Samurai Captive

by Barbara Sheridan

  She wiggled a bit on his lap, heard his sharp intake of breath, and smiled to herself as they jostled along, carried swiftly by the men bearing the palanquin. She focused on his thumb, licked the tip, and sucked it all into her mouth, pretending she was sucking his cock. He liked that real well, and she kept it up until she was certain his guard was down.

  Suddenly, she bit down hard enough to draw blood, then jabbed backward with her elbow. She lunged at the little sliding door and threw herself out onto the ground. Startled, the men carrying the palanquin dropped it, and it tipped sideways. The samurai’s loud shouts were all the encouragement Hannah needed to pick herself up and run off the road through the high brush and toward a stand of trees.

  Her foot caught on a rock or root ‑‑ something hard enough to send her crashing to the ground, and pain shot up to her knee. Still, she hauled herself up and hurried forward as best she could, the shadowy trees in the moonlight a safe haven in this scary foreign land.

  But he was behind her. She swore she could hear that damned sword of his being drawn.

  You gone and done it now, girl. If he catches ya, yer as good as dead.

  The clouds parted a little more than they had been, and the bright full moon shone down on the trees so close yet so far, taunting her as the sound of the angry samurai came closer.

  The skin on Hannah’s neck prickled. She was certain he was going to grab her any moment, but nothing happened and she rushed on. The trees were so close now, the pounding of her heart dulling all other sounds in the night.

  She ran the last of the way with arms outstretched, and she almost shrieked when her hands touched the first slim tree trunk. She ran to the next and to the next, finally stopping and sliding around to face the way she’d come. The tree bark scraped against her palms, and she tried to contain the sound of her harsh breathing lest the samurai find her.

  It was so dark in here, the moonlight barely penetrating, but she couldn’t make out any moving shadows. She sank forward, leaned her forehead on the tree, and struggled to catch her breath. Hell, her lungs ached, and her knee was surely starting to swell.

  She had to keep moving. She had to or he’d kill her. She pushed herself away from the tree, and her back collided with the hilt of the samurai’s swords tied to his waist. She whimpered when he grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. In his other hand, he held a short dagger-like sword that caught the waning moonlight and glinted before he pressed it against her throat.

  “You have the heart of a tiger but the strength of a mouse.”

  “Kill me and get it over with, you bastard.”

  “Where is the fun in that?” he whispered in her ear. The tip of his tongue, hot and moist, slid along the curve of Hannah’s ear, and she steeled herself to prevent a shiver that would surely cause his knife to gash her throat. He untangled his fingers from her hair and slid them to the place where her neck met her shoulder, and the world went black.

  Chapter Two

  Hannah came to when buckets of water were thrown over her. She pitched upright, coughing out the water that had gone down her throat. As she blinked her eyes and pushed the sopping hair away from her face, she heard the samurai bark orders. She shrieked when two women began grabbing at her clothes. She slapped their hands away and struggled to her feet, her sodden skirts weighing her down.

  The bastard smirked at her as he stood some distance away, his arms folded within the wide sleeves of his loose silk jacket. Beside him, another man watched her with ravenous eyes.

  “Don’t fight. Bath.”

  Hannah swiped more strands of hair back with an angry flick of her wrist. “Yeah, so you an’ him can watch and yank yerselfs off, I s’ppose.”

  Both samurai gave her a questioning look, and she made the motion with her hand. The Japanese maids stifled giggles and looked away while the men smirked back at her. The shorter one said something to her captor that made him smirk wider and nod.

  Her captor slid that knifelike sword from the waistband of his clothes where his two swords were fastened. “You wash or die.”

  “Bastards.”

  The samurai motioned to the servant women, but Hannah slapped their hands away again and began to undo her own clothing. “You want a fucking show I’ll give it to ya.”

  Katsuhiro watched in amusement as this spirited little tiger peeled off her wet garments and dropped them to the slatted cedar floor of the bathhouse. He could barely contain his amusement when his servants’ eyes grew wide at the sight of the gaijin’s breasts, huge in comparison to theirs.

  His friend, Sato Masato, nudged him. “Does that fire in her hair down below make her hot inside?”

  “Why do you think I bought her?”

  Hannah glared at the laughing men as they turned to exit the bathhouse. “Bastards,” she muttered. She shushed the maids, who jabbered and rubbed her with the scratchy little sacks filled with rice hulls that they used instead of soap, before pointing to the stepstool beside the high wooden tub.

  She had to admit that the warm water made her knee feel better, but she cursed at the maid who stood on the stool and tried to comb the tangles out of her wet hair. Snatching the comb away, Hannah did it herself and wondered what the samurai had in store for her.

  After the bath, the maids gave her one of those thin sleeping kimonos to put on ‑‑ a yukata ‑‑ and a pair of woven sandals then led her outside. They crossed through a small courtyard, and in the light of the paper lanterns strung here and there, Hannah could make out a rather large house. It didn’t seem like no brothel, but more like one of them fancy places the men her late employer dealt with lived in. Like high and mighty lackeys of the tycoon who spoke for the emperor hidden away in his Imperial city to the west.

  They took her into the kitchen where other maids were. They all chattered like little magpies, and Hannah made out enough to know she was the interesting topic of conversation. An older woman gave her a tray with some tea and balls of rice and some little grilled fish that reminded her of the kippers her mother would sometimes buy her in the market on Mondays when one of her weekend gents was especially generous opening his purse strings.

  When she was done and her hair was dry, they tried to slather it with the flowery oil they all used to keep their own hair in those poufed styles, but she refused. Instead, she made a high braid, coiled it up, and tied it in place with a strip of cloth and one of the hair combs they had for her.

  They chattered some more and shook their heads, and then a girl gestured Hannah to follow her through a maze of quiet rooms and narrow corridors to a room at the far end of the house. The girl knelt, tapped on the wooden frame of the papered door, and gestured for Hannah to kneel too.

  Hannah shook her head and folded her arms. “No.”

  The girl jabbered in a harsh whisper, but Hannah simply turned her nose up.

  The door was shoved open from inside. Hannah’s samurai captor grabbed her by the wide sash holding her yukata closed and yanked her inside before dismissing the startled maid with a growled command.

  Katsuhiro dragged the woman toward the low lacquered table where Masato still sat quietly sipping warm sake, an amused grin playing upon his face. Katsu sat, tugging down on her obi, dragging her down too. Her round rear hit the tatami mat with a thud, and she swore at him.

  “Serve,” he ordered in her native tongue with a sharp gesture to the pot of sake.

  She said nothing but made a clicking sound with her tongue as she did so. He felt his cock throb with anticipation, wondering what that tongue and those full pink lips of hers would feel like sucking him.

  She stumbled in Japanese to ask, “What do you want with me?”

  Masato laughed and grabbed the front of his hakama, receiving a fierce look from the woman in return.

  Katsu drank down the small ochoko of sake and gestured for her to refill it. “You teach me more English.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I kill you or sell you back to the Yoshiwara.”


  “After fucking you,” Masato added.

  The woman glared at them both, the suspicion heavy in her unusual green eyes.

  “So that’s all you want? Me to teach you blokes English?”

  “Yes,” Katsu said.

  “And to fuck you,” Masato added again.

  Katsu shot his friend a look. “You sound jealous, my friend,” he teased back.

  Masato drank down his sake. “Why should I be?”

  Katsu smirked. “True. I’ve fucked with you before. I’ll have you again.”

  Masato laughed. He laughed harder when the woman spoke and said, “Hey, now. You two done it? Together like?”

  “Perhaps,” Katsu said. He stood and hauled her up by the arm. The flash of anger in those catlike eyes of hers sent another rush of blood to his cock. It swelled against his fundoshi, the silk of the undergarment like a soft caress over the sensitive swollen head.

  She tried to pull away, but he held fast and stared down at her. “Your name.”

  “Hannah.” She gave her chin a defiant tilt. “That’s Miss Connolly to you.”

  He smirked. “Hannah-chan.” Grabbing her arm, he took her into the adjoining room and then into a third room. “You stay here.”

  “Fine,” Hannah said as she scanned the room where a futon had been rolled out and placed in the corner. Katsu watched her attention stray to the shoji door at the opposite end of the room. He pulled her around to face him, then reached beneath his haori and pulled out the length of rope he’d had tucked into the back of his obi.

  Hannah struggled. “Hey, now. Stop that.”

  The samurai held both her wrists in one hand and looped the rope over them. Hannah was struck by the feel of the rope. It was made of silk and wasn’t anything at all like that coarse hemp that had scraped her skin raw when she’d been taken to the whorehouse by the couple who’d “rescued” her after the Richardson group was killed.

  Still, she tried to pull away, tried to kick her captor, only to find her own legs swept out from under her in a deft move that left her flat on her ass, and him kneeling over her.

  “Come on, let me up. I won’t try to escape. You can’t leave me like this. The bloody bow on this sash is digging the hell out of me back.”

  “No, you won’t escape,” he said quietly, pulling the daggerlike tanto from the waistband of his hakama.

  Hannah sucked in her breath. “I’ll help you an’ your friend.” She struggled to remember the name the servant women had called him. “I’ll teach you right proper English, I swear, Sanada-san.”

  Still holding her bound wrists in one hand, the samurai used the dagger to slit open the front of the obi securing her yukata. Once it was slit, he jerked it out from under her.

  “Better?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Hannah mumbled as he pulled her to a sitting position. The front of her yukata gaped open, and she watched his dark penetrating gaze fall on the swell of her tits between the gap of the fabric. He stood and pulled her with him, the thin garment falling all the way open.

  He brushed his hand over the hair between her legs and made a guttural sound that sent a chill down Hannah’s spine.

  “The color of fire,” he murmured as he looped the silken rope around her waist. He’d left enough slack so she could partially lift her arms, and he took the remaining ends and secured them behind her then brought the rope up between her legs.

  Hannah wasn’t sure how the bastard had done it so quickly, but he made an intricate knot before bringing the rope up again to loop under the piece at her waist. Hannah gasped when he jerked her hands up and the knot pressed against her clit in just the way to send a tingle through her.

  He wound the rope ends around each thigh, weaving it so that it stayed in place without slipping. He added the last bit of rope at the top of her thighs to that fucking knot between her legs.

  “Walk,” the samurai commanded.

  Hannah could move her legs freely enough, but the way he’d tied the rope was a sweet torture that left no doubt that she wouldn’t be able to make it very far before someone caught up to her.

  Each step tugged the silken rope, rubbed it back and forth against her skin so that it swiftly worked its way between the swelling lips of her pussy. The fucking knot nestled itself close enough to her clit that each and every movement rubbed against her, making her weak in the knees and wetter by the second.

  “Come back,” he ordered softly.

  Hannah paused once she turned, her heart pounding, her blood racing as much from the sensual experience as from the samurai’s lustful stare.

  “Come here,” he said with a more commanding tone.

  Hannah moved slower than before, but that made things so much worse yet so exquisitely thrilling that she had to close her eyes and try to keep the feelings from overwhelming her. The rubbing of the rope felt like his hand had back at the brothel, and she longed to feel his fingers, his cock, anything filling her to accompany the sweet pressure building within from the rubbing of the knotted rope.

  “Look at me.”

  Hannah gasped. The samurai ‑‑ Sanada-san, she reminded herself ‑‑ had approached and was directly in front of her. He grabbed her shoulder and slid those strong calloused fingers around and up the back of her neck to tangle in her unbound hair.

  He jerked her forward for a kiss, a hard kiss, his mouth fairly crushing hers, and yet she felt no sense of violation because she felt too damned aroused by the restraints he placed on her. Surprisingly, the forcefulness of the kiss eased into a definite seduction that made a moan vibrate deep in Hannah’s throat as Sanada-san’s tongue stroked hers, claimed hers in ways she’d never imagined.

  The hilt of his tanto prodded her bare belly, but the discomfort was forgotten the moment he moved his free hand down and slid his fingers past the rope to invade her burning cunny.

  Sanada-san broke the kiss and pulled back enough to stare down at her while he slowly and perfectly fucked her with his fingers. He kissed her neck, nipped at the sensitive flesh, then slid his hot tongue along the curve of her ear. “You are wetter, tighter than any whore I’ve had.”

  Hannah jerked her head back. “I’m no whore. I’m not.”

  Sanada-san tugged her hair till her scalp hurt. “You are my whore.”

  Hannah’s protest was cut off by another kiss, and her anger at him was soon dulled by the steady fucking of his fingers. Oh, God! Her pussy was on fire with the rubbing of the silk knot and the thrusting of his hand. She pressed closer, moved her hips, trying for deeper penetration. She was breathing hard, almost surprised by the echo of her own moans in the quiet room. She was so close…

  The samurai pulled away. He wiped his wet fingers on the shoulder of her open yukata and stepped back. He stared at her with a fucking self-satisfied smirk on his face, then strode across the room and exited with a sharp bang of the shoji behind him.

  “You bastard,” Hannah muttered.

  Sato Masato tipped out the last of the sake as Katsu reentered the main room of the house. “Took you long enough. If you were going to fuck her, you could have given me a turn.”

  Katsu gave his friend a quizzical look. “I didn’t fuck her. She damn near fucked herself.” Katsu crouched down beside Masato and moved his fingers just beneath Masato’s nose before tracing the outline of his friend’s pursed lips. Masato grabbed his wrist, drew Katsu’s fingers into his mouth, and licked them.

  He dropped Katsu’s hand, then downed the last of his sake. “You taste better, but then it’s been so long I can’t quite recall.”

  “You are jealous,” Katsu said with a grin.

  “Of the gaijin woman?” Masato snorted. “I wasn’t jealous of your late wife ‑‑ why should I be jealous of a whore?”

  “She’s not like any whore I’ve ever known.”

  Chapter Three

  Hannah was still on edge as her body pulsed and burned with a desperate need to be fucked long and hard. She sank down onto her kne
es on the thick futon mat, the silk ropes tugging and rubbing against her flushed skin making her torment that much worse. The bloody ropes around her wrists wouldn’t let her move her arms enough to diddle herself properly, but at least she could touch where it counted.

  The big silk knot was wet with her juice, and she rocked back and forth, her fingers rubbing the knot in small fast circles over the throbbing nubbin beneath. A thousand little tremors pulsed through her pussy as the sweet tension built, and she closed her eyes, dying to feel Sanada-san’s hands on her, in her, again.

  The lips of her cunny were swollen with desire, the hairs slick and matted as her juice coated them more with each movement of her fingers. God, she’d never felt like this, never wanted any man to take her more than she wanted that Japanese brute to do now.

  She froze as she heard voices, familiar male voices in the adjacent room. She was both afraid and hopeful that Sanada was coming to finish what he’d started twice before. The voices stayed a little distant, and Hannah’s body cried out for some release, any release possible. Yet she couldn’t get the thought out of her head that those two blokes fucked with one another.

  Still on her knees, Hannah shifted, the knotted rope pushing against the throbbing nub. Awkwardly, she crawled forward, each small, slow movement sending sparks of pleasure through her. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and a cool sweat began to form on the bridge of her nose and between her breasts. She had barely gotten off the futon mat when the steady stroking of the silken knot took her over the edge and sent her pussy into a wave of spasms. Hannah toppled onto her side and rubbed her hands over her cunny harder, trying to prolong the orgasm. Each pulsing of her inner walls made her that much wetter, and the rope between her legs was soaked through by the time her thudding heartbeat slowed to normal.

  Bloody Christ, who’d a thunk being held prisoner could feel so damned good?

  Hannah made her way back to the futon and collapsed down upon it, her swollen pussy now aching from the friction of the rope on her sensitive flesh. She fell into a brief sleep and woke with a raging thirst. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light cast from the small floor lantern in the corner, she looked around. There it was ‑‑ a small water jug on the low lacquered chest near the door that led to the other room she’d been brought through.