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Introduction to a Lady
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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Introduction to a Lady
The few people who knew her well could have told that it was not the best
day. A slight narrowing of the eyes, perhaps; a stiffness in the shoulders
barely discernable under the layers of formal kimono. Her stride was
longer than perfect style dictated, carrying her from the punishment room
more quickly than might be necessary. Reaching a central room, she
clapped her hands, and three boys, the youngest perhaps 12, the eldest 15
or 16, appeared as if from nowhere. All three were in rough silk gi of
the deepest midnight blue, all three carried her mon on their shoulders.
She smiled at their attentiveness, and flicked a delicately manicured hand
behind her. "Clean up in there." They were gone, beyond her, without
bowing -- within her household, there was value given to efficiency over
form, for the boys.
She stood for a moment, savoring the breeze of their passing. It had been
silent. She was pleased. Her eyes and shoulders relaxed, her hands
flexed. A private moment: she preened like a cat, adjusting each layer of
kimono, checking the pins and combs of her hair. Although no other
would notice, there was a single drop of blood on the left cuff of her outer,
midnight blue robe, lost in the brocade of her mon. She would have to
have it cleaned thoroughly. She allowed herself to express her annoyance
with herself for allowing such a break in discipline -- she did not expect
her playthings to bleed, and it was a point of pride with her that they not
do so. How could this day's woman proven so irascible, tempting her
beyond her usual limits? As soon as the feeling appeared, she forgave
herself, and dismissed it.
She floated in her folds and puddles of silk toward the bath. This is what
she needed. A very young boy was on his knees polishing the floor of the
entry hall. She caught his eye, and in hand signals, indicated "bath." He
left his work and disappeared, leaving only the slight sussuration of water
in the pine bucket.
Gingerly, she lifted her skirts to find one, and then the other, tiny padded
clog sandals, and opened the sliding panels that opened on the Garden of
the Birds. It being spring, the birds were again out of doors in the day,
each in an ornate cage, hung by pairs from the branches of plum and
cherry. The rings on the heavy lower branches were extraordinarily
strong, as were the rings set in the stones that attached to a chain on the
bottom of each cage. The garden had entertained finer voices than the
songbirds, tightly restrained, on the moonlit nights of summer. Now,
finch and nightingale sang as though free amid the spring sun-dapple and
the showers of petals.
The lady of the house paused to enjoy the garden from the small
meditation platform beyond the door, then turned to shut the panel
behind her. There was no hurry. She turned again to regard the trees
releasing their pink rain, and recited a haiku written for her by an admirer
the previous year:
Bowed with swelling fruit
Plum trees groan beneath the load
Brought by clouds and rain
Yet another hidden knot let loose, she closed her eyes, and breathed the
fine scent of spring, a growing/rotting earthy smell rising through the
perfume of bloom.
As she came back to herself, she detected a flicker of motion from the
opposite side of the bathhouse. No doubt, one of the younger boys -- she
needed to attend to the new boys more regularly. They forgot that it was
not just the guests who were not to see them, hear them -- but also their
Mistress. She sighed. They were young, and would learn much.
The pine sandals clicked pleasantly across the flagstones of the garden
path. It was not just a luxury allowed herself -- it was a signal to the boys
no doubt intently busy within the bathhouse. Already, steam was
escaping from between the dark wood uprights. Within, there would be
several boys to aid her in disrobing from the seven layers of silk, boys
preparing the scented bath, and to help her wash her thigh length hair,
and boys to serve her a chestnut sweetmeat and a tiny cup of plum
liqueur. Perhaps she would choose among the boys left to dry and dress
her, but now this was not foremost in her thoughts.
Her thoughts drifted with the steam. There was much of the day yet to
savor.
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