Note: You've read the summary. This was written for capslock_ulori's 2009 Ulquihime Pr0nzfest, so naturally, it's unapologetic, PWP-ish, NC-17, not-meant-for-the-eyes-of-Yachiru's-age-group smut. If that's not what you're looking for, you might wanna hit the 'Back' button.

Beta: limepickles. Be sure to check out her stuff after you're done reading this – you won't be disappointed! You can find both of her Ulquihime fanfics under my Favorites' list.


She had refused to eat her food twice that day, so he'd pushed her to a chair, sat her down, and tied her up.

- That was the first time.

Ulquiorra had fastened her arms and legs so tightly that she and the chair might soon be merging into symbiotic organisms, then stepped back and motioned for a servant to bring in the tray trolley. His verdant eyes had gone steely; his normally unimposing frame towered high over the seated girl.

But she wasn't afraid.

Orihime couldn't suss it out; it shouldn't be this difficult to muster the anxiety the situation warranted. He was the fourth strongest Espada in Aizen's army, he had her trussed up like a dinner turkey, he was brandishing a very pointy fork… and yet her mind had just merrily filed this data away with her various fantastical scenarios involving kidnapped cabaret dancers, slave-girls kneeling before monarchs, and princesses engaged to dragons. It didn't help that Ulquiorra was quite... well… pretty, as far as kidnappers went. As far as monarchs… dragons… as far as boys went.

The fork with its attached piece of bacon hovered before her lips.

"Don't get so agitated," Ulquiorra chided, indicating the girl's reddened cheeks and nose and ears. "The restraints are not meant to instill fear in you; only to keep you in place."

"I'm not afrai—" The Espada took this opportunity to shove the bite into her mouth, which it probably deserved for its lousy coordination with her brain.

As Orihime swallowed the food down, her warden watched the movements of her half-exposed throat with an ardor she hadn't witnessed outside his proclamations of Aizen-sama. It made her avert her eyes in shame.

Still staring at her intently, Ulquiorra touched his hand to her jaw and forced his thumb inside her mouth, probably in an attempt to hold it open.

"Don't - Ul -"

She didn't manage to get any farther, because that traitorous, wet 'l' shoved her tongue forward, right onto the (salty-sweet) thumb between her lips.

"Be silent, woman. You're making sounds more suited to a dog."

"But Ul –"

There it was again.

All the blood of Orihime's body seemed to rush to her cheeks, and what had started as periodic fidgeting, when her caretaker had first arrived with his promised bundles of rope, fast escalated into full-scale thrashing. Even with her limbs disabled, the girl almost toppled the chair over from her efforts.

That was when Ulquiorra's fingers landed like talons on her right thigh, and his gaze like a police spotlight on her face.

"I won't entertain more of this childish behavior," he said, a hint of anger in his usually colorless voice. "Eat." He squeezed her thigh once, probably intending to threaten, but instead sending an agonizing pang of arousal between his charge's legs. They slapped closed on reflex, which just made the ache worse. "Need I repeat myself?" he asked with another warning squeeze. No, he really didn't; Orihime's heavy breathing was making it hard enough for her to keep her lips shut, as it was. They parted slowly, hesitantly, like a pair of pink petals.

Yet even the most bizarre of Orihime's imaginary scenarios (ones involving Charlie Chaplin, aerial barracudas and a trampoline) couldn't take her mind off her discomfort, and one sausage, two pieces of omelet, half a glass of water later, Ulquiorra seemed to take notice: "And what is distressing you now?"

"Nothing! Your hand."


"Both! The left one." Oh, how she envied Kuchiki-san's lying skills. "The one on my…"

Her caretaker completed the sentence for her by splaying his fingers on her thigh. Just a couple, just a couple of inches higher and he might have noticed how wet she was -

"Nnngh... Ulquiorra..."

"Inoue Orihime..." He sounded confused. "You're not in pain. In that case, why are you -" The girl's tongue darted out to lick her lips; her gaze had gone unfocused. "- I see."

An emerald fire simmered in Ulquiorra's eyes, as if a battle was taking place under their surface. Not an inner debate; an inner Trojan war. It took a long time for it to settle, but when it was done, it was done. Her caretaker wasn't one to beat around the bush.

In defiance of Orihime's shocked squeak, the Cuatro Espada's hand made its way down her leg until it reached her ankle, and with it the hem of her uniform. Changing direction on the spot, it retraced its path all the way up to her thigh… dragging her uniform along with it.

His left hand. On her right thigh.

On her right, inner, bare thigh.

"Anh… anh…"

He gave it a pinch.

"Ahhh! Ulquiorra!"

"I see," he observed to himself. "Even touches so plain suffice to stimulate you humans?" He narrowed his eyes searchingly. "Or could it be that the real stimuli are your restraints?" The redhead squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. "You're a strange woman…"

You're stranger, she wanted to respond, as he nudged the tray trolley aside, as his free hand tentatively touched her waist, and stranger every second. But it sounded rude and uncalled for in her head, not affectionate like his comments on her own strangeness, and the words wouldn't come.

The Espada caressed her waist with feather-light fingers, while inching his other hand farther up her thigh. His eyes were trained on her face, gauging her every reaction; Orihime could only bite her lip and try her best to suppress her moans and whimpers.

"Interesting," Ulquiorra noted impassively.

Up and down, went his fingers on her waist. Up and down. Slowly. Up. Down. So distracting were they that she didn't even notice how high his other hand had climbed until his thumb was pressed against her wet, clothed center.

Orihime squealed.

"Ah…! Nnn…!"

"Quiet," he ordered softly, absently, and that was somehow equally arousing to the act itself. He pushed his thumb hard against the barrier of white fabric, as though to breach it, and began moving it along the length of her slit. Complicit to her orders, the girl didn't utter a word, although she couldn't contain the occasional jerk whenever her captor applied pressure on her clitoris.

It was such a tiny thing, his single digit inspecting her over and under layers of clothing, but it was enough for her. He didn't need his hands to hold her down when he had his rope, nor his fingers to penetrate her when he had his eyes, and within minutes, Orihime was shaking all over.

"No, no, nononono," she babbled, even though she was feeling more like maybe, possibly, probably, yes. "No, I…"

Ulquiorra stilled his movements, reducing her universe to his green stare and the bonds chafing her wrists and ankles. "'No'?"

The silence stretched between them like a lake. The girl chucked her words into it like wishing-pennies.

"Yes. More. Please."

And more he gave her.

His thumb was joined by one finger after another, until her crotch was resting in the cradle of his palm. Ulquiorra squeezed it roughly, earning himself a whimper and a half-hearted struggle. Meanwhile, his previously idle hand had travelled from her waist to her chest, wasting no time in cupping one of her breasts. At first he molded his hand to the breast in his usual experimental fashion, feeling its weight, its shape. He stared at his captive and waited for some cue to continue – which he got in the form of her hardened nipple.

"Is your body always so responsive, woman?" the Cuatro Espada asked, apparently fascinated by the protruding nub. He plucked at it gently with two fingers.

"Mmnn… I… don't know…"

"You're implying you have never -"

Orihime was relieved that he didn't go so far as to attach a term to it, if only because he didn't want to associate himself with such base human acts. She couldn't have borne the embarrassment. Even as it was, she only managed a bashful nod in response.

Her affirmation must have pleased Ulquiorra, given that he immediately redoubled his efforts. He grinded his palm against her panty-clad nether lips once, and again, and again, in a pantomime of the mating act. His other hand's fingers resumed pinching her nipple, carefully at first, harder when he saw she could take it.

Orihime's reactions alternated between curt chirps ("Ah. Ah. Ah.") and drawn-out moans ("Ahhhhn"). The dark, secret tide that had sometimes kept her company beneath her apartment's bed-blankets was rising, only this time it wasn't Kurosaki-kun's name at her lips…

"Ulquiorra," she gasped. "Ulquiorra, Ulquiorra."

"I'm here," he replied. He sounded as amazed by that fact as she was. His hand was kneading her breast slowly and methodically, his fingers were pressing around and between her opening, and she was damp, drenched, she just needed one small push -

And then he kissed her.

That last thing.

His hand grasped the nape of her neck possessively, his tongue played with hers, and his lips pressed and pulled and pressed, all while Orihime's muscles contracted like never before. She screamed into his mouth in the throes of a whole-body seizure.

She didn't know what to expect when she opened her eyes again, but the horrified look Ulquiorra sported was not on her top-ten list.

"Ul… quiorra…?" she panted in what she hoped was a questioning tone.

As soon as the word was out of her mouth, the horror in his face transformed into keen hard accusation, and without a word to her, he turned and strode to the room's exit.

"Wait! Ulquiorra! Would you please just…"


"…untie me first?"

He tied her up every time, after that.

The closer Kurosaki Ichigo got to her, the tighter he pulled her bonds.

"I'm nervous," Orihime confessed. Any regular bystander would have thought her to be 'despairing' or 'terrified', pinned to the ground as she was by an all-powerful demon with huge, cutting horns and night-black fur, but she was only 'nervous'. She divorced her eyes from his to stare up at the dark, cloudless sky. Lying face-up atop the roof of Las Noches, the realm's omnipresent moon seemed a hundred times more luminous than Ulquiorra's eyes, and just as close.

"For what reason? You've done this numerous times before," her companion pointed out.

"Yes, but not like… well…" She gestured vaguely at his beastly silhouette. "…this."

That seemed to give him pause, as if it had escaped his consideration until then. "Indeed. Does this form frighten you, Inoue Orihime?" He sounded as close to concerned as she'd ever heard him.

"Ah, no! Ulquiorra, that's not what I meant! It's just… how do I say this…" A fiery blush tinted her cheeks. "…Will it even fit?"

Ulquiorra's eye-scrunch of worry was immediately displaced by what she recognized as his eye-set of self-satisfaction. "It will fit."

His tail reached around her back, wrapping itself whip-like around her wrists, joining them together and holding them immobile over her head.

After nearly a month's worth of illicit rendezvous with her warden, Orihime's body had developed a very Pavlovian response to bondage; her legs always fell open for his inspection, her passage always slicked up to accommodate his entrance. This time was no exception.

The Cuatro Espada tested her with two of his claws. "You're so wet already," he noted. "Are all human females this sensitive, I wonder."

"I don't know. I haven't checked, eheh… maybe you should."

"They're trash. I'm not interested in any other," he replied straight away, and Orihime found his blunt, unfiltered honesty surprisingly flattering.

Ulquiorra retracted his claws after ascertaining that she was ready for him, and nudged her folds open with the tip of his (already erect) member. The redhead gawked at the size of it, and made to reach for his shoulders to ground herself, at least before the first push. It never happened; his tail held her down. The best she could do was clench her fists and try to see a half-full glass in that she wasn't a virgin anymore.

"Oomph," Orihime gasped when the first couple of inches plunged into her, stretching her wider than ever before, and likely ever after. Given that he was only just getting started, some corner of her mind had to question – albeit briefly – whether the band-aid approach wouldn't have been preferable.

Ulquiorra seized the girl's waist with one hand, the cut of his claws sending unexpected tingles up her spine, and stroked her cheek with his other. Black fur on white skin, they must have looked like a woodcut.

"Are you in pain?" He made a certain effort, she could tell, but his questions still came off more scientific than sentimental, and his rutting movements more akin to breeding than lovemaking.

"A little," she admitted, "but I mostly just feel uncomfortable."

"It is to be expected," Ulquiorra said, "but your discomfort and pain both are finite. We will continue." A tiny push-pull tailed that sentence to emphasize his point.

Orihime nodded, and wrapped her yet-unrestrained legs around his hips to help him along. Inch after inch sunk into her languidly, like the plunger of a syringe, and she buried her face against his neck to muffle a whimper.

All the way in, it felt as if they were sewn together.

"Wo… ow." Well, it was a bit of both.

"You're very tight," her demon lover remarked, with the same restrained awe he'd once enlisted to praise her healing skills. These were the things Orihime focused on whenever the Tinkerbell that was her conscience nagged at her: the momentary bursts of passion in his voice, like dying stars, the lust in the yellow of his eyes.

Whilst one of Ulquiorra's hands remained locked around her waist, the other returned to the ground to give him better leverage. His length dove and receded, dove and receded, soon developing a steady rhythm that Orihime was able to follow from the wet, smacking sounds of their flesh. She lifted her hips in time with it.

The Espada's claws fluttered on her waist with every plunge, like leaves in a breeze. He moved his face closer to hers, nuzzling and licking her cheeks with a feral concentration. "Ah," she cried, "ah," and the licks transitioned into kisses, fierce ones pressed to her eyelids, her nose, neck, forehead, cheeks.

She hadn't thought she'd ever get used to his size, yet within just a few minutes, she was no longer feeling relieved whenever he pulled back, but empty. The girl would mutter an unintelligible plea and he'd fill her back up, every time.

"I'm - so - close," Orihime finally announced between gasps, and knew from the twitch of his wings, the vice-grip of his tail on her helpless wrists, that the same was true of him. His respiration quickened, and he arched her waist just enough to burrow his head in the valley of her breasts, panting softly.

"Ulqui… now… I'm… now…"

"Come with me," he grunted, and she did, with a twinge of déjà vu.

Ulquiorra's wings flexed for a short moment when he came, shielding the moon from the girl's view and enclosing them in a snug, dark space where it was just his eyes and his smell and his breath and the way of him. More than ever, she wished she had her hands free to hang onto her lover for support, because this wasn't a high, it was a free-fall. From within the haze of her orgasm she felt the contractions of his sex and his thick discharge, felt her own spasms egging him on. This part always sparked off a surge of guilt as well as a crazy, wicked thrill afterwards, like peeking in a dead man's diary: engaging into a life-making act with a Hollow, having a Hollow's seed pooling inside her.

"Will you untie me now?" she asked when it was done. "Please. I'd like… I'd like to touch you."

"Eventually," he answered, and bent his head to her neck, marking her for himself.

Ulquiorra upgraded from rope to tail to chains to steel handcuffs, constantly looking for a material more impregnable.

Orihime daydreamed about dragons kneeling before princesses.

"Here and… here. How's this? They're not too tight, are they? 'Cause if they're hurting your wrists you can tell me and I'll –"

"Woman. Hierro."

"Oh! Right. Sorry, I need to be more focused…"

"Lift your leg."

"Like this? Ah… ahhhh…"

"Mm… like this."

"Ohh… Ulquiorra… why are you… looking at me that way?"

"Looking at you how?"

"As if you… never mind."

"I'm not minding. - You are aware, incidentally, that these can't keep me."

"Huh? Of course, but… you'll stick to the deal, right?"


"Thanks, Ulquiorra! If you could just… move your hips a bit… like so…"

"Does this bring you pleasure, woman?"

"Nn… yes… so much…!"

"Good. - Mmph. - Likewise."

"But they can't keep me either, you know."


"Umm, the ties you use – all the variations. They can only do so much. Because my heart is – Aww, Ulquiorra, you promised you'd play along! Please. Please, I didn't mean to get you mad. Ah, too tight! Too tight…"

"Tight enough."

The entirety that is Ulquiorra spits and rebels and revolts at the mere notion of letting go, even as Aizen's orders hang like Damocles' sword over his head. He stands stock-still with his hands in pockets, as usual, but his eyes shoot stones and arrows at her retreating back.

She turns to cast one final glance at him the second before the Shinigami tugs her through the rift.

And Ulquiorra learns that there are bonds his eyes can't see.