03 Lord And Man

First times: 03 -- Lord and man

The idea for this short story was given to me by a lovely woman I met recently. Though we are new friends, she has unexpectedly taken an inordinate place in my heart.

In a definite way, she has become my Muse, gently guiding me to places I didn't know I could reach, awakening the poet in me even. Whatever happens from this time forward, I will be eternally grateful for her kind words.

Again, my thanks to Valphund for his efforts on my behalf. I hope I didn't spoil them too much.

*****

The Lord sits on a cushion and gazes at the peaceful garden he has worked on for so long to achieve this level of perfection.

Respectfully, at the edge of his vision, ready to serve, but out of his direct sight, lest she disturbs his contemplation, kneels one of the

tayū

, a woman who has achieved the highest rank of her courtesan profession. No mere

geisha

would be allowed in his exalted presence.

She waits patiently for his pleasure, whether he requires

chanoyu

to be performed, wishes to listen to music, or to discuss any of many subjects from politics, arts or philosophy.

The perfect blend of leaves has been prepared, and the water is simmering, ready to be brought to the exact temperature in a minute. The exquisite service of the finest porcelain rests on the delicately carved tray.

Her own

kugo

is at hand, tuned, new strings ready to be plucked to bring pleasure to his ear, as is her vocal mastery. She has developed a vast repertoire of classical and contemporary pieces.

An avid reader, she can hold conversation on most any subject her Lord may wish to exchange on. Over the years of their special relationship, she knows he has come to regard her insights favorably and takes great pride in this.

She perceives that he is uneasy on this day, though anyone else would only see the facade he chooses to present, as a Lord must. The subtle tension in his neck, the way his hand wraps around the

katana

resting across his thighs are unmistakable signs to her keen eye. Something is troubling him. She knows he will not broach the subject directly. It would be unseemly for one of his rank to confide his thoughts.

Her heart goes to him. She is aware of the current political climate. His enemies are emboldened by the rise of the merchant class, and the money they spend so freely gives them unearned power. He will have to take action soon.

She presumes, as no one else would dare, and touches his hand, not the one holding his weapon, of course.

"My Lord, would that I could ease your mind."

"Sweet Kimiko, it is beyond even your many gifts." His eyes don't leave his garden, though Zen harmony fails to still his troubled mind.

"A hot bath and

shiatsu

to please your body then?"

He shrugs his heavy burden off, even if for a moment, and turns to his mistress. He knows time has marked her, as it has him, but the mask of her class remains intact, impeccable as it was the first day he sent for her. As he looks at her, he comes to a decision.

Taking her hand in his, they rise and walk around the tea house, to the bath pavilion. Inside, he allows her to undress him after putting his sword on its rack. He sits on the wooden stool so she can wash him. At his nod, she unties his hair and gives him a scalp massage. He leans into her expert hands. At her touch, he rises so she can wash his lower regions. His control is ever absolute.

Once she has rinsed him and would have led him to the waiting steaming bath, he stops her.

"After all these years of our being Lord and

tayū

, the man asks the woman to join him." He bows respectfully and awaits her decision. It is unprecedented for a client to ask such a thing, but he is no ordinary client, and she is no common

oiran

.

When she would untie her

obi

, he takes her hand, gently kisses her fingers and slowly, layer by layer, undresses her. He lets her wipe away the heavy make-up, but pulls the pins holding her long silky hair back himself.

He washes the naked woman, bare as she hasn't

ever

been for a man, gently, tenderly, lovingly. While he does, they talk of beauty, peace, harmony. Her control is no less complete as he touches her.

She is but a feather in his strong arms to lift and hold. They enter the bath together and sit so. He has yet to let go, so she rests on his lap. Their eyes locked, she puts her arms around his neck. She knows a time of momentous change is upon them. She rests her head on his powerful chest, listening to his regular heartbeat.

They stay this way, in silent communion. The peace which had escaped him earlier settles on his heart and mind.

He caresses her hair tenderly. Hand on her cheek, he brings her mouth to his. Her heart soars. A Lord doesn't kiss a

tayū

. He uses her body to take pleasure, to relieve himself, but he never shows affection.

Timidly, she returns his kiss. Soon, though, desire rises in the woman for the man she has admired for so long as she served and serviced him. She lets her tongue speak for her as her fingers run through his still thick hair, holding him close.

She shivers when one hand cups her breast, caressing it gently. She feels her nipple harden against his palm, then between his fingers. The other hand touching her from neck to buttock raises goosebumps in its wake.

Her control crumbles. She should be the one doing this to him. She brings a hand to his muscular chest, but is quite ineffective as he kisses her neck, lightly biting. Only fellow

tayū

have touched her this way as they sought comfort in each other's arms. The sensation of a man doing it is overwhelming. She can feel wetness fill her that has nothing to do with the water they are immersed in. To make matters worse, or better, she feels him rise.

This she knows. She has to... Ooooh! He kisses her breasts so... so... gently. This is new to her. So is the hand touching her sex, as if it would give

her

pleasure. The fingers caress her, open her flower, lightly rub her pearl. She has known pleasure, but this... When the fingers enter her, a true moan escapes her, not a practised one. This comes from deep within.

She has heard of this, but never experienced it, an unfortunate consequence of her profession. She has never had cause or reason to question it. She now knows she will never be the same. After only knowing sex with clients as her avocation or other women for relief, a man is

making love

to her.

With a cry, she opens herself to it, to him. He skillfully takes her to unexpected heights of pleasure. She screams as he draws orgasm after orgasm out of her, unable to contain the emotions accompanying the sublime sensations.

After bringing her down from these peaks of bliss, he takes her mouth again. With his hands, he guides her. Willingly, she acquiesces. When she lowers herself on him, takes him within, joins their bodies, she becomes a true woman. Without moving at first, she uses her skills to give back a modicum of his gift to her. Her slow rocking soon gives place to frenetic abandon as she is again swallowed by passion.

Together, they discover the ecstatic music of love.

*****

The Lord looks at the woman sleeping on his futon. She is so beautiful, this delicate flower. He knows the quality of the gift she has given him. He also knows the price she will have to pay for it. Would that he could keep her at his side forever. His faithful retainers will whisk her away after he has gone and fulfill his wishes for her safety and future.

With a silent sigh, he turns his back on love. War has come for him and he knows he will not return. Still, he will face his fate with a light heart.