banned-users

You obediently open your mouth and take him in, let him do as he wills and try not to choke on him until he’s sufficiently distracted, pretend to glassy-eyed quiescence and submission until you bite down, hard.  You have just enough time to register his scream of pain (though you don’t know what he does immediately after, and honestly don’t care) and spit the blood out of your mouth before someone hits you, hard, hard enough that you’re dizzy, your ears ringing, and your face shoved into the ground.
 
“So you do still have spirit,” a familiar voice says, as the man kneels by you. Your skin crawls with the memory of his touch, the echo of his mocking words loud in your ears, (“You probably aren’t as pure as you make others believe. Wakashu are...eager.”) but you can’t get away from him, not exhausted and pinned beneath the weight of another man. “I’m starting to understand why you were chosen besides your...other characteristics.” (“How did you draw so many people to your banner, living symbol of the kirishitan? Not just faith. Charisma, beauty, purity.”)
 
You don’t say anything but try not to flinch when his fingers thread through your hair, almost gently. “But you’re going to break.”
 
“What else can you even take from me?” your voice is hoarse with disuse, grief, and your bruised throat. But your family is dead, your followers suffered before they died because of your mistakes and for nothing, and you can’t even think of anything else that you have left to lose besides your life. You don’t understand why he’s taking so much trouble, why his lord (or the other daimyo) is allowing him to do this, when they could, should, just kill you and get it over with?
 
“Everyone has a breaking point, child.” he says, mock-gently-as if he hadn’t raped you with a knife at your throat, telling you to be silent but he would allow you to cry, hadn’t had you gang-raped at least twice, and a warning shiver runs up your spine. “And I intend to find yours.”