Shunga World

It surprised her that Minobe was so steeled to it. He was getting the bigger cock, the more vigorous thrust. And here he was ministering to her aches and pains from the day. Of course, he'd probably been here long enough to have adjusted to it all and to have learned to take it. She wondered if it was a progression. If Minobe had once been the submissive for the Shunga art poses—and, if so, could she, Dayea, look forward to moving to coupling with the godlike Uesugi.

In the darkness of the night, Dayea was awakened by the body coming in and stretching out on top of her, trapping her on her belly underneath the heavy weight of him—him, because Dayea could feel his erection at the small of her back.

"Tajema," she murmured. "I am tired and weary. I really can't—"

Her protest was cut off by a sash gagging her mouth and then her arms pulled behind her and tied together at the wrists by another sash and then her ankles likewise tied together. She was brought up to her knees, her chest flat on the tatami mat, and he entered her, slowly, massively, deep. When he was buried inside her, he drew her back into his chest as he crouched over her, reached around her chest, took her breasts in his hands and kneaded them, flicking the nipples with rough-textured thumbs. He began to pump, slowly at first and then frenziedly, as she writhed under him—not from struggling against the assault but from the glorious pain-pleasure of his massive cock working inside her.

This was no Tajema. This undoubtedly was Uesugi. She wanted to be able to tell him that she wouldn't reject him if she were unbound—that she would move better with him, spread her legs further, pull her butt cheeks wide to welcome the maximum depth of him. She would egg him on to fuck her longer, treat her crueler, make her ride on the top of the clouds.

When he was gone, having ejaculated and immediately whipped the bindings off her and melting behind the shoji screen walls, she turned on her back, sobbing in both the glory of the taking and the frustration of having been prevented from raking her nails across his back and challenging him to fuck her harder, to pull all of the pain-pleasure of knowing she was being fucked out of her that had been dulled by her life of prostitution. To make her feel and know that she had been fucked. She lay there, masturbating herself to her own finish, and sobbing quietly, knowing he was just on the other side of the shoji screen, misinterpreting her tears.

The next day she made sure she disabused him of his impression that she hadn't welcomed his visit. That night, they coupled, facing each other, his knees pushed under her buttocks, her torso arched back with his supporting arm around her waist, her head thrown back, her hair swishing on the tatami mat, her arms dangling at her side, while he pulled her on and off his cock with the strength of his embracing arm, dipped his face down occasionally to feast on her nipples, and stroked her small cock to flow after flow with his other hand.

The days were spent under Tajema's body and at his direction as print after homoerotic Shunga print was set on the easels to be replicated in film. The nights were spent with Uesugi taking her in the slightly different poses of the Kama Sutra.

"What does he do with his Geishas when he tires of them?" Dayea whispered to Uesugi after sex. "Do I get to come down to the tea table to couple with you?"

"No, he turns them out on the street. Or he may return you to Joou. I know he told you he bought you from Natsume Yawata, the club manager. But he didn't. He just took you. I know they are looking for you. I could—"

"Shush," Dayea said, placing two slender figures with long fingernails against his lips. "If I am not to stay with you, I don't want to hear anything more of it."

"I could take you away," Uesugi whispered. "I am not long in wanting to leave this myself."

Dayea's heart soared, but she could not dream of this possibility. She had had too many dreams dashed by reality in her life. "Maybe we'll talk of this more," she whispered. "But now I want you to take me in the position of the crab."

* * * *

All hell broke out near dawn, when the light was gray rather than black or yellow. Minobe rushed into Dayea's room; snatched up a robe, which he placed around Dayea's shoulders as she sat up on the mat; and blurted out in broken English, which Dayea had been teaching him, "At the door. Men. From club. Secret place. Behind screen over there. Quick." Minobe held out zoris—rice-straw sandals—for Dayea's feet.

And then Uesugi was in the room too, dressed loosely in a cotton robe and wearing zoris. "Yawata knows you are here. He has come for you. He and Tajema are arguing at the front, but Yawata's men are already fanning out and searching through the rooms. Do you want them to find you?"

"Minobe has shown me where there is a secret compartment. I just don't know what I want," Dayea, full of consternation and indecision, answered.

"Or you could go over that garden wall with me," Uesugi said, with hopeful hesitation.

Running up the alley behind Uesugi, outside the Shunga World Geisha house, Dayea had no idea where they were going, what they would do now, how they would live. But she didn't care. She was with Uesugi.