Inoue

Inoue. With the tip of the brush I completed the final stroke of the character, fixing my name to the end of the contract. Inoue was the only name I had. My old family name had long been swept away, replaced by the impersonal "of the Green Rivers Theater." It mattered to no one that I had been born the second son of a farmer in a village less than an hour's ride from the city. I was only Inoue of the Green Rivers Theater now, and fortunate even for that. Fortunate that I could read the terms of my sale, fortunate that I could sign my own name to agree to belong to this unknown man.

Tonight I had sung the role of a grieving princess who kills herself for the sake of love. Tonight, as I perspired beneath the heavy layers of a woman's kimono and placed every step of my dance as gracefully as a girl, I had won the heart of the man who sat across from me now. Or, so I was told. Mouri Takara, who now signed his name beside mine on the contract, had not yet spoken a word to me. The terms of our agreement had been decided by Mouri and the theater owner before I had even completed my death scene. As I was pouring out the red silk blood from my stage knife, my employer had agreed to accept this samurai's patronage in return for my intimate services.

This was not the first time such a thing had happened. At fifteen, I had been on the stage for only a year when my first patron had claimed me. Each successive year had brought a new patron for me and more money for the theater. I knew I could not be the only boy who gave himself in this way, but none of the onnagata ever discussed these things among ourselves.

I did not look my new patron in the eye even as I preceded him to my small room behind the theater. If I had, he might have found me too spirited, and perhaps he would be harsh with me. He was a young man still, whereas those who had claimed me before were each old enough to be my grandfather. I did not wish to anger this Mouri Takara. I was young still, only eighteen, and though I was experienced with three older lovers already, I still dreamed that perhaps true passion did exist in the world. Did I not sing songs of love and devotion beyond life and death every night? Surely somewhere these feelings must exist, for someone wrote about them, someone composed music to express them, someone longed to put their feelings into words so that others might sing, and still others might hear. Yet I knew only the painful and brief fumblings of old men who were grateful only for my willingness to please them. Surely this 'love' of which the poets sang meant more.

"Inoue." My new patron possessed a low, soft voice, a tenor of gentleness with the firm decision of command behind it. He closed the screen behind us, enclosing us in the tenuous privacy of rice paper walls. "If there is anything in this room given to you by a man who has known you as I will tonight, you must throw it out immediately."

I turned to look at him then, made bold by surprise. Most of the things I owned were given to me by a previous patron, even the kimono I wore now was the generosity of my last master. But I could not argue with him. Seeing his face, I was struck silent.

Mouri Takara was a handsome man beyond all telling. He stood much taller than I, broad in the shoulders but trim in the waist, a fighting man who still took his samurai training to heart. His black hair was long in the fashion of his class, and held back in a high tail now that he was here to relax. Days in the sun, perhaps on the battlefield, had streaked the ebony of his hair with auburn, lending him a mysterious, exotic appearance. Though his body was regal and fair, his face was kind, still soft in the cheeks from boyhood. He could hardly be five years older than I was, but neither his voice nor his stance gave any indication of it. This man was in utter control of himself and those around him wherever he went, and was accustomed to having his orders obeyed. Suddenly it seemed that a bird's wing fluttered in my stomach, and the thought of obeying his commands quickened my heartbeat.

"Mouri-sama," I began, "nearly everything that I have was given to me..."

He held up his hand, shaking his head with the sort of indulgent smile that one gives a child or a servant who has misunderstood. I suppose to him I was both at the same time. "We will know each other well," he told me. "Call me Takara when we are together. Call me 'my lord' when we are intimate. Now. Take everything that was given to you by other men, and throw it out the window."

Stunned, without any choice, I obeyed. Most of my finest clothes, many of my combs and all the jewelry I owned were cast out of my window, into a growing heap on the grass outside. I took armfuls of silk kimonos, jars of oils and perfumes, and an entire jade box of fans, and threw them all outside. Takara relaxed on the collection of pillows and cushions which I kept for entertaining, and watched me discard more than half of the things I owned.

With each pass from the window to my drawers to remove more things, I felt myself become lighter and lighter. As the room grew bare and sparse, and the pile outside grew higher and more misshapen, I myself began to feel as if my feet did not even touch the ground. What was the power of this man, whose simple command allowed me to cast off the weight of what had come before? Already I could not remember the faces of the men who had given me these fine things. They now seemed as far away as the parents and brother I had left behind years ago.

I hesitated only when I came to the pigeonhole cabinet that held my books and plays. Takara stopped me with his gentle command. "You may keep those, Inoue. Joy in the written word is one thing I will never ask you to abandon. Come away from there." I did, grateful that my patron understood. "Is there anything else?" he asked, looking up at me from where he reclined.

Once again I lowered my eyes, undoing the obi around my waist. "Only this." Many nights before this I had removed my clothing for the enjoyment of others. Even the first time, I had not been afraid. Only this time, I felt strangely hesitant to untie the sash of my kimono and let the silk fall from my shoulders. I took my time unpinning my long hair, delaying the removal of the final cotton layer until I had no other choice. Then I understood why I felt such anxiety. After only the few words that Takara had spoken to me, I had become aroused. Takara would see my body's delight, and would know that I took pleasure in thinking about what he would do to me. Would he be annoyed? Laugh at me? Would he tease me, knowing that I trembled to think of his hands upon my body?

I could not force my body to calm itself. When I removed my under-robe and dropped it out the window, the brush of my hair against the rounded swell of my backside caused my hips to tighten. A warm spring breeze whispered in through the open window, caressing my skin, and I turned to draw the bamboo shade.

Takara's hand fell over mine; I had not even heard him move. I gasped when his warm body leaned against my back. "Leave it. I am not concerned with anyone seeing us." All I knew was the heat of his body and the smooth tickling silk of his garment on my bare skin. One of his large, commanding hands pressed against my abdomen, holding me back against his chest. The other explored my nakedness, testing my shape and form, seeking out every place that I could be touched. Whenever I would react or gasp, whenever he saw my manhood twitch, he would brush his fingers over the spot as if to mark a place to return later. He touched me everywhere, and when his fingers slid between my thighs, I parted them in welcome. I was his limp doll, alive with his touch and thinking of nothing else.

It seemed half the night that he simply toyed with me, learning the shape of my body, understanding the sensitivities of my skin. A warm breeze brushed through the open window, tickling the fine downy hairs curled tightly around my manhood. Takara murmured appreciatively behind me, and his fingertip scraped over the tiny slit at the tip of my erect sex. When he drew it away, a bit of clear fluid glistened there. Appearing satisfied, Takara cleaned it away with his tongue, and then much to my surprise, lifted me bodily to be carried to my nested pile of cushions.

I lay there against the silks and velvets, opening my legs, thinking that now he would take his pleasure with me. This perplexing man had done nothing I expected since he first arrived, yet he propelled me along a path of desire over which I had no control. My body responded to him as if made for him, and my mind was lost to the body's demands. At last, I thought as he laid me down and secured one of the pots of oil on my dressing table, at last he will take me like the others, and I will belong to myself again. At last, I thought, I will be able to use my own skills and bind him to me through his desire for me. I stretched my arms high above my head, arching my back, on display for him. My legs parted, my hips lifted, until I knew he could see the small, deep rose bud awaiting his violation. Closing my eyes, I leaned back until I was completely exposed to him, spread out in offering to my new master.

The touch on my entrance was cold at first, opening the clenched muscle with a tapered tip too gentle to be a man, too hard, too solid to be flesh. It pushed relentlessly within me, opening and widening every clamp of my muscles until it was buried deep inside. Wide and thick, it was already coated with the heavy-scented almond oil which now tinged the air. The toy phallus spread me open inexorably, growing even thicker as it went further and further. No man's flesh had ever given me the pleasure that the careful application of this false sex had. It seemed to love me of its own will, encouraging my body open further, soothing the muscles that fought against its entrance. Men pushed their way in too eagerly, bringing pain before pleasure, but this thing, this nonliving ivory, thrummed against a center of utmost delight within me. Almost against my will, I moaned for it, and the sound brought Takara's voice to me again, very close to my ear.

"Men will forget that their lovers can enjoy the moment of penetration, will they not? For me you are untouched, pure, innocent. You have never known the pleasures of the flesh before. No man has made you feel this way before."

When I opened my eyes, his sunstreaked ebony hair tumbled across my cheek and neck, and his lips ghosted a breath over my own. "Never," I swore in a whisper. "Only you have touched me this way, my lord. Only you have filled me with this desire." He nearly kissed me then, but his mouth hovered just out of my reach, forcing me to lift my chin and beg for his kiss with flushed, yearning lips. He did not give me what I sought.

Instead he drew back, withdrawing the ivory phallus from my body with the same concentrated care which he had inserted it. Choking on my own moans, I began to roll onto my stomach, to offer him what he would now want to take. Takara's large hands stopped me again, laying my shoulders back on the cushion so that I reclined at a slight slope. "You are a man, and I want you as a man. I want to see your face," he told me in a quiet voice, cupping and caressing my cheek. "For you are mine."

His robes were undone, but the shadows of the candle's light fell so that I could see no more of his body than I had before. Eager for him, I lifted my legs to his waist, opening and welcoming the invasion of his body into mine. Takara held on to my hip and lay himself on top of me, his black eyes intent and capturing my gaze. He wanted to see the look in my eyes when the bulging tip of his manhood finally penetrated my slippery, stretched hole. Without seeing him, I could feel now that it was a gloriously thick shaft that thrust inside me. Yes, I cried out for him, and my cries doubled the strength of his thrust.

Out of control, my inner walls contracted all around him, as if trying to draw his hardness further inside. I needed him entirely within me. I needed his hips to press against my lifted backside, to feel his fine hair up against my skin, to know that he was as deep inside me as he could be.

"Is it all right, my Inoue?" Takara whispered, again caressing my face, painting my open lips with his fingers. He smiled for me, so kind despite the darkness of passion that clouded his eyes. Our eyes met, and I knew we longed for one another.

"Take me!" I gasped, heedless of my own wanton voice. "I want you, my lord, I am yours!" Between us, my erect penis throbbed painfully, angry at having been neglected so long. But the feeling of my lord's manhood filling me was a perfect distraction from the desires of my sex.

Takara gave me then what I wanted. I clung to his back and he thrust inside me, pumping himself in and out in a swift, ceaseless rhythm. His eyes never left my face, while his fingers caressed those tender, sensitive places he had sought out before. His heat pounded inside me and his hands loved my neck, smoothed my stiffened nipples, traced the line of my collarbone as if I were as fragile as glass.

"So beautiful," he breathed, his voice never faltering or cracking even as he rode me hard and deep. "So delicate and passionate... rise for me, my Inoue, cry out that you are mine and mine alone!" His large, hot hand curled around my engorged flesh at last, smearing the wetness that trickled constantly from the tip. My lover gave me a tight, warm channel to thrust into, skillfully pulling me to the pinnacle with him.

At that moment I felt as though my very spirit leapt forward, trying to burst out of my body and rise shrieking to the sky, like a hawk set free, like a phoenix reborn. Unimaginable pleasure rushed through my body, a shockwave of ultimate need and absolute release. I know only that I screamed for him, swearing to him that I was his, that I belonged to only him and to no other, but my mind did not create these words. My spirit formed them, enticing my lips to shout as the words were made truth in my soul. This man's mark lay on my heart.

A hot burst flooded my body, filling me with his fluid, and bringing me again to a smaller, shuddering climax. My fingers were dug into the back of his kimono and I was tangled in its folds without any hope of freeing myself. I cared nothing about being free at that moment. I cared only for the firm, masculine lips that covered my mouth and the sweet tasting, tender tongue which loved my own. Takara slipped his hands into my hair and kissed me at last with the sighing, trembling kiss of a lover.

We panted together for long moments before he could withdraw his relaxing but still impressive flesh, but neither of us had the energy to unwind the robes and sashes that had bound us together in the throes of lovemaking. I lay upon his chest and he soothed my hair. "Inoue. I knew when I first saw you that you belonged to me."

Now that our contract was consummated and we were alone, without the promise of sex hanging over our heads, I suddenly felt shy. What else was I to do with this man? Small-voiced truths came tumbling out, my tongue loosened by the fulfilled glow he had brought to me. "Thank you, my lord, for your... for your kindness. For seeing to my pleasure." All my talent as an actor had fled me, leaving me without any skill with words. "You treated me well," I finally faltered, feeling my words too lame to express my heart.

Takara took my face in hand, studying my eyes. "You belong to me now, and you are my treasure, Inoue. I must always take the very best care of you."

His words surprised me back into silence, and I threw my arms around him and hugged him like a child. I had never dreamed that to be treated like a possession would be something I would long for, something I would look forward to every day. But in Takara's possession, I was more than a thing. I was his. I was his treasure.

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