extremely obvious what was happening to her, and none of them were able to exorcise her?

It actually took the unluckiest boy in the universe to sort her out?

Yeah, that's right, the unluckiest boy in the universe healed her. Through sheer lack of good fortune, he'd been able to draw the spirits out of her body, where she could easily eliminate them. If he hadn't also been a colossal pervert, she would have gotten on fine with him.

But that's not how things are right now. He'd changed, or rather, this Ataru had changed. He was good, he was so good so good so good so good that she'd let him fuck her, let him claim her, let him do whatever he wanted to her, in no small part because it felt good and it felt right.

At this very moment in time, she was drooling on the tatami, unable to keep her head up while her pussy was being slammed from behind. Oh, but it wasn't some crude rutting he was doing, each motion was tailor made to make her feel as good as fucking possible.

It was astounding how calibrated it was. She didn't feel good from that one? It's only so he could maximise her long run pleasure. Constant stimulation of a cluster of pleasure nerves can, in time, turn into pain, and so he was being careful and considerate not to stimulate those too much. He would take them to, let's say, around 95% of their limit before that point, turn his attention elsewhere and allow them to reach around 40% stimulation, then ramp back up again.

This also had the benefit of making it clear that he was paying attention to her needs, which makes a woman feel like a woman. Not just some fuck-meat, but a woman, that was being given care and appreciation and forethought and - And!

"So, Miss Sakura?" her Ataru asked. "I never did get your second name, for some reason."

It's true enough. Actually, stepping out of the universe for a second - we don't know her name either. Makes her a bitch to find pictures for if you're looking. All you can do is call her 'Sakura-sensei', because Sakura is kind of a common ass name in anime and manga.

"Your name is Sakura Moroboshi from now on," he announced. "What do you think, girls?"

Around them were the other girls. Some broken in already. Others still being rutted down. Their willpower broken and reshaped by their personal Ataru Moroboshi. Sakura was dimly aware of some girls who were dancing around them - But she couldn't focus on them, couldn't lift her head above their knees to see who it was. Any time she tried, her head was pushed down again by the simple, purest pleasure she was feeling right now.

Behind her, Ataru moved with a predatory, mechanical precision. He didn't just thrust like a mindless animal; he calibrated constantly. He felt the ripple of her internal muscles, the exact moment her walls clamped tight around him, and he adjusted his angle by a fraction of a degree to hit the precise cluster of nerves that sent a jolt of electricity straight to her brain.

"Still fighting it, Sensei?" Ataru whispered, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against her ear.

Sakura tried to answer, but all that emerged was a pathetic, high-pitched whine. Her fingers clawed at the tatami, digging into the straw.

"I... I am a... priestess..." she gasped, though the words lacked any conviction.

"You were a priestess," Ataru corrected. He slowed his pace, pulling back until only the head of his cock remained nestled within her, teasing the entrance. "Now, you're just a hungry little thing. Tell me, does the 'priestess' like the way I'm stretching her open? Does she like how her pussy is squelching every time I slide back in?"

He slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt. The sound was a wet, heavy thud, a loud shlick that echoed in the quiet room. Sakura’s back arched violently, her breasts swinging wildly.

"Yes! Oh god, yes!" she screamed, her voice breaking even faster than her will.

"Music to my ears," Ataru murmured. He stopped completely, leaving himself deep inside her, but refusing to move. He knew the torture of the plateau. He knew that by denying her the friction she craved, he was amplifying the hunger.

"Please... please move... I can't... I need it!" Sakura sobbed, her hips beginning to buck instinctively, trying to force the movement he was withholding.

"Patience, Sakura. A good student knows how to wait for her reward."

From the periphery of the room, the sounds of other collisions filled the air. The rhythmic slap of skin on skin, the guttural moans of women who had already crossed the threshold. Lum was nearby, her voice a melodic, distorted series of whimpers as she was handled by her own version of the boy.

"Just let go, Sakura-chan!" Ryuunosuke called out, her voice thick with pleasure. "It's so much better when you stop pretending you're in charge! Just be his toy! Be our sister!"

"Listen to her," Ataru whispered, his hand sliding around to grip Sakura's breasts, enough pressure to make her feel the absolute weight of his dominance. "Look at them. Look at how happy they are, just being used. Why fight the inevitable? Why be lonely and 'pure' when you can be filled and cherished?"

He began to move again, but this time it was a slow, agonizing grind. He rotated his hips, rubbing the head of his cock against her G-spot with a deliberate, circular motion. Sakura’s eyes rolled back into her head. She felt the tension building, a coil of white-hot energy tightening in her lower belly.

"You're so tight," Ataru groaned, his voice dripping with lust. "It's like you're trying to swallow me whole. Do you want to keep me inside you forever, Sakura?"

"Yes... please... keep me... fill me up!" 

"I will. But first, we need to settle the matter of your identity."

He accelerated. The pace became frantic, a blur of friction and heat. The sounds became visceral—the squelching of lubrication, the air being pushed out of her as he slammed into her, the wet slap of his balls hitting her perineum. Sakura was no longer a person; she was a collection of nerve endings, a vessel for a pleasure so intense it felt like a religious experience.

"Tell me who you are," Ataru commanded, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, hammering into her cervix.

"I... I am... Sakura..."

"Not good enough." He pulled out nearly all the way, then drove back in with a force that made her scream. "Who are you?"

"I'm... I'm yours!" she wailed, her body shuddering. "I'm your slut! I'm your toy!"

"Better. But let's make it official."

He reached down, his fingers finding her clitoris, rubbing it with a rapid, vibrating intensity that mirrored the slamming of his cock. Sakura was on the precipice. She could see the white light of the climax approaching, a tidal wave that threatened to wash away every remaining shred of her dignity.

"Remember what I said? Your name is Sakura Moroboshi from now on," he announced. "Do you accept the name? Do you accept the role?"

"Yes! Yes! I'm Sakura Moroboshi! I'm your wife! Your girl! Anything! Just don't stop! Please, for the love of god, don't stop!"

Ataru let out a guttural roar, his muscles locking as he hit the final, deepest point of her anatomy. He surged forward one last time, his cock pulsing violently as he erupted inside her. He filled her with a hot, thick torrent of semen, the volume of it making Sakura feel heavy, bloated, and utterly claimed.

She collapsed, her body twitching in the aftershocks of a massive, mind-shattering orgasm. She lay there, face-down in the tatami, her breathing heavy and shallow. The silence that followed was only broken by the distant, rhythmic sounds of the other couples. Meanwhile, her Ataru popped out of existence, and soon enough, Sakura sleepily rose to her feet, dancing alongside the rest of the girls who had been broken already, and do you know something?

She'd never felt healthier or happier.