Piccolo x Reader 18+
Title: Close Encounters
Warnings: porn with plot, a smidge of canon typical violence, blatant female reader, alien/human relationship, alien sexuality, oral (male receiving), vaginal sex, squirting
A/N: A lot of words just to say you get fucked by the grumpy alien. ✊😔
A slow, savory inhale pulls the wafting steam deep into your lungs where you hold it for a long moment and then breathe out with a heavy sigh. Naturally formed hotsprings really were the best. You could feel the tension slowly leaving your body and the ache of bruises starting to fade, leaving you feeling altogether rejuvenated and fresh. Your own personalized slice of heaven.
It was lucky that you and Piccolo had discovered this little outcrop in the mountain before he completely destroyed the place which was unavoidable once he set his sights on a particular area to train in. You were just happy to enjoy it for as long as you were able to, thankful for the chance to simply relax. Despite his penchant for being so tough on you, as was his prerogative as your mentor, he often showed a surprising level of understanding for your limitations and the need for your body to properly rest so it hardly came as a surprise that he would choose to indulge you like this. Of course that just meant he’d be that much more demanding of you come morning but it was a small price you were willing to pay in return for this nice long soak.
Tipping your head back, you peer over your shoulder at the dense thicket of bamboo shooting up out of the ground behind you. Through the gaps in the stalks you can make out the stark white of his cloak sitting stationary on the other side of the foliage and the flicker of a fire he’d started that casts everything in its peripheral in a warm, comforting glow. It was unexpectedly nice being able to share such a benign, uneventful experience with him, particularly when most of your time spent together saw Piccolo pounding you into the dirt with a tightly clenched fist, but it still felt like something was off. This estranged distance he always kept you at was as alienating as ever, an ironic facet of your relationship with the man who was rather evidently not of this world, and yet you had no idea how to bridge that gap no matter how you wracked your brain for the answer. After months spent training under his rigorous tutelage you’d thought for sure he would have started warming up to you by now, if he was ever going to at all.
“Why don’t you join me? There’s plenty of room for the two of us!” You pointedly call out to him, already knowing full well the answer you would receive long before he actually scoffs at the suggestion.
“That won't be necessary. Just enjoy your bath while you can.”
The underlying threat in his tone does not escape your notice and you sink further down into the water, trying not to pout. If anyone could stand to relax a little bit it was him. But not once since you’d met Piccolo had he truly lowered his guard around you, and it was frustrating much the same way a hangnail is. So persistently annoying that you can’t help but pick at it which only makes it hurt even worse, thus creating a vicious cycle that keeps you coming back for more punishment in the form of aggressively barked out insults and overzealous sparring that pushes you right to the edge of your lifespan. Some days it felt like he was really trying to kill you.
You’re pretty sure he doesn’t actually hate you though, otherwise he wouldn’t tolerate your presence in as much as he does. But you aren’t sure why he would bother with it in the first place if you were such an obvious inconvenience, either. Surely he had better things he could be doing besides terrorizing you day in and day out under the guise of teaching you martial arts.
Once upon a time that explanation may have stood up under the lens of scrutiny, back when he’d first found you alone and half dead on your feet in the desert after narrowly escaping a band of thieves who’d taken you hostage. They’d foolishly thought they could hold you for ransom, wholeheartedly believing your little village would cough up their asking price until they just … didn’t.
It hardly came as a surprise to you, an orphan who didn’t exactly have a place to call her own, but your kidnappers hadn’t much appreciated being snubbed like that. You’d endured the physical backlash of their frustration for hours before then being subjected to their blatant discussion of how much they could sell you for in a blackmarket scheme meant to recoup some of their losses. Eventually, once they were all fast asleep and snoring, you managed to slip out into the dead of night but the damage had already been done. You’d felt indescribably weak and helpless back then, so it made sense why you would jump at the chance to follow Piccolo and learn from him. Not that he’d outright offered it so much as you’d doggedly trailed in the wake of his shadow until he decided he may as well teach you a thing or two, since you were there, but still.
The situation now is a bit different though. While you couldn’t beat him no matter how hard you tried, or even really put a dent in him for that matter, you were much stronger than when you’d started. He was a surprisingly good teacher for as merciless as he could be, and even the way he never seemed to hesitate before slamming his fist into you despite being a woman half his size wasn’t quite enough to change your estimation of him. It was a hard lesson to learn even when he used only a very small fraction of his immeasurable strength but you’d grown into a rather competent fighter because of it, and the way he always aggressively patched you up afterwards, faintly growling the whole time, helped your opinion quite a bit too.
And yet there was only so much you could glean from him when your body was so regretfully human and his was not. More and more it had become apparent that you’d already reached the upper limits of your potential and he was just wasting his time with it now. Even so he hadn’t sent you away yet but, rather, continued to train you rain or shine as if you would keep getting stronger the more you kept at it instead of perpetually stalling out like you were so obviously doing. It just didn’t make sense.
If he wouldn't allow you any closer to him than you already were then why even keep you around? You’d always known a day would come when Piccolo would decide you’d learned everything you could and leave you to your own devices but somehow that hadn’t happened yet despite all the obvious signs it should have. What did he even expect to get out of this anymore?
You jolt so hard a surprised squeak forces its way out of your mouth and you whip your head around, eyebrows lifting when you find Piccolo standing some few yards away. Not that you’d expected to find anyone else of course, but he’d very nearly scared the crap out of you.
Even recognizing that it’s him doesn’t immediately calm your anxious pulse though, because he looks somehow even more demonic than usual with the cast of the low set sun throwing half of him in vibrant shades of relief, oranges and pinks and just a pinch of violet to make his skin look like it was glowing, while the other half of him was marred with creeping shadow. It’s in many ways surreal, and the preternaturally incandescent quality of his sharp focused eyes only seems to highlight how diabolical his features really are. Between that and the devilishly pointed ears, you would almost think he was some kind of messenger from hell come to collect on your soul.
Worryingly enough, you weren’t so sure you would have had a problem with that.
“W - what is it?” You stammer, visibly flustered by his sudden appearance, but he merely scoffs at your obvious disquiet.
“Relax. I just wanted to give you this before you put on your old clothes again.” He holds his hand up to show you what he’s referring to and genuine surprise washes over you when you realize he’s holding a folded up a gi in the same deep shade of purple as the one he’s wearing. Even with the near blinding kaleidoscope of ultraviolet light raining down on the side of the mountain it’s true color is unmistakable but Piccolo doesn’t give you enough time to question it.
Carelessly, he tosses the humble pile of clothing down at his feet before moving to walk away again, and you panic.
“Wait!” You yelp as you scramble up out of the hotspring, your nudity a none concern at that moment. He’d already seen you in various stages of undress while tending to the wounds he’d inflicted on you anyway and there were much more important things to be worried about than your modesty, first among them being this unprecedented gift from him.
Toeing the line of disbelief, you can hardly take your eyes off it while you crawl across the grass, fumbling over yourself the whole time. You are, however, distantly aware of Piccolo pausing mid turn to watch your immodest display with near palpable disinterest. He’d never been particularly impressed with your feminine charms and this assuredly wasn’t going to help your case with him, but you didn’t really care. The weight of this particular gesture is not the least bit lost on you as you settle on your knees and reverently pick up the top half of the uniform, holding it aloft so you can really look at it.
Sure enough, it’s almost identical to his. Just a little smaller, more tapered in the waist so it doesn’t leave a bunch of extra fabric for you to wrestle with but roomier in the chest to accommodate your breasts. There was even a short loop of fabric meant to go around your neck, mirroring the one on his cloak, and you were completely dumbfounded by the whole thing. To think he would not only present you with a set of matching clothes but also take into consideration the slight differences in a garment meant for you versus one for another man … It was something far more thoughtful than you would have ever dared to expect from him. Least of all not with the way he always treated you as if you were just a smaller, less muscularly dense boy. There have been plenty of instances in the past where you weren’t even sure if he knew you were a girl at all, and now this?
You genuinely don’t know what to make of it and you turn wide eyes up at Piccolo in question, but he doesn’t even try to conceal the intense glower he’s got fixed on you. Wholly unimpressed and not at all amused by your nakedness which, at the reminder, causes a dull shudder to race up your spine. Now hyper aware of your wet nipples growing stiff in the cool evening air, you awkwardly hold the gi closer without touching it to skin, hoping it would block at least some of the breeze while you try to wrap your head around the current predicament.
“Is this really for me?” You finally dare to ask in a tiny, faltering voice.
“I said it was, didn’t I?”
“Well, yeah, but …” Hesitating, you look at the garment again and then back up at him. “Why are you giving this to me now? I’ve been wearing the same clothes since we met.”
Piccolo narrows his eyes at you, downturned mouth somehow twitching into an even deeper scowl. “Yes, and you should take the hint. Maybe I’m just tired of smelling you day after day, did you ever think of that?”
“Wha - hey! That’s not very nice!” You squawk, feeling your cheeks grow unbearably hot. “I wash them as much as I can out in the middle of nowhere but you’re such a slave driver - -“
“Then problem solved. You can start fresh now.” Dismissively, he starts to turn again but you aren’t about to let him get away that easily.
“Hold on, Piccolo-sama! Is that really the reason you’re giving this to me? Just because my old clothes are a little grimy?”
He goes statue still for a moment, apparently mulling that over, and you reel against the surge of hope that suddenly wells within your chest to bombard you with all kinds of quaint little thoughts. The very notion that he might actually like you on some level and this was the only way he knew how to show it is almost too much for you to bear. Maybe this was the real reason he hadn’t disappeared without a trace yet. Maybe this was why he -
Piccolo suddenly turns on you with a low snarl that makes your heart stutter and you quickly drop the gi so you can put your hands up in surrender when he menacingly skulks towards you. That doesn’t stop his advance on you though, and you brace for the worst as he reaches out with a sharp nailed hand.
“That’s right, and don’t confuse it. You stink so I gave you new clothes. End of story.”
You draw a sharp breath to respond but then his palm smacks against the back of your neck and he squeezes down, effortlessly plucking you right up off the ground as if you were nothing more than a misbehaved cat. The entire thing happens in under ten seconds, not even giving you enough time to properly react as he spins on his heel and chucks you back into the hotspring without an ounce of sympathy to show for it.
“Now finish getting cleaned up so we can eat!”
That’s the last thing you make out before you hit the water with a deafening splash, everything going distant and muddied as you're pulled towards the bottom of the naturally formed pool. You’re so stunned that you just let it happen, trying desperately to make sense of your whirling thoughts while bubbles rush up past your face and the heat from the water seeps into your skin again. But then you realize you aren’t prepared to just blithely accept that answer at face value and you kick your legs out, furiously swimming back up to the top with every intention of grilling Piccolo until he tells you what you want to hear.
Breaching the surface with a sharp gulp of air, you quickly reach up to brush the water off your face as you look around for him but he’s already gone. That shouldn’t really come as a surprise and yet it still annoys you a great deal, so you doggy paddle over to the edge of the spring where you pull yourself up on your elbows and squint through the bamboo thatch, catching a glimpse of his white cloak sitting next to the fire once again.
“This conversation isn’t over, Piccolo-sama!”
“Yes, it is.” He calls back, making you sputter in disbelief. The nerve of this man!
“Fine!” Grumbling under your breath, you decide to concede for the time being and sink back down into the water so you can plot out your next move. There was no way you’d let it go that easily. “We’ll see about that …”
“I can still hear you.”
You let out a little yip and screw your eyes shut as you submerge your head under the water again, trying to convince yourself that your face was so warm because of the heat and not from your fluster. Damn him. Now you were even more confused than when you’d started.
Worse, however, is the pitter patter of hope in your chest that you still can’t quite stamp down no matter how hard you try to will it away. You felt like an idiot for a variety of reasons and the most critical-hit-inducing one was easily this adrenaline fueled excitement you’d felt at the first possible sign of affection from him. Were you really that miserable or was it just that he rarely ever showed you any sort of preferential treatment making it seem like some sort of meaningfully grand display in comparison? Regardless, you weren’t sure how to proceed from here. You wanted him to tell you the truth, yes. Might have even been willing to fight for it if need be.
But to say Piccolo would make your life a veritable nightmare with tomorrow’s training should you piss him off enough is the very definition of an understatement. He was plenty tough on you as it was and you would have liked to avoid making it any worse on yourself, if at all possible. Purposely going out of your way to poke the bear any further was just asking him to make you carry a boulder that was double your size up the side of the mountain. Again.
You really hated when he made you do that.
Almost an hour later finds you wandering into the clearing just on the other side of the bamboo thicket, still fiddling with the sash around your waist in shy uncertainty. Only a small portion of that time had been used to ponder how you would make Piccolo fess up and tell you the truth behind his gift giving mood while the vast majority had been spent fussing over the gi. You’d systematically gone through all five stages of grief while donning it, starting off strong with a healthy dose of denial that this couldn’t have meant what you hoped thought it did. Somewhere in the midst of that you’d inexplicably managed to convince yourself that it was the opposite, that this was actually his way of saying it was time for you to move on, and you’d gotten mad.
After that it hadn’t taken long for you to start mentally working out how best to bargain with him, wondering if he might let you stay at his side a bit longer if you just returned the gi to him. If you promised to work harder - hard enough to surpass this ceiling you’d hit. And then you’d gotten sad, because of course none of that would matter if he’d already made up his mind. It’s not as if Piccolo was particularly well known for being easily swayed or even all that nice once you got right down to it. If anything your begging would probably just further vindicate his decision to send you packing and with that you’d finally reached acceptance. If this was really supposed to be his way of promoting you to a level beyond need of his guidance then so be it. There wasn’t much of anything you could do to actually change that or convince him otherwise.
Now, you find yourself nervously peering over at where he’s sat cross legged in front of the small fire, braced for his formal dismissal, but to your surprise he simply regards you back in silent contemplation. You aren’t sure what else to do so you just stand there feeling like a profound idiot until he finally looks away with a near silent scoff to retrieve the small gourd of water he always kept on his person. He was completely brushing you off.
Shoulders drooping, you resignedly shuffle over to take your spot on the opposite side of the softly cackling flame, as was your routine with him. You’re relatively certain it must be coming and yet, even long after you’ve settled into place, he still doesn’t speak up, and it leaves you at a complete and utter loss.
This resounding silence from him should have been commonplace by now but the tension weighing heavy against your chest makes it feel that much more awkward than usual. What was once comfortable and unassuming suddenly seemed like a judgemental guillotine waiting to come down on your neck, and you weren’t sure how much more of it you could stand. Why wouldn’t he just say something?
“Piccolo-sama - -“
Blinking owlishly, you drop your gaze to the humble little campfire he’d erected and you notice the lightly smoking fish lined up neatly in front of you for the first time since you’d sat down. They looked like they were dangerously close to being over cooked, no doubt a direct result of you taking so long to finish up your bath, so you reach out to grab one by the stick it had been skewered with before it can burn anymore than it already was. Mechanically, you bring it up to blow on the meat, thinking it was a bit unfair of him to treat this like any other evening if he really planned to send you off on your own after this. Just didn’t seem right by your estimation, especially not when coupled with charred trout.
Two bites into the scorched meal you decide you aren’t hungry enough to continue, so you set aside what’s left of it and expectantly peer over at him again. Piccolo’s brooding attention is steadfastly fixed on the fire though, his gaze almost thoughtfully introspective, and you can’t help but wonder if he just isn’t sure how to break the news. But that didn’t sound like him at all - a direct contrast, actually - and this is what finally makes you second guess yourself. Maybe he really had given you the gi just because.
“Piccolo-sama,” you try again in a voice that is slightly more sure of itself now. “Can I ask you something?”
“Hm.” At one point you might have questioned if that noncommittal grunt was one of acquiescence or denial, but you knew him well enough by now to recognize it for what it really is.
Smiling to yourself even when you try not to, you drop your eyes back down to your half eaten fish as you idly twirl it back and forth by the stick it was impaled on. If you’d really gotten worked up over nothing you were going to feel like a downright fool. “I was just wondering … did you really not give me this for any particular reason?”
He scoffs. “I already told you. I’ve had my fill of your stench, isn’t that enough?”
“But besides that.”
A pause while he thinks that over, brow furrowed with obvious consternation at this particular line of questioning. You really couldn’t tell if he was simply annoyed with your insistent pestering on the matter or if he was trying to figure out what could possibly be going through your head to make you keep asking. Then, at last, he lifts his eyes to look at you. “Do I need any other reason?”
“I guess not.” You relent with a small frown. “But surely you know what something like this usually means, don't you?”
You struggle not to avert your eyes from his when, inevitably, your nerve suddenly falters and then collapses in on itself. You’d been so sure of the outcome you hadn’t even stopped to consider that he might have a different understanding of what such a gesture traditionally signifies and you weren’t prepared to explain it to him. You hadn’t thought you would have to.
“Well,” you speak slowly in a misguided attempt to stall for more time, trying to get your thoughts in order. “I’m no expert myself, but don’t martial arts masters typically give their students a uniform after they’ve earned the right to them? It’s not something given without any purpose behind it. Or are things different where you’re from?”
For an uncomfortably long moment Piccolo just stares at you over the flickering flame, gradually making you feel more and more like an idiot as the seconds continue to tick by. Could it really be you were the one mistaken here and not the other way around?
“Is that not what I’m doing?” He finally rumbles.
“Acknowledging you. As my student.”
“Oh. Yeah. I mean, I guess that’s true, but … why are you only just now doing that? You’ve been training me for almost eight months. Did you really not consider yourself my teacher this whole time?”
Another bout of silent staring ensues, this one lasting only a short while before he emits a low growl of warning. “What is it that you want me to say? Spit it out before I lose my patience.”
It isn’t hard to see he’s not that far off so you straighten your back and round your shoulders, valiantly mustering every ounce of courage you might possess for this hairy standoff. It certainly doesn’t help that your guts nervously quake at the mere thought of confronting him like this but you’d just have to power through it.
Because for as much as you liked Piccolo, trusted him far beyond any measure you’ve ever felt towards another human, there was simply no denying that he could be a rather scary fellow at times. And not just due to his hard, alien features or the monstrous strength he called his own, nor was it even the aggressive way he always spoke to you. What really made him so intimidating was that you wanted to earn his approval above all else. Wanted him to like you, and in sometimes not so innocent ways to boot, as if that wasn’t already embarrassing enough.
But nothing in his face or even his body language ever provided you with any real clues, and you had no idea how to actually accomplish that. It was impossible to know for sure if you were ever getting any warmer or colder while you blindly felt around in the dark, searching for something that may not even exist in the first place, with perpetually groping hands. Even now you have no guarantee you weren’t about to step into a veritable landmine that would promptly blow up right in your face, but all you can really do is take a swing and hope for the best. Maybe if you were lucky this wouldn’t backfire too badly.
Resolute in this decision, you draw an even breath to steady yourself before speaking again. “I’m sorry for beating around the bush like this, Piccolo-sama. I know you don’t like that.”
He offers a quiet grunt in agreement, assuring you that, if nothing else, you were at least headed in the right direction of getting a straight answer out of him. That was probably as good a sign as any.
“I’ll just come out and say it then. The truth is, I’m not sure what something like this is supposed to mean coming from you. I thought I was already your student considering how long you’ve been teaching me martial arts but since you never gave me a uniform I just figured it wasn’t something you were going to do anyway. But now that you have given me one, I … I’m scared that means you’re going to send me off on my own and if acknowledging my progress means I won’t be able to stay with you anymore I’ll gladly give it back.”
You mean that from the bottom of your heart and the slight tremble in your voice would seem to attest to that, but he doesn’t give you much by way of a reaction. He doesn’t even appear to blink over the long stretch that follows, interspersed only by the gentle hiss of smoldering wood and the distant chirp of crickets, which once again leaves you lost in the dark, wondering at his thoughts. And Piccolo’s steady gaze is as unreadable as ever, his expression no more pinched than it usually is, so you haven’t the slightest idea what might come out of his mouth next.
A reassuring heart to heart was probably out of the question, seeing as he’d never bothered to engage in one with you before now. Hadn’t so much as toed the line even when you broke down crying, sobbing over how helpless you’d felt at the hands of those bandits not long after running into him. He’d merely snapped at you to get it together and fix the problem yourself instead of whining about it which wasn’t exactly the sort of reaction you’d expected at the time, given the circumstances, but one you’d grown happily accustomed to since then.
Honestly, you half expect him to fall back on that in the here and now, given that it was his usual reaction at the first sign of an emotional outburst from you, but still. That didn’t seem quite right either.
This situation was inherently different in that you weren’t upset about something you had any real control over. Your total lack of internal power, the struggle to find your own two feet in addition to your sense of self in this vast world and even the indescribable frustration you’d felt every time he’d mercilessly smacked you into the dirt. Those were all things you could take hold of and control, harnessing them towards your own personal betterment and your drive. Piccolo deciding to wipe his hands of you, on the other hand, wasn’t something you had any power over.
Not when it was ultimately his choice to make, and that terrified you precisely because it went against everything he’d ever taught you about fighting for your own sake, regardless of the odds. It was funny, almost, when he could so easily be classified as the greatest hurdle of them all and you knew damn well you’d neve beat him no matter how long you kept at it.
So then what did this power he’d relentlessly drilled into you even amount to in the end? If you weren’t strong enough to fight for your place beside him what was the point?
Finally, after what seems like an eternity spent hanging on the edge of some bottomless abyss, Piccolo slowly blinks his eyes in such a pointed, contemptible manner that you wince before he actually draws breath to respond.
“Are you a complete idiot?”
You outright sputter. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m asking if you’ve got rocks for brains, woman. Or did all those blows to the head finally knock something loose in there?”
“I … I don’t think so - -“
“Then where did you get such a stupid idea from? Huh?” He demands, his voice dropping to a dangerously low vibration that makes your skin prickle even with the fire standing guard between the two of you, keeping watch.
“Uh,” Horribly flustered now, you scramble to find an answer to that. “W - well, you know … there’s only so much I can learn from you, right? I’m just human. It doesn’t make sense for you to keep me around indefinitely, does it? Not if I won’t get any stronger …”
A long beat passes between the two of you, terse and discomforting in equal measure, then he pushes up to his feet with a snarl and a dramatic flutter of his cape. “Ridiculous.”
Eyes widening when he turns as if to leave, you impulsively rock forward with an outstretched hand. “Piccolo-sama - -“
“Enough! I refuse to entertain this insipid conversation any longer. If you want to leave you’re free to do so but you were never my prisoner to keep or dismiss.”
“Wait, that’s not - -“
He’s suddenly gone. Poof. Just like that to leave the space he’d once occupied so resoundingly empty it’s as if he’d never even existed in the first place. A figment of your imagination and nothing more.
You sit frozen in place for a prolonged moment, too stunned to react, before eventually dropping your raised hand to your lap with a frustrated sigh. “That isn’t what I meant.”
The relative silence of night is, predictably, the only forthcoming response you get.
Still, you defensively draw in on yourself and bunch your shoulders up towards your ears, fighting to keep it together just the same as if he’d verbally snapped at you again. You didn’t know what else to do. It was impossible to find him once he ran off like that - something which didn’t normally bother you past a mild annoyance at having no clue where he’d gone, what he was doing. Yet in this particular instance it was undeniably, unequivocally painful when you had no idea if he was even going to come back at all.
That hadn’t been a real concern up until now, not since you’d grown accustomed to his elusive nature and the frequency with which he liked to go somewhere quiet to meditate. But Piccolo had always returned to you without fail though. Whether it was mere hours or half a day later he’d show up, no prior warning and just as undetectable as any soft footed feline until he deigned to make his presence known. Would this be the same as every other time or had you really just seen the last of him?
Where would you even go if he never came back to collect you? What would you do?
Those thoughts plague your anxiety stricken mind for the hours-long vigil you keep post at, optimistically waiting on him even when the flame eventually burns itself out and dims to a mere glow of red hot embers. Still, you wait and still, he does not materialize from the murky night. Dauntless though, you fight sleep for as long as you’re physically able to, telling yourself ‘any minute now’ too often to count, before at last succumbing to the fatigue and worry a small eternity later.
Issuing a silent prayer into the universe, begging for him to be there when you wake, you curl up next to what was left of the fire where you proceed to drift off almost as soon as your head hits the grass. You were simply far too exhausted to hold out any longer, and your last few moments of consciousness are spent hoping destiny or fate, or whatever it was that had brought you two together, grants your wish.
You really had no idea what you would do otherwise.
Some indeterminable amount of time later, you stir.
Issuing a groggy little sound, you crack your eyes open and peer around at the dark shadows looming up around you. But Piccolo’s familiar silhouette is nowhere to be found, the small clearing just as empty as when you’d fallen asleep. Numbly, you turn your attention towards the small pile of burnt wood and thoughtfully regard it as if you would find your answer within its charred ashes. The notion that you’d chased him away rather than the other way around was too much for you to bear, and you quickly decide to go back to sleep. It seemed only a few hours had passed which was not so strange for him, after all. There was still a possibility he could come back.
With a tired huff, you snuggle deeper into the grass as you bring a hand up to tug on the blanket you were covered with and further cocoon yourself in it. The mountain chill was not so bad like this, although you probably would have been even better off with the fire still going. Regardless, you were comfortable enough to make do so it doesn’t take long for your emotionally taxed mind to start drifting off again.
That is until you realize you hadn’t gone to sleep with a blanket, and your eyes snap open so abruptly your vision takes a moment to catch up. Confusion runs rampant through your head as you surreptitiously glance down at what you were wrapped in but that doesn’t solve the mystery so much as it adds to it. What was all this white fabric?
Frowning, you push up on your elbow and peel the sheet back to really examine it. A dark mass just at your peripheral promptly distracts you, however, and you drag your gaze around with a slow turn of your head.
You’re so discombobulated by the whole thing that you don’t immediately recognize Piccolo’s bulky form but then his telltale shoulder pads and the jut of pointed ears register, and everything suddenly clicks into place. He’d sat down with his back facing you, so close you were even faintly aware of the body heat coming off of him despite the cold, prickly condensation creeping along the ground. You must have reached around and grabbed his long furling cloak in your sleep then, or maybe he’d purposely thrown it back over you.
Either way, you hesitate to even breathe.
“Piccolo-sama?” You finally squeak.
A little surprised to find him awake, you turn over and sluggishly drag yourself up beside him so you can tip your face towards his expectantly. His eyes are shut though, the ever present furrow of his prominent brow as near enough to being at ease as he seemed capable of, indicating that he was indeed at rest. Not to say he really seemed all that relaxed with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs folded, the very image of a grumpy statue, but it brings a hint of a smile to your mouth anyway. Had you ever harbored any doubts regarding his out-of-this-world origin, scenes such as this one would have long since dispelled them.
“I didn’t realize it was you at first. Thank you for sharing your cloak with me.”
A long, terse beat of quiet passes through clearing.
“It got colder than I expected it to.” He finally murmurs. “Winter must be fast approaching this area. We’ll need to find somewhere warmer soon.”
Your mouth parts in genuine surprise.
Then, so violently you’re almost positive it’s going to burst right out of you, your heart wildly jackhammers against the interior of your ribcage abruptly enough that it almost sends you reeling. ‘We’? That was no slip of the tongue.
Piccolo simply wasn’t the type to misspeak like that. He meant what he said, and he said what he meant right down to each and every single heated insult he’d ever thrown at you, and you can’t quite keep the grin off your face now. And how could you as you pull yourself even closer to him so you can rest your cheek on the firm plush of his bent thigh, looking up at him adoringly the whole time. That he allows it with neither a flinch of disdain nor a low sound of warning for you to watch yourself sends a pleasant rush of warmth racing through you to settle somewhere at the base of your spine, warming you from the inside out. He really had come back the same as ever.
“Where do you think we should go?” You ask softly. “A tropical island, maybe?”
He snorts, still without looking at you. “I was thinking something much more mild. Your new gi won’t hold up very long in that kind of climate.”
“It’s the truth.”
Still quiet falls over the mountainside again while you voraciously study him, noting with relief that nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. His demeanor, his body language, even the tone of his voice. It was exactly the same as it's always been, and it was unexpectedly reassuring given how little these things actually gave away in terms of his inner workings. You still had no idea what he was thinking, what his true motivations were, but there was undeniable peace to be found in this knowledge.
Nothing’s changed between the two of you. At least not yet it hasn’t.
Content to leave it at that - no, grateful to leave it at that, you snuggle further into his leg and settle in to get comfortable. You had every intention of enjoying your closeness with him for as long as he was willing to permit it. This sort of physical contact between you and Piccolo wasn’t exactly unheard of but it also didn’t happen all that often. Only once in a blue moon, and yet you cherished these rare moments perhaps most of all because of it. The smell of him was particularly intoxicating for as strange as it is, earthen and woodsy, and clean, and it’s enough to have you dozing again in an alarmingly short amount of time.
If you could just stay here with him like this for the rest of eternity, you would have no complaints.
“Will you answer me something?”
Drawn from the warm embrace of sleep yet again, you stir awake and tiredly blink up at him. “Hm?”
“Why did it upset you so much that I might send you away? I’d think you would be tired of me by now.”
“Not at all. I like being with you, Piccolo-sama.”
You mull that over for a moment while your fingers idly toy with the fabric of his pants, decidedly wide awake now. It was understandable that he should question your reasons for wanting to stay with him. He wasn’t exactly nice to you, in the traditional, polite sense, so it was a bit of a stretch to believe that the benefits of his hellish training regimen were the sole factors at play here. Even you couldn’t quite convince yourself that that was the only thing keeping you around, but did you dare say the rest out loud? Could you even risk it after your honesty had chased him away earlier?
Ultimately you really don’t know what to say, torn in either direction, so you finally settle on an ambiguous response of “because I like you.”
A faint grunt of annoyance precedes his eyes opening to send you a sharp look, and you reflexively grasp at his pant leg a little tighter. “What does that mean, woman? I don’t understand these silly word games you humans insist on playing.”
Realizing he really has no idea what you’re getting at, you hastily wrack your brain for an answer to that. Regretfully, all you manage to draw is one big blank.
It’s hardly any wonder though. How could you even possibly begin to describe romantic or sexual interest to an alien who evidently had no concept of the notion, or at least not in the same way you did? Even a textbook definition would no doubt spiral into a much deeper discussion involving semantics and hypotheticals, the influence of hormones and dopamine on the brain's functions which you were hardly qualified to talk about at length. All you really knew were the bits and pieces you’d picked up through osmosis in the orphanage's humble library when you were younger, but most of it had gone out the window in the years since then. You’d had much more important things to worry about like surviving your day to day to retain such frivolous information, though it certainly would have come in handy now.
Even worse, however, was the thought that he still might not understand what you were talking about even if you could go into an in-depth explanation. Did Piccolo even experience emotions the same way you did? Your history with him would seem to suggest no but, you try to convince yourself, there was every possibility you just hadn’t discovered the right way to appeal to them yet. He was relatively humanoid in appearance, from the composition of his body to the distribution of his muscle mass, his limbs, so then did that in turn mean …
You very nearly slap yourself for even thinking it. There’s no way you were that brave or that stupid but, to your growing surprise, it’s as if the thought sprouts root the second it crosses your mind and you can’t quite seem to shake it off all the way off after that. It was such a ridiculous idea too, one you wouldn’t have been able to put into words any more than you could the hypothetical theories involving love chemicals and brain signals to explain attraction to another person. Still, you didn’t exactly have a back up option. You didn’t even have an ace hiding up your sleeve for just such an occasion, and you helplessly flounder for a moment. Did you really dare do something so inherently risky? Could you even go through with it now that you’d been presented the opportunity? You were interested in him as more than just a mentor, yes, but what would the cost be if you admitted that?
“Do you really want to know?”
He faintly growls at that. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
You still hesitate, frantically weighing your odds before finally deciding that it would either have to be this or an incomprehensibly awkward explanation that was just as likely to piss him off as anything else would. The odds weren’t great, but they were something.
Even if it was only a slim possibility you found yourself willing to take it over the alternative any day, so you cautiously peel your hand off his thigh and reach across his lap. He watches you do it with a hawkish intensity that almost makes you stop but you press on, fearing his reaction yet knowing that there would be no going back once Pandora’s box had already been pried open. You also knew he expected an answer, a satisfactory one, and with no other choice in sight, you tentatively place your hand across the front of his pants.
Piccolo’s reaction is almost imperceptible, just a slight twitch around the corners of his eyes, but yours is much more pronounced in the form of your brows shooting straight up to your hairline while your mouth parts in abject shock. Not only was there a very prominent weight under your palm but it was big. Not massive or unwieldy, per se, yet certainly more than you’d expected to find. Honestly, you hadn’t even been sure if you would find anything at all.
“What are you doing?” He asks, low and unamused.
It’s enough to snap you out of it though, and you rapidly blink away the confusion in an attempt to reorient yourself. “I like you.” You say it again, emphasizing your point with a gentle squeeze around his girth. God, he felt like he was thick enough to make grasping him a two handed job.
“Am I supposed to know what that has to do with this?”
You let out a flustered little huff. He certainly wasn’t making this any easier on you, was he? “I’m well aware you aren’t human but how can you be so dense … haven’t you picked up on anything in all the time you’ve been here on earth? What do you think it means when I touch you like this?”
He seems to think about that, the furrow along his browline slowly deepening when you offer him another deliberate squeeze, this one for his benefit as much as yours.
“You want to mate with me.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and your eyes immediately widen to the size of dinner plates. “Wha - hold on, that’s - -“
You cut yourself off with a half strangled choking sound when his glare intensifies, cutting you straight to the bone. It quickly occurs to you that this was likely the best explanation you were going to get out of this, so you’d just have to see it through to the end now. Trying to give it any further nuance would just complicate things.
“Yeah, I do.” You relent with a stilted sigh. “I’ve wanted to for a while now, if I’m being honest.”
“You’re an even greater idiot than I thought then. My kind can’t reproduce with yours.”
You frown. Forget that that wasn’t even what you’d meant, there was no way you could pretend like you hadn’t heard him. “Why is that?”
Piccolo scoffs as if you’ve just asked the silliest question he’s ever heard. “Our bodies aren’t compatible for reproduction. My method is completely different from yours.”
Not so sure you believe that, you give the girth in his pants another pointed tug. “Then what is this for?”
He seriously regards you for a prolonged moment, altogether unperturbed by the contact of your hand against his genitals, which you find exceptionally odd. You’d thought for sure this was any man’s greatest weakness. His built in Achilles' heel which held sway over the higher functioning mind more often than not, but apparently you’d been wrong about that. Or, more precisely, you were wrong for assuming Piccolo would behave like a man just because he looked like one.
“It’s just a vestigial left over.” He says at last. “We used to mate similarly to humans but that was a long time ago. We’ve since adapted the ability to reproduce independently, without a partner. Even if that weren’t the case though we still wouldn’t be compatible.”
“We birth eggs.”
You have no idea how to react to that so you just gape at him, and his mouth immediately pulls into a bemused smirk.
“A little.” You admit in a small voice. “But I don’t really mind. We could still do it just for fun …”
Slowly, Piccolo’s mouth settles back into its customary frown, studying you for another moment longer before he finally deigns to speak again. “What is the point of mating if not to reproduce?”
“Oh, come on. Doesn’t it feel good at least?”
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never - -“ He abruptly stops himself short when you reach up to tug at the sash around his waist, attentively watching but making no move to stop you. His lack of protest is emboldening though, and you push up on your elbow so you can reach him a little bit easier.
It was probably silly but you had a hard time believing his anatomy would be so similar to a humans and even perform the same function at one time but not possess any of the sensitive, pleasure inducing nerve endings to make the experience an enjoyable one. Maybe he just had no previous experience and masturbation wasn’t something he felt naturally inclined to do. That would make a certain amount of sense given the way he seemed to associate the act of sex - or what constituted for it in his race - as solely procreative in nature but still. More curious than anything now, you simply had to get to the bottom of this great mystery.
And he allows it, possibly hinting at his own interest in finding out what would excite you so much, so it is with a great deal of anticipation that you work the band of fabric loose until you can pull it from around his waist. Without the sash, it’s relatively easy to nudge the top of his pants down even when he makes no move to help you, the sound of rustling fabric loud in the otherwise still night. His folded legs quickly prove themselves an impediment though and you straighten the rest of the way up with a click of your tongue, sitting beside him now so you can use both hands for this.
Grasping the bunched fabric with one, you carefully slip the other into his pants and your cheeks burn red hot when your fingers tentatively skirt across the ridged planes of his abdomen. It’s the same as the rest of him, equally hairless and lacking in imperfections, but it gradually becomes softer the further down you go. That firm musculature gives way to it, and your heart wildly pounds in your ears when you find the base of him just a short moment later.
You swallow your nerves as you take hold of him and gently pull up, tugging the front of his pants further down at the same time. Even having the girthy weight of him in your hand is not enough to fully prepare you for this moment though, and you suck in a sharp breath when Piccolo’s length finally materializes in plain sight. Not knowing what else to do now that you’ve gotten this far, you simply go stock still while holding on to it like an idiot as your brain desperately tries to catch up and actually process what it is you’re seeing.
He’s thick and moderately long, perfectly straight with a tapered tip that does not look at all dissimilar to that of a human males foreskin but you aren’t so sure his will retract the same way, appearing more or less permanently attached at just a glance. The ribbed bands that stretch across his forelimbs and abdomen are noticeably absent here, leaving his considerable cock as smooth as his chest. It’s a curious thing without any noticeable ridges or bumps, or even any veins pushing up against the skin, as if it were purposely streamlined for its purpose.
“Piccolo-sama …” You warble when you finally manage to find your voice again. “How did your people used to mate?”
“Hm? Through the throat.”
Ah. Well that would certainly explain it.
You can’t help feeling a little discouraged, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to take him like that even in your wildest dreams, but then a thought suddenly occurs to you. If his cock was designed for shooting seed down the hosts gullet then did that in turn mean oral sex was the default standard? If that’s what his body was programmed to respond to then …
Drawing a steadying breath, you impulsively lean over his lap and take an experimental lick up the side of his cock. The taste of him is reminiscent of the way he smells, clean yet earthy at the same time, and not at all disagreeable. You don’t seem to get much of a reaction for your efforts though, not even a twitch of interest, so you do it again, this time dragging your tongue up to the seamless tip. It’s different from a humans in this regard too, as there are no prominent ridges or dips to signify a glans, making it all just one sinfully smooth appendage meant to slide into place as snuggly as possible.
You shudder faintly when you imagine how it would likely feel inside you, slipping and sliding through your guts with almost no resistance to show for it, but you force yourself to stay on track and focused. There was something you needed to see for yourself first, and the chances of you getting any further than this would depend entirely on whether or not you could elicit a reaction out of him. If Piccolo really didn’t experience physical pleasure in the way you did, or even similarly, then there was hardly any reason for him to stick his dick in you, was there?
Shooting a cautious glance up at his face, you give him a meaningful pull with an accompanying twist of your wrist to go with it, hoping to encourage a response out of him. “Does it feel good?”
Disappointed, you turn your attention towards his cock again. Truly it didn’t seem to be getting any harder, but it also didn’t appear to flag or soften either. Was he just always like this? You were surprised you’d never noticed it pressing against the interior of his pants before now, if that was the case, though you supposed it probably wasn’t quite long enough for that. Not in his loose fitted, baggy pants.
“Do you want me to stop?”
A long pause.
“You can do as you wish.”
You steal another peak at him, undeniably surprised at his acquiescence, but he merely returns your wide eyed stare with his usual glower. It’s disconcerting in a way, that he should be so obviously unaffected by what you were doing to him and not at all what you would have expected but he didn’t seem opposed to it, or unwilling either.
Deciding to try again, you hunch over Piccolo’s lap and direct his cock to your mouth. Another kitten lick, this time to the meaty tip, rewards you with a fresh rush of that earthen flavor you’d tasted before. It was vaguely reminiscent of the forest after a rainstorm, all static and ozone, and just a hint of wet leaves, but undeniably pleasant in the way a warm cup of barley tea is. A far cry from the bitter salt of human precum, more savory, and you find that you rather like it as you take your time slowly swirling your tongue around the tapered head to get your fill.
Still, he doesn’t show much of a reaction to the ministrations of your mouth and it’s a struggle to just to come to terms with it. The notion that he might not even engage in sex the same way you do hadn’t so much as crossed your mind before this and now that you had the proof of it clutched in your hand you don’t know what to do. Evidently he’d been right to call you an idiot.
Frustration quickly gets the better of you, and you open your mouth wide to take him in as far as you can go. The functionality of his smooth tip makes itself immediately known when it slips easily into the back of your throat, nudging your tonsils, but you’re halted from pulling him in any farther when the rest of him proves too girthy for your neck to accommodate. You gag slightly around the intrusion, a tiny little hiccup that makes your shoulders jump, before settling in to work your mouth over the amount of him you can reach.
He lets you proceed in this manner for an extended period of time, no doubt listening to the increasingly desperate slurping noises coming from your mouth while you will him to feel something, anything, before suddenly shifting underneath you. You have but a split second of blinding hope that your efforts are paying off, that all he’d needed was just a bit of elbow grease to get his motor running, before his hand curls around the curve of your skull and you freeze.
“That’s enough.” He murmurs. “All you're doing is making a mess. It’s obscene at this point.”
Tears well in your eyes much too fast for you to stop them, and you slowly pull up with a faltering little sniffle. “I’m sorry, Piccolo-sama …”
Bringing his hand down, he brushes some of the hair from your face with a surprisingly gentle swipe of his fingers. “Why do you cry? Is something like this really that important to you?”
“No, but … I just wanted to make you feel good, that’s all.” So he’d like you. So he’d be soft with you. So he’d want to keep you around indefinitely, even if you wouldn’t get any stronger than you already were.
You can’t say that though and Piccolo falls silent for a moment, apparently mulling that over while you try to get your emotions under control. You didn’t even really understand it yourself. Surely it wasn’t normal to be so upset over something like this. And, more to the point, why were you even surprised when he’d never displayed any sort of baser urges in all the time you’d known him?
It didn’t make sense. None of this made any sense, and you felt silly for ever thinking your relationship with him, whatever it actually was, could be something more. He’d never shown any sort of interest in your body no matter what stages of undress he might have found you in. He never talked about past lovers or an interest in having one at all. Even just the telltale signs of a regular sex drive were completely absent so why on earth did you think this would be any different? Just because it was you and not someone else? That was a laugh, in retrospect.
The first tear finally overtakes your bottom lashes with that thought and it streaks a hot rivulet down your cheek, making you feel all the more foolish for it. You start to turn away from him in shame but, with an irritated click of his tongue, Piccolo suddenly grabs you around the neck and you choke in surprise.
“Stop that. Such an unnecessary overreaction … this is why you humans are nothing but a pain in the ass.”
Swallowing so hard you can feel your throat working under his palm, you tearfully acquiesce when he pushes you back. You think he just wanted you off of him, not that you could really fault him for that, but to your flabbergasted surprise he pointedly guides you further down, your spine folding under the pressure until you have no choice but to lay out in the grass beside him. You whimper faintly as you do it, feeling profoundly like a disobedient dog being put in place by its master, and that feeling only increases when he grabs your topmost shoulder and roughly shoves you over onto your back.
“Is this what you wanted?” Unceremoniously, he palms the swell of your tit with an aggressive squeeze and you jolt so hard you almost come right up off the ground. “Well?”
“P - P - Piccolo-sama!” Eyes comically wide, you stare up at his downturned face in flustered belief. He doesn’t seem to be at all dissuaded by your reaction though, and instead pinches down even harder, making you seethe and twist under his punishing attention. “T - too hard, Piccolo-sama! You’re being too rough!”
He immediately lets up on your breast, leaving you reeling and disoriented, but he doesn’t remove his hand all together. “Is this not what your men do to their women?”
Completely blindsided, you take a moment to catch your breath, still wincing at the lingering pain. The realization that he was trying to accommodate you, compromise and meet you somewhere in the middle, feels a bit like a smack to the face. This was the very last thing you’d expected him to do.
“It is,” you say at last, sending him another cautious glance. “But usually not so hard. It feels better if you’re gentle …”
“These are sensitive.” He muses thoughtfully, further acknowledging this with another squeeze that is far more tentative than the last. It sends a pleasant shudder rippling through you, making you relax into it with a stilted sigh.
You’re pleased to find that the contrast of this careful kneading is much more enjoyable and you push up into his hand with a subdued arch of your back, eager for more. “Yes, like that, Piccolo-sama. That feels better, but …” Hesitating, you reach up to place your hand on his wrist, torn between shoving him away or pulling him closer. “But you don’t need to do this if you don’t want to. It doesn’t make sense to keep going if you won’t get anything out of it too.”
“Who’s to say I won’t?”
You do a double take. “Huh?”
“You’re a damn idiot.” He practically snarls. “Just because I don’t experience physical pleasure the same way you do that doesn’t mean I can’t watch you enjoy it. Or do you want me to stop?”
You’re so caught off guard by that question you don’t know what to say or what to do. Don’t even really know what to think anymore. But then he starts to withdraw his hand at the uncertainty he sees in your face, and you scramble to grab onto his arm more securely, using both hands now. “Wait! That’s not what I meant! If you want to keep going I really don’t mind …”
Piccolo barks out a humorless laugh, dark amusement flickering behind his eyes. “Don’t mind it, huh?”
“W - well … if I’m being honest, I’d like that a lot. I just don’t want you to force yourself, that’s all. I don’t want to make this weird.”
“You say that now, after you already had your mouth on my body? You’re even more foolish than I thought, woman.”
Drawing a clipped, mildly bothered breath, Piccolo carefully closes his longer fingers around the meat of your tit again, squeezing until it’s just this side of painful. Your breath hitches in response but you make no move to protest or squirm away, trusting him to know when to stop. You’d already made it clear how much is too much, after all, so you placidly lie there at his side while his sharp focused gaze mindfully looks over the problem set out before him. It’s not hard to see the concentration etched along his brow, the thoughtfully grumpy pull of his mouth, but even that isn’t quite enough to distract you from the reality of what was going on here.
He was trying to be nice to you because … because he liked you? Because he wanted to make you feel good, just the same as you’d wanted to do for him, even if he couldn’t experience any of that same pleasure in return? Or maybe he was just curious, as one alien life form to another.
Either way, that certainly was not how you’d expected this to go. Especially not after learning just how different the unique physiology between your bodies actually is - so drastically at odds with one another that you two were incompatible, as he’d put it, but still. There was simply no turning a blind eye here. He was going out of his way to do something for your benefit despite how uncharacteristic that actually was for him, placating and humoring your silly little human feelings in equal measure. You couldn’t even begin to understand it, the what, the why or the how, but it makes your wildly pounding heart swell damn near to bursting. While not quite what you’d envisioned, it was something that seemed to suggest your feelings for him weren’t entirely unreciprocated.
Anxiously holding your breath, you grasp his forearm a bit more firmly and guide him into a groping, rolling motion that makes your skin tingle warmly. “It’s nice like this, too.” You tell him, hushed and soft.
He heeds your advice with nothing short of humility, making no attempt to grandstand or act like he has any real clue what he’s doing. Patiently, he follows your instruction until the steady, borderline possessive motion of his palm on your breast finally pulls a quiet whimper out of you just a few moments later.
“Does that truly feel good?”
You bob your head in a quick nod. “Yeah … your hands are big and warm. I’d like to feel them on my skin, too …”
Visibly hesitant, Piccolo peers into your face for a long beat as if he’s searching for something. The answer to this conundrum of what to do with you, what you expected from this physical contact that ultimately doesn’t amount to much from his perspective, or perhaps any outward sign of uncertainty. He doesn’t appear to find any of what he’s looking for though, and he silently unlatches his hand from your chest so he can reach down and tug the hem of your shirt from your pants. Rather than stopping long enough to untie the sash, he merely gives the fabric one sharp tug and your breath catches when it comes loose, exposing the line of your stomach to the night as he roughly shoves the gi up over the swell of your breasts.
Rather than zeroing in on them directly as most men otherwise might have, he directs his hand low again and presses it flat over your abdomen. The rough quality of his palm coupled with the size of it and the perhaps unintentionally dominant gesture has you mewling faintly, eager excitement pooling steadily in the pit of your gut.
“P - Piccolo-sama …”
He remains silent, as stone faced and impassive as ever, which somehow only manages to further excite you despite how odd such stoic behavior really is in this situation. And you shudder when he finally drags his hand higher, over the fluttering plane of your stomach and up across the rise of one tit to stop at your collarbone. He doesn’t miss the way you twitch halfway through the motion though and his focus locks in on it, analyzing it in the span of just a few seconds before he reaches for your chest again.
The way he proceeds to slowly drag his palm across your tit, snug in the thin sports bra he’d conjured for you months ago, is much more deliberate this time, more purposeful. Your soft nipple immediately pebbles and springs up under the pressure to push against the cotton still separating you from him and you quake, twitching sensitively at the contact. A sharp little gasp precedes the faltering moan that rises in the back of your throat, sounding odd and out of place against the near silent backdrop hanging over the mountain.
And the smirk that curls across Piccolo’s mouth at the sound is decidedly mean, an estimation that quickly proves true when he repeats the action a third time only to stop once his fingers are bracketing the stiff nub. You half expect it but a surprised woosh of pleasure still bursts out of you when he pulls the digits together, catching your nipple between them, so he can lightly worry it. The friction, though not great, still makes your loins eagerly curl and you squirm in the cool grass, quickly losing yourself to that warm, swimming haze of desire. You’d harbored this secret need to have him for so long now that your body seems particularly weak to it, overly responsive and tender, making even just the smallest brush of his skin against yours feel like something monumentally powerful.
Discreetly drawing your thighs together, you rub them in a blithe attempt at relieving the thrumming tension that builds there. It’s no use with the thick material of the gi still acting as a barrier though but for all your efforts to hide it, Piccolo still doesn’t miss what you’re doing, and he scoffs.
“I’m surprised,” he admits in a hushed, rumbling tone. “That something as small as this would bring you so much pleasure. Had I known this was all you needed I might have been more obliging. I like that look on your face though, woman. Should I keep going?”
You issue a faint groan and tip your chin down to voraciously drink in the picture perfect sight of his large hand cupped around your tit, making it look small in comparison. The rich shade of his skin stands out against the dark material of your bra even with the shroud of darkness muddling everything together, and a soft little shrill rattles out of you when you see how swollen your pinched nipple is between his fingers.
“Please keep going, Piccolo-sama … I want you to touch me more.”
Dragging your attention back up to his face, you lock heavy lidded eyes with his while you lift your hand to blindly fumble with the band stretched around your ribcage. You watch him intently, eager to see his reaction as you tug your bra up and one breast spills out, it's twin still trapped under his palm. He slowly blinks at the display, as unmoved by your tits as every other time he happened to catch a glimpse of them, but the script is a little different this time. Instead of merely looking away with an unimpressed scoff, he brings his hand up and redirects it to your bare skin. The pulse pounding anticipation is so great that you hardly even notice the slight chill that runs through you, burning much too hot from the inside out to really notice it.
The first contact of his rough, uniquely textured finger on your tightly coiled teat makes you jump, choking on a flustered yelp, before you push your chest up at him in further invitation. Piccolo catches on even quicker than you would have anticipated him to, gradually circling the circumference of your areola until the sensitive tip in the center is almost painfully strained and jutted up in search of the friction it seems to want so much.
Only when you finally whimper in high strung, dizzying need does he finally take the throbbing point between thumb and forefinger, giving it a slow tug that makes your pussy clamp down on nothing. It very nearly punches the air right out of you and, panting, you shoot him an imploringly desperate look through the heavy fall of your drooping eyelashes even as you fumble to release your other breast from the confines of your bra.
“Ah - ahhn’ feels good, Piccolo-sama … it feels good, please don’t stop.”
Noising a gruff sound that just might be amusement, he gives your poor little teat a sharper pull and you seethe, screwing your eyes shut against the blinding starbursts that erupt across your vision. The indelicate attention he shows your body only highlights that he has no idea what he’s doing, that he’s just testing your reactions to see what works and what doesn’t. This isn’t foreplay in the traditional sense, he isn’t trying to get you warmed up in preparation for the main event, but there’s something about this inexperienced manhandling that excites you a great deal. You’re disproportionately wet between the legs given how rough he’s being with you, and you whine when he persistently yanks on your nipple until you feel the plushy weight of your breast start to lift. Issuing a frazzled sound into the night, you throw your head back and twist on the ground, shoulder bumping his bent knee while you do it.
“Ooooh, that’s - stop, it’s too much!”
To your great relief, Piccolo immediately releases your throbbing tit and you cry out when the meat of your breast bounces back into place, the abused tip stinging smartly in the aftermath. You’re distantly aware of him observing your behavior even as you suck in a faltering breath, no doubt taking note of what garners a response out of you and how much can be applied before you complain about it. You’re a little too lost in this carnal rush of endorphins to give him any further direction or pointers though, struggling just to keep your wits about you so you don’t overstep your welcome with him. If he was willing to cater to your needs in this way but not in any other you were prepared to make do with that. Letting your slicking cunt get the better of you would just jeopardize whatever was currently happening between the two of you, and you didn’t want to risk it any more than you already had.
After closely guarding this attraction over the last few months, you were just happy to accept whatever little morsels or tidbits he might be gracious enough to give you in the here and now. You wanted him, may have even needed him, and not knowing what he might do next has you feeling damn near mad
Faintly wheezing, you spread your legs wide and reach down to slot your hand between them so you can cup the swell of your mound through your pants. It’s impossible to even think straight as you grind the heel of your palm into the spot where you needed it most, but you force yourself to find your voice again. “Here … will you touch me here too, Piccolo-sama? Please?”
He tips his head to glance down the length of your body, dispassionately taking in the needy little way you circle your hips as if to further emphasize what it is you want from him. Of course he doesn’t have any clue what you’re getting at or even what it is you’re asking for so he just stares at the desperate display until you practically sob at your own pitiful distress.
Shooting you a quick, unreadable look, he tentatively brings his hand down off your chest to slide it between your legs. He hesitates only a brief second before he closes his palm over your knuckles, just feeling out the way you rub your pussy for him. You hiccup at the sensation and push down a little harder, messaging yourself with a bit more purpose now so you can show him what would make you feel really good.
Your heartbeat is an erratic mess while you anxiously wait to see what his next move would be, wondering if he’ll acquiesce as he’d done up until now or if he would finally decide that this was the last straw. It was too much - you were asking too much of him, expecting too much from someone who obviously had no working concept of human sexuality nor any of the mechanics involved. On some level you knew you were being presumptuous and maybe a bit greedy, but it was impossible not to give in to that temptation when his smolderingly astute attention was fixed on you like this. If he would willingly touch your breasts then why not your cunt? That didn’t seem all that put off by the mammalian softness of your body but, rather, almost curious about it, encourages you to keep massaging your cunt for him almost as much as the vibrating pleasure that courses through you while you do it.
And at last he stirs as if from a singular trance, gently wrapping his fingers around yours before firmly prying them off your pussy. You whine at the loss, feeling helpless and so very pathetic, but the sound promptly cuts off with a choked little groan when he replaces your palm with his. Slow and steady, Piccolo caresses up and down the pudge of your clothed slit for a long moment, noting the way your pelvis cants into the rhythmic motion with his usual silent observation before eventually sliding his hand higher up your pelvis so he can forcefully pull at the sash around your waist.
A low, stuttering whine tumbles off your salivating tongue while he works it loose and then sets his sights on the band of your pants. You lift your hips for him as he yanks the heavy fabric down, legs curling up so he can pull them completely off along with your shoes. Dropping them in the grass, he reaches for you again and you eagerly spread your legs, watching him regard your exposed cunt with stoic interest.
“This is what excites human men so much?” He at last queries.
“Some of them.”
He thinks about that for a moment, intense gaze following along the velveteen cushion of your labia and the tender seam that splits your body in two. Then Piccolo reaches for you with a purpose, as if he's settled on a course of action, and you give a startled little jolt as he palms you again, the abrupt skin on skin contact sending violent shudders racing through your body.
“O - oh!”
Grunting as if in agreement, he rather casually grinds the heel of his hand down just as you’d done to yourself only moments prior. “You’re damp down here.”
“It’s s - supposed to be like that …” You pause long enough to swallow your nerves, the muscles in your constricting throat working hard. “It’s what happens when we’re excited.”
“Your species is so strange.”
You almost laugh at that, gurgling on the sound as you jut your pelvis into the pressure and haltingly follow the sedate if not demanding motion of his hand. “I’m sorry … nngh, this is - it’s because this is where your cock is supposed to go. In theory, anyway.”
You offer him a strained little smile to indicate that you were only joking, but he goes immediately still and sends you a slow look that makes you regret saying anything at all. He doesn’t give you enough time to correct yourself though, and you brace for the worst when he draws an evenly tempered breath to speak.
“What do you mean?”
Unequivocally floored by that question, you fumble for a painfully long moment before sending a pointed look at his lap. You had no idea how else to explain yourself, especially when your face was burning up thanks to a potent cocktail of genuine embarrassment and red hot desire but, for better or worse, Piccolo catches on quick as ever and he slowly looks down at himself where he’s still half hanging out of his pants.
It lasts only a few seconds, however, before his attention is back up on you. “Is that what you want?”
Your brain immediately shuts down as if someone had just pulled the plug on it. “W - what do you mean?”
“Do you want me to put it in you?” Piccolo growls, clearly nearing the end of his patience now. “Yes or no.”
“Wha - I - I mean - you know, it’s, ah - I don’t - uhh, y - you just - -“
With an audible click of his tongue, he twists his upper body so he can grab two meaty handfuls of your thighs and lift your bottom half up off the ground, effortlessly yanking you around so that your body is laying perpendicular to his. You very nearly pass out on the spot, your head spinning violently with the rush of motion, but you don’t even get a second to calm yourself before he's pushing up onto his knees. At the hefty bounce his cock gives with the motion, you start to feel well and truly faint.
“P - Piccolo-sama, you really don’t - -“
“Quiet.” He snaps, hardly the same spitting image of statuesque indifference he had been up until now, and you loudly squawk when he grabs at your legs so he can yank you across the grass, closer to where he’s now kneeling. “I can see it on your face, woman. You obviously want it so I will give it to you, but don’t you dare cry about being disappointed later.”
“I - I would never - -“ you start to assure him but your voice abruptly cuts off with a strangled gasp as he unceremoniously shoves your legs apart.
Evidently assessing this new challenge, he just stares at your cunt for an uncomfortably long time until you grudgingly realize you’re going to have to help him. Even his aggressive brand of confidence was not enough to conceal the fact he didn’t know what to do past this point. It’s a wonder you don’t break down into hysterics right then and there, but if he was willing to take it this far then who were you to tell him no?
Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire as you reach down, snaking your arms under your upturned thighs so you can press trembling fingers into the plushy give of your outer labia. You have to fight back a fresh rush of embarrassed tears while you do it but you’d come too far to chicken out now, and Piccolo’s expression gives away the slightest hint of surprise when you pull yourself open for him.
“Here.” You mutter, almost choking on it. “You don’t have to do it hard, just … push in here.”
A soft tap of your pointer finger draws his attention to your slicking entrance and he takes a moment to size you up before reaching for his cock. He looks doubtful, maybe even a little confused, yet whether for his pride or his hardened determination to surpass whatever obstacle he’s faced with, he doesn’t back down. And you can’t even bring yourself to watch, so overwhelmed by shame and desire that you turn your face away with a quiet whimper as he guides himself to your waiting cunt.
The first sensation you register is the soft, tapered tip gliding smoothly into place and you groan low in your chest, struggling just to breathe through it. He gives you a gentle nudge then, easing himself forward, and the uniquely streamlined shape of him quickly proves just as insidious as it had in your throat when it slips into you with almost no resistance to show for it at all.
It’s an easy insertion that rapidly becomes more difficult the further he eases into your shuddering cunt, making you seethe through your teeth at the deeply felt stretch. Piccolo momentarily falters, gauging the apparent discomfort present in the sound but seems to decide it’s not a sign for him to stop, and proceeds to rather mercilessly lean his weight into you.
A frantic wail promptly bursts out of your mouth at the pressure, tossing your head against the grass. Still, he does not stop and the borderline painful stretch soon has your hands flying out to cling to his forearm, his shoulder, his chest. It doesn’t seem to matter what you latch onto, anything would do while your toes uselessly flex in the air as if to find some amount of purchase there. He’s simply too thick and weighty for your poor little pussy to take, unstretched as it was, and even the efficiently smooth design of his length doesn’t help very much when he was simply too thick for your body.
One single, teary eyed glance at his face is enough to stop your impulsive urge to tell him to wait though, because you’d never seen such a severe look of concentration drawn across his features before. This was also the first time you’d ever witnessed him breaking out in a light, clammy sweat because of something you were doing to him and you aren’t sure what to make of it in the heat of the moment. Piccolo was always so far out of your reach, so reserved, that you were quite literally dumbstruck to see him so affected by this and the sharp stab of hope you feel in your chest has you dizzily groaning underneath him. The very notion that he might actually like how your guts feel wrapped around him is almost enough to have you convulsing right then and there, but you desperately clench your jaw in an attempt to stave it off.
You weren’t going to cum until you finally managed to get a proper reaction out of him. You swore you wouldn’t.
“Hnn - nnnnngghhhh!” The vulgar, borderline animalistic sound eventually forces its way through your gritted teeth when he at last finishes sliding home some moments later, your eyes rolling straight into the back of your head while your stuffed cunt sensitively flutters around the intrusion. He feels massive inside you. Not particularly long, but sufficiently wide enough to make it seem like he had you stretched right to the breaking point. It was simply too much, and your head lolls back in doped out bliss.
A light, attention grabbing slap to your cheek partially snaps you out of it, prompting you to blearily peer up at him with wide, blown out eyes. Your voice is caught somewhere between your wedged shut throat and your churning gut though, so you just stare up at him with nothing short of frazzled distress.
Piccolo studies you for a moment and then slowly smirks, flashing a hint of otherworldly fangs in a clear show of challenge. “Don’t tell me you're tapping out already.”
You jerk your head in a mute shake. The fact he sounded so unbothered, annoyingly unaffected while you were fighting just to keep yourself in one piece, would no doubt bother you later when you vividly recalled this very moment in dreamy reminiscence. He appeared as a god of legend might looming over you like this, all rough around the edges and impassively mean, yet noble at the same time, particularly with the dark, cloudy sky serving as a fitting backdrop to highlight his handsomely peculiar features. It just didn’t seem fair that he should break you in half on his cock and the only thing you had to show for it was the light sheen coating his viridescent skin, the nearly imperceptibly deepening furrow across his browline.
It only serves to further wind you up though, something about his inscrutable demeanor even when he’s sheathed straight down to the hilt inside your cunt that makes it all the more obvious just how unlikely such a pairing of two drastically different bodies actually is. You revel in it, delighted beyond measure and rattled to the core - numb with what just might be disbelief at your own luck as you bring shaking hands up to reach for him.
Eyeing you with a certain amount of cautious neutrality, Piccolo considers you for a prolonged beat before giving in. It occurs to you in this moment that he's always humored you in his own little way, far beyond just that of mere allowances for your delicate physiology in comparison to his, while always masking it behind an aggressively demanding veneer. This - all of it is the same, just another form of magnanimity that seemed to be uniquely applied to you and you alone - and you suddenly feel like an even greater fool for ever doubting his willingness to let you stay with him for as long as you may so desire.
Fervently, your arms circle around his neck as he hunches over you so he can brace his hands on either side of your head. His long cloak slips forward with the motion and curtains around you, making you feel strangely sequestered in your own little bubble of privacy and confidentiality. Profoundly intimate, despite being out in the wide open without even a thin tent to conceal your illicit activities. You were unequivocally safe with him though, and you’d never known that quite as surely as you do now when you realize he’s still patiently waiting for further instructions.
“You can move now.” You murmur softly.
“In and out. With your hips.”
He briefly considers the logistics of that, and you can all but see the gears abrasively grinding away behind his narrow eyes, no doubt trying to make sense of your request. You idly wonder if the thrusting part is not a natural inclination of his people, which would make a certain amount of sense if they truly copulated via the throat but you quietly file that away for later consideration.
Finally settling into the idea, Piccolo shifts over top of you and tips his chin down to peer at the spot where your bodies are connected. You follow his lead, abruptly realizing that at some point your muscles had started to relax around him, accommodating to the stretch, and it fills you with a soft pitter patter of hope that you’ll fare a bit better going forward. Or at least that it might be just a pinch easier, if nothing else.
That quaint little thought is soon quashed, however, when he starts to slowly angle his hips back and you feel the intense drag of his cock pulling against your guts in startling high definition. The fit is still too snug, his girth a bit too much for even your slicking arousal to do much good against, and you shrill in high strung distress as you fist your hands in the neck of his cloak. He’s as merciless in this as he is with anything else though, and he sedately pushes back in when he’s only a third of the way out. It doesn’t give you enough time to brace yourself, catching you somewhat off guard, and your muscles lock up with a dizzying amount of tension almost immediately.
Already toeing the line of a soul shattering orgasm just from having his cock bullied into you a second time, you toss your head back to peer up at him as if in a daze. You can hardly breathe for as overwhelming the stuffed full sensation is, especially when coupled with the greedy way your cunt seems to cling to him on his next stilted withdraw. Piccolo is well aware of you staring at him though, and he swivels his attention towards your face.
“Like this?” His voice is a low rumble, thick with concentration rather than the husk of pleasure you otherwise would have expected to hear.
“Uhh - uh huh!”
That appears to put him at ease somewhat and his shoulders relax slightly, easing himself into the motion as he searches out a rhythm to settle into based on the sporadic jolts in your expression. You can see the way he studies each one, noting what causes them and what doesn’t so he can focus his efforts on the former rather than wasting his time on the latter. In a matter of moments he seems to be knocking that tender spot inside of you with near expert precision, as if he’s done this a hundred times before and you hadn’t had to guide him through it every step of the way. You can’t quite catch your breath between helplessly bleating out in wordless ecstasy though, whatever you may have wanted to say about the unfair advantage he held over you even now firmly trapped inside your throat.
“Just as I thought.” He says after a prolonged moment of watching you writhe and cry out for him. “You look frustratingly good like this.”
Your brows draw upward in confusion, too doped out on fast pumping adrenaline and potent endorphins to make any sense of it. You try to question it but all that comes out is a strangled moan that makes your eyes vibrate in their sockets so you forcefully swallow, take a heaving gasp of air and try again. “Uhhn - uuugghhh! Pi - Piccolo-sama! Wha - aaagghn! What are you - -“
“Isn’t it obvious?” He cuts you off with a sharp, characteristically mean smirk. “I know what you humans call this. I’m fucking you, aren’t I?”
You seize so suddenly it actually catches you off guard, so irreparably rattled at hearing that particular phrase come out of his mouth - and aimed at you no less! - that you instinctively clamp down on him, hard. The subconscious reaction immediately sends your cunt into a pulsing frenzy, wildly squeezing down on his cock so violently that it brings tears to your eyes. Tossing your head back again, you helplessly scream for him despite knowing that if there was any other soul on this mountain ridge they’ve surely heard you wailing now, if not sooner. It doesn’t even seem to matter though, your inhibitions long gone out the window as you quake so feebly through your mind numbing orgasm that you almost don’t even register the moment your pussy erupts, spraying the front of him in arousal.
The pressure on your guts is too great though, and it seems to force it right out of you no matter how hard you clench in roiling, shell shocked disbelief. You screw your eyes shut with a keening shriek when a second spurt shoots out of you to further soak him but even then he doesn’t let up on the steady push and pull of his heavy girth along your palpitating cunt. With no other option, you lie there and take it, your head a mess of static white noise that doesn’t clear up even when you finally start to come down from the high some moments later.
Still twitching relentlessly, you go boneless underneath him with a disgruntled, overwrought groan. Another quickly follows when, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, you feel your pussy give one last pulse that sends a weak jet of watery fluid across Piccolo’s waist before receding to an obscene dribble. You’re aware of it running down the sides of his cock in warm rivulets where he’s still wedged inside of you before making its way down your upturned ass to bleed into the grass below. The shock mixed with this unprecedented level of satisfaction searing through your veins has you feeling appropriately intoxicated, and all you can seem to do is let your head loll on the ground when he eventually moves to pull out.
You still wince at the final pull against the gummy sleeve of your insides, now sore and overly sensitive, but a heaving sigh of relief soon follows as he slips loose of your clutching grip on him. The vague thought that he's left you gaping in the aftermath, as evidenced by the weak, palpitating flutter around absolutely nothing, crosses your mind for a quick moment and then it’s gone. What did it even matter anymore? You were already irreparably ruined for any other man in terms of everything else, why should your cunt be any different?
“Woman,” he suddenly growls, drawing you out of la la land by only a small margin. “Is this really how your kind mate? The mess you’ve made is indecent.”
“Mm’sorry,” you slur inelegantly. “It usually isn’t so … much.”
Scoffing in clear distaste, Piccolo stands up so he can tuck himself back into his pants before stepping over your splayed out leg, bending down to grab under your arms. He effortlessly hauls you up to hang from his hold, keeping you a safe distance away from his person as if his clothes could get any more soiled than they already were. Not that you could really blame him for being annoyed about it but still.
“Where’re we going?”
“That should be obvious. Now both of us need to get cleaned up because of you. A little warning would have been nice, by the way.”
“I didn’t know.” You weakly protest, but he pays it little mind.
Somehow you aren’t the least bit surprised when he unceremoniously tosses you into the hotspring as if you were nothing more than a sack of potatoes needing to be washed.
The two of you depart from the mountain the next afternoon as if nothing had even transpired between you and him the night before. He was still as grumpy with you as ever, maybe even a little more so than usual after you’d drenched the front of him in arousal, but not much seemed to have changed. It’s not like you’d really expected it to, given who he was, but you just considered yourself lucky to have woken up with him still there at all.
Flying high overhead, Piccolo leads the way while you follow from the ground on your trusty motorbike. It was an older model from Capsule Corp but it got the job done in terms of keeping up with him, though it certainly helped that he kept his pace at a reasonable speed so you wouldn’t lose him. It was an all together comfortable way to travel, especially knowing he could keep a better eye on what was ahead than you were able to from your vantage point down below. It also saved you the ordeal of having to be carried like a damsel in distress, so there was that too.
For three days and two nights you cross countless miles of land almost nonstop, the landscape gradually shifting from the richly dotted mountainous region you’d started in, saying goodbye to the dense thickets of bamboo and rolling mists, to the flat stretch of farmland on the other side. It was occupied by simple country folk who waved as you sped by, oblivious to his presence up in the air. From there it eventually turned into a craggy wasteland and then, finally, the desert.
You grow suspicious of where he’s leading you almost as soon as you cross over into the sand dunes, but you grudgingly keep plowing forward once the familiar warmth of your homeland seeps into your skin. It feels a bit like a reassuring hug from an old friend, comforting and encouraging in equal measure, so you decide to let it go. You trust Piccolo’s judgment, after all, and it’s not as if he’d ever steered you wrong before. Surely he knew better than to revisit old wounds.
The first pangs of true doubt start to creep into your mind when you see him descend from up in the clouds to touch ground somewhere up ahead. Your gut tells you he’s up to something, though you can’t even begin to guess what. You’d half expected him to fly right through this area to get to whatever was beyond that - what that might be you weren’t sure. You’d never traveled that far west before. You also hadn’t been back here since the day he’d found you all battered and bruised, and you don’t know what to make of it.
Slowing to a stop some few yards behind him, you turn the bike off and nudge the kickstand into place. Dismounting, you hesitantly shuffle over to him on lead heavy feet but he doesn’t even glance up from where he’s looking out over a rocky ledge with his back to you. Coming up beside him doesn’t draw his attention either so you slowly glance down at what he’s staring at and a stiff shudder promptly tears through you.
“What is that?”
“You really don’t know?”
You study the sun ravaged tent with nothing short of contempt. Of course you had some guesses but you weren’t so sure you wanted to entertain any of them. “I might have an idea. I don’t think I like it though.”
“Oh?” Finally turning away from the tiny encampment, Piccolo glances over at you with his usual brand of aloof disinterest. “I thought you might appreciate a chance to exact some revenge.”
Suddenly chilled, you turn to regard him with widened eyes. “Is that really why you brought me here?”
“No, it is ultimately your choice to make. Take it or leave it. I’m only giving you the opportunity.”
“But why - -“
“It is why I gave you that gi, though.”
Your mouth drops open but nothing comes out, confusion no doubt running rampant across your expression, and he smirks.
“I meant to acknowledge you with it, yes, but not in the way you assumed. You’ve reached the point where you can take back what was taken from you without my help. This is my way of giving you permission to use what I taught you however you may see fit.”
Dumbfounded, you just stare at him for a moment longer before finally managing to find your voice. “You think I can take those guys on by myself?”
“I know you can.”
You pull back in shock, floundering for something to say. But when all you draw is one big blank and nothing of use, you slowly look out over the ridge again in contemplative silence. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him. You had a feeling he was probably right about that, actually, yet it was still hard to wrap your head around the notion that he thought so highly of the progress you’d made. Far be it you’d ever landed a damaging blow on him even once, let alone withstood his hand to hand sparring for longer than five minutes at a time, but still. You had gotten rather good at fighting.
To be fair, though, him being a super strong alien certainty put you at a steep disadvantage so of course gauging your own strength against him was all but impossible. Against other humans though …
Warily, you swing your attention back around again. “You’re sure?”
“I wouldn’t say you were ready if you weren’t.” Piccolo grumps, arms crossing over his chest. “They’re nothing but trash so they deserve whatever it is you choose to dish out. You don’t need to hold back with the likes of them.”
“Okay.” You mouth the word then, in a stronger voice, “Okay! Are you going to watch me?”
He outright snorts at that. “Of course I am. What a stupid question.”
Practically grinning from ear to ear, you eagerly motion him along. “Alright, then let’s go! I’m excited to see how well I do against someone other than you anyway.”
“I bet you are.”
Twenty minutes later finds four bandits laid out across the ground, most of them face down in sand drifts stained dark with blood, while you haul the last one up by the front of his torn smock. The adrenaline rush is wild, so much so that you barely even notice the splintering pain in your shredded knuckles. You’d gotten a little carried away, sure. Gone overboard when a certain amount of discretion on your part would have gone just as far, but you felt indescribably good. Great even. It hadn’t occurred to you until now just how therapeutic a good beat down could actually be and, to your absolute delight, your mentor had been absolutely right in his estimation of you. These men never stood a chance against you after all that hellish training you’d endured. You may not have been even close to being the strongest in the world, not by a long shot, but you were strong enough to take care of yourself and that’s what mattered most.
That and of course Piccolo, standing off to the side like an ever watchful sentry, just observing your admittedly violent display with a little smirk in place. He looked as if he’d been carved from the very limestone that sprouts up out of the ground in this region, a spark of what can only be pride flashing in his dark eyes as you belt the man in your hold across the face so hard a tooth goes flying off into the sand. His hawkish approval meant even more to you than you would ever admit, and you were glad he’d brought you here.
It was almost as satisfying as being stretched out on his cock.
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