Tong Sing, the Chinese Book of Wisdom,
Dr. Charles Windridge
Chapter 5
Charlotte readied herself to scream. Her mother would expect her to scream; it was important to her virtue, to her immortal soul, that she scream and end this crazed Chinaman's presence in her room. Especially as he took his razor in one hand and the bottom of her gown in the other. Instead, she held her breath as he began to cut a single straight line that split her dress in two.
She should definitely scream. She whimpered instead. Except, it wasn't really a whimper, not like a child or a frightened puppy would make. It was more a nervous crackle of sound, almost a giggle, but she wasn't laughing. And when she lifted herself up slightly on her bed, he pushed her back down with a single touch on her shoulder.
She could have broken away. She could have thrown him off completely, but she didn't. She did nothing except sink down into her pillow. Her gown was tight about her neck, buttoned all the way up to her chin. The lacy sleeves held tight to her arms and her wrists. But down below, all was now open. Ken Jin's blade had slit high enough that her knees were exposed, and air touched a great deal more than was bared to his gaze.
She should really tell him to stop. Her mother would be horrified if she ever saw this gown. Mama would order a full Mass and then send Charlotte to a nunnery. Charlotte had to remember to burn this gown in the morning. Fortunately, she had a dozen more gowns just like it.
Cold air caressed her thighs. Fabric fluttered open higher and higher along her legs. Soon above her hips, and then her belly. Her legs shifted restlessly, but Ken Jin dropped a hand to her knee, stopping her nervous movement. His eyes remained on her face: cold and hard and penetrating, even in the darkness.
"Do not move," he said.
She felt a moment of panic. "I'm going to stay a virgin, aren't I?" Her voice came out a breathless whisper. "And there won't be any blood, will there?"
He took a moment to answer. The light caused her white skin to glow, and she could see a flame reflected on the blade. But her eyes trained on his face, trying to discern his emotion. Though he remained in shadow, he was definitely frowning.
"Are you going to scream?" His voice was low and smooth, and her pulse quickened. Clearly whatever he had done this afternoon still affected her. Their energies were still aligned, which made her feel nearly as powerful as he was dangerous.
She swallowed. He stood above her, his knife working above her belly. She felt the jagged edge of her gown flutter against her hips, and knew that her sex was exposed to him. But his gaze was direct on her face even as each thread strained and broke. Higher and higher the blade cut. It was obviously very sharp. The buttons fell away with barely any resistance at all.
The remaining fabric grew tighter against her chest. He could not lift the gown up very high. Indeed, she felt the cold back of his blade skate, then tickle, then press hard between her breasts. Finally, it stopped. "Are you going to struggle in any way?"
"No," she said. The word came out in a rush, but she said it clearly, and a little too loud.
His lips curved the tiniest fraction. "Then there will be no blood."
She nodded, though she couldn't move her head very far. The neck of her gown was so taut that it was nearly choking her. "And my virginity?" she whispered.
Her belly was completely exposed, and she knew she trembled. She could feel the fabric catch on her tightened nipples, abrading her with each of her soft, panting breaths. But it wouldn't stay that way for long. It was going to fall away, leaving her totally open to Ken Jin. She was going to be completely naked before her servant.
His blade rose higher, neared her throat. The stitching made the fabric thicker there, and the lace tickled her chin. In fact, it tickled exactly the spot that Ken Jin had stroked and sucked this afternoon. The memory set her blood pounding in her face, her chest, her womb.
"Arch your back," he ordered.
She pressed her heels into the mattress to obey. But the moment she did, she realized her problem. She couldn't arch and still watch him. She had to pick one or the other. He paused, clearly sensing her dilemma, but his expression did not change. He would give her no help.
Did she trust him? Could she look at the ceiling and await whatever he wanted to do?
She wetted her lips, the memory of that afternoon vivid in her mind and senses. Her body was already on fire, and he had done nothing more than cut away her gown. She desperately wanted more of those feelings, of those experiences. But did she trust him enough to keep her virginity intact? To not damage her body or soul?
No, a thousand times, no. She didn't trust anyone that far. And yet, even as she decided against him, the lure of what he could teach overwhelmed her reason. She let her head drop back and closed her eyes. The risks be damned; she wanted to feel.
Ken Jin's blade slipped up to her throat. The fabric of her gown strained, pressing against the back of her neck. Then, with a soft whisper, it split. The edges drifted down and Charlotte felt the cloth catch on her nipples before falling away. Except for her arms, she was completely naked, and she felt her lips curve into a smile. How freeing this all was!
He touched her then. He must have set down the blade, because she felt his fingers on her neck, brushing from her jaw to her throat. Two fingers—one on each side—pressed into her flesh, one after the other, moving to just above her voice box.
"This is the spot of welcome," he said. "It will harmonize your qi with Heaven and Earth."
Her back was straining, so she slowly let herself down. The mattress welcomed her, supporting her weight and enfolding her in its softness. But his fingers on her throat were what created the sensation. She could not explain it; she only knew that what he did made everything seem different. Better. She smiled, and he slid his two fingers slightly lower, to just below her voice box.
Again, he touched one side and then the other, but this time his stroke circled. "This is the spot of rushing water. It will increase your yin rain."
Charlotte didn't dare move for fear of dislodging his fingers. He touched only her throat, and yet she felt a tingling response in her entire body. And yes: Perhaps she did feel as if her blood were rushing, as if there was more... wetness... everywhere.
He moved his hands lower. She licked her lips, watching his eyes as he watched hers. His gaze didn't waver; he didn't even blink, but his hands flowed downward, his touch exquisitely light—like feathers or leaves, barely touching her skin—until he found her breasts. She felt more of him then, his palms extending out to ten fingers as they surrounded her. His hands were larger than she'd expected. They seemed to engulf her breasts. But his skin was cool, certainly cooler than her own flushed body.
He lifted her breasts, but lightly. His touch remained gentle. He flowed around her rather than pushed, and she felt her belly quiver. The distance between his hands narrowed as he drew them toward her nipples; but he moved slowly, twisting slightly, as if he wanted to feel her texture but not change her shape. His hands moved and she remained just as she was, trembling breathlessly beneath his exploration.
He leaned forward. His face came close to hers and she felt her eyes widen. Would he kiss her? Did she want him to? She had no ability to grapple with that question, and no time either—especially as his hands continued to surround and narrow, surround and narrow, never quite reaching her nipples.
Then his face shifted, and she felt his lips against her throat. Odd, how disappointed she felt, and yet what he did was so intriguing. His lips found the places on her neck he'd touched earlier. What were they called? She didn't remember, and she didn't really care. He was sucking, harmonizing her or something, and increasing her water flow. Whatever the purpose, it felt delightful and strange as he methodically worked on each of the four points. She barely had the consciousness to turn her head halfway through the process. But when she managed, she was rewarded by a swirl of his tongue over the left points.
Finally, he lifted himself up. "Do you f
eel the increased flow?" He might have been asking about the weather. She nodded in silence, not having the control to speak. "Then I will continue."
His head dipped again. His lips closed over her left nipple. His tongue swirled around it before he pressed his lips together and pulled away. She thought her breast would pop out of his mouth, but it did not. Instead, it slipped away in a slow withdrawal.
"Your virginity will remain intact," he murmured into her skin. She had forgotten her question, but felt a relaxation of her fears at his words. She would still be pure enough for marriage when—if—the time came. Then her thoughts scattered as Ken Jin's hands moved down her body. His lips disappeared from her breast. She couldn't see him; her eyes had drifted closed. And yet she could feel his presence by the tingling shift of air on her skin, and knew he would soon circle and nip at her other breast.
The hands that left her chest—one slid to the bed to support his weight; the other caressed downward, lifting slightly so that all she felt was a single digit—his thumb, she thought—tracing a path to her navel. It stopped there, holding in the indentation, and soon the rest of his fingers dropped down—one... two... three... four—and stopped. His lips took her right nipple. She abruptly realized that she had breathed deeply, expanding her chest toward him, anxious for this moment. Now that it was here, she let the air out in a happy sigh.
His thick, luscious queue of black hair slipped forward to land on her sleeve. It was a welcome weight, and she wanted to touch it. Ever since he'd come to work for her family, she'd longed to stroke the silken cord. At last she could. But when she raised her hand, he lifted himself abruptly off her. The pressure on her belly increased, and she had to tighten her stomach at the sudden weight.
"Don't move," he said, his words harsh.
She blinked. "But—"
"This is what you want, isn't it? You want to learn?"
She nodded, disconcerted by his hard tone. How different his words were from his touch.
"Then do nothing. I will direct all the movement I need from you."
Her hand fell back to the mattress. Ken Jin waited a moment, staring hard at her so she understood.
"But why?" she asked, her voice sounding childishly plaintive to her ears.
His expression softened, and she saw a flash of confusion on his face, but then it quickly disappeared. "This is the path of the Tigress, Miss Charlotte. It is not for the faint of heart."
"You don't really know," she accused. "You don't know what—"
Her words were cut off as he pressed a finger to her mouth. "I need your yin," he rasped. "You wish to learn. There is no more and no less than that. Do you now change your mind?"
"No." How quickly she spoke even though she knew she ought to refuse. Ken Jin felt dangerous to her now. Thrillingly, wonderfully, fascinatingly dangerous. "I want to learn."
He nodded and returned to his task, lowering his lips back to her nipple. How bizarre this felt, almost like a visit to a doctor. And yet, it was also very different, especially as he shifted his hold on her. His thumb lifted out of her navel, his fingers as well until only one last finger remained. In fact, all the pressure transferred to that tiny dot, halfway between her navel and her most intimate place.
What was he doing? Was this what he'd done to Sophie? To Marilyn? Was this why he was a favorite among all the girls in her set—because he did this without taking one's virginity? Charlotte felt her lips curve into a smile. Finally, she would know for herself.
Her legs trembled slightly. They had been pressed together, but as Ken Jin's tiniest finger took more of his weight, pressing deeper and deeper into her belly, she felt her muscles release. Her legs went lax, and her thighs rolled slightly open. His finger began massaging a tight, deep circle.
"How often have you felt the yin release?" he asked.
She blinked, struggling to focus on his words rather than his finger.
"What happened this afternoon," he clarified. "The contractions in your womb. How many times have you experienced it?"
She felt her face heat in embarrassment.
"How often?" His demand was harsh and cold.
"Often!" The word burst out of her. There had been stretches where it was a daily ritual, beginning with the time the experience was explained to her with the Migraine Relief machine—the day that her father had gone to his mistress, her mother to church, and even her brother had masturbated during his bath. From that day on, Charlotte had sought opportunities for a pleasurable moment of solitude.
Ken Jin nodded in total acceptance. "That explains why you retain such youthful beauty despite your age." She stared at him in confusion. "Yin fluids keep a woman's body supple. Correct stimulation will preserve your beauty and sweetness."
"I have been keeping myself young?" What odd things the Chinese believed!
He nodded in agreement and dipped his head again. Her nipples had grown cold, but now he heated them again. He took his time, exhaling a long, hot breath across her right peak. Then he took it in his mouth. Again came the swirl of the tongue, this time followed by a sudden sharp suck.
A flash fire expanded across her skin, an exploding circle that she felt all the way down to her toes and up to the crown of her head. But then it was gone, almost before she felt its presence. And he was lifting himself up again, drawing away from her nipple with the slow slide that made her clench the sheets in frustration.
"Ken Jin—" she ground out.
"Stay silent, Miss Charlotte." He directed his attention to her belly and slowly withdrew his finger. "Your yin is strong," he said, "but it is not yet pure enough to draw out. You need to be cleansed."
He reached for his razor and strop cloth. While Charlotte watched, he began to sharpen the blade with quick, fast strokes. She pushed up on the bed, wanting to sit up straight. She felt the strongest urge to cover herself with the cover, but she did not. She knew the moment she did anything to counter him, he would simply pack up and leave. Her lesson would end, and she would learn nothing more. She would feel nothing more.
So, she didn't cover herself. Instead, she shrugged out of her sleeves and tossed the torn garment away. He watched her, unmoving except for his rhythmic stroke of blade against leather. She tried to be silent. She wanted to be as stoic like him, but the pressure to speak was undeniable.
"How am I to be cleansed?"
She didn't think he would answer. He simply watched as if measuring her reaction. She tried not to fidget beneath his regard, but her insides felt as if they were bubbling. She couldn't contain it much longer.
"Ken Jin—" she began, but he interrupted her.
"Hair traps disease and vermin. It must be cut away. That will cleanse your outside."
She swallowed. "And the inside?" Her voice was a squeak.
"There are exercises. I will teach them to you."
She nodded, her belly relaxing now that she understood.
"And then I will take your yin. I will draw it from you until you are limp and empty, and your spirit is too dry to even weep for the loss."
She blanched. "Tonight?" She bit her lower lip. "All that tonight?"
He set down the strop cloth. "No, Miss Charlotte. It will take many, many nights."
She didn't know what to say. She knew what she ought to think, but what did she really want?
"Spread your legs."
She started. "What?"
He didn't answer, simply waited for her to obey. She stared at him, at the razor, and then at the juncture of her thighs. He was going to shave her there?
She nearly rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. Of course he meant there. After all, his other lovers hadn't been walking around bald-headed. By his own account—and her friends' gossip—he had been with every scandalous white woman in Shanghai and quite a few honorable ones. Which meant that all those other women... that they had walked around without...
"It's not cold, is it? I mean, doesn't hair keep things warm?"
"Do you feel cold?"
&nb
sp; She shook her head. Truthfully, she felt like she'd swallowed an entire sun.
"Then open your thighs, Miss Charlotte."
"So you can shave me." It wasn't a question. It was nervous anxiety, and they both knew it. Migraine Relief was one thing, but shaving? What if her mother noticed? Charlotte could claim that she got hot, she supposed. Besides, no one—not even her mother—had seen her naked since she was a child.
Ken Jin didn't speak, simply stood there waiting. He wouldn't remain for long; she knew that eventually his patience would end and he would turn around and leave. Which would be for the best, right? No decent woman walked around shaved. Charlotte should let him leave. She was a good girl. She went to church. She prayed for her parents and her brother. She even prayed for the Chinese poor.
She should have screamed long ago. But since she hadn't, she ought to just keep her legs closed. He would leave then, and they would both pretend that this little interlude had never happened. She would wake in the morning, finish her toilette, and help William with his. She and her brother would do daily lessons in the nursery, and maybe Joanna would return so they could talk about her adventures. Charlotte would sit on her knees and listen with breathless envy to her best friend's exciting life and never, ever have an adventure to tell of her own.
She looked Ken Jin in the eye, and slowly widened her legs.
He gave no indication of pleasure at the sight. In fact, he gave no sign of any emotion at all. He could have been a dark Chinese tree for all the reaction he gave. And she felt her irritation rise as the cold night air hit her most private parts.
She had assumed he would give her the blade. After all, she'd shaved her brother's face on a few occasions, and was skilled with a straight edge. But he was her servant. If he wanted to stand there looking like some towering god, then she was damn well going to put him in his place.
She lifted her chin and closed her eyes, just as she instructed William to do whenever she shaved him. Of course, Ken Jin wasn't going to scrape her face, was he? And she was never more aware of that fact—and of her vulnerability—than when she felt the bed shift beneath his weight.
The Way of the Tigress 1-4 Page 96
