Geisha (Shinobi Saga) Read online

  “I am but a tool to be used as my shuudan desires.” The shadow wolf locked eyes with Zenshiro, voice darkening as he continued. “My hope is that one day soon this tool will be ordered to end your miserable life.”

  “Why continue to stay loyal to the ones who sold you?” Zenshiro was truly puzzled. In the same situation he would have happily gone rogue. The thought of putting duty ahead of his own life never occurred to him. Well, that's not exactly true, he realized. I am more than willing to die in battle as a warrior should. Still, that's a far cry from whoring myself out. “Don't you have any pride?”

  “I'm proud to be of service to my clan,” Yoshi retorted. “Loyalty means I accept whatever assignment I am given. Speaking of which, are we done with this so-called lesson?”

  “Not yet, pretty one.” Zenshiro picked up the pace of his thrusts, wrapping a rough hand around the shadow wolf's cock and squeezing. He smirked when it gave a half-hearted twitch. “That's what I'm looking for.”

  Yoshi shut his eyes, searching for anything even mildly arousing in hopes of ending his ordeal a bit sooner. If nothing else, the last few years had taught him men were less cruel when they got what they wanted. He was about to abandon it as hopeless, he'd yet to meet a man who inspired any sort of lustful thoughts. A memory of the bathhouse after an assassination and droplets of water glinting on bronze, heavily scarred skin made him reconsider. Feared psych specialist he might be, but Sasaki Makoto had always intrigued Yoshi, and he felt himself hardening.

  “That's my girl,” Zenshiro chuckled. “I told you it could be fun.” He pumped the shadow wolf's erection, swiping his thumb across the sensitive slit to gather beads of pearly liquid and lifting it to his mouth to taste. “So, so, sweet, my Ama-chan. I'm going to make you come so hard.”

  Not you. Never you, the shadow wolf swore. Instead he pictured the young interrogator. The knowledge that the other shinobi valued privacy as much as Yoshi did added a forbidden air to his musings that only heightened his arousal. At the time he'd turned away to give the other man his privacy, but in his mind's eye he watched with unashamed fascination as Makoto pleasured himself, his world narrowing down to the slide of a scarred hand on slick flesh.

  His guard smiled triumphantly when resistance turned to participation, recapturing pale lips and devouring Yoshi's broken groans. Memory bled into fantasy, and the shadow wolf's gaze was met by inscrutable onyx. The heat he imagined in the young psych specialist's eyes sent him tumbling over the edge and he came with a strangled sigh, pulling Zenshiro with him.

  As he scrubbed the evidence of his failed self-control from his skin, Yoshi spared a moment to send a mental apology to the unwilling subject of his fantasy. Makoto was a comrade and an honorable man, he deserved better than to be used in such a way.

  By the time the maid arrived the next morning to help with his hair the shadow wolf's emotions were once more tightly locked away. He suffered her ministrations in silence, accepting the painful tugging as a small penance for his uncharacteristically wanton behavior. Behavior he swore would never be repeated.

  ***

  Yoshi's shinobi training proved surprisingly handy. He'd been taught the rudiments of the tea ceremony, and the language of flowers was standard for sending coded messages. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that three of the four key subjects, ikebana, the tea ceremony, and dance, would pose no great challenge. Although dancing was hardly the purview of assassins, his physical training allowed him to copy the movements with an alluringly languid grace.

  Music, on the other hand, was certain to be his downfall. His soft, smoky voice was ill-suited to the traditional ballads and the shamisen strings drew blood from even calloused fingers. The music mistress was undeterred, suffering through his tuneless fumblings with unending patience. He had no more talent at the biwa or koto, and after several painful sessions she finally agreed he had no affinity for any of the stringed instruments.

  The other maiko were more than happy to watch Yoshi's struggles. They had lived and trained together for years and there was no room in their circle for a newcomer, especially one as striking and talented as the shadow wolf was turning out to be. “I don't know why you took her on.” Tsubaki's question was echoed by the other girls.

  “You don't need to worry about Ama-chan,” the okasan assured them. “She already has a very wealthy patron. She isn't going to be any competition for you. She'll be leaving once her training is complete.”

  “That's what I mean. She has a powerful man arranging all this for her, a fancy apartment outside the hana-machi…”

  “And a handsome bodyguard,” Ayame added. “We aren't even allowed to talk to men. Why does she get to do whatever she wants? You know people will think she's sleeping with that guard of hers.”

  “Enough. Her patron wishes her trained and I do not want to lose his business.” The okasan refused to argue. Inside the okiya her word was law. “It would behoove you to worry about your own futures. I've gotten nothing but sterling reports from Ama's teachers. Obviously she's working very hard. I can't say the same for all of you.”

  “You can't have heard from the music mistress.” Tsubaki's face twisted into a grimace. “It sounds like she's torturing rabbits.”

  Yoshi bit his lip hard enough to bleed in an attempt to stifle the outraged retort bubbling up in his chest. It would not help his situation to be caught eavesdropping. They hate me, he concluded miserably. The shadow wolf's contact with both women and children was minimal and long past. The petty jealousies of teenaged girls were a convoluted labyrinth he lacked the social skills to navigate. The fact that their teachers obviously adored the willowy white-haired newcomer only made the gossip more vicious.

  The girlish giggles continued unabated as the maiko continued to list Yoshi's failures. After a few minutes he steeled himself and slid the door open, mollified slightly by the guilty looks on their faces as they turned to see who had come in. “I'll be leaving now, Okasan.”

  “Has your man come to escort you?”

  “He's not my man,” the shadow wolf insisted, flushing beet red at the knowing smirks. “He's just a guard.”

  “We've seen the way he looks at you, Ama,” Tsubaki was quick to point out. “You don't have to keep secrets from your sisters, you know. Tell us the truth. Is he as lusty as he looks?”

  “I'm sure he thinks he is.” Yoshi's answer set off another chorus of giggles and wiped the smug grin off Zenshiro's face. He nearly revealed his hiding place, then decided it would be better not to give the shadow wolf a reason to suspect he'd overheard. Punishment was so much sweeter when it was unexpected.

  The look in Yoshi's eyes made him reconsider. It was clear the catty comments had thrown him off-balance, and uncertainty gave his face a soft, approachable quality that sparked protective instincts in his guard. “Ama-chan, are you ready?”

  The maiko broke into a fresh round of giggles. “I'm sure she's always ready for you,” Ayame tittered behind her fan. “I know I would be.”

  “I'm flattered,” Zenshiro said with a smile. “But Ama is the bound consort of my Lord. My duty is to protect her, even from myself.”

  “I'm sure Ayame meant no insult.” The okasan was livid. Gossiping was one thing, but geisha made their fortune by being discrete. A girl who couldn't be circumspect would never find a patron. “Please forgive her loose tongue.”

  “No apology is necessary,” Zenshiro assured her. “Ama-chan may feel differently, however. It was her virtue you called into question.”

  “Can we just go home, please?” Yoshi didn't need any more animosity from the other girls. He was already constantly on edge, living in fear his secret would be discovered.

  The maiko whispered behind their fans. “You should stay here at the okiya tonight, Ama. How can we be sisters if we don't know each other?”

  Zenshiro recognized the trapped expression. Yoshi was very close to blowing his cover. That would end this little experiment far too soon for his tastes. “I'm
afraid that is impossible. I cannot leave Ama alone at night. I'm sure none of you want to sully your reputation by having a man stay at the okiya.”

  “Are you alright, my dear?” The okasan peered into the shadow wolf's pallid face. “You look even paler than usual.”

  “My hair is very tight,” he mumbled. “It's giving me a terrible headache. I'd really like to get home and lay down.”

  By the time he stumbled through the door and started pulling the pins from his hair Yoshi no longer cared how he looked or who was watching. He only noticed his guard when strong fingers began massaging his aching scalp. “I don't know how you manage it,” Zenshiro muttered. “No one should look this good when they're in pain. No wonder the old man is so crazy about you.”

  The pale neck grew rigid, and the shadow wolf sighed. “At least give me a few minutes to start feeling like myself before you molest me.” He shrugged off the hands still petting his hair, walking into the kitchen and fumbling through the cupboards. “Don't we have anything for a headache?”

  “Here.” Yoshi opened his eyes, a couple tablets and a glass of water were on the counter. His guard, however, was nowhere to be seen. He was not about to argue with the one bit of good luck he'd had all day, deciding to take advantage of the rare moment of privacy and soak away his tension in the furo.

  After an hour in the heated water the shadow wolf's muscles felt like putty and he reluctantly dragged himself out, pulling on a yukata for the walk to the bedroom. He half expected Zenshiro to be laying on the futon waiting for him, but the room was empty. Yoshi lit some incense, fanning the sticks to extinguish the flame before settling down to meditate. The prolonged subterfuge was straining both his body and mind, this was the perfect chance to calm his raw nerves and replenish his ki.

  Gradually the world around him faded and the shadow wolf began to draw in energy, concentrating on opening himself to the influx, relaxing further when the bright sparks of ki flashed off along hidden pathways to replenish his depleted reserves. Only then did he turn to the trickier task of anchoring himself mentally. After years of practice it was simple for him to slip even deeper into his mind, easily conjuring up his touchstone, symbol of the clan he was sworn to, before letting the image fade to the dusty street outside his home. Yoshi watched as his comrades went about their daily business, drawing strength from the knowledge he was helping to keep them safe.

  The usual ritual began to swerve off course with the appearance of Sasaki Makoto. Guilt and arousal warred in the shadow wolf at the thought of the heavily scarred psych expert. He'd never forgiven himself for the resentment he'd harbored after being used to retrieve Makoto from Iwagashi's torture chambers. Somewhere along the way, though, his feelings had shifted. Yoshi admired the dedication it took to not only accept, but embrace, the same profession that had caused the young interrogator so much pain. He wondered what it would be like to have such a man as a friend, but knew he was far too soiled by his duties to ever be able to forge such a bond. An honorable man would never want to be associated with a whore.

  Nevertheless, he lingered, once again picturing the psych specialist in the shower. His mind's eye traced the erratic path of a water droplet as it slid over bronzed flesh, running this way and that along criss-crossed scars as it traveled down the broad chest and muscular abs. The thought of his hand following the same path sent a frisson of excitement up his spine and Yoshi's cock began to harden, poking wantonly through the opening of his yukata.

  His guard lounged against the wall, content, for now, to observe. It was rare that he got a chance to watch the shadow wolf without his knowledge, so he opted to delay his pleasure, hoping to gain some insight into the reclusive shinobi.

  Yoshi carefully examined his reaction, eager to figure out why the thought of Makoto aroused him so. As he slipped deeper into his fantasy a strangled moan passed through pale lips, capturing the attention of his silent spectator.

  Zenshiro’s cock hardened, and he slipped a hand inside his robe to stroke himself, imagining a slender, paler one in its place. He nearly blew his cover when the same hand he was picturing dipped into the small jar of ointment next to the futon and then disappeared between long legs. The thought of the reluctant shinobi fingering himself was almost too much to resist.

  When an agile tongue peeked out to wet the shadow wolf's lips his guard could wait no longer, eagerly pressing his dripping erection against them.

  “Kami, you feel good,” Zenshiro muttered as he rocked wantonly into the heat, throwing his head back with a groan. The shadow wolf showed none of his usual reluctance, avidly swallowing his erection to the root. Yoshi slurped and sucked, twining his tongue teasingly up the prominent vein and around the flared head, too engrossed in his fantasy to notice that it had slipped into reality.

  When his guard lifted him away, pouting pale lips made his displeasure clear. Yoshi lay back and spread his legs, hooking one around his startled partner's back to pull them flush. “Fuck me like you mean it.” The wanton growls and breathy moans coming from the shadow wolf spurred Zenshiro on, and he thrust with abandon.

  “Not enough.” Yoshi's snarled words were the only warning his guard received before he found himself flipped onto his back, a none too subtle reminder of the power hidden behind a deceptively delicate appearance. The shadow wolf wasted no time, twisting erotically as he positioned himself with his back facing Zenshiro to give him a perfect view of his cock disappearing between creamy cheeks.

  Yoshi's hands slid over his own ass, squeezing and parting the firm globes, giving his shell-shocked guard teasing glimpses of his hole, shiny with lube, stretched taut around the thick cock as the shadow wolf slid ever lower. When he finally bottomed out, ass pressed firmly against Zenshiro's groin, he stretched languidly, lifting and twisting his long locks into a loose figure eight at the back of his head.

  Thigh muscles flexed and bunched as the motion reversed. “Wait.” Zenshiro struggled to lift his upper body, wrapping his arms around the shadow wolf and pulling them flush. Hard fingers tweaked pale nipples and Yoshi scrabbled for purchase, throwing his head back and letting his hair cascade over his guard's shoulder.

  “Now, slowly.” The tight hold loosened just a fraction and the shadow wolf started a small undulation, twisting and bending as he slid up, letting gravity do its job on the way down. The breathy 'oh' at the bottom of each stroke was driving Zenshiro mad, so he focused on the heavy curtain of hair tickling the small of his back and drops of moisture glittering in white lashes.

  “Look at me.” The soft command registered in some deep part of Yoshi's brain and he blinked several times before finally focusing. The glamour they were caught in dissolved and he froze. “Don't move.” Steely arms wrapped tightly around his chest, pinning him in place. “It’s obvious your mind was elsewhere. Who were you thinking about?”

  “That is none of your concern,” the shadow wolf snapped back. “My thoughts, at least, are my own.”

  “I’m trying to help you,” Zenshiro insisted. “You were enjoying this, and so was I. Wouldn’t it be better if it were always pleasurable? I don’t really want to hurt you, but you’re so distant and it’s the only way I can get a reaction.”

  “You don’t understand. I don’t want to react. I can’t enjoy this and still look at myself in the mirror. Push too hard and I’ll commit seppuku. I doubt your master would appreciate that.”

  “Have it your way.”

  Yoshi felt the hold on him loosen slightly, then the world tilted as he was pushed forward. His momentary relief at the loss of penetration, however, was short lived. Embarrassment flooded through him at the position he found himself in, face pressed into the mattress and his ass lewdly raised. He shut down completely when fingers spread his hole wide, shivering at the panted breaths his guard could not restrain. Two fingers became three, then four.

  “Since you choose not to enjoy this, I will.” Zenshiro wedged his thumb into the overstretched ring and made a fist, sliding it in wrist deep. “No
w crawl, and don’t lift your face.”

  The mortified shinobi slid one knee forward, biting his lip when the fist inside him shifted. After a few moments he managed to move his other leg, setting up a hitching motion that carried him across the futon and onto the floor.

  “You can do better than that,” the guard chided, lifting his hand and twisting slightly. “Faster. Across the room and back. Do well and, perhaps, this will end here.”

  Eager to bring the torment to a close Yoshi struggled to obey. He slipped and slid across the smooth floor, propelled at an ever increasing pace by the relentless pressure inside him. When he reached the wall he realized there was no easy way to go back. He struggled through a wide turn, picking up speed in his desperation to reach the safety of the futon.

  “Not bad, but I’m sure you can do better. Shall we try again?”

  “No, please.” It was as close to begging as he would allow himself to get. “I’ll try harder.”

  Apparently it was enough, the fist unclenched and the hand slowly slipped out, leaving Yoshi feeling unpleasantly open and empty. He struggled for a semblance of his usual grace, clawing at the futon for purchase and collapsing face down. He barely felt the hard cock pushing inside him, surrendering, instead, to the darkness that rose to meet him.

  ***

  Yoshi gradually slipped further into his own world. The life of a maiko was demanding in the best of circumstances. His days were hectic, the instructors rushing to bring him up to speed in time for the annual dance and music performances. To his dismay, his coloring made him the focus in any grouping, and the extra attention he drew brought out the worst in the other girls.

  “Okasan, perhaps it would be best if I didn’t perform,” he suggested after a particularly brutal dance rehearsal. “The other maiko need the exposure more than I. I’m sure my master would understand.”