Means to an End

Obligatory warning: this chapter contains graphic rape.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Chrono Trigger.


I wake, and am taken to Magus. It is dark outside and the room I am left in is not lit. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and by the time they do, I can feel his hand on the back of my neck, barely touching the cropped ends of my hair. I don’t try to shrug it off, fearing to.

“Flea has informed me that you don’t even know who hired you,” he whispers.

I don’t answer. He chuckles.

“Amusing. And unfortunately, it makes you virtually useless to me now. Can you trace back to your employers through his lackeys?”

“Doubtful,” I reply, “If he suspects I failed, their lives won’t be worth much.”

“And you think me horrid, for waging war upon your kind.” He lets go of me and walks a short distance away. “Your kind, who uses and then discards each other so easily.”

I don’t care for contemplating right or wrong and I say so. He laughs again.

“Then I suppose the question is – what use are you?”

That is something I cannot answer. In my heart, I just wish he would decide what it is he’s going to do with me, and get it over with. The uncertainty is far more painful than any of my injuries.

He’s standing behind me again, and wraps an arm around my neck, pulling me close and I wrap my hands around his forearm, trying to pull away.

“You tried to kill me last night,” Magus whispers in my ear and I can feel his breath against my cheek, “don’t think I’m simply going to let you go. No, you are going to be useful to me in some way or another. For now, I think this shall do.”

His grasp switches to my wrists, pulling them behind me and pining them against the small of my back. I’m pulled towards one end of the room and I see a bed.

“No!” I shriek and pull away, “Let go of me!”

“Scream all you want, no one is going to come.” He laughs and throws me onto the bed, leaping on himself a second later and pining me beneath him. I struggle, punching for the vital spots and one fist catches him just under the lungs.

His backhand sends me reeling. I lay there, stunned, and taste blood. Above me, he coughs, and I feel his knees dig into either side of my hips. Then his hands close around my wrists, pulling them up over my head. He has bonds ready, cloth soft enough to keep from digging into my already raw wrists but strong enough to keep me still. I scream again and twist, trying to escape his pin.

All my training is forgotten the second he ties off my wrists. This is something I have never had to deal with. I have tried to seduce men in the past, but it was clumsy and lasted only long enough to secure a second of privacy with them. Then I would do what it was I was hired to and escape. I had yet to even see a man naked. I was always too frightened to go any further.

“How long have you been in this profession?” he asks, leaning over me and tracing a finger along my collarbone to the neckline of my shirt.

Concentrate on something else. Anything else.

“Seven years.”

“And not yet captured and hung…”

I grimace and twist. He presses harder with his knees. The truth is, I really didn’t have too much in the way of experience. I rent a room in an inland town and most of my work consists of small contracts that don’t even involve killing. Steal something. Guard so and so. It’s enough for me to live by and keeps me out of the attention of the guards.

“So why you? I have heard of Stoat before, but assassin was only mentioned in passing.”

His fingers are tugging at the fabric and I close my eyes as it slips off one shoulder. He did have contacts in the underground. Of course. Of course.

“I don’t know.”

Magus shifted, turning his attention to my ankles. I seized the opportunity to attempt to knee him, but was rewarded by another low laugh and another sharp blow to the jaw. I lay limp as he tied my ankles down and rendered me immobile. There were tears in my eyes and my muscles jerked with shivering.

Just get it done. Just get it over with, stop dragging it out.

I want to die.

“No matter. You intrigue me, Leisele.” A pause. “Which name do you prefer?"

“Stoat.”

There’s a dagger in his hands now and he traces it along my neck, pausing at the shirt. He pulls it away from my skin and slices through, separating the cloth and sliding it off my body. Does the same for the binding I use to keep my breasts close to my body. I try to turn, to cover myself, but the bindings on my wrists and ankles are taunt.

“Stop it,” I whisper, eyes tightly closed, and he runs his hands across my shoulders and over my breasts, stopping a moment to tease my nipples.

There’s an odd sensation between my thighs and I make a low sound in the back of my throat. Twist my head away from him.

“Oh, have you never been touched like this?” he asks, leaning close. I can fairly taste his amusement.

“Go to hell.”

He pauses and I hear him pulling his own shirt off and discarding it. His knees relax on my hips and I can only assume he’s removing the rest of his clothing. I’m too frightened to open my eyes.

“Then this will be fun indeed.”

I feel his hands along my stomach, pausing where he contacts the hipbone. I am a bony person, late to womanhood. I look barely sixteen, small breasted, skinny with limbs all gangly and a youthful face. It is handy in my profession – few people suspect someone who appears to be an adolescent girl instead of a twenty-one year old woman.

His thumbs slide along the indention below the bone, resting where the hair of my groin starts. I start squirming again, and whimper, still trying to contain my crying.

“Please stop this,” I gasp.

I’m trembling. He knows this.

“You’re badly hurt,” he reflects, one hand moving up to trace one of the cuts along my stomach.

He pauses, and then I feel the cold of the dagger again. He does not hurt me, only cuts away the remainder of my clothing, bloodied and torn as it is. Tosses it aside, sits back and gazes down on my naked body. His fingers are resting on the inside of my thighs, slowly stroking the skin and I can’t help but open my eyes and look up at him.

His body is all bone and muscle. Wiry and strong with the pale blue hair falling down over his shoulders and framing that angular face, those pointed ears, and the dark eyes that rest on mine. I’m helpless, they say. I’m helpless and his and he will do with me what he pleases.

The fingers move upwards and press against the skin around my opening. Stroke, and I squirm, gasping involuntarily. I’m trembling harder now, and despite my mind’s frantic protestations, there is an ache inside me asking to be filled. I wrench hard against the bonds and am rewarded by almost breaking my wrist.

He just laughs. His fingers part my skin and slip inside me, just the tiniest bit, and I clench the muscles from pelvis down in response, moaning and trying to fight any response he is eliciting. The bastard is enjoying seeing me like this. I hate him. I hate myself for this. I should be fighting every second; not twisting and moaning like a whore.

I want to die.

He strokes, rubs, and pinches. I squirm and my breath starts coming fast. My vagina throbs and I can feel it clenching as his thumb circles it, finally withdrawing and sliding up against the inner portion of my thigh. I feel wetness against my skin.

His body shifts. I feel his legs press closer to mine, straddling my pelvis. Something brushes my groin and I look and see his cock, erect and gently rubbing against the pubic. It looks huge. I don’t know. I’ve never seen one erect.

I think he sees the fear in my eyes for his smile deepens and he breathes out slowly, cupping my breasts in his hands and rubbing about the nipple slowly. He pinches it between thumb and forefinger.

He slides himself into me and I arch my back, crying out again. It hurts. I can’t believe how much it hurts. Tears appear in my eyes and glide across my cheeks. My inside burns and I can feel him stretching me out. It feels like I’m being ripped in two.

“Virgin,” he whispers and one hand caresses my ear, tracing my jawbone and resting on my neck. The touch changes from gentle to controlling, fingers closing about the base and palm pressing between the collarbones. “Wonderful.”

A laugh, and he thrusts himself all the way in, his balls slapping against my skin. I yelp this time, thrusting my hips towards his and raising my back off the bed, panting and crying.

They never told me it’d hurt like this. Never, ever.

I’m begging him to stop. It’s an unconscious thing, like twisting at my bonds has become, just an endless plea between tears to take it out of me, to stop doing this, to stop hurting me. He only groans, low, and starts to move. I can feel it inside me, pushing, sliding, a steady movement that brings fresh waves of pain and pleasure with each thrust. Slide out, the fire fades with relief, then in, and the muscles contract around his member and my pelvis tilts to welcome him inside me. I’m groaning too, making small sounds in the back of my throat each time he thrusts.

“Magus…” I gasp, a plea but I’m not sure for what. Relief?

He responds by thrusting faster, until I can feel his balls slapping against my ass and my pants and whines match the timing of his erection moving inside me.

“Stop… don’t….”

I’m still begging, but it’s an empty gesture. My eyes slide shut and I feel the muscles in my body go rigid. There’s something building in my cunt and I cry out, finally biting my lip until I taste blood. Magus leans closer, his body pressing against mine and I feel him lick my jaw, tasting the blood.

There’s sweat on my forehead and sweat on his body. I press my breasts against him and he responds by rubbing his fingers along the base of them. His thrusts slow again and the tension in my body only grows.

“Please…”

He’s hard inside me and I convulse, cry out sharply, and unimaginable pleasure spreads like wildfire across my groin, into my thighs. I forget what has happened, who this person is that is fucking me, and bury myself into the sensation, every inch of my body straining to feel him hard and huge inside me.

He keeps me at this edge, teasing my nipples, pulling his cock out and playing with my clit for a moment before sliding it back in, sometimes fast, sometimes slow to drag out the sensation. It’s a sadistic amusement, watching me squirm and whimper under him, this terrified prisoner of his made helpless by the sensation.

Finally, after another wave of pleasure, he tenses, moans, presses himself against me, and comes. My muscles throb as he withdrawals. It’s a sharp ache and I feel like I’ll never be able to walk again.

His hands slide over my sweaty skin, wiping the blood from my lips. I can only shake and cry as the sensation fades, leaving behind the pain and the realization of what had just happened.

He’d raped me. The bastard had raped me.

I whisper no. He laughs, pats my stomach, and slides off of me and unties my wrists and ankles. I turn on the bed, smell blood, sweat, and semen, and curl into a fetal position, hands clutching low over the throbbing ache that resides between my legs.

It just hurts now. Like I’ve been beaten or torn apart.

“We shall have to do this again,” he says, just to torment me, and plays with my hair.

I say nothing. There is hot shame within me and I feel sick. I want to go bathe and scrub off the feel of his skin against mine. Wipe away every trace of what had happened. He had hurt me, taken me as his, and I’d enjoyed it. I start to cry again.

He dresses and I remain curled on the bed. I can guess what happens next. He leaves me here, naked and ashamed, for his guards to collect and haul off back to the dungeon. I wish that he’d killed me the night before, when his spell had ripped across my body and left me bleeding on the floor.

But his hand touches my shoulders instead and I feel warmth emanate across my back from his palm. Bloodline resistance is finally starting to return. He makes a small sound of irritation and after a few moments, my eyes start to grow heavy until I cannot keep then open any longer.

“Sleep, little Stoat,” he says, and his magic drags me off into a dreamless rest.