by Eden Myles
I’d thought he was a little on the thin side, but naked he was everything I’d imagined and more. No—more, I decided, definitely more, looking on his slim, but powerfully solid body. He seemed bigger out of his clothes, and had the strong, sinewy musculature that came with good genetics as opposed to a good gym membership. The upper part of his body, just below the clavicle, had an intricate Japanese tattoo design of flowers and a coiling dragon. Beneath that, a soft line of dark hair bisected his broad chest, and the nest of rich dark hair at his groin emphasized rather than hid the hard readiness of his beautiful cock. He was bigger than I’d anticipated. Much, much bigger.
His dark blue eyes pinned me as he grabbed me behind the knees and yanked me forward, pulling me to him instead of coming to me. He dragged me a little beneath him so our faces were inches apart and he filled my entire field of vision, filled my world, and all I could see was him. I reached out and traced the fierceness of the dragon uncoiling across his shoulders. He inclined his head and his mouth came down fiercely as if he would kiss me—the first real kiss—but then paused. “I expect it would be inappropriate to be so intimate as to kiss you when you’re not truly my courtesan, yes?”
As if the position I was in wasn’t intimate? As if we hadn’t been as intimate as any two people could be? But I saw his point. Fucking was one thing, but kissing was something reserved for two people who truly loved one another, who were in love.
My breath caught at the nearness of him, his heat and lemony, Far Eastern scent, and I just nodded my head stupidly. Instead, his mouth captured the side of my neck. He sucked and licked until I was writhing uncontrollably beneath him and he could barely hold me down. His teeth nipped me just beneath my earlobe and I clutched the long, heavy hank of his carefully braided hair. I pulled at it until it showered down around us both in great ebony swaths and he growled and his teeth went into me.
His bite was incredibly powerful, briefly painful, everything I wanted. I felt the wetness of his precum gathering in the indentation of my navel. I clutched his firm ass, holding him against me.
“Uhh,” I said and he stopped long enough for both of us to catch our breaths and get a semblance of control before he started working his way down my body. He kissed the flitting pulse in my throat and between my breasts before catching a nipple in his teeth. He sucked and rolled the pebbled hardness between his teeth until I cried out, then moved to the other. He suckled me like he could pull nectar from my flesh before moving down over my ribs and lower belly.
He traced his tongue over my newly shaved pubic mound before saying, “Open your legs.” His voice was hoarse and his words not really a request.
I opened my legs. He forced them further apart with his elbows, thumbed apart my labia, and bent over me, licking my cunt, burying himself deep inside of me. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he growled, ate me out until I was thrashing on the bed and clawing at his hair, then kissed me there, like in my fantasy. “Turn your head,” he told me. “I want you to watch Ian and Evelyn,” he said as his teeth found my clit and sucked it deep into his mouth.
I obeyed. Ian had roped Evelyn to the giant mobile in the ceiling. She hung from several strategically placed ropes, naked, blindfolded, and her hands tied behind her back while Ian took her from behind, roughly but precisely, each thrust rocking her in her binds and making her gasp aloud. Ian had his face buried in her hair, his hands cupping her breasts. He breathed gently into her long, brunette locks, but I could make out some of the soft, faintly perverse words he used—the dreamy mutterings of a man both in love and lust with his wife. It started making me feel sad and a little bit jealous to hear until Mr. Ishikawa snagged my clit in his teeth once more, gnawed gently upon me until my entire body stiffened and I struggled not to come in his mouth, to wait for him to satisfy himself first.
He moved up my body, grabbed my face in his hands, and stroked his thumbs across my cheeks. “My good girl, my good courtesan…take my cock.” He held me still as he pistoned his hips and sheathed the full length of his desire deep inside me once more. My body fit him perfectly, like a glove. I spasmed around him, but he said, “Honor your gentleman and wait for me, Felix. Wait for me to come.”
“Oh god,” I told him, and used every inch of self control I had to slow the onset of my orgasm.
He watched my face as he thrust and thrust up into me, going ever deeper, excavating through the layers of my soul as well as my body. I finally lifted my legs and crossed my ankles, still in my stilettos, hugging his back so the angle was slightly deeper, so he could fill me more completely. He moaned and his dark eyes fluttered with release. He came seconds later, spilling himself deep inside of me, and I came immediately after, screaming my release.
“There’s my girl,” he said, leaning down to kiss me almost piously on the forehead. “Felix the courtesan, the wonderful, wonderful courtesan.”
I laughed.
***
The young blonde guy stepped up to the concession stand and ordered a popcorn, Diet Coke and a package of Goobers. I smiled while the dispenser under the hood of the popcorn machine shot his paper box of popcorn with fake butter. The young guy smiled back at me, winked, and I blushed. He was big, definitely the weightlifter type, with a strong jaw and a snug dark blue T-shirt that set off his thickly muscles arms. When I gave him his Goobers and took his money, he was sure to brush my hand and I blushed again, dammit.
It was almost like every cute guy who stepped up to the counter this week knew I wasn’t a virgin anymore, that I was on the market. My time with Mr. Ishikawa had definitely transformed me in ways I was still discovering.
The end of my shift found me bent over the notebook I carried with me almost everywhere I went, good journalists that I was. I was trying to phrase my article on the Dollhouse Society, but no matter how I tried to describe my time with Mr. Ishikawa, I just couldn’t come up with words that seemed appropriate. I wound up just doodling in the margin while my last customer of the evening stepped up. I almost didn’t notice him.
When I looked up, I found myself staring up at Mr. Ishikawa. “Oh,” I said in surprise.
He was dressed in a dark grey pinstripe suit, complete with waistcoat, though no tie this time. Instead, the collar of his dress shirt was open and I could see just a hint of the intricate dragon tattoo there. He smirked at me from behind a pair of rose-colored sunglasses and said, “Konnichiwa, my courtesan.”
I felt like I should bow or something. Instead, I just stood there like an idiot. “Good evening, sir.”
“Is that the article?”
“Um…yeah. Well, what there is of it. Which is nothing. Yet,” I added. I laughed a little nervously and snatched up the notebook, holding it against myself even though it was virtually empty of ideas. Part of it was the sudden fear and excitement I experienced being in his presence. Part of it was the terror of him seeing me in my godawful work uniform, the cheap white shirt, black polyester old lady pants and garish red vest with pockets deep enough to sink the continent of Atlantis.
He raised his eyebrows as he checked his watch. “Your shift is almost done, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
“Perhaps you’ll allow me to inspire you tonight? Give you a night to remember, Felix?”
“Dressed like this?”
“I promise you won’t need clothes. At least, not for long.” His smile was warm, hungry and so lecherous I felt my bikini underwear dampen.
“Felix…can you take over the front?” Archie called as he skipped past the concession stand.
I sighed and was about to shoot some barb at Archie when Mr. Ishikawa reached out and put his big hand on Archie’s shoulder, stopping the smaller man in mid-stride. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, young man. I need her tonight.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Her employer,” he said, his tone dry and cold as he glared at Archie through his glasses.
Archie looked uncomfortable as he looked Mr. Ishikawa over, the sui
t, the sunglasses, the tight ponytail and dragon tattoo. He swallowed. “Jesus. Is she working for the mob now?”
“As a matter of fact.” Mr. Ishikawa offered my employer a slick, secretive smile. “She’s my number one sniper.”
Archie glared at me with deer-in-the-headlight eyes before haring away in the opposite direction.
***
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said about an hour later, as the maitre d seated us behind a privacy screen in a high-end café off Broadway called the Royal. It was, according to Mr. Ishikawa, a popular place for gentleman and their courtesans to dine. “Now Arche’ll be giving me all kinds of dirty looks.”
Mr. Ishikawa gave me a half-sympathetic, half-droll smile and said, “Yes. But it was funny, you have to admit.”
“It was,” I laughed.
He passed a fine white envelope across the table to me.
When I looked inside, my heart skipped two beats. “You must be kidding me.”
“You pleased me last weekend. You should be rewarded.”
The check was for more than I made in a year at the multiplex. My good sense combined with the dark shadow of my student loans suggested I take it, but my pride got in the way, as usual. “I can’t. We don’t have that kind of arrangement.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t want to be paid for sex, sir. There’s a name for that,” I said sadly.
“I’m not paying you for the sex,” he explained calmly. He traced the rim of his water glass with one finger. “I’m paying you for being my courtesan, just as I would if our arrangement was the real thing.”
The real thing, I thought. Why did the idea depress me so much? I started pushing the envelope back, but he stopped me, his hand covering mine. I felt that spark of electricity once more and cursed myself. “Keep it. At least for a few days.”
Our drinks arrived, then a course of Lobster Bisque, a Prosciutto of poached pears, walnuts, arugula, and chevre, followed by Delmonico, which was a bone-in top sirloin steak topped with peppercorn, leak and cognac. Mr. Ishikawa explained the rudiments of each dish as it arrived. “We’re not being Japanese tonight?” I teased as I inhaled all the heavenly aromas coming off my plate.
“It depends on my mood,” Mr. Ishikawa admitted with a closed smile. “Tonight we dine English.”
“To honor your mother,” I guessed as I forked the tender meat into my mouth. “Tell me about her. How did she meet your father?”
His expression hardened, but only briefly. “She worked as his secretary in the Embassy in Kyoto.”
“That sounds exciting, like some romance novel. A British woman falling in love with her Japanese employer…”
“They spent one night together. He was married at the time.”
“Oh.” I concentrated on my plate for some time as the atmosphere simmered uncomfortably between us. I didn’t know what to say. I thought about backpedaling, or changing the subject, or apologizing, but then realized I wanted to know more. And I’d already made a fool of myself. How much worse could it get? “So…did you know your father at all?”
“Do you mean did he acknowledge me? Not at first. But eventually my mother pressured him to own up to his mistake. Eventually he offered me a job in a minor position in the embassy. It was quite the coup for my mother, seeing how my kind was not so easily tolerated.”
“Your kind?”
“Mixed-race children,” he explained. “They’re considered unemployable in Japan.”
“That’s a ridiculous notion,” I told him, suddenly angrier than I really ought to be. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
He folded his hands. “Yes, but then, you’re American.”
Over the next hour, we got to know each other a little better. He told me more about his early life, how he’d used the money he had earned at the embassy to put himself through Cambridge, how he’d launched Acorn Technologies soon after, a multi-billion dollar company that eventually put him into the rare league of being one of the few European billionaires to make his home in the States. I could tell he was very proud of his accomplishments. Whereas ambition and greed seemed to drive most men in this town, Mr. Ishikawa’s desire to succeed seemed to be fueled by vengeance—revenge against the father who had rejected him. Revenge against Japan, in general, for their outdated mores and prejudices.
His story made me feel blessed, to be honest, and a little bit privileged. I told him how close I was with my dad, how my mom had died when I was three years old, how it had only ever been the two of us. I told him a little about life onboard an offshore drilling rig—or rather, a series of rigs, as his job as an engineer frequently had us traveling from rig to rig when I was younger, never the same place for very long, it seemed—the roughnecks that worked with my father, how he feared they would corrupt my manners. I told him my dad’s dream of a better life for me, and how I’d fought him at first, wanting to stay with him, to be a mechanic like him, my hero.
“Why didn’t you?” Mr. Ishikawa said as we finished our dinner with chocolate mint truffle cookies.
I shrugged as sucked chocolate off my fingers. I half expected him to instruct me to use my napkin, but he seemed to be enjoying watching me eat. “I guess I wanted to see if there was something beyond the rigs. And I’d always liked to write. I used to write stories about the people I’d meet on the rigs in my little notebooks, make up these elaborate histories about them. I thought being a journalist would be exciting.”
“Is it?”
“Sometimes.” I grinned at him. “But I can still fix your car, if it breaks down.”
Mr. Ishikawa bit back a smile. “You are a very unusual woman, Felix.”
“Thank you,” I told him. “It’s better than being called boring.”
“You are never boring,” he said as he guided me up and led me back to his limo.
On the ride back to his place, I sat comfortably in his lap while he played with my hair, trailing his fingers down my back and nuzzling the side of my neck. I could feel his steely hard erection pressed into my side. “Will you stay the weekend?” he asked. The weekend before, when I’d first met Ian and Evelyn, I’d only stayed a few hours, so I was a little surprised by his request.
“I didn’t pack an overnight bag,” I started telling him.
But he trailed a finger over my lips and said, “I’ll order up whatever you need. I’d like the weekend to train you, Felix. In only a few weeks, we’re expected at the Dollhouse. I’d like you to be ready to play with me.”
His words made my heart flit a little faster. In only a handful of weeks, I’d perform for the Society with him. Then our association would be done. “All right,” I said.
He lifted his eyebrow at that.
“Yes, all right, sir,” I corrected myself, and he smiled and gave my left breast a brief squeeze that left me gasping.
Once we were inside the penthouse, he walked me to the playroom. Inside the suite, which had bunches of new roses everywhere and new sheets on the bed, he asked me to strip and slip on the stockings and heels he had provided. It was easier this time. We were alone and I didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing the baby fat clinging stubbornly to my curves. Mr. Ishikawa sat down on the edge of the bed, fully clothed, and said, “Crawl to me, Felix.”
I stood by the chair where my clothes were piled, dressed in only thigh-high fishnet stocking and black patent leather Mary Janes with five-inch platform heels, and considered my options. My first instinct was to tell him no, to fuck off, but he narrowed his eyes and his beautiful face took on that porcelain mask look that was almost surreal in its intensity. “You’ve already earned five punishments by hesitating. You’ll continue to earn five more for every minute you hesitate.”
I dropped to my knees and crawled to him across the plush carpeting.
“Keep your head down and don’t look at me.”
His voice was edged with steel. I looked at the floor as I crawled up the steps of the dais to the bed.
�
�Good.” He grabbed a hank of my hair and pulled me upright on my knees. He pulled hard, so hard I grunted from the pain and my breasts bounced. The force of it drew my head back almost unnaturally far. He held me in that position, on my knees with my head tilted back so I was staring up at the ornately designed tin ceiling, with a strength that shocked me. “You know better than to misbehave, don’t you, Felix?”
“Yes,” I grunted out, using everything in my power to keep from grabbing at his arm. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m feeling generous tonight, so I’ll give you a choice of punishments. Five spankings with the belt, or you can suck my cock. Your choice.”
The last time he’d spanked me I couldn’t sit for a day. Even now I could feel the dull edge of phantom pain in my ass. “I’d like to suck your cock, sir,” I said.
“You know our safeword?”
“Yes, sir. Neko, sir.”
“Good.”
He undid himself with one hand and used the other one, tangled in my hair, to guide my mouth down upon his already rock-hard erection. He shoved it into me in a way that made me regret not taking the spanking, holding me in place by the hair and forcing me to deep-throat his dick. I didn’t have much experience pleasing a man this way, and it showed. The moment he hit my tonsils, I choked. He drew back, let me take a deep breath, and forced the length of himself down my throat again.
“Suck.”
I sucked.
He clenched my hair. “Harder. And no teeth.”
I tried to accommodate him, but he was so hard, so full. He forced me up and down for a few seconds before pulling out. “God, you’re fucking sexy. I want to see my come on you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and soft. I felt an irrational rush of pride in the moments before he pushed my head down between his legs. No one had ever said such things to me before. “Suck my balls, girl. Make me come.”
