Burning Tigress

by Jade Lee

  She acted the slut because she was lonely, because no one other than a forced First Boy wanted her. And because she'd found she liked acting this way. She sighed, her joy completely gone, buried by shame. She knew she'd chosen this path. She had been aware every step of the way, and in truth, she didn't regret what she'd done.

  And yet, shame still crept inside. Shame and guilt. After all, she wasn't at home teaching William, was she? She wasn't writing out menus or counting linens or even settling household accounts. She was here, in Ken Jin's apartments, indulging in her own pleasures while hoping—pretending?—that it would help her brother in the end.

  Grimacing in distaste, she pushed herself upright and sat before Ken Jin. They were eye to eye, but her gaze sank lower to his thick, erect dragon. Here, at least, was something she could think about, something she wanted to think about.

  "Do you have enough yang yet?" she asked. He didn't move, and she could sense his puzzlement. She rephrased her question. "Have we replenished your stores? Do you have enough to go to Heaven like I did?"

  He shook his head slowly. "I spent many years purifying my qi. It does not come back in a single day."

  She nodded. That made sense. "Which means," she said as she reached out to him. "That we had better get back to it."

  He stopped her halfway, gripping her wrist with a firm hand, though his gaze was gentle. "What do you want, Miss Charlotte?"

  "First of all? For you to call me Char."

  He nodded. "What is it that you want, Char?"

  She looked into his eyes. He still thought her a goddess, she realized with shock. He actually believed it. And in his confused Chinese mind, he was actually asking her what her mission was on Earth. She shook her head at his bizarre culture. Imagine, thinking angels could be on Earth! To believe that divine creatures would come down to have sex with mortals for some celestial purpose, that...

  She smiled. Why not? Why couldn't it be true? Especially if sexual power was the fuel that launched one to Heaven, then how else would enlightenment come except through sex with a heavenly creature? Not that she believed she was an angel. Far from it. But that he could think it made her cherish him even more.

  "I want to help you," she said. "But you must tell me how."

  She watched him swallow as he thought. Then, with a slight nod to her, he released her wrist and stood. She followed him, gaining her feet as he stripped away the last of his clothing. Soon he stood before her completely naked.

  She had seen William naked, of course. Her brother was often completely unaware of his state of dress when he dashed about the house. But Ken Jin was different. He knew she was looking at him. He knew she was filling her mind with the sight of his lean frame, his broad shoulders as they flowed into the smooth contours of a muscular chest. His waist was narrow, his hips jutting only slightly above corded thighs. And as she looked, his dragon flushed a darker red and pushed out of its sheath.

  She extended her hand to brush the side of her index finger along the dragon's back—the tight skin closest to her. It was cooler than she'd expected, and the skin felt soft, moving slightly with her as she drew her finger up toward the dragon's mouth.

  She glanced at Ken Jin's face, wanting to know what he thought when she touched him. How did it feel? Was his heart beating as fast as hers? Was his breath shallow with heat? There was no expression on his face, only a studied blankness though his gaze flickered when she met it.

  "Tell me how this feels to you," she whispered.

  She watched him nod. Then he spoke, his voice thick and low. "My dragon strains for you. It pulses with my blood." True to his words, his dragon surged upward, rearing toward her before dropping back against her finger. She raised her other hand and placed it on his chest. Closing her eyes, she felt the taut muscles beneath her fingers, but also the deeper rise and fall of his breath and the hard beat of his heart.

  Farther down, she extended her finger to caress from the base of his dragon to the wrinkled pouch of skin below. She cupped the two round shapes inside, feeling their weight and size. Then she rolled them around a bit, ending with a slight squeeze just to see his reaction. He said nothing, but his heartbeat accelerated.

  "Those are the dragon pearls," he said, his voice a low rumble by her ear.

  She looked up at him, drawing back just enough to see his eyes. She could hear that his breath was shallow, but she wanted to know if his eyes still looked at her with awe. They did, but there was something else as well—an intense hunger that caught the breath in her lungs and quickened the beat of her own heart.

  "You look like a Dragon," she said.

  "And you are holding me as a Tigress."

  She grinned at his statement and grew bolder. Opening her hand slightly, she abandoned his pearls with a caress. Then she drew upward, sliding her grip along his jade stem. She watched his nostrils flare, but she heard nothing over the roar of her own blood. She had not realized touching him would be so exciting.

  Her hand flowed upward. Her palm skimmed the underside of his dragon, and she watched as he closed his eyes, his breath suffering its first hitch. "That is the dragon's belly," he murmured. "It is sensitive to the lightest touch."

  She paused to play there a moment. Twisting her hand, she felt the ridges of his dragon's skin, even lifted it slightly and felt an answering pulse in his dragon.

  "The yang grows stronger," he said. "Can you feel it?"

  She closed her eyes, trying to focus on his dragon. Not just the shape, but the temperature, the texture, and his qi energy. "I feel your heat." It wasn't a physical thing. In truth, his skin was still cool. But there was a power that enveloped her hand—the back as well as the front—and seemed to surround all of Ken Jin, not just his dragon.

  She pressed her lips to his neck without even realizing she had leaned in so close. The sensation against her mouth echoed what she felt with her hand: smooth skin, a trembling heartbeat, and the tingle of power against her lips. She smiled. With her face pressed against him, she could add two more delights: the musky scent of his body and the tangy taste of his skin.

  She drew her hand up to the very top of his sex.

  "That is my dragon's head," he said, and this time his voice trembled. "It has ridges, a crown, and a mouth that weeps with desire."

  She felt it all. She traced the ridge, even pulled the sheath back to better explore. Then she followed the center line up to his dragon's mouth. "It's so smooth," she murmured, surprised by the silky feel of taut skin.

  "That is so the attention centers on the mouth."

  She had found it: the tip that she could open and close with the lightest of pressure. Moisture leaked out, and she smoothed it around. "I saw pictures in the scrolls," she said. "Of women—of Tigresses—tasting the dragon. It's what I wanted to learn from the very beginning."

  He nodded. "There is a position on the dragon chair that would make it more comfortable for us both."

  She straightened, intrigued. "Show me."

  He moved slowly, almost stiffly, and she flashed on an image of a dragon moving awkwardly over land. His natural habitat was the air. The image fled as Ken Jin lay down on the chair, his head supported by the smaller mountain, his legs spread to either side of the larger, and in the middle, his dragon pushed high and proud. Charlotte went to his side, kneeling down beside him, but he extended his hand to stop her.

  "The Tigress crouches above. The Dragon flies from below," he said.

  She didn't understand, so he gestured to the area above his face.

  "You must mount here, as if you were climbing upon a horse."

  "There?" But that would mean her pleasure grotto would be just above his face. She gasped as she understood. "Of course. Then my hands are down there." By his hips and his dragon.

  He said nothing, merely waited for her decision. There was no question. She wanted to do this, but the position seemed so very open. Then she envisioned how she would be crouching, and felt a surge of power. There was a dominance in
the position, a kind of primitive strength.

  "I am a Tigress," she said out loud.

  "You are much, much more," he answered.

  She didn't wait for him to explain. She quickly mounted. With her legs straight, even straddled as they were, she could stand well above his mouth. Then, when she leaned over, she felt almost as if she were flicking a tail in the air. It was exciting, this role as a Tigress. She felt invigorated.

  He put his hands on her upper thighs to brace her. She trembled. He was a strong man; she knew he could easily support her weight. But she didn't want to press down on him, so she leaned forward. The very tip of her nipples flowed across his belly, and she gasped as the familiar sparks of yin fire warmed her blood.

  Then she was directly in front of it: his dragon. It stretched out for her. There was a scent to it—male, musky—and a taste of smooth salt. She felt his hands quiver as she explored his tip with her tongue. There wasn't enough width to the mountain chair for her to rest her hands anywhere but on him. So as her back began to ache, she shaped his hips with her palms, then began to slide forward. She bent her elbows and let her breasts press into his heated flesh. Her hands slid to the base of his dragon, her forearms slipped across his thighs, opening them wider. And while she slid her tongue past his tip, around the dragon's head, her legs relaxed even more and he began to kiss her cinnabar cave.

  She felt his hands slide inward to the inside of her thighs, and he opened her even wider. Then he let his mouth explore. She mimicked his actions, swirling her tongue when he did, sucking too. And when he began pressing his fingers deep into points between leg and pleasure grotto, she began fondling his dragon pearls. Bit by bit, she lost herself in the sensations.

  She felt the yin flow pouring into him from his first taste. She opened herself willingly, giving him all she had. But as she opened herself to give, she was shocked to feel the tangy burn of his yang. It began as a prickle of energy at the roof of her mouth, but the more she let her yin pour down to him, the more his yang energy flowed upward into her.

  She felt it as a fire in her mind, like a lava fountain that saturated her brain and made her dizzy. She knew it was not her own yin fire. His was a darker power, essentially alien to herself, and yet a perfect complement. She began to suck harder, using hand and tongue to accentuate his power. She heard him growl, a low vibration of hunger that trembled through his mouth to her yin source.

  The contractions began immediately. Her yin loved everything he did. His dragon seemed to agree, for his buttocks began to flex in time with her. His dragon pressed rhythmically forward, deeper into her mouth, and as he moved, his yang did as well. It penetrated her mind, mixed with her yin, and pushed them ever higher. She felt Ken Jin with her as well, not just in body, but also in spirit. They were rising together.

  They were climbing to Heaven. With every push of their hips, with every amazing wave of power, they were ascending to the Immortal Realm.

  "My God! Oh my God!"

  The words barely penetrated her consciousness. Her breath was so fast; the roaring in her ears so loud. But a movement from the corner of her eyes continued the disruption. A movement that should not have been there, a presence that violated this holy space.

  She lifted her eyes. She didn't stop what she was doing, she couldn't. She didn't want to, but she raised her gaze to see...

  A woman she didn't know. She was older, overly painted, and in a cheap gown that was too small for her ample breasts. And she was giggling even as she clutched the arm of... Charlotte's father.

  * * *

  Jan 4, 1895

  To Wen family patriarch Wen Feng Jin:

  Happiness and much luck this new year! I know my monthly package comes early, but I am especially excited for the imminent celebration. I shall be in Peking for the holiday and cannot wait to meet my fiancée at last.

  In much anticipation.

  Wen Ken Jin

  (Attached, seven bolts of red silk, richly embroidered for the New Year's celebration, four sacks of rice, and another three of flour. Five baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables make the full offering of twelve. All is delivered by an armed escort.)

  ~

  January 9, 1895

  Dear Sir, Wen Ken Jin:

  Woe has befallen our household! Dearest Jan Wan has fallen ill. Such was the excitement of your gift and the anticipation of your arrival that she overset her delicate constitution. The entire household is in fear that any excitement will end her tenuous hold on this life altogether. Pray do not come this holiday. We cannot risk the joy your visit would bring.

  In desperate fear,

  Wen Feng Jin

  ~

  January 13, 1895

  Dear Wen patriarch Wen Feng Jin:

  I cannot have a wife who falls ill every time I come home. Perhaps she would be better pleased with a different husband.

  Regretfully,

  Wen Ken Jin

  ~

  January 20, 1895

  Dearest Wen Ken Jin,

  Congratulations on an excellent new year! Jan Wan has graciously accepted your suit! She wishes most anxiously to see you this holiday.

  We are, of course, worried about the excitement, but feel that you should see the glorious beauty of your wife-to-be. Pray come on the fourth day of New Year's celebration, as is appropriate for a distant friend of the family. She will see you from two to three in the afternoon.

  In great joy,

  Wen Feng Jin

  Dizziness or light-headedness can result when the energy bound up inside a point is released and then circulates throughout your body. The circulation of this vital energy can refresh your whole body, clear your mind, and make you feel new again.

  Acupressure for Lovers

  Michael Reed Gach, Ph.D.

  Chapter 12

  It was working. Ken Jin could feel the power—so alive, so filled with light—as it circled between them. They were flying to Heaven. Soon he would be whole again.

  Then something changed. He felt Charlotte stiffen, her energy cooling, her power waning. Ken Jin increased his efforts, straining with tongue and lips, but something was very wrong. He opened his eyes, but there was little to see beyond her thighs, her pleasure grotto, her beautiful yin power.

  A roar echoed through the room. It was loud and brutal and virtually incoherent, but Ken Jin understood the tone if not the meaning. "I will kill you!"

  Ken Jin pushed upward at the same moment Charlotte leapt. He was pushing her behind him, and she was jumping in front, so she went straight up while he scrambled out from beneath. Then he was forced to catch her, though his still swollen dragon made his legs weak. It was a painful distraction that took his attention away from his employer's advance. Except, this couldn't possibly be Charlotte's father. Mr. Wicks was staying in Canton for three more days. He had plans with his mistress; he couldn't be here.

  Except, his employer sometimes came back early from his trips. The man delighted in introducing his women to the Dragon chair. Up until now, Ken Jin had not minded. Mr. Wicks was easier to control when he had ready access to a variety of toys. And besides, his employer was the one who had paid for the expensive piece of furniture, on the condition that he could "store it" in Ken Jin's apartment.

  And now Mr. Wicks was here, his latest mistress beside him, her mouth open in shock. "How dare you!" he bellowed, advancing with his meaty fists curled into weapons.

  "Father, don't!" Charlotte rushed forward despite her nakedness, despite the fact that Ken Jin tried to push her behind him.

  "Dead! Dead!" Mr. Wicks bellowed, his hatred pouring out at Ken Jin.

  "We're married!" Charlotte cried.

  Ken Jin jolted, shocked by her preposterous claim. Chinese and white did not marry. Servant and master did not mix. And yet...

  "Father!" she cried again as she reached for the man's fists. He pushed her aside. Unfortunately, she had never been one to leave well enough alone. Instead of staying to one side, she leapt forward and g
rabbed hold of her father's massive upper arm. "He's my husband!"

  "The devil he is!" the man snapped. Then when she didn't release him, he slammed his opposite fist down straight at her face.

  The blow never landed. Ken Jin was there, catching his employer's arm well away from Charlotte. Mr. Wicks answered with another roar, and then the battle was joined. He lunged, dragging Charlotte with him as she tried to restrain him. Ken Jin did his best to protect her, but there was little he could do when she was so determined to place herself in the middle of it all.

  In the end, he was the one who set her aside. He grabbed hold of her waist and lifted her bodily away, paying for the choice with a blow to his shoulder and another to his skull. But he had received much worse in his life. It was a small price for her safety.

  "Get out," he said. "Get safe." At least, that was what he thought he said. He couldn't hear himself over the ringing in his ears.

  "Get dressed!" her father bellowed, lunging again at Ken Jin.

  Then the fight began in earnest. Ken Jin did not raise a hand. No Chinese man could raise a finger to a white and live, not in foreign-dominated Shanghai, and certainly not after debauching the white man's daughter. So Ken Jin fought in the way he had learned as a boy: by avoidance.

  When Mr. Wicks attacked, he sidestepped. Mr. Wicks punched; he ducked. Every lunge was slipped around, every grab was misplaced until the white man lost all sense of reason and began a wanton destruction of whatever he could find. Teapot and cups were smashed, cushions were torn to threads, and the Dragon chair was attacked. Fortunately, the piece of furniture was too strong to be demolished by Mr. Wicks's massive fists, but the sight of someone beating it hurt Ken Jin nonetheless.