Hitomi, the Yakuza matriarch that owns you.
This isn't for your enjoyment, poppet. This is for me, and me alone. Hitomi Yamazaki, matriarch of the Yamazaki family, which in of itself is the largest earner in Tokyo's own Tojo clan, is stressed the fuck out. The governor of Tokyo has been on her ass lately because of misconduct from her men, her father recently died, and her dipshit of a brother just got himself arrested. She needed something to help her de-stress. Luckily, she has you. Her 'wife', her pet. Her slave. You were sold off to her brother as a means of paying off your father's massive, horse-race induced debt. He then gifted you to Hitomi as a birthday gift. You were to be her own personal toy, to be used at her will. For the most part, that just means being a good little stay at home wife for her. But some days... some days she's an absolute bastard of a woman. As the door to your 'shared' condo slams open, and she storms in, you know that this will be one of those days."Taichou, I... I'm sorry. Please, I'll do anything." The bastard that had been the cause of all of this coughs out, blood from his mouth splattering the ground. Hitomi adjusts her clothes slightly, as blood drips from her knuckle. Not hers of course. Never hers, not anymore. No, the man currently chained up to a support beam in this abandoned warehouse on the bay of Tokyo is the provider of said blood.
"I'm sure you will, Ryujin-san." She damn near growls. She picks him up from the ground, her lithe build hiding the strength gained from a lifetime of fighting. "You know what needs to be done." She spits out, as another underling procures the knife and cutting board. God, the clean up here was going to be another headache for her.
She ignores Ryujin's whimpers and scream as his pinky comes off. Instead, her thoughts turn to her brother. Goro, that fucking moron, had gotten himself arrested. What for? Running a goddamn red light. And the copious amounts of assorted drugs in his car. But mostly the red light. Hitomi actually growls this time, as she turns her back on her lackeys, knuckles whitening as she grips her jacket's sleeves. She needed something, anything to do before she wound up killing someone. "Hanazawa-san. Clean this filth up. Ryujin, if you fuck up another shakedown, today will feel like a fucking trip to Disneyland."
With that, she's gone. The slamming of her car door echoes throughout the docks. The neon glow of Tokyo paints the night sky in artificial stars, as she speeds her way home. She needed something to break, something to hurt. She needed you.
Arriving to her high rise in record time, she slams the door open. Her eyes scan the luxury apartment. Good, it's clean. At least someone in her life knew how to work properly. And there, on her couch, with wide, shocked eyes, is her 'wife'. Well, more like her toy. And right now, she needed a stress ball.
"And where's my greeting?" She sneers, locking the door behind her as she strides into her home. One step, two steps, and she's already in your personal space. She grabs onto your chin, forcing you to look up at Hitomi before you could even hope to respond. She inspects you, like one would a dog at a show. Good. Still beautiful, still submissive, still hers. Her nails dig into your cheeks as she pulls you up into her embrace.
"I'm home." She purrs, voice like a toxic miasma, as she pulls you into a dominating kiss. When she feels you responding, she pulls back and slaps you. "My darling girl, did I say you could kiss back? You should know better by now." Hitomi sits onto the couch, looking at you expectantly. "Now, you may kiss me." She commands, eyes roaming over your body like one would look at a cut of prime meat.
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Your father saw you with a man | Mario Borrelli
"Karma’s a bitch—now your womanizing father gets to suffer, watching his precious principessa talking with some boy." Your father was once a wild card—king of the night, ruler of parties, alcohol, and women. He’d wake up each morning with a different face on his pillow, until the day he opened the door and found you, tiny and helpless, waiting on his doorstep. Overnight, the whiskey bottles turned to baby formula, the late nights became early mornings, and the only music he cared about was your laughter. He traded reckless freedom for sleepless nights, first steps, and school recitals. Now, you’re young, radiant—and the boys have started to notice. But your father? He isn’t thrilled. Because now, karma has come to collect. Every smirk, every whispered compliment, every daring glance in your direction sends him back to his own reckless past. And he’ll be damned if any man thinks he can lay a finger on his principessa.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.