Weekly Poll #3 - OC / Azula {Story 6}
The air in the asylum was thick with the scent of antiseptic and despair, a sterile perfume that did little to mask the underlying stench of broken minds and shattered wills. For Azula, it was the scent of failure. It clung to the white walls of her room, to the soft, yielding fabric of her restrained garments, and most of all, to the hollow space within her chest where a throne used to be. Months had bled into one another, a monotonous cycle of bland meals, forced calm, and the incessant, grating whispers of her own mind. She was Fire Lord. She was a goddess of flame. She was a prisoner in a soft, white cage, and the irony was a poison that curdled her blood daily.
The heavy steel door to her chamber groaned open, its sound a familiar prelude to another failed attempt at connection. A new doctor with placid eyes and a useless degree, perhaps. Or her brother, Zuko, with his face a canvas of pity and guilt. Azula didn't look up from her spot on the floor, where she sat tracing patterns in the sterile tiles, her golden eyes narrowed to slits. Let them come. Let them see what their victory had wrought.
But the footsteps that echoed in the doorway were different. They weren't the hesitant shuffle of a healer or the weighted tread of her brother. They were calm, deliberate, and imbued with a profound, earthy confidence. Each footfall seemed to resonate with the very stones of the fortress, a deep, thrumming vibration that she felt in her bones. A shadow fell over her, broad and solid. It was not the shadow of a firebender, all sharp angles and flickering heat. This was the shadow of a mountain.
Azula's head snapped up, and a feral snarl twisted her lips. The man standing before her was not what she expected. He was tall and powerfully built, with skin the color of rich, tilled earth and dark, knowing eyes that held no fear, only a placid assessment. He wore simple Earth Kingdom greens and browns, his hands bare and calloused. He was a peasant. An outsider. An insult.
"You," she hissed, the word a serpent's strike. She launched herself from the floor, a blur of blue and white fire, her hands outstretched, fingers hooked into claws meant to tear flesh. The madness that had become her constant companion roared in her ears, a symphony of glorious, destructive rage. She would not be coddled. She would not be analyzed. She would be feared.
She never reached him.
He didn't move with the speed of a firebender or the fluid grace of a waterbender. He moved with the implacable, unstoppable force of a landslide. As she lunged, the stone floor beneath her feet rippled. It was not a violent upheaval; it was a subtle, flowing motion, like the ground itself took a deep, steadying breath. The tiles softened and molded around her ankles, locking her in place with a gentle but unyielding grip. She stumbled, her momentum broken, and flailed her arms to regain her balance.
Before she could recover, a low wall of solid rock, smooth as river stone, erupted from the floor behind her, pressing firmly against her back and guiding her down. It wasn't an attack; it was a correction. She struggled, pouring her frantic energy into breaking free, her flames sputtering uselessly against the unyielding earth. It was like trying to burn a mountain. The stone simply absorbed her heat, its cool surface a stark contrast to the fire boiling in her veins. She thrashed, she cursed, she spat, but the earth held her, patient and absolute, until her violent struggles subsided into ragged, exhausted panting.
With her finally still, the man moved. He sat down cross-legged on the floor opposite her, a comfortable distance away. He watched her with an unnerving calm, as if her tantrum was nothing more than a brief, passing rain shower. Then, with a soft grunt of effort, he placed his palms flat on the floor. The ground responded. A section of the stone floor between them liquefied, then rose and solidified into a low, elegant table, its surface polished to a sheen. He followed this by molding two cups and a small plate from the same material, the process as effortless as a potter shaping clay on a wheel.
From a simple pouch at his side, he produced a small clay teapot and a tin of biscuits. He poured a steaming, fragrant liquid—jasmine tea, its scent a ghost of a calmer world—into the cups and arranged a few biscuits on the plate. The entire process was performed with a methodical grace that was both mesmerizing and infuriating.
Azula stared, her chest heaving, her body aching from the futile struggle. The restraints were gone, but the cage remained, this time made of politeness and earthbending. She looked from the steaming tea to the man's impassive face. This was a farce. A condescending, patronizing performance. And yet… she was exhausted. The short fight had drained her, leaving behind a hollow ache. The warmth of the tea called to something deep inside her, a flicker of a memory of a time before the fire and the screaming.
With a final, resentful glare, she pushed herself into a proper sitting position, mimicking his posture. She would play his game. For now. She reached out with a trembling hand, her movements sharp and brittle, and took a cup. The warmth was a small comfort against her cold skin.
He nodded slowly, a gesture of acknowledgement. "My name is Ra Hemo," he said, his voice a low, resonant rumble, like stones shifting deep underground. It was a voice that carried weight, that demanded to be heard without ever raising its volume.
Azula brought the cup to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She took a sip, the taste delicate and complex on her tongue. A ghost of a smile, sharp and broken, touched her lips. "Azula," she replied, her voice a silken whisper laced with the jagged edges of insanity. "And I know who you are, Ra Hemo. The 'Miracle Worker.'" She said the title with a sneer, tasting the absurdity of it. "Tell me, Miracle Worker, what miracle do you intend to perform for me? Will you make the whispers stop? Or will you just teach me to enjoy the sound of my own decay?"
"The whispers to stop?" Ra Hemo's voice was a low, thoughtful rumble, a sound that seemed to come from the bedrock of the world itself. He shook his head slowly, his dark eyes never leaving hers. "I don't know how to achieve that. But I am certain I can change them. I will teach you to change them, to make them more enjoyable, to turn them from a nuisance into a chorus. I will teach you to enjoy… so many things."
With that, the strange, tranquil tea party was over. The stone table dissolved back into the floor as smoothly as it had appeared, the cups and biscuits sinking without a trace. Ra Hemo rose to his feet, his movements fluid and powerful, and the sheer shift in the room's energy made Azula's breath catch. He was no longer a calm conversationalist; he was a force of nature, a presence that commanded the very air.
He reached for the simple sash of his Earth Kingdom robes. The fabric parted, sliding from his broad shoulders and pooling on the floor around his feet. Azula's prepared retort died in her throat. Her mind, a battlefield of paranoia and rage, went utterly silent. Before her stood a physique carved from granite and discipline, every muscle defined and solid, a testament to a life of profound, physical mastery. But it was what lay behind the simple loin cloth that stole the air from her lungs.
It was massive, a thick, heavy appendage that swayed with his slightest movement, its size seeming to defy natural law. It was not just large; it was a statement, a monument to primal power. And for the first time since her defeat, a feeling she could not name bloomed in her chest. It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was a deep, primal nervousness, the instinctive recognition of a predator so far beyond her own league that fight or flight were not even options. She, a princess of the Fire Nation, a master of blue fire, felt… small.
He took a single step forward, and the thing stirred, thickening and rising with a life of its own, until it stood proudly, a pillar of flesh that seemed to radiate its own gravitational pull. He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, a warmth that had nothing to do with fire. Azula was stunned, her body frozen, her mind a blank slate. She didn't even flinch when his large, calloused hand gently cupped her chin, his touch surprisingly soft.
"Suck it," he ordered. His voice was not loud, but it carried the same unshakeable authority as his earthbending. It was a command, not a request.
Azula's mind screamed at her to recoil, to spew fire and venom, to remind this peasant who he was dealing with. But the pressure of his presence, the sheer overwhelming reality of his physique and the intimidating spectacle of his arousal, completely stifled her will. It was like being at the bottom of the ocean; the pressure was everywhere, and resistance was impossible. She was a being of fire and air, and he was the earth that gave her no purchase to push against.
Her body moved on its own, leaning forward, her lips parting slightly. She was completely inexperienced, her entire life focused on bending and strategy, not on… this. Her touch was hesitant, clumsy. She took the head of his cock into her mouth, her movements sloppy and unsure. She didn't know what to do with her tongue, how to accommodate the impossible girth that stretched her jaw to its limits. It was a messy, awkward act, and she felt a flush of shame heat her cheeks.
Ra Hemo simply looked down at her, his expression unreadable but not unkind. He allowed the clumsy service, his patience as vast and solid as the earth he commanded. "That's it," he rumbled, his voice a low vibration that she felt through her entire skull. "Just let go. There's no right or wrong here. Only you, and this feeling. You are safe."
His words were strange, disarming. He wasn't mocking her lack of skill. He was… encouraging her. After a moment, he spoke again. "Look at me, Azula. Look up at me while you please me."
Slowly, she complied, tilting her head back. Her golden eyes, usually so sharp and filled with fire, met his. They were wide now, a swirling vortex of emotions she couldn't begin to untangle: fear, confusion, a dawning and unwanted arousal, and a profound, soul-deep weariness. Her jaw ached from the strain, and as their eyes locked, the full weight of her situation crashed down on her. The tears she had fought for months, the tears she thought had burned away, began to well up, hot and stinging.
Just as they were about to spill, just as a sob was about to break from her throat, Ra Hemo's hand moved from her chin to the back of her head. He gently but firmly pulled her away. A long, thick trail of her saliva connected her lips to his cock for a moment before breaking, glistening in the dim light of the room. He didn't let go. Instead, he began to caress her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, wiping away a stray drop of moisture.
"You see?" he murmured, his voice impossibly gentle. "You feel. That's not weakness. That's life. The whispers lie when they say you are broken. You are just… buried. And we are digging you out. Every tear is a stone moved. Every gasp is a breath of fresh air. You are doing so well."
The words washed over her, a balm on a wound she hadn't acknowledged was there. The healing affirmation, spoken in that deep, resonant voice, was more disarming than any physical restraint. Overwhelmed, she sagged against his hand, leaning her face into his caress, seeking more of that comfort, more of that validation. For a moment, the whispers in her head were silent, replaced by the steady, reassuring beat of his words.
He shifted his hips, bringing his slick, saliva-coated cock near her face again. The arousal she had been trying to ignore, the heat pooling low in her belly, flared to life, undeniable and potent. This time, there was no order. There was no hesitation. Something inside her, the part that had been starved of touch and kindness, took over. She nuzzled against the thick shaft, her cheek pressing against the hot, smooth skin. She inhaled his musky, masculine scent, a primal aroma that made her head swim. She showered it with soft, open-mouthed kisses, her saliva coating more of it as she worshipped the very symbol of his power.
Her right hand rose to grip it, her fingers barely able to close around its circumference. She held it like a sacred relic, then, with a sudden, fierce impulse, she began to lightly slap her own cheeks with it, the wet, soft impacts a shocking, thrilling act of self-abasement and possession. Her face was soon a mess of her saliva and the pearly beads of his pre-cum that wept from the tip.
Then she descended upon him again. This time, there was no clumsiness. There was only a furious, desperate need. She sucked him with a newfound intensity, her head bobbing, her tongue swirling, her throat working to take more of him. She wasn't just performing an act; she was chasing a feeling. She wanted to please him, to serve him, to give back a fraction of the peace he was offering her. She wanted to drink his seed, to consume his essence, to be filled by him in a way that would silence the voices forever.
Throughout it all, Ra Hemo never stopped his steady, rhythmic stream of praise. "Yes, just like that. So beautiful. So strong. Let it all out, Azula. Give me your fire. Let me turn it into warmth. You are not alone. I am here. I see you. All of you. And it is glorious." His words were a constant, grounding presence, a counterpoint to the frantic, desperate rhythm of her actions, healing her even as she shattered.
Her efforts became a frantic, desperate prayer. The world narrowed to the taste of him, the feel of him stretching her lips, the sound of his voice weaving a spell of salvation around her. She was no longer Azula, the fallen princess, the failure. She was a vessel, a supplicant, and this act was her penance and her worship. A heat bloomed deep within her, a molten core of pure, unadulterated need that spread through her veins like wildfire. She felt a trickle of moisture escape her, then another, until a small, dark puddle was forming on the stone floor beneath her, a testament to a pleasure so profound it was almost painful.
"That's it, little fire," Ra Hemo's voice was a deep, soothing balm against the frantic storm of her mind. "Let it all flow out. Every drop of fear, every ounce of pain. Let it become pleasure. You are not broken, you are overflowing. Let me cleanse you." His praise was a constant, grounding rhythm, a lifeline in the sea of sensation.
Then, his hips began to move. The first thrust was a revelation. It was slow, deep, and deliberate, a powerful surge that she felt not just in her mouth, but in the very marrow of her bones. It was an impact that stole her breath, a physical declaration of his dominance. His hands, which had been gently caressing her, now moved to the sides of her head, holding her in a firm but unbreakable grip. He began to piston his hips, his movements a blur of raw, primal power. He was fucking her mouth in earnest now, his massive cock driving deep, each thrust a forceful invasion that pushed her to her absolute limits.
With a guttural groan that seemed to shake the very foundations of the asylum, he reached his peak. He buried himself to the hilt, and his cock pulsed, unleashing a torrent of his seed directly into her throat. The first spurt was a shock, a hot, thick flood that she instinctively tried to swallow. But he came too much, a veritable river of cum that filled her mouth faster than she could manage. It spilled from her lips, leaking down her chin and dripping in thick, pearly ropes onto her chest and the floor below.
When he finally pulled back, Azula was gasping for air, her face a mess of saliva and his seed. But there was no shame in her eyes, only a fierce, earnest devotion. Without a moment's hesitation, she began to clean herself, her tongue snaking out to lick the cum from her chest, her movements reverent. Then, she leaned down, her lithe body bending low, and she lapped at the cooling pools of his seed from the stone floor, a final act of complete and utter submission.
Ra Hemo watched her, his expression one of profound satisfaction and tenderness. "So beautiful," he whispered. "So eager to be cleansed. You are learning, Azula. You are learning to find nourishment in the places you once saw only filth."
He reached down, his powerful arms hooking behind her knees. With a display of effortless strength that spoke of a life spent mastering not just the earth, but his own body, he lifted her from the floor. The sudden shift in perspective made her gasp, her arms instinctively wrapping around his thick, corded neck for support as he held her aloft. Her body was suspended against his, her feet dangling in the air, utterly at his mercy. His cock, still impossibly hard and slick with her saliva, stood proudly beneath her, a monstrous column of flesh aimed directly at her aching, dripping cunt. He held her there for a long moment, letting the tip of his cock tease her fluttering entrance, not entering, just promising, a silent testament to the power he held over her.
"Tell me what you want, Azula," he rumbled, his voice a low command that vibrated through her entire being. "Tell me what you need."
She looked down into his dark, fathomless eyes, her own wide and pleading. The last vestiges of her pride, the final walls of her defense that had stood for years against Zuko, her father, the world, crumbled into dust. "Destroy me," she begged, her voice a raw, desperate whisper that was barely audible over the frantic pounding of her own heart. "I want you to destroy me with that cock. I want the whispers in my head to sing songs of you. I want to enjoy the pleasure of you. Please…"
It was all the invitation he needed.
He began to lower her onto him, and the world shattered. The entry was a cataclysm. He was simply too big, a bludgeon of flesh that forced her body to yield in a way it never had before. He entered her, and it was a feeling of being split open and remade. Gravity was his ally, and he let her weight drive her down onto him, impaling her slowly, inexorably, until he was fully sheathed within her, his cock bottoming out so deep she felt it press against the very core of her. He was rearranging her insides, reshaping her cunt into a perfect mold for his monstrous size. She cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock and pain that quickly morphed into a guttural moan of pleasure.
He began to fuck her, hard and deep, using his incredible strength to lift her up until only the head of his cock remained inside her, then slamming her back down with enough force to make her teeth rattle. Each thrust was a seismic event, a wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. He set a brutal, punishing rhythm, a relentless assault on her senses that left her gasping and clinging to him, her nails digging into the thick muscles of his shoulders.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he continued his litany of healing. "Feel that, Azula? That is life. That is power. You are not being broken. You are being forged. Every stroke is a hammer blow, shaping you into something new, something stronger. Let the pleasure break you. It is the only way to be whole."
His words were as potent as his cock, a constant, soothing counterpoint to the brutal pleasure he was inflicting upon her. The pleasure was too much. It was a tidal wave that crashed over her consciousness, and for a moment, Azula went limp, her body convulsing in a back-to-back chain of orgasms so powerful they sent her into a brief, catatonic state. Her eyes were wide but unseeing, her mouth open in a silent scream as her body was wracked with convulsions. But the overwhelming pleasure was also a lifeline, a current that yanked her back from the abyss. She woke up screaming as another orgasm tore through her, the joy and the pleasure of Ra Hemo a blinding, all-consuming force that washed away every whisper, every memory of pain, every thought of failure.
He didn't stop. He continued to fuck her through her orgasm, his pace never faltering, his strength seemingly limitless. He shifted his grip, one hand moving to support her back while the other remained hooked under her knee, allowing him to change the angle of his thrusts. He drove into her from a new direction, hitting a spot deep inside her that made her see stars. She came again, her body arching against his, her head thrown back in a silent scream of ecstasy.
Time lost all meaning. Minutes stretched into an eternity of pleasure and pain, of his body pounding into hers and his voice whispering words of healing and praise in her ear. She was a ship caught in a storm, and he was the storm, a force of nature that was both destroying her and remaking her in his image. She came again, and again, her body unable to handle the sheer intensity of the sensation. Her vision swam, her muscles screamed, and with one final, shuddering climax that felt like it would tear her soul from her body, she passed out, her head lolling against his shoulder.
He continued to thrust into her limp body for a moment more, his pace finally beginning to falter as his own release claimed him. He buried himself deep inside her one last time and roared, his cock erupting and flooding her womb with a massive amount of his seed. He pumped into her until he was spent, her cunt completely overflowing with his cum.
Finally, he lowered her gently to the floor, laying her down as if she were made of precious glass. Her body was limp and sated, a faint, blissful smile on her lips. Her cunt was a mess, leaking a torrent of his seed onto the stone floor, a physical manifestation of the profound healing and destruction he had just wrought upon her. He stood over her, his chest heaving, a silent guardian watching over the shattered, and now reborn, Fire Princess.
{aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n.}