I know why you're all here. You want to hear a "lemon" story, complete with all the details. I have to be honest, some of the details are a bit sketchy to me, too. Like who the guy was, for instance.
And I know you're looking at me now in shock and thinking "Akari? You?"
Well, let me try to explain what happened
A Ranma ½ story
by Ukyou Kounji
Disclaimer: Ranma ½ and its characters and settings belong to Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Kitty, and Viz Video. With apologies and homage to Rumiko Takahashi and Anaïs Nin.
-Lemon Warning-: This story is lemon fiction; after all, the central event is an erotic encounter. It's not loaded with sex, but it's there. If sex scenes are not your cup of tea, then I guess you should go on and check out another post. I really would like some commentary on this, though: lemon's not typical for me. Thanks. Now, on with the story
I know, I know you must think I'm awful, for having allowed this to happen. After all, shouldn't I be faithful to my darling Ryouga-sama?
But you must understand this happened before I met him, even before my dear Katsunishiki was crowned champion sumo pig of Japan. Well, not much before that.
In those days, I had devoted my fifteen years to raising the best sumo pigs in Japan. Grandfather was so proud of my dedication, but worried that I might be losing a bit of perspective.
"You should get out more, Akari-chan. Meet some other people, meet some boys. It's not like you can make love to the pigs, you know." He said all this with a twinkle in his eye, but there was a serious part to his admonition. The Unryuu farm needed an heir, after all, and I was the only Unryuu left; the only one who could provide that heir.
That part of life didn't interest me much. Comes from being around it too much, I guess. Raising animals, you find yourself learning more about sex at its most basic level than any of those so-called sophisticates in Tokyo or Osaka. The difference is, there's nothing titillating about it.
Breeding high-quality sumo pigs requires keeping careful track of which boar mates with which sow and when. I have to supervise these matings more often than not. It's not that I don't enjoy the task — I love every minute I'm with my precious piggies — but the act itself is something quite unsettling to watch. The boar circles the sow, as if appraising her. It doesn't take long before you can see this pointy red thing dangling down from his belly. It looks sharp and angry, like a firebrand or an arrow. The boar then places his forelegs onto the sow's back — sometimes I or one of the hired hands have to assist him in this — and then, he jams it into the sow, who quite naturally reacts with a loud squeal. One of the hirelings tried to convince me one that it was a squeal of pleasure, but it always struck me as a scream.
And I often found myself wondering is this what all the carrying on is all about? All the songs, all the poetry, all the beauty man can create this is what it comes down to? A few minutes of pain for the female, and pleasure for the male? What's so special about this? Why is it so all-fired important? Why is everyone so taken by it?
It from was watching that scene, repeated over and over before my eyes, I decided to swear off of men. Granted, it wasn't as if I'd ever known much about them, but if they were anything like these boars (and aren't humans just highly advanced animals, anyway?), the very thought of being on the receiving end of their affections chilled me.
At the same time, there was the matter of some of the hired hands, and later, a number of village boys, taking an interest in me. It pleased Grandfather no end that I was blooming into a desirable young woman, but I was alarmed at the intentions that I imagined them having toward me. So I laid down the law: anyone who could out-wrestle our prize boar, Katsunishiki, would be the man for me. Many tried none succeeded.
And I found a strange thrill in watching suitors come and go, trying their luck with Katsunishiki. I would watch every match intently, breathing in the musky aroma of sweat and strain, as they battled my champion. Some held their own for quite some time, and watching the combatants push and shove against each other, a little part of me would tighten, tighten waiting for the moment when, with one magnificent final thrust, my champion Katsunishiki would push the boy out of the ring. And when he did, the emotional rush that would overtake me was just fantastic beyond imagination.
In short, sumo had become my sex. What did I need the real thing for?
The summer of my fifteenth year had us entering the All-Japan Sumo Pig Competition, held that year in the beach resort town of Miyako, up in northern Honshu. Katsunishiki, after many battles with porcine and human competitors alike, had finally earned the title of prefectural champion that year, and as such, would prove to be a formidable contender for the All-Japan title. Grandfather and I were truly excited about our chances: to win this would be a coup of major proportions, both for the Unryuu Farm, and for family-owned sumo-pig farms in general. For three years, the title had been owned by an incredible specimen known as Butanishiki, owned and raised by Butazumo Farms Limited.
Can you imagine it? A corporation had produced a three-time champion sumo pig. It was sacrilege enough when Butnishiki first entered the competition when I was ten. All the family farms raised a howl of protest even then. But the judges ruled that this corporate pig could compete, and after two unsuccessful attempts, Butanishiki won the All-Japan tournament, and was not dislodged from that lofty perch for three whole years. It was a terrible blow, even for those family farms, like ours, that had never raised an all-Japan champion. The corporate world had done better than those many boars raised and trained with tender loving care in the time honored traditions of sumo husbandry.
But now, our time had come.
We arrived early to the circus-style tent in which the tournament was to be held. Grandfather and the hirelings went off to tend to Katsunishiki, and I had been sent off to wander around. "You've earned the day off, Akari-chan. Just enjoy the matches today. And remember, regardless of the outcome, you and Katsunishiki are already winners. And you " he tousled my hair, "have always been my little champion. Now, why don't you head off to the beach and mingle a bit?"
The beach, however, was the furthest thing from my mind. I was far too nervous to go anywhere but the tournament grounds. I hadn't brought a swimsuit, anyway. I was dressed in what I considered to be reasonably good clothes for the occasion: short tartan skirt, over-the-calf white stockings, and a thin white blouse with the Unryuu family crest over the left breast (well, you wouldn't wear a kimono to a sumo pig match, especially not in the heat of midsummer), and I preferred to remain that way for the day. I had to check out the schedule of competitions, after all, and find a good seat from which to watch them, and I wanted to look professional, as if I belonged there. Which I did.
As I looked at the tournament schedule, I was pleased to note that Katsunishiki was set in a different octant than the notorious Butanishiki. This meant that they would not face each other until the final, and what a final it would be! At the same time, I was a bit distressed as I looked about the tent. The planners had obviously not considered the sport's popularity, as there was hardly room enough to hold the crowd that had attended our prefectural competition a week or so back. And what with the occasional holidaymakers dropping in to observe the matches, we would be crowded in this place like sushi come match time.
It was as I feared, and worse. I had found a seat, front and center, but as the crowds began to filter in, the seats filled up rapidly, to the point that I was compelled to stand in order to see over the heads of latecomers that simply stood practically at the edges of the ring. The event security guards managed to push them a reasonable distance away and set up sawhorses so that the combatants would be able to compete without being molested by the crowds, but that meant there were people standing barely a foot in front of me. What could I do? I stood up too.
The tournament opened with a parade of the entrants, in reverse order of seed. Katsunishiki was fourth from last, and I whooped loudly as he crossed the dais, performing the traditional leg exercises of the sumo wrestler. Butanishiki came last, of course, and was greeted by the usual lusty boos from farmowners and sumo purists alike. If he was aware of the reaction, he paid no notice of it, but went through the exercise ritual flawlessly. I had to admire this animal — he was showing more poise than many humans I could name.
The matches began, and Katsunishiki beat his first opponent quite handily. And then, the rains began.
It was a slight drizzle at first, but slowly, inexorably, the rain increased in tempo and volume. There was nowhere for the beachgoers to seek shelter from the rain, save for our tent. And so they came, in droves. By the start of the quarterfinals, I was hemmed in so tightly I could hardly even move. It occurred to me that there would be trouble if a fire, Kami forbid, should break out. It never crossed my mind that a very different kind of fire was already smouldering just behind me
Once again, Katsunishiki faced his opponent down and advanced to the semifinals. He was going to have his work cut out for him — his next opponent was ranked second in Japan only to Butanishiki himself. I was shaking from the excitement and tension of it all.
As I hopped giddily from toe to toe, I grew aware of the man behind me pressing himself against me rather more forcefully than necessary, even in this standing-room-only throng. And as I moved up and down, I realized I was rubbing up against him and that there was more and more I was rubbing against with each movement.
So I stopped, and stood as still as the crowd would let me. I had no wish to provoke him to anything.
Whether he actually made any effort to control himself, I could not say, but his swollen member would not subside, and I felt it nudging my backside through both of our clothes as the remaining quarterfinals progressed. I was torn with conflicting emotions: I could see his penis in my mind's eye, sharp, piercing, red and angry. It was as if he was holding a knife to me, threatening to slit me open if I resisted.
At the same time, I was in a feverish state of my own, having watched my dear Katsunishiki triumph twice already in the space of an hour or two. I felt the wetness that accompanied each triumph, and I knew this prodding was amplifying the sensation. I almost wondered what it would be like to share it with someone
I was starting to understand the songs.
The semifinals began, and Butanishiki swiftly dispatched his competitor. The time had come for Katsunishiki. I stood on my tiptoes to get a better view of the ring. I found myself resting my buttocks ever so slightly on the man's bulge behind me. It was starting to feel almost friendly, as if I were to squeeze a boy's hand in a movie theatre.
The two boars faced each other within the ring, and with the referee's signal, went at each other, pushing each other backward, each giving ground, then gaining it back. I watched, transfixed
but I could feel a hand slip under my skirt, and slowly advance up my thigh, even as Katsunishiki advanced on his opponent for what I could see was to be his final push. There it was, that great heave
and his opponent was on his backside, out of the ring; at the same time, the hand had clutched the hem of my panties. I screamed in jubilation at the victory — he had made it! — and without thinking, jumped for joy. At that moment, the hand pulled down as I leapt up, and when I landed, my panties were at my ankles.
I was alarmed. What was I to do now? There was no way to get help — Grandfather and the hired hands were busy readying Katsunishiki for the title bout, and my protector himself was obviously quite preoccupied. I couldn't take this day away from him.
Could I reach down and pull them back up? I tried to bend my knees, but with the crowd pressing in from all sides, I couldn't get down far enough to reach my panties. I resumed my standing position, and endeavored to bend at the waist, as the announcer and referee resumed their positions on the dais.
"Ladies and gentlemen, introducing "
An involuntary gasp escaped my lips. In bending over, I had granted him perfect access to me, and I felt the head of his penis slip inside. I blinked in surprise as I felt the tip slide in it wasn't sharp at all. It was not going to cut me to ribbons. It merely wanted to be there, to share its own excitement with me and perhaps partake of my own.
As the combatants once again entered the ring, I felt the man behind me as he moved closer to me; his chest against my back, his hips just barely touching mine, his warm breath on my neck, but most of all, the tantalizing touch of his sex in mine.
Once again, the signal was given, Katsu-kun made the first move and bumped Buta-san backward slightly. At the same time, the man behind me gave a little push, and advanced within me. Again, I gasped. Now the two pigs began pushing in earnest. With every push, every step backward and forward, the penis would advance and retreat ever so slightly and yet there was no mistaking the movement. The bout went on for some time, and as the two boars locked into a clinch, I could feel him behind me, close enough to drape himself over me; he was inside of me deeply now, pushing with each movement of the two competitors. I could feel a fire building up within me, the winding, the tightening wait for the end. I cried out my Katsunishiki's name.
And he roared to life, standing full on his haunches and shoving at Butanishiki with all his might. The corporate pig was unprepared for the ferocity of Katsu-kun's assault, and was tossed out of the ring with surprising force. The crowd exulted, cheering the new champion, and the man behind me was pressed against me so tightly I could hardly breathe. Then, with an almighty thrust of his own, he emptied himself into me. I was already quaking from the thrill of victory, and now, this pulsing thrill filled my self, my soul. My knees locked up, and in the heat and humanity, I fainted.
It couldn't have been long after when I awoke. The crowd, though it had thinned considerably, was still milling around under the tent. Grandfather was still nowhere to be seen; of course, from my vantage point on the sandy floor, I wasn't able to see anyone anyway.
Including the man who'd made love to me
I got less and less of a thrill watching Katsunishiki wrestle my suitors after that. It was no longer important that he win, after all; in fact, I started to hope that he'd lose one sooner or later. But how could I cheer against my darling Katsu-kun?
Ryoga-sama, then, was a godsend, and I can hardly wait; maybe some day, once we're married, we could re-enact that day, with him filling in for that other man. But for now could this be our little secret? I don't want Ryouga-sama to find out about this. He'll enjoy the day, when it comes but he doesn't have to know about this.
Author's notes: This little story was spawned from a chat I had a while back with my online mentor, New Najar. He was commenting quite favourably about 'Subterraneo', and suggested I try to write something really erotic.
I knew my own personal experiences couldn't compare to the literary fantasies some have conjured up (I'm not knocking Konatsu here; it's just that reality — and morality — imposes certain limitations on us all, ne?) So I recalled a scene within Anaïs Nin's short story 'The Woman on the Dunes' of an incident in the middle of a teeming, jam-packed crowd. It's the ultimate example of what Erica Jong referred to as the 'zipless fuck,' and one of the most erotic scenes, IMHO, I've ever read.
The problems were how to adapt it to the Ranmaverse. After all, most of the Ranma girls would deck anyone who tried this sort of thing. It's even significantly out of character for the ordinarily virginal Akari, but she's the only one who might not fight it off (she leaves the martial arts to Katsunishiki, after all) And besides, she might just be able to get off from a sumo match, especially if, as at moment of victory, she experiences another thrill of a totally different nature. And so, here we are.
It feels like a rather feeble attempt to replicate the experience, although to be honest, I've been writing this story almost sequentially for a change, and the tension that's been building up in myself over the past week has let me sort of empathize with this Akari. The subplots really started to crowd out the focal scene, and it was kinda touch-and-go trying to work it in adequately.
I'd like to know what you all think of it; I admit that lemon writing caters to a completely different audience than any other genre, but hey — all the better for the variety of response.
Additionally I don't know if it showed any or not, but I know nothing about breeding pigs, and next to nothing about sumo (it's not like you get it on 'Wide World of Sports' or anything, ya know). If it didn't, great; if it did, let me know what I can do to straighten it out.
Until next time, ja!
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