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Urban Concubine	By : Orchideater Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2646 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball/Z/GT and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Warnings: NC-17. Gh x Y, V x Y, Gk x Y, domination, strange kink, OOC Yamcha (but since
we don’t see that much of him after Cell, who can prove it’s OOC?) ;p I’ve made a few edits
from the version I submitted to Dark Serapha’s contest. Nothing big, just correcting some errors
and reworking a few sentences to make them read better.

Urban Concubine

by Orchideater

Act II

--

About an hour later I arrive at Capsule Corp and straighten out my appearance. I ring the bell,
though I could just walk in if I wanted, but at times like this it’s good to be formal.

Bulma answers the door, looks me up and down, and gives me the thinnest of smiles. She knows
exactly what I’m here for.

“Yamcha,” she states as her only greeting, and moves aside as a sign for me to enter. I do so, and
idly look around the foyer.

“Hey, babe. How you doing today?”

“Fine,” she says tightly. “I’ll be downstairs in my lab working on a prototype.”

Because she doesn’t want to hear what will be going on upstairs. At times I feel guilty for what
she’s feeling, but that never lasts. You knew what you were getting into years ago, honey.

Bulma pauses. “Vegeta’s upstairs,” she says. “He’s in a good mood today. Try not to ruin it.”

“I’ll do my best, babe,” I say and give her a wink. She turns curtly and descends into her lab, and
I turn my attention to the task at hand.

A good mood, huh?

That always means he has something new for me that he’s psyched about. Intrigued, I skip up
the stairs and make my way to his room. I approach quietly, but not enough so that one would
think I’m sneaking up on him.

He’s sitting on his bed inside with his back to me, fiddling with some sort of device on his lap
that I can’t quite see. I rap on the door and hang casually on the door frame as I wait for an
invitation inside. You don’t just walk into Vegeta’s den without permission.

“Hey, what’s up?” I say, and he turns to me and smiles. Yes, an actual smile, small but genuine.

“Hmph,” he responds, remembering himself. “You’re late.”

“No way, I’m right on time. You were just so anxious for me to get here that the minutes seemed
like hours,” I joke.

“Hah! You always were delusional about your own self-worth,” he scoffs, but there is no real
scorn in his voice.

A moment later he drops whatever he’s been fooling with and then he is before me, fisting a hand
in my hair to pull me down to his level, devouring me, delivering hungry, open-mouthed kisses
as his tongue dominates my own and claims every inch of my mouth. Hot breath gathers
between us until he pulls away with a growl and gives me a push backward.

“Get those damn clothes off,” he rumbles, returning to his former spot by the bed. “You look
like some trendy fashion junkie.”

“You don’t know fashion at all, Vegeta. This is a classic look.” I do as ordered and pull off my
jacket, then begin unbuttoning my blue shirt. He watches intently with every button loosed.

“So, new toy?” I ask as I remove the shirt, tossing it back to slide down and off my arms. That
smile returns, if only for a moment. I may be the only person on earth to get to see that smile,
that smile of an excited child with a new toy, reveling in all the new possibilities for play. I’ll do
whatever I can to see that smile, over and over again. He picks up what looks like radio
equipment and shows it to me.

“It just came today. An ‘electrical stimulation box’.” He gives me a very evil look and holds up
the two leads, and all of a sudden I realize what that thing is. Okay, scratch what I said before–
he can save the smile for something else.

Sorry, Bulma, but I’m about to ruin his mood.

“You gotta be kidding!” I exclaim. “No way you’re putting those things on my nips.”

He flips the switch and makes a spidery spark of electricity jump between the ends of the leads.
“They’re not going on your nips.”

Oh no. SO not happening.

“Gah! Forget about it Vegeta. I hate electric shocks.”

“Don’t be a coward. You’ve gotten plenty worse from ki blasts.”

“It’s not the same, Vegeta. Electricity has a different feel from ki. I hate it. Sorry, man, but that
thing’s out of the question,” I state, squaring my shoulders and giving him a hard look, standing
firm.

His brows travel downward as he realizes I’m serious. “You’re refusing?” he says incredulously.

A resolute nod from me, and there it goes, his good mood shot straight down to hell. He throws
the unit into the corner and begins storming around the room.

“Then why don’t you go home, you selfish bastard! Idiot! Weakling!” He continues snarling
and hurling insults at me.

I’m selfish, just because once in a blue moon I find there’s something he wants that I just won’t
do? He’s the one who gets his every sexual fantasy catered to by loving wife and willing lover.
If only he could see what a spoiled royal he looks like right now, tantrumming because he can’t
have his way.

“Take it easy, Vegeta. It’s just one little fetish. There’s so much else we can do.” I reach for his
arm, and he bashes my hand aside. “Come on, ouji-sama.” At hearing his title, he again smacks
my seeking hand away, but noticeably less forcefully. “Throwing a fit like this is beneath you.”

Two more tries and he allows me to touch his arm. Gingerly, I wrap my fingers around first one
shoulder, then bring my other hand up to his other shoulder and begin massaging away the rock-hard tension there. He’s quieted now, but still sulking.

“Remember your dignity, ouji-sama. Anything else you want to do, we’ll do it.” I move in close
to whisper hot breath along his neck. He’s taking deep breaths now, trying to calm down.

“Hey, didn’t you tell me last week you were working on something special?” This seems to
spark a memory, and I can literally feel his mood changing. “Did you finish whatever it was?
Why don’t we do that today?”

“I was saving it for a special occasion.”

I kiss along his neck. “No time like the present.”

He half-turns, and I am treated with a trace of that smile. “I suppose we could. I need something
to make up for your stubbornness,” he snaps.

Vegeta walks away and puts the electrical current unit into a dresser drawer. “Maybe we can use
this on myself sometime,” he says, then turns to leave out the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?”

“To go get what I’ve been working on. It’s in the storage refrigerator downstairs. Wait there.”

Refrigerator? I raise an eyebrow at that.

It must be food-related. Typical saiyan. I’m not exactly fond of mixing food and sex, but if it’s
what he wants, I can deal with it.

I strip down to my boxers and await his return on the bed, staring at the ceiling. A familiar
ceiling. This very room, even this very bed, is where it all started with us all those years ago...

---

I had been shocked to hear that Bulma had invited Vegeta to stay at Capsule Corp. I knew she
could be reckless and overconfident, but this was nuts.

The man was a killer, for gods’ sake. He killed ME! Well, he was behind it, anyway. Besides
fearing for the safety of everyone in the building, I admit I was a little insulted that she wasn’t
more outraged at the man who had killed her boyfriend.

However, upon hearing that he’d stayed at Capsule Corp for over four months without incident,
my fears subsided, and I even felt relaxed enough around him to have a good laugh at the awful
“Badman” outfit Bulma laid out for him after he returned from space.

I remember that fateful day, the day I watched him through the porthole of the gravity room,
doing pushups, handstands, and katas in 400 G. He amazed me. I could barely move under 300.
Asshole or not, even I could see it was impressive, and I had to admire his determination. I
spared him a small smile, and told Puar we were going on a training journey.

Or so I planned.

I got my stuff together and was almost ready to go. I made my last journey down the second
floor hallway, surprised to see Vegeta coming from the other direction. I watched him
suspiciously, our eyes locked. As we reached each other he glared up at me, and I gave a nod of
acknowledgment.

I was then startled to realize he had, out of the blue, turned me and pressed me up against the
wall with one hand faster than I could see. He pinned my back to the wall casually with his
forearm, tilted his head and looked up at me with narrowed eyes and a sneer. “I saw you in the
yard this morning. Were you practicing a folk dance you learned here on Earth?” I’d been doing
katas on the lawn.

I scowled, and my big mouth was off and running before I could stop it. “Shut the hell up,
Vegeta. You walk around here looking down your nose at us like you own the place–”

He only pressed his arm tighter against my chest, and I winced with a gasp of breath. “I’ve seen
you spying on me in the gravity chamber.”

He moved his hand up to my throat. “I could kill you with no effort if I wanted to.”

Fear gripped me. He had been so subdued when he arrived, so compliant the time he was here
before me, I had begun to let my guard down.

“Pathetic. You are a pathetic excuse for a warrior. But still,” the hand at my throat did not choke
me as I expected; instead, fingertips moved to brush along my jaw, “not completely useless.”

Then, to my utter shock, this tyrant who had killed or injured all my friends and almost destroyed
the planet was kissing me. The idea was so absurd, I couldn’t accept the reality of the moment
and just stood there, frozen. His hand curled in my hair, pulling me down, deepening the kiss.

Before I knew it, he had dragged me into his bedroom and shoved me onto the bed on my back,
and he crawled on top of me, straddling me. My mind was reeling. The killer space alien was
gay? I couldn’t believe it. And yet I’d seen him staring at Bulma from the shadows as well.
Maybe an alien didn’t discriminate.

I’d worried from the start that, with his criminal nature, he might possibly assault the women,
although I’d never seen any evidence to support it. I feared for their safety and tried to be around
as much as possible.

I never dreamed he’d go for me.

If he thought nothing of using me, was Bulma next? Or her mother, who I loved as my own? My
mind was numb. I couldn’t think, but one vague idea stuck in my head: if he was kept occupied
with me, maybe he would leave the women alone. I had to protect them somehow.

Not quite consciously, I made the sacrifice. Offered up my body. I was a warrior, no matter
what he said, and my body had taken plenty of pain and abuse in training. If I could convince
myself it was for a greater cause, I could endure this.

I was so naive.

I said nothing as he stripped me of my gi. Said nothing as he kissed me everywhere and ran his
hands over my body with abandon, as he rid himself of his own clothes. I did not participate,
only lay propped up on my elbows, breathing heavily as he worked.

A moment came when he stopped and looked into my eyes and stared as though trying to figure
me out, his face expressionless and impassive. I could only stare back, immobile. If I had told
him no, then– if I had fought back– would he have let me go? Looking back now, I think he
would have. But I was too terrified– for the women, for myself– to resist.

Even if he had no interest in Bulma, if I rejected him, would he respond in rage by destroying the
city? I couldn’t take the chance.

He took my silence as consent. Surprisingly soft palms glided over my hips, ghosting over my
lower abdomen.

“You’re not bad-looking, for a weak human. You could almost pass for a saiyan.” And with that
back-handed compliment he turned me over onto my stomach, ran his hands over the curve of
my ass and up my back.

“Here you are my subject,” he declared, sending a tremor down my spine, “and you will serve
your prince. You will call out ‘ouji-sama’ when you come, and you will bow down before me.
Right now,” he said, moving my hips to the side to half turn me around. Heart full of loathing, I
did as he asked and kowtowed before him on the bed.

“Very good,” he said after a long minute or two had passed. He grabbed me by my hair and
matter-of-factly moved me into position, and within moments mounted me unceremoniously
from behind. In an unexpected act of decency he had used cooking oil from the kitchen as lube,
but I was unprepared for the pain.

He waited for me and moved slowly at first, building up to the sort of rough, forceful pace I’d
expect from someone like him. He obviously knew what he was doing and had done this before.
The physical stimulation made me come, and I barely remembered to call out his title.

He was pleased, even lay beside me afterward with an arm around my waist. I, however, felt
disgusting and used, completely empty. I had no idea it would be this difficult mentally and
emotionally.

It became a nearly nightly ritual. He would call for me, and I would go to his room and we
would have sex. I would submit to him fully and do whatever he asked. It seemed to be
working– he never went after the women and bothered no one.

Meanwhile I was quickly becoming depressed and despondent. Then came the day when Bulma
came to me, crying, telling me she was pregnant with Vegeta’s baby.

I was frozen, only able to automatically move a hand to her back as she cried into my chest. Did
she expect sympathy? Support? Here when she’d not only seduced the very man I’d given up
my dignity to protect her from, but to add insult to injury, was going to have his baby? I had
never felt so betrayed, so pointless, so cold inside. We had never had the best relationship, but
we had never officially broken up, either.

She sobbed that she was sorry, that it “just happened.” Sure. I’d seen her clucking over him
when he nearly killed himself in the gravity machine. And now she lamented that he didn’t care,
that when she told him she was pregnant, he said “Take good care of it,” and went about his
business.

She ought to be glad she got that much from him.

Over and over she said she was sorry. Such a sick feeling had overtaken me, I had to get out of
there. I could only hold her, then finally offer an, “I’m sorry too,” before I detached and walked
away. I went to the bathroom and puked, and stayed in there on the floor for two hours before I
could move again. When I asked him later why he did it, his reason was no more elaborate than
“She offered sex, and I took it.”

I had my revenge a few days later, though I never meant to take it, when Bulma came to Vegeta’s
room, hoping to make up with him, and found him pounding my ass with my legs around his
neck. Vegeta seemed unconcerned and couldn’t seem to understand why she ran off in tears.
According to him, saiyan culture was hardly monogamous.

I’d be lying if I said seeing her heart break didn’t give me a small amount of evil satisfaction.
But I never wanted her to be hurt like this. And I especially never wanted her to see me in my
disgrace.

A lot of screaming ensued later, which I bore the brunt of as Vegeta simply ignored her and
walked away in a foul mood. I didn’t want her to feel guilty by telling her I did it to protect her,
so I only said that he came to me, and I felt I had no other choice. This didn’t help, since it was
basically saying he wanted me, but you had to work to seduce him. She screamed at me over
how I could I think I had no choice, that Vegeta wasn’t that dangerous. Yeah, right. For a so-called genius, she could sometimes be completely devoid of common sense.

We called each other terrible names, and the fight ended with nothing resolved. I was at the end
of my rope. I began avoiding both Vegeta and Bulma. I had to put an end to our twisted
relationship.

I no longer worried that Vegeta would destroy the earth, and Bulma had wanted the very thing I
was trying to protect her from. There was no reason for me to keep it up, except out of fear. I
didn’t know how to end it.

I came around his gravity chamber several times but couldn’t summon up the nerve to interrupt
him and tell him it was over. Finally, I came to the GR to spy on him, peering through the
porthole window, and he noticed me. I was caught, just as I had been at the beginning.

The hatch door opened with a great hissing of air, and he pulled me inside and wasted no time
beginning to kiss me, asking where I’d been. To my horror, he turned the gravity up to 250 G’s,
enough to pin me to the ground.

Apparently this was his game today, to render me unable to move by the force of extreme gravity.

He parted my shirts, kissing my face, caressing my chest. I began to breathe heavily, not out of
lust, but from the overwhelming frustration and despair felt by a man pushed to the limits of what
he could take. The pressure of the air only worsened the pressure in my heart.

“No,” I said weakly, and he raised an eyebrow and looked at me with interest, since throughout
this whole time I’d never voiced one word of resistance unless he had personally requested it.

“Pardon me?” he asked, amused. “Is someone having a bad day?”

“NO!!” I screamed as loud as I could muster, my eyes wild, enough to stop him in his tracks.
“Stop touching me. Don’t touch me! I’m done. This is over. I can’t take it anymore!” I began
hyperventilating, thrashing my head.

“Turn off this damn gravity! I have to get out of here. Away from Capsule Corp. Away from
you!”

Instead of raging, as I feared, he had gone white as a sheet. He sat back on his heels, unmoving,
eyes wide with astonishment, shocked.

I began screaming hysterically until Vegeta hurried to the console and switched the gravity back
to normal, and I clambered to my feet and held myself upright with a hand against the wall,
trembling, sweat dripping from my face. No words passed between us, only the sound of my
tortured breathing. I finally risked a glare in his direction. He was kneeling on the floor, hands
palms-up in his lap, eyes downcast. I hadn’t expected a reaction like this. Why the hell did he
look so dejected?

“Have you thought this from the beginning?” he said at last, speaking slowly and quietly. I
nodded. “You never said anything. You never resisted.”

“I should have. But I was too full of fear.”

He said nothing, did nothing, and I took that as my leave. I staggered out of the gravity chamber,
and with increasing determination packed my things, fetched Puar, and left on the training trip I
had planned two long years ago in a last ditch effort to make myself stronger so I could be useful.

But I couldn’t get the confusing image of him kneeling on the floor out of my head. Had our
relationship been more to him than the saiyan power trip I always assumed it was?

The androids came, then Cell, and I was typically out of my league. Goku perished, and to our
despair, elected not to return. Gohan accepted it far better than I expected, with a wisdom and
spiritual acceptance greater than most adults, firm in the belief that his father was always with
him.

Vegeta, however, was devastated.

I had managed to find myself an apartment, but I still dropped by Capsule Corp often, and with
each progressive visit he seemed to be worse and worse, isolating himself, aggressively rebuffing
all efforts to reach him.

I was still resentful for the time I spent owned by him, but time had softened the memory, and I
began thinking perhaps it wasn’t so awful after all. He was rough at times, but never truly what
one would call abusive. Though dominating, he always saw to my pleasure. The image of him
prone and desolate on the ground as I left still stood out starkly in my mind. No one had ever
reacted so strongly to my rejection.

To his mind, had we been lovers? Had I misunderstood something from the start?

After months of deep depression and moping on Vegeta’s part, Bulma became desperate enough
to ask for my help. Vegeta hadn’t moved from his bed for three days, refusing food and drink
and any sort of human interaction. Over the time I’d been away, Vegeta had warmed slightly to
Bulma and his infant son, but he wanted nothing to do with them now.

I went to the bedroom, dimly lit with grey light. He lay with his back to me, on his side in an odd
position as if he’d been thrown down and just stayed the way he landed. I moved around to the
far side of the bed, sat on the floor, and looked up into his vacant face. For long moments he
didn’t notice me. Then a light of awareness sparked in his dull eyes.

“You,” he rasped, throat dry. “What the hell do you want?” A typically rude response. It was
actually heartening. However, his voice sounded tired and bitter.

“I came to drag you out of bed. You need to get up, Vegeta. You’re making everyone worry.”

He closed his eyes against me and made a grunt of scorn. “I have no reason to get up. I have
nothing.”

“What bull. You’ve got a great new son and a gorgeous billionaire in love with you. You’ve got
everything you could want here.”

“Idiot,” he forced out as though it pained him. “He is gone. I am alone. I have nothing to work
toward anymore. The saiyan race is dead.”

I hadn’t considered how Vegeta felt about being the last of his race. “They’re not gone. There’s
Gohan, and Trunks.”

“Watered-down blood. Not like his.”

I sighed. Goku was his grand obsession, his drug, and now he was suffering from permanent
withdrawal.

Hesitantly, I reached up and took his hand in mine, massaging it. His eyes flew open in shock.
“I was your ‘subject’ before, wasn’t I? Substitute saiyans are better than nothing.” I stood,
brushing my lips over his exposed ear in the faintest of touches. He shuddered. “Get up, Vegeta.
Goku would be disgusted if he saw you this way.”

Vegeta got up. And at that moment our relationship began again. This time I entered into it with
confidence, my head clear and unafraid, because this time it was my choice.

He re-approached me cautiously, almost shyly at first, daring a touch here, a touch there. We
were having sex again by the end of the week.

As the years passed I grew bolder, and his fantasies only grew more strange and twisted.

I eventually noticed a trend in all of Vegeta’s lovemaking. We could never just have sex. He
always had to have some scenario in his head, usually him as prince and me his willing,
sometimes unwilling, subject. Often something so simple as a few spoken words to set the
scene. Never anything as ridiculous and elaborate as costumes and roleplaying, but the spirit was
there: I was a saiyan subject, a soldier under Frieza, a terrified inhabitant of a conquered planet,
or many others, most notably, Son Goku.

One day he asked me what something was: he’d been snooping in Bulma’s dresser drawers and
found her mini vibrator, and I had to explain toys to him. This caused a watershed, and he
wanted to know where you could buy such things. Going to the local erotica ship opened his
eyes to a whole new world of sexual possibilities.

Never believe him when he says he hates Earth. He loves it here, because no other race but
humanity could provide him with such an overflowing cornucopia of perversity.

We have played with every toy in the shops, and he orders items from his favorite catalogs. I
have let him do almost everything to me. My only exception (and now, the electrical box as
well) was I refused to do anything with bodily waste. Thank god he was never interested in that.
We have done bondage, S&M, you name it.

Naturally, Bulma despised our illicit affair. Vegeta grew more fond of her, as time passed, and
even grew to love her, but he made no promises.

Once she openly asked him to stop seeing me, and he told her no. Period. It was her choice to
stay with him despite it all. Even she had to admit I was a necessary evil that siphoned away all
the twisted desires that he required but she couldn’t provide.

Bulma will do some of the more simple “prince and princess” scenarios or the like with him, but
for the most part she prefers no-frills sex, only wants the feel of his hard body moving against
hers. I can hardly blame her. To be with her in this way, he has to play the fantasies silently in
his mind.

I have even let him put me in a cage. However, this is not an act of humiliation. Vegeta will
leave me there for an hour at most, then come and “rescue” me. He frees me as he once wished
to be freed.

He has never said anything in detail about his time with Frieza, but I would have to be an idiot
not to realize what he was made to do. I get the feeling that the things we do together are child’s
play compared to the sick degradations Frieza must have put him through.

Because of this, he has developed the fantasies and the games. Because of this, he must always
be on top.

I discovered this the hard way when, after trying to push him down one night after too much to
drink, I ended up laying on the floor for two hours in intense pain with a broken hip while he
shook and whimpered and rocked back and forth on the bed. When he came to, he left me a
sensu bean and didn’t speak to me for a week.

Frieza made sex unbearable to him, repulsive. Only by adding something– a gimmick, a game, a
fantasy– can he distract himself enough to enjoy it.

He must forget that it’s sex.

This is the strangest of psychology, but it is the conclusion I have come to over the years. The
fantasies are his self-defense, because sex, in its pure and unadorned form, takes on a magnitude
that terrifies him back into Frieza’s bed.

I grew comfortable with him, thought he was settling down. I even gathered the rare ingredients
needed for Roshi’s elixir of immortality and drank it, so I could be with him and not grow old
and feeble while he stayed the same.

Then came the Buu incident. Goku came back, and all Vegeta’s control was shot to hell in his
presence. His possession by Babidi and the cruelty he welcomed as Majin was a wake-up call, as
was the ki blast that barely missed both me and Bulma and everyone else in the stands.

I had been lulled to complacency, thinking he couldn’t hurt us now. Unfortunately it looked like
the dark demon inside would always be lurking there. I was terrified again, unable to trust him.

So, I acquired insurance. Gohan, and then Goku. If one of the three gave me trouble, I could
turn to the other two for help.

Vegeta was livid when he found out, red-faced with rage, until he discovered he rather liked the
idea of fantasizing about what I was doing with them. So we continued, and he enjoyed a new
level of perversion during our times together.

Soft footsteps on the stairs pull me out of my deep reverie and back to the matter at hand. Vegeta
pushes the half-closed door open with his elbow since his arms are occupied with something
wrapped in thick blankets.

What kind of food is that, a baked ham? Though knowing him, he’d find some way to make
sexual use out of even that. He is endlessly creative in his perversions.

He glances askance at me as he lays it carefully on the bed and gives me that small smile. “I’ve
been working on this a week or more, to make it give the perfect experience.”

“So it’s not food, then?” I ask, peering over his shoulder.

“I never said it was. Jumping to conclusions is one of your worst qualities.”

“Tch. Why was it in the fridge, then?”

“To keep it cold, obviously. See?” He peels back the last layer of insulating blankets and
reveals... I don’t know what. He releases a shuddering exhalation of anticipation, touching the
handles gingerly, reverently.

“What is it, Vegeta?”

He doesn’t have much of an answer. “I made it,” he says, and lifts it out of its wrappings.

It looks like it started out as a wooden rolling pin, painted black and mutated into a device of
sexual stimulation. The soft, silky brown pelt of an animal covers the roller completely, but
through the luxurious fur jut metal projections: a profusion of nails, most with the blunt heads
up, but many with their sharp points stabbing upward as well. Other bits and pieces of scrap
metal have been driven into place also, providing a variety of textures, smooth and rough,
straight and angular. Vegeta looks very pleased with his work.

“What do you think?”

“You’ve outdone yourself.”

“And there’s this,” he reaches for a second device, what looks like a round mitt with a strap
across the back to hold one’s hand in place. The circular front plate is covered with blue silk and
white feathers, and over the surface have been affixed rubber baby bottle nipples.

I touch the feathers, awed by the extent of his imagination for the perverse. “They’re so
bizarre...”

At this he fits the mitt over my hand, and he pulls off his own clothes with perfect grace. His
body is a marvel, small and tight and packed with muscle honed to perfection from endless hours
of torturous training.

He crawls onto the bed and lays on his back, arms loosely out to his sides, and nods at me. I
understand his need.

I approach him slowly, the bed dipping and creaking faintly under my weight. He watches me
with hooded eyes, anticipating, wondering where I will start. I make him wait a few moments
while I decide on my first destination.

I touch down ever so delicately upon his unprotected abdomen. He shudders up his entire frame
and gasps. I run the mitt with excruciating slowness up to his chest, slow, so he can feel
everything. Feel the smooth glide of the silk and soft tickle of the feathers, contrasting with the
drag of the rubber nipples. Over one sculpted pectoral I guide the mitt, skillfully evading his
own nipples, circling back to traverse across the other pec.

Up and down his arms it travels, under his arms and down the sensitive sides of his torso. His
eyes are closed, head to the side, mouth open and panting in pleasure from such an exquisite,
strange combination of sensations.

I move the device over the curve of his hip, down his muscled legs. He squirms and moves
slightly, trying to control himself even as his back arches against the bed. I run the mitt over his
bare feet, rotating the mitt in slow circles to enhance the sensations.

I brush the mitt down his left foot from top to bottom, and he gasps as the rubber nipples catch
between his spread toes and drag slowly through, until they pop out and push their rounded,
bulging tips into his soft soles. Just watching him get hot over this is making me hard.

Moving the mitt to his nipples, I grind the silken, feathered, rubbery pad over those sensitive
buds, and he screams out in ecstasy, throwing his head back heavily against the pillow, hands
clenching and unclenching in the sheets. He is hard as granite and leaking and I begin to move
the mitt to his cock, but he grabs my wrist with the swift movement of one deft hand.

Still breathing heavily, he locks eyes with mine, then casts his gaze over to the other device. It
seems to be time to switch to the second invention, the “pleasure wheel.”

I pick it up carefully. The metal projections are still starkly cold. Vegeta moans and pushes his
jutting cock down and out of the way with one hand. His eyes travel up and down his body, a
clear signal, and then he looks to me. We have become adept at speaking without words over the
years.

Starting at the soles of his feet, I roll the device up and over the tops of his toes, up his shins and
upper legs, cold metallic pinpricks and jabs against his hot skin followed by a moment’s caress of
soft fur, stiffer outer hairs spreading to give way to the downy undercoat beneath, the faint musk
of animal pelt lingering in our nostrils.

I roll it up over his groin, hesitant at first because his hand does not completely cover his cock or
vulnerable sac, but he seems to welcome the pain, the agony of icy nail pricks against his most
delicate of areas, soothed by deceptive softness, only to be followed by more agony.

Up his cobblestone abdomen, over his heaving chest. He writhes, grunting and gasping, eyes
shut tight, lost in his sensory world. I roll the wheel back down his body, reversing my previous
path, then, when at the bottom, roll back up again. And again. And again. Increasing the speed
and pressure each time.

Vegeta holds his arms in the path of the roller so they can be assaulted as well, and he quickly
turns to his stomach, changing the roller’s rapid path to his back, buttocks, and thighs, biting his
knuckle in strangled whimpers, delivering jerky thrusts into the bed sheets that he cannot hold
back.

He is about to break.

With an animal cry, he whips around and with a back-handed fist knocks the roller out of my
hands and against the wall, grabbing me and slamming me against the mattress, devouring my
mouth like a hungry beast, fingers clutching and groping everywhere, and I scream as he dives
down to swallow my cock and suck violently. He brings me to the edge of a roaring climax, then
pulls back and throws my legs over his shoulders and plunges into me roughly, giving me sparse
seconds to adjust before he begins pounding me.

“Slut!” he roars at me in his wild passion. “Whoring around with the kid and that third-class
imbecile. Do you enjoy it, slut, when they shove their cocks into you?”

I cry out against the overwhelming sensation.

“Tell me. Tell me about it,” he hisses in my ear. “When he fucks you.”

“W-Who?” I moan, baiting him.

“Kakarrot!” he snarls, thrusting brutally at the name, and I know I can’t last much longer at this
rate.

“Yeahhh,” I breathe, sparkles blinking before my eyes. “He’s fantastic, Vegeta. So powerful, so
fucking huge,” I say, then deliver the final strike.

“You couldn’t handle him.”

Vegeta explodes with a roar, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, locking up in place as
he pours into me, and I follow suit a mere second later, seeing stars.

For long minutes the only sound is our labored breathing as we descend from our high. Vegeta
finally pulls out and falls to my side, an arm over my waist. After about 20 minutes of peaceful
recovery, he pulls closer and begins idly licking my neck.

“That was good,” he says, the understatement of the year. Again I see that hint of that elusive,
boyish happiness. “I’m going to make more of those.”

I chuckle. We’ve pretty much destroyed the mitt and roller. I sit up and rest my back against the
headboard, and he studies me. “I was rough,” he says, and I know he’s referring to his rough
entry. “Are you... you know...” he mumbles, staring at the wall behind us.

I think I’ll tease him a bit. “No, I don’t. Am I what?”

“Are you all right?!” he snarls, embarrassed.

“Aw, always so worried about me. Must be that mushy, emotional nature of yours.” He scoffs
and gives me his back.

“Nah, I’m okay. I prepared myself before I came here.”

He seems lost in thought for long moments, then throws a piercing look my way. “Stay here the
rest of the evening,” he suddenly demands, knowing full well that I have a previous engagement.

“Vegeta, you know I can’t.” I set about pulling my wild hair back into a ponytail.

“Still, after all this time, you go to them. Do you distrust me that much?”

“It’s not that, Vegeta.” Though it is a little. “I’ve grown fond of visiting them, and they of me.
We’re all stuck together now. You know you love it.”

His jaw twitches in rage, but I can see the lust in his eyes as well. “Come here a moment,” he
asks, crooking his finger at me. I scoot over closer, and he lays a heavy kiss on my lower neck,
holding me in place and sucking hard. When he pulls back, sure enough, a dark red hickey has
bloomed. He admires his handiwork with a nasty smile.

“See what Kakarrot thinks of that.”

He gets up and grabs a wad of bills from a dresser drawer and throws them at me. “Go buy
yourself something pretty,” he says, and I laugh out loud at his impression of the old-fashioned
husband doling out money to his little woman. He walks away, but stops to pause a glance over
his shoulder. “Come back on Monday and tell me all about it.”

I nod and he takes his leave, going down to the gravity room. I laze about in his bed until dark,
resting and regaining my strength. I’m going to need it.

Finally I dress and fly off out the window, heading away from the city, to the deep woods.

—

A/N: Vegeta’s “inventions” are heavily inspired by the Czech movie “Conspirators of Pleasure”
(an arthouse film, not a porn!). One of the characters pleasures himself in a similar way.
Brilliant movie, please see it if you ever get the chance.^^
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Urban Concubine