The Training Trip [LEMON]
by, Trisha L. Sebastian


[This story is a Lemon, which means that it cannot be distributed 
to those under 21.  Reader's discretion is advised.]




Ranma stared glumly into the fire.  He ached all over, from the
numerous bruises that his father doled out to him, all in the
name of "training".  "The old man really didn't need to hit
*that* hard," he muttered to himself, glaring at his father,
who was currently snoring in panda form on the other side
of the fire.  He stretched uncomfortably, his ribs bumping against
his sore muscles.  He didn't think he could take two weeks of this.

"Maybe if I walked it out, it wouldn't hurt so much," Ranma sighed,
lurching to his feet.  He took no fewer than five steps away from 
the fire when he heard a twig snap.

His head came up, eyes alert.  "Who's there?" he challenged.
"Show yourself!"  All he got in reply was a low throaty chuckle.

"I've got you now!" Ranma cried, as he charged towards the
sound, heedless of the low wire stretched tautly on the ground
before the edge of the clearing.  He tripped, hands sprawling
out in front of him to absorb the fall and prepare for a roll.
A small pain pricked at his leg and he crashed forward into
the bushes.  "What?" Ranma mumbled, plucking a small dart out
of his ankle.  Then all went blank.


*******************************


The first thing Ranma noticed upon regaining consciousness was
that he could not see.  A thick hood covered his head, with only
a small opening for his nose to poke out, and a metal zipper over
his lips.  Ranma thrashed about, feeling leather bands on his arms 
and legs, holding him spread-eagled, his torso bare to the waist.

"mmmmrrraugh!" he yelled, his voice heavily muffled by the tight,
constricting hood.

Cold metal touched his belly, and Ranma stiffened.  It turned, 
revealing a razor-like edge as it traced a lazy trail across his
abdomen, leaving a welt.  Whoever this person was, he meant business.
The message seemed to be, "Shut up, or you get this knife in your
stomach."
Ranma shuddered at his bonds, and the metal disappeared, only to be 
replaced by a compact fist to his gut.

Ranma doubled over, head leaning forward as his body was kept in place
by the leather bands and the chains.  Another fist to the stomach,
then a sharp slap to his ears.  Head ringing, he lifted up his head,
and shouted again.  This time, he was rewarded by a stout kick.  And
then, a hand on his crotch, grasping his penis tightly.  Ranma froze.

The sadist torturing him chuckled again, and gripped tighter, almost
crushing it.  Ranma screamed, then shuddered in horror as the tight
clench became a soft caress.  Even more to his horror, he was beginning
to respond, stiffening underneath that soft touch.

Again, the metal against his stomach, then it sliced downwards, ripping
through the ties that wound around his waist.  His pants slid down around
his hips, revealing his boxer shorts.  Those, too, were sliced expertly
away as the hand gripped and smoothed, running over his head and glans,
down to his balls and shaft.  Ranma groaned, trying not to enjoy the
sensations, and then the hand stopped, then disappeared.

Ranma jerked his head back in surprise, then that fist pounded against
his temples, then square in the chest.  He swallowed convulsively,
trying to ignore the pain from the new bruises over the old ones, the 
fear beginning to well up, the desire building within him.  

He screwed his eyes shut in pain, as the figure kicked at his legs, the
bindings holding him upright as his legs threatened to give out under-
neath him.  A soft touch, a fingernail ran from his knee all the way
up his inner thigh, stopping just at his scrotum.  Ranma shuddered
again, inwardly groaning as the hand clamped down again on his penis,
stroking it briskly.

Ranma knew what the game was now.  It was torture, of the sickest
kind.  This pervert wanted him to like being touched.  This sicko wanted
him to beg for the touch, to accept the blows without screaming, to 
accept that creepy touch without puking.  Well, two could play at that
game.

The hand quickened on his shaft, and Ranma screamed again, delighted
that the sicko stopped jerking him off and hit him in the head instead.
Pain, Ranma could handle.  All he'd have to do was annoy the prick long
enough, and then the pervert would leave him alone.  He was hit in the
chest several times, kneed in the gut, then finally given an open-handed
slap that rocked his head to the side, fireblooms bursting in front
of his tightly closed eyes.  Then, nothing.

Ranma sighed in relief, sagging further down, held up only by the chains
linked to his wrists.  Good.  If he stayed still long enough, maybe
the guy'd get the message and leave.  He heard a rustling sound next
to him, like a snake shedding its skin.  He turned his heat towards the
sound, and felt a hand grasp his face, tugging at the zipper.

Once his mouth got freed, he opened his mouth to shout, and was rewarded
with a mouth clamping over his, a tongue thrusting into his mouth.
Furious, Ranma tried to clamp down on the intruder's tongue, and froze
when he felt soft feminine breasts against his chest.

A woman?  This was a woman?  Ranma felt arms wind around his neck,
pressing his chest further into the softness before him, long hair
brushing his arms.  Well, that definitely ruled out Akane.

Who could it be?  Ranma shuddered, feeling his member rise again at
the female's soft ministrations.  Kodachi?  Shampoo?  Ukyou?
Ranma's mind swirled with the possibilities, and even as he stiffened
again at that hand upon his penis, his imagination began to work.

Maybe it was Ukyou who was stroking him now, her soft hands, partially
calloused from cooking for so long, covering his shaft, pulling at it
strongly, silkenly, cupping his balls.

Maybe it was Kodachi, her wicked eyes gleaming at him as she knelt before
him and took his penis into her mouth, using her tongue to encircle the
head of his penis while she hungrily suckled at him.

Maybe it was Shampoo, who even as he tried to hold back the growing
desire, weakened as she cupped his butt cheeks, almost supporting him
as he pistoned in and out of her mouth.

Shampoo.  Kodachi.  Ukyou.  The images, the sensations, the touch
whirled in and out of his mind as his desire crept higher and higher,
until he came in a maddening rush, unable to hold back the cries any
longer.  To his surprise, she sucked him dry, almost ritually cleaning
his shaft free from the globules of cum before booting him in the
stomach.

"What'd ya do that for?" he cried.

"You spoke."  The voice, muffled and low, teased at his memory, while
she punched and kicked at his torso again.  Blood began to trickle
from a cut she had made when she struck his chest, and she lapped it
up with an eager tongue.

"Who are you?" he sobbed, angry at her for striking him, yet blissfully
floating on the high she had just given him.

Hands came around his head, unzipping the hood.  It disappeared, and Ranma
opened his eyes to see---


******************************


"My, Saotome.  Ranma seems to have benefited from this training
trip of yours.  He seems much more confident."

"Well, yes, Tendou.  I always know what's good for the boy.  But
even he surprises me with his own dedication to learning the Art
sometimes."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, over the two weeks we spent in the mountains, he'd train with
me during the day, and Cologne at night."

"Cologne was there, too?"

"Oh yes, she said she had some 'special training' for Ranma.  Something
she couldn't teach any one else but him."

"Do you think this a trick that she's playing to get him to marry
that grand-daughter of his?"

"Hm.  I doubt that.  Ranma seemed eager enough to train with her.  He
went every night.  Says he needed to practice his technique."

"Hm."  The two men were lost in thought.

"Your turn, Saotome."

"Oh?  So it is......"




THE END


Trisha L. Sebastian
tls@thekeep.org
Proud Member of the BML Productions Crew

=========================================================
OVERHEARD:
Two more glasses of scotch, and I'll recite 
Shakespeare in Islamic pentameter.
"Forsooth, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is...not veiled? Stone her! STONE HER!!"
			--Matt Nute

She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves 
me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law
of the musical world required that the German 
text of French operas sung by Swedish artists
should be translated into Italian for the clearer 
understanding of English-speaking audiences.
		--Edith Wharton

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