Hello again, after many years. I decided to finish what I started a long time ago, because this story has been haunting me for a while. Orochimaru deserves for the readers to hear his part of the story, and I took the liberty to do him justice. Poor guy. And for the readers out there: You don't have to, but if you want to be enlightened by the whole picture, in other words, read Anko's part of the tale, then feel free to do so. This story is informative by itself for the reader to know what's going on, however.
Power- the possession of control and command over others.
It all started in my wee years, upon watching a beetle squirming in pain in a pool of acid, exerting all the strength it could summon within its puny body to fight for one more second of existence. I had just seen it walking on the pavement, minding its own business, and thought playing with it was good medicine to cure my boredom.
Torturing bugs had been an ordinary past time for listless young boys everywhere, since the dawn of civilization. They simply did it to kill time, to find a temporary source of amusement that would distract them from their eternally bleak livelihood just so that time could inch forward a little bit more. Then, it would been a few more minutes for which they stayed alive, and nothing else. No one ever thought any more of it.
But I found it rather thrilling that I was able to control the moment and manner of death for that living creature, which otherwise would have happened by natural, helpless causes. I, of all people, decided where the beetle ought to and ought not to go, simply by the twig in my hand, and eventually ushered it to its demise only because I thought it fit. I became its God, as I had absolute dominion over it, and that idea struck me like none other.
Then I wondered to myself, what more would I be capable of?
I spent all the time I had on Earth finding the answer to that question. It took just that one epiphanic, almost prophetic moment I had as a child to shape the course for the rest of my life, as insignificant as it may seem to any average person. Though I took it as a mental challenge to myself to kill time at first, my search for power soon became more important to me than just a hobby. There was no feeling in the world like towering over my subjects and watch them tend to my every whim in reverence, fearful of the wrath that would plague them if they stepped out of line. It made me feel more than a mere human, who was only autocratic over himself. I was able to step out of my own mortal and weak body, to influence and possess others. Make them do what I want, and only so, as I sit back with a glass of wine, and watch my own puppet show.
I lusted after that feeling, like how Anko Mitarashi lusted after me.
If I miss having any of my previous possessions, it would be her, Anko, the pretty little doll that I had crafted and groomed with my own bare hands. Sculpted from the silkiest porcelain, by malice's butterfly touch. Kilned by fine tuned embers of lasciviousness sewn into velvety words. My divine artistry coruscated from the surface of her rosy cheeks, flared from those intense chocolate eyes. She was my most prized piece. Now, she is but a sleeping beauty, peaceful and ever so silent in her casket, bedded by withered roses. Maggots are welcome to have the body, my playtime with it was over long ago.
She was just done up so well, like a doll. The perfect subject to my power, whose mind and body I was able to manoeuvre with such grace, that she might as well as had been one of my faithful limbs.
I first found her, an abandoned orphan in the rain. Alone, afraid, and perfectly fragile. It didn't take much, but a well executed smile to lure this sodden puppy into my arms. She had been so deprived of affection at such a young age, that I took the golden opportunity to convince her that I, the only person who bothered to take notice of her, actually cared for her deeply. Anko was young and sweet, and was desperate to give anybody the heart that she took right from her sleeve. Her mind was pure, like a fresh piece of parchment just begging to be tainted by ink. I gave her my hand and she took it; I spoke my words and she believed them.
When I wanted to complicate matters to make them more amusing, I implanted this notion to grow inside of her, by adding a pinch of sensuality to the manner in which I spoke and looked at who was once only my child. It released her carnal passion and ripened her ability to lust.
Those feelings were completely unknown to her before, and her mind was way too young, and therefore too shallow to grasp. Therefore, I was given complete control in to what extent she would feel said emotion. So, I lulled down the fire just enough so she could be lead, like the shy, passive virgin she was, into my bedroom, instead of pouncing on me during her first time.
I gave her an offer she couldn't possibly refuse that night, and luxury she would beseech me for, for the rest of her life. I allowed enough room for her to make some sort of a struggle underneath me, because she just looked so beautiful, squirming in pain, with small crystal beads running frantically from her eyes. Her fear rose as the most pungent scent in that dank, musty room, as every part of her trembled and shook almost electrically. She had felt it immensely, and she was so scared that I was going to hurt her. Her heart blasted violently against the dome of her chest, yet gracefully, like there was a symphony playing only for me to hear.
But the dust was soon to settle, and she did give in to me almost worshiping her body. In the end, she was a pampered princess, eyes sparkling, body sweaty, and a satisfied moan escaped from those cherry lips as I kissed her forehead goodnight. In my arms, and only in my arms was she royalty, and got more than a social reject like her would ever hoped to have had.
Once a taste of me brushed the surface of her tongue, she went after me like a famished lion.
I would never stay too long after each time I laid with her; I was not born simply to please others. Instead, I would leave to tend other matters, to let her dear anger that arose from the shame of abandonment churn, and her voracious lust for what I can only give to her to intensify. I allotted some time in which she could only have me inside of her mind, where she would be left alone, on her bed, with nothing but memories to keep her sane. It was very cruel of me to only toss at her love made by my mental ghost during those times, but I needed my share of pleasure. The sex was only to keep her eternally bound to me as I pried deeper and deeper into her soul, until she was both physically and mentally mine, for good.
How I loved to see her angry, pounding the fists that can instantly demolish brick walls helplessly into her bed. She screamed, roared, at what most of the time was just thin air about all the luscious brutalities that she would afflict upon me, vengeful that I left her so suddenly. She was very vivid and rather creative in describing all the different ways with which she would kill me and often satisfied herself with these fantasies. While on the other hand, I indulged in how delicious her inevitable failure would taste. No music on Earth was as pleasing to my ear as her song, and I gave myself every opportunity to attend her concerts. Hatred, pure hatred oozed from those words, just pleading to be dripped into my mouth.
I even sometimes allowed her anger to simmer just a bit longer, that she would come find me to try to kill me. She was so cute, brows furrowing and lips pouting in concentration, trying to work up what she believed to be deadly tactics, while I shatter them with but a finger lift. She would punch and kick until her poor limbs grew sore while I stayed pristine, untouched, and more than ready to have her keel over into my arms. I could have taken advantage of her unconscious body, but deemed it not worth my time. I was not like greedy Anko, who, despite how angry she had been seconds ago, in the name of pleasure, would throw away all her pride and die for another night in bed with me if I gave her the offer.
The fact that I could overcome who was one of the most respected and infallible shinobis in the country like it was child's play, was more than enough.
No matter how much I made her suffer, and how much she would hate me for it, we both knew that she could never live without me. All of me, my image, laughter, scent, touch was embedded within the very core of her existence. Without me, she could never manage; she would wizen and shrivel in that cold world alone, as I had become her single source for all passion. Before that happened, I loved to watch my little doll be not only angry, but in pain for my sake. Whenever I felt that she was feeling too well, too content for my liking, I took the liberty to remind her, amidst our cloud of fervour, through many gentle kisses and tender love bites, that I was indeed in love with her. She believed my lies of course, since my impeccably sincere tone among many other satisfying physical persuasions would not have implied otherwise. Love was, in our game, a fatal poison, as it would aggravate her suffering until she was mentally exhausted, even half-dead. Stupid girl, she kissed me back as romantically as possible, as if to prove herself wrong and wash away the guilt of not reciprocating my supposed love, though ever so violently, because she was just seconds away from losing it. Her saliva tasted bitter, shoddy, like the worthlessness that she felt, thinking that she was such a whore for having cheated my heart. I would play along, of course, renouncing my undying affection like a hopeless romantic reading out verses from a play, and holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. The shame of her lust for me suffocated her, and she felt dirty, hating the lustful monster that she had become. I could only chuckle on the inside, as her shuddering, heavy breaths licked my ears with delight. She whispered "I'm sorry," repeatedly, her voice hollowing after every sentence, until she eventually became silent. I wiped the tears away from her face, jewels they were, my reward for yet another successful torturing session.
I did as I pleased with her, because she forever belonged to me.
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