FSE

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Gatomon squints her eyes as she climbs the peak of an enormous dune, her feet sinking a few inches into the sun-baked sand with every step. Behind her stretches miles of virgin desert, its dusty surface worn smooth from eons of harsh wind. Her lone tracks are the only indication of life as far as the eye can see, but she knows that's not true.

Just a few more steps. She knows it's here.

At the crest of the dune, at last, it comes into view: hidden on all sides by tall sweeps of sand, an oasis hides away from the ceaseless erosion of the wind, alive and unspoilt. It is a lush gathering of verdant green and sparkling blue; tall trees bend with the weight of their fruits, flashes of vibrant red and yellow peeking out from under their wide, fan-like leaves.

In their shade, grass springs tall and healthy from the ground, hydrated by the presence of a wide lake of clear, cerulean water.

Her morning patrol has brought her here, to this familiar spot in the vast digital desert. At the wonderful sight of it, Gatomon wets her parched lips and takes off down the steep slope towards it, laughter caught in her lungs. She knew it was there, of course. It always has been. The oasis has likely existed here since the Digiverse's creation, long before her time, yet still it fills her with a rush of joy and relief every time she returns.

That such a place could cling to life amid the dry, unforgiving desert is a constant wonder to her. The air here is sweet and fresh, fragrant with grass pollen, alive with the sounds of chirping insects and birdsong. It smells like freedom, like pure optimism. For all the sun may beat down with its relentless heat, and the winds may wear the earth featureless and barren for miles around, somehow, in this one little spot, life thrives. It does not give up.

And as long as that remains true, neither will she.

The soft grass beneath her feet welcomes her like an old friend. She approaches the water's edge and stands for a long moment, staring out across the rippling lake and taking in its refreshing scent, before crouching down to cup the warm water to her mouth for a drink.

Its taste is so pure, so clean, she can't help but hum with pleasure. There's no water like this anywhere else in the Digiverse, she's sure. It's this place; something about it feels protected. It's as if nothing could ruin its beauty, nothing could dilute its sheer, almost magical purity.

She takes a few more sips to quench her thirst, then can't resist the urge to take a swim. She removes her claws and Holy Ring, setting them carefully behind a small patch of ferns beneath some nearby palm trees. It's more out of habit than necessity that she hides them; there's no reason for her to feel unsafe out here, but still, she is keenly aware of how vulnerable it makes her to remove them.

But it won't be for long, and swimming without them will be so much more enjoyable.

At the first touch of water around her ankles, Gatomon's ears swivel back and her tail twitches in delight. It feels like years since she last did this. In truth, it can't be more than a few months. The last few times she visited the oasis she had been in too much of a hurry to indulge herself in a swim, but today, she has plenty of time to spend. So she descends slowly, skimming her fingertips along the gleaming surface, her skin beneath her fur prickling warmly as it soaks in to wash away the day's sweat and grime.

She spends the better part of an hour relaxing in the invigorating water, alternately floating on her back so that she can stare up into the endless blue sky, then swimming in aimless patterns, graceful and relaxed, watching waterfowl glide away from her, their bright, water-speckled plumage glimmering in iridescent hues under the midday sun.

Back on shore, near where she first entered the lake, several birds take sudden flight. She watches them circle high into the air before disappearing beyond the line of trees, calling to each other as they head off to a destination unknown. It would be nice, she thinks, to look across the desert from their point of view. This oasis would stick out like a sore thumb from any vast distance; reaching it would take minutes, rather than hours.

It isn't until she's wading back onto dry land, smoothing her hands down her fur to press the water out, that she wonders if something had startled the birds. She didn't see any movement through the trees, and scanning the area now, everything seems still. But it's an unnatural kind of still; like the trees are holding their breath, and all the insects have gone mysteriously quiet. It makes her damp fur stand up in suspicion, but nothing appears out of the ordinary.

Perhaps the birds were disturbed by a small predator. A desert cat, or perhaps some large rodent. Whatever it was, nothing seems to be there anymore. But the matter has put her on edge. Experience has taught her to listen to her gut, so in the interests of feeling safe, she decides it would be a good idea to put her gloves and ring back on.

But when she brushes aside the ferns of the place she remembers leaving them, her blood runs cold: the spot is empty. For a moment she can only stand and gawp at the bare ground. Is this the right place?

She rummages through several other ferns, but no, she isn't mistaken: they're gone. Someone or something has taken them. Alarmed, she straightens and strains her ears for any sound, her eyes flitting between gaps in the swaying trees, every shifting shadow and broken beam of sunlight a potential threat. It is perhaps this sudden sensory overload that allows him to approach her undetected.

"Looking for these?"

Gatomon spins on her heel to find a smirking, humanoid Digimon standing a few feet behind her. She doesn't recognize him. As Digimon go, he isn't the tallest Gatomon has seen, but he still towers over her by several inches. Thin wrappings of leather armor cover his torso and hips, and he stands upright, eyes narrowed at her from beneath a blaze of red hair. Two of his four muscular arms are crossed loosely over his chest, affecting a casual stance.

In his free pair of hands, he holds aloft Gatomon's claw gloves and Holy Ring. He gestures as if to offer them to her, but his arms pull back the moment she reaches out for them.

"Give them to me," she snarls, refusing to let the tickle of fear in the back of her mind creep into her hardened expression. She knows she's vulnerable like this, but does he? She can't take the chance of letting him find out.

"I don't think so," he replies, his mouth twisting in amusement. "Never heard of 'Finders Keepers'? These belong to me, now."

"You can't do that, they're mine!"

"Oh?" His tone belies no surprise at her attitude. "Then, why don't you take them back?"

Not one to back down from a challenge, Gatomon bares her teeth and lunges at him. Despite the loss of her accessories, she is still a capable fighter and quick on her feet, but the taller Digimon deftly swivels out of her way. She tries again, but the thief simply laughs and leaps out of her reach again, dangling her possessions teasingly between them.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his boots kicking up a spray of dirt and sand as he leaps back to avoid a swing of her fists. "Feeling tired? I had no idea you were so much weaker than you looked."

For every step she takes towards him, he takes another back, grinning all the while. He's clearly trying to humiliate her. What's worse: it's succeeding.Trickster, she thinks, glaring at him. What is he even doing here? How did he find this place? And how had he managed to approach her without her detecting him?

"Fine," she growls, fed up with his games. "I get it. You want something in exchange. So name it, and then give me back my stuff!"

His eyes light up at her offer. "There is something I want," he says, his steady gaze causing her hackles to stand on end. "It's nothing, really. But if you give it to me, I'll let you have your things back."

There's something else, some dark intent that flickers just beneath the surface of his expression. She can't help but be curious. What could he possibly want that's more valuable than the items he already has in his possession? Whatever it is, she knows she isn't going to like it. She's no idiot: she can tell his motives go beyond mere thievery. But there's not much else she can do but offer to give him what he wants. If she can only get her hands back on her gloves and ring, the rest of it won't matter; she'll be able to defend herself, overpower him if need be. Until then, this will be a battle of wits, not brawn.

But what he says next takes her entirely by surprise.

"I want... a kiss."

Gatomon blinks. Surely she misheard him? "A... kiss?"

"Yes. You see, I saw you swimming just now and I was captivated by your beauty. I'd like a kiss."

"And you thought you would ask for it by stealing my things, is that it?" Her anger flares. Who does he think he is? "You couldn't just ask?"

"Would you have done it if I'd_just asked_?" he replies, and Gatomon knows instantly that she wouldn't. Even if his body wasn't marked with ugly scars, and his skin wasn't clammy with sweat from the desert sun, there's a foul stench about him; it causes her to scrunch up her nose in disgust. But no matter how he might have looked or smelled when he ambushed her out here in the middle of nowhere, she wouldn't have done it.

It's not his physical attributes that send alarm signals blaring in her ears: it's the aura of_wrongness_ about him. His presence in this idyllic place is like a smudge of ink on a clean page, a maggot burying inside a juicy apple. A feeling of danger radiates from him like a siren, screaming its warning to a sixth sense she never rightly knew she had. She can't ignore it, but neither can she see any other way of gaining the advantage, not while he holds the source of her power hostage.

All she can do is defer her rage, bottle it up so that she might unleash it on him later when she's at full power. She'll teach him a lesson he won't soon forget. She was caught off-guard today, but it's a mistake she'll never make again, that's for damned sure. Besides, she's been through worse than this in her life. One half-hearted peck on the cheek for some low-life thief is no great hardship.

It's humiliating as hell, but nobody has to know. They are the only two Digimon around for miles.

"Fine," she mutters, teeth grit in irritation. "One kiss. And you'll give them right back?"

His unoccupied set of hands fold behind his back. "Of course," he replies, failing utterly to appear sincere in his intentions, his grin widening to display a set of jagged teeth. As if he couldn't look more physically repulsive.

She takes a step closer, then another when he doesn't flinch away. When finally they stand toe-to-toe, she can see the deep orange of his mocking eyes. His gaze follows her like a lion watching its prey, intense and focused.Joke's on him, she thinks darkly. She'll be the one hunting him before too long. She reaches out for her items again, slowly, watching his face for any trickery he might try on her.

He releases his grip, dropping her claw gloves and ring to the sand-speckled dirt with a soft_thud_. "Oops," he says, not breaking eye contact. "Sorry."

Gatomon bites her tongue. Now he's being deliberately childish. He'll probably try to kick sand in her face the moment she bends over, the bastard. Well, he won't get a rise out of her. Thinking ahead, she stoops quickly and turns her back to him in one smooth motion, intending to scoop up her items and take off at a sprint before he can react.

But it's her who can't react fast enough: he must have been waiting for this very opportunity, because before she can grab her things, the top pair of his hands dart forward to grab her roughly by her wrists. He yanks her arms behind her back, and a second later she feels the cold grip of metal shackles locking around them. It all happens so fast, she's trapped before she even understands what's happening.

"Hey! What--Let me_go_!" She kicks back with her feet, but he's standing too close. She can't reach him.

His chest rumbles with a wicked laugh. "Why? I've got what I want, now."

She thrashes against him, but it's no use. His hold on her is firm. He's much stronger than he appears, and while holding her by the wrists with one set of hands, his others close something else around her neck: a slave collar, heavy and metal. She catches a glimpse of its dull grey band reflecting the glare of the sun as it snaps into place, and she can smell the bitter oil of its hinge, acrid at the back of her throat.

She hears the clinking of a chain, then the collar pulls taut, momentarily choking her. Something clicks, the sound of it terribly final, and she realizes with dawning horror that the collar and wrist cuffs have been chained together. It severely limits her movement, and she's forced to bend her elbows slightly to loosen the pressure at her throat.

"The hell--!" she manages. "Stop! You can have the damn ring if you want, just get off me!"

"The ring?" He laughs, forcing her to turn around by her shoulders. She keeps her head ducked; she can't meet his eyes, not bound as she is, cowed and humiliated like this. Fury wells in her chest at how easily he bested her. What a fool she was for showing her back to him. "What would I want with such a useless trinket? No, you're far more valuable than any ring."

She's about to ask what he means, but then his foot hooks around the back of hers, and he uses it to set her off-balance and throw her down onto the ground. Pain shoots through her back at the impact; she landed mostly on a patch of dirt and grass, but several hard rocks dig into her at uncomfortable angles. Her attacker doesn't seem to care: he's on top of her in a second, pinning her with his weight, one set of hands pressing her shoulders down to immobilize her while the others pry her thighs apart. Fear strikes at the heart of her when she realizes what he intends to do next, and her eyes fly open, wide with panic.

"No!" she yells. "Don't!"

"I enjoyed the sight of you taking that swim," he says, his eyes darkening above the white grin of his shark-like teeth. "It gave me some great views of this tight body of yours."

Her mind races. What can she do? She can't escape, and he won't listen to reason. All she can think to do is scream as loud as she can, the noise of it sending a flock of birds scattering somewhere nearby, but her attacker only grins wider at her efforts.

"Help! Help!" He parrots her words back at her mockingly. "Yell as loud as you want, there's nobody else here. Nobody's coming to save you."

She ignores him, shouting until her throat is hoarse. She doesn't care how it sounds--she's long past the point of embarrassment. Her only hope now is that somebody will chance by them and hear her. All she would need is a minor distraction, someone stumbling across them, diverting Gilgamon's attention for just a moment. It wouldn't take much to tuck up her knees and kick him squarely in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

But as one of her attacker's hands undoes his belt and pulls aside the leather fabric at his groin, her voice climbs in pitch of its own accord.

"Don't you fucking_dare_!"

He leans in close to speak by her ear. The sudden closeness of him--the cloying smell of his sweat, the heat of his breath--sends a shudder of disgust through Gatomon's entire body. "It's time you learned something. And the sooner you learn it, the less you'll suffer. You belong to me, now. You're my property, do you understand? A_slave._ You are no longer your own person; you have a new owner now, and his name is Gilgamon."

Gilgamon--the name will haunt her for the rest of her life. There's movement again, down below where she can no longer see past his self-satisfied smirk, and suddenly she feels something warm and smooth press between her legs at her most vulnerable place.

Her thighs tense, an impotent attempt at defending herself. Sheer desperation is overtaking reason and logic, and she tries a different angle this time, attempting to sound as much the pitiful, scared victim she will never be. If that's what he wants, she thinks, then let him think he has the upper hand.

"Please don't..."

But it's useless to try to appeal to his decency. Her words only intensify the look of enjoyment on his face as he surges forward with his hips, driving the length of his hard cock inside her. Gatomon's back arches off the dirt, her throat choking with a cry as burning pain sears through her at the sudden, dry intrusion. And whether it's simply the product of being taken so roughly, but he feels huge, thick enough that she worries for one brief, panicky moment that he might split her apart.

Just as quick as he entered, he pulls back, the rub of it equally dry, dragging against her muscles as if to turn her inside-out. Then he thrusts hard again, burying himself to the hilt, and Gatomon can't stop the gasp of pain that startles out of her lungs. Her fingers scrabble uselessly at the grass at her back; she can't reach the cuffs to try to pry them off, and even if she could, every movement of her arms threatens to squeeze her airway closed.

Her feet are equally useless, toes digging into the dirt, trying to push her up and away from the thing pressing painfully into her, but Gilgamon still has her held against the dirt by her shoulders, and she can't shift her body even an inch to relieve herself of the worst of it.

"You bastard," she snarls, still trying to bring her knees up, refusing to make this easy for him.

"Still fighting, eh?" Gilgamon chuckles. His voice is breathy, pleasure evident in the lines of his face. "Good, that's good. I prefer it when they're feisty. You'll take longer to break in, but when I'm through with you, you're going to be such an obedient little slave."

She wants to argue, wants to tell him that will never happen, but her voice won't cooperate. Not while he's fucking her at a steady pace now, every movement carefully calculated to bring her pain, to subdue her with sheer physical agony. Tears burn behind her eyes, but she stubbornly holds them back. She won't cry. She won't give him that satisfaction. She makes a silent promise to herself that no matter what he does, she_will not cry_. To cry would be the same as admitting defeat, and she won't let him break her. He won't break her. He can't.

It's the only thing that stops her from losing herself completely to the pain. But the longer it continues, the harder it gets to shut out the ceaseless, blinding inferno of sensation. Gilgamon uses both sets of arms to help him thrust as deep and hard as possible, his cock a burning piston inside of her, rubbing her raw with friction. It gets easier after a minute or two, her body responding to the stimulation the only way it knows how, but that only makes her hate herself even more.

"That's it, kitten. You get nice and wet for me," he murmurs. "You're so fucking tight, it hardly matters." His face is a picture of cruelty, his eyes dark with lust as he leers down at her, reveling in every sign of pain she can't mask from her face. "See? You could learn to enjoy this, if you let yourself."

Her cheeks must be carmine by now, flushed with anger, with shame, with exertion. Her pulse pounds hard against the unyielding band of her collar, sweat trickling down the sides of her temples.You won't break me, she thinks, curling her lips and forcing a look of defiance. "Fuck you," she snarls, and spits in his face.

His thrusts come to a sudden stop. He stares down at her, anger flashing across his features.

"Stupid girl," he growls, reaching up to hook his fingers in the back of her collar. "Did your previous master not teach you any manners?"

He pulls on it, hard, and at the same time resumes fucking into her with renewed alacrity. Gatomon's mouth drops open, her lungs spasming, a cry of pain stuck in her strangled throat. Her vision blooms red, her mind growing fuzzy at its edges. The desire to reach up and release the pressure around her neck is so overpowering, her body forgets its current predicament, her fingers clenching uselessly at her back. But she isn't able to move, much less make any of this stop. As she feels her senses trickling away like sand through her fingers, a single thought circles through her mind like a mantra:I won't give up. I won't give him what he wants!

And then, he lets go.

It takes her lungs a full second to understand they can draw breath again. She gasps, her chest expanding in a greedy rush for oxygen, and the black veil pulls back from her vision in a dazzle of sparks. She blinks away the fog to find herself no longer staring up at Gilgamon's tanned face and spiky red hair; she only sees endless blue sky and the swaying tops of trees. It takes her even longer to realize his cock is no longer lodged inside her. She can still feel its presence in the way it so cruelly stretched her open, her skin rubbed raw and dry, but the thing itself is gone. So are his hands, which only moments ago had been gripping her shoulders and hips with bruising force.

She doesn't dare think it's over--not yet--and that is perhaps the only reason she doesn't lose hope completely when his hateful face comes back into view. At least the bastard is predictable; as long as she knows what's happening next, she can steel herself against it. He turns her over, grass and pebbles clinging to her hands as he rolls her onto her belly. When he speaks again, his voice is low and dangerous.

"You wanna do this the hard way, you little bitch? We'll do it the hard way."

Something about his tone sends a wave of fear skittering down her spine. He's angry, that much is obvious. But more than that, he's enjoying hurting her. He reminds her of a predator toying with its prey; injuring it just to watch it flail, prolonging the inevitable, heedless of its suffering. She climbs to her knees, fleetingly hopeful that she might be able to clamber to her feet and sprint away while he readjusts his grip, but no sooner does she manage to raise herself off the ground than he shoves her back down with one hand between her shoulder blades. The move has her tasting a mouthful of dirt, and leaves her rump poised, vulnerable in the air, a position Gilgamon seizes immediately.

Two of his hands press her shoulders into the ground while the other two hold her thighs apart, and without warning, he drives himself deep and dry into her virgin asshole.

Pain shrieks through her mind and escapes through her mouth, sharp and loud. She hadn't even had time to will herself to relax; her tension had been instinctual, her muscles clenching tightly the moment she realized what he was about to do. But rather than prevent his entry, it only made the cruel stab of his cock through her puckered hole all the more excruciating. It feels caustic, like acid melting away her skin and exposing her nerves to molten heat, and beyond the surface pain sears a deeper, fuller ache as he drags his cock back out slowly, purposefully, every inch of it setting her mind and body on fire.

It's to this cruel torture that a single, angry tear rolls down her cheek.

Gilgamon laughs. It sounds triumphant, thick with licentious pleasure. The fact that he's inflicting this amount of misery and pain on her seems to be more gratifying to him than any physical stimulation he may be getting out of it. He pushes back in even slower, his laugh taking on a guttural quality, and Gatomon trembles and breathes hard through the pain with her face against the ground.

She's glad that at least she can't see his face like this. She can picture it well enough in her mind: twisted in sick pleasure, his tongue snaking around those jagged teeth to lick his cracked lips. She can feel her strength ebbing, the fight leaving her. The dirt beneath her cheek grows damp, soaking up the tear she could no longer contain, and she hates herself for her weakness, for not being able to endure it longer. But the pain is too much. It's too much, and she can't bear it. She goes limp beneath him, all her strength giving out at once. Her body has betrayed her, but she refuses to let her mind follow.

"That's it... Surrender yourself to me," Gilgamon murmurs. "It will all be so much easier after you give in."

She barely hears his words above the growing static in her ears. He suddenly sounds very far away, but she knows he hasn't moved; she can still feel the heat of his sweat-damp skin pressed against hers from all sides. But some part of her listens; some weak, traitorous corner of her mind clings to the suggestion like a life preserver. Maybe... Maybe it will be easier? Maybe it's the only way she'll come out of this alive. She knows there's no way he's letting her go, even after this ends, but if she continues to struggle, maybe he'll think she's not worth the effort and kill her, stab her through the gut and leave her to bleed out into the dirt, a sacrifice to the oasis that will become her final resting place.

But if she surrenders... What then? Will the pain stop? She needs it to stop. It's all she can think about anymore. Her entire world has shrunk to this, to the screaming, blinding pain tearing through her body, and the single possibility of making it stop dangling tantalizingly in front of her like a golden, shiny lifeline.

"Now, you just lie there and be good..." Gilgamon says, stroking a hand down her back in a mockery of a soothing touch. "Where you're going, this is all you'll be good for, so you'd better get used to it. Oh, I'm going to enjoy training you up. I can already tell you'll fetch a high price. I'll have buyers lined up for miles, outbidding each other for the pleasure of taking you home. You wouldn't believe the things I've seen done to my slaves once I've sold them on... You think this is pain, kitten? You don't know what pain is yet. But you will."

As if to prove his words, Gilgamon buries himself into her with such sudden force that her mouth drops open in a silent scream, pain streaking through her like lightning. He starts to fuck her in earnest, seemingly no longer interested in dragging out her suffering, and she makes no noise at all as his rigid cock hammers repeatedly in and out of her swollen, abused asshole. Her thoughts shatter like glass the moment they occur, her muscles spasming uncontrollably. She tries to focus on succumbing to her treatment as placidly as she can manage, but it doesn't help; it only amplifies her torment, the only feelings she can cling to for more than a moment being her anger and indignation at letting this happen.

Gilgamon's pace begins to falter, his breath turning ragged and hot at the back of her neck, the fetid smell of it soaking into her mind, forever creating an association between his scent and her pain. And it dawns on her in a cold rush that he's about to orgasm inside of her. Bile rises in the back of her throat. No, she can't let him! She could shut it out before, pretend all this was a bad dream. She could have found a way to deny the memory of it, so long as it remained one long, unbroken blur of sensation, ending as quickly and abruptly as it had started.

But now it's about to become undeniable; the physical evidence of it will stay with her, even after he pulls out for the final time. The thought makes her retch, makes her lips pull into a furious scowl. She can't let it happen--she has to try_something_.

She doesn't know where she finds the strength. Maybe she catches him off-guard as his pleasure nears its peak, but just as his hips begin to snap forward in heightened urgency, she drives her knees into the ground and forces her torso upright. The back of her head collides with his face with satisfying force, and Gilgamon's shocked curse sends a small spray of blood past her shoulder. Broken nose, perhaps a lost tooth--whatever his injury, her satisfaction at the sound is bright and intense, but ultimately short-lived. Before she can capitalize on it, his hands fly to her neck and choke her as his hips buck once, twice, then thrust hard enough to send them both sprawling in a sweaty heap to the ground.

Gatomon can only lie there, helplessly pinned beneath his weight as Gilgamon twitches and cums inside her, groaning heavily at her ear. Every pulse of his thick cock spreads liquid warmth through her body, bringing with it a flood of reality and a tingle of bitter arousal that she tries vehemently to ignore.

Eventually the tension in his muscles eases. He removes his hands almost as an afterthought, letting her cough and gulp the air back into her sore lungs. The rest of her is sore, too, from all the places on her body now covered in bruises from his hands, skin turning blue and black beneath her fur. But the worst pain of all is the fierce ache blazing like wildfire through her pelvis, the intensity of which recedes only slightly with the softening and removal of his spent cock.

She lies there for several empty minutes, trembling, coughing. When Gilgamon grabs her arms and lifts her onto her feet, she makes a weak attempt at struggling free, but her legs give out almost instantly. He lifts her up again, and this time she manages to stay standing, but only barely. She is dimly aware of him tying a rope to the chain before he finally turns her to face him.

When she refuses to meet his eye, he grabs her chin and forcibly tilts it up to meet his gaze. "A new life awaits," he says, his shark-like teeth reemerging. She notes with satisfaction that his lips and chin are drizzled with blood from his nose. "Now, start walking. And for every time you fall down, I'll give you another lesson about who you serve from now on."

She'll play his game--for now. But her mind fills with imagery of what she'll do to him given the chance. It's all she thinks about as Gilgamon steals her away across the burning desert, chastened, but far from defeated.