Readerotica vol.1

Chapter 9 — A Pillowbook Tale

Rain streamed against the windows. Everything in the room seemed to have stopped down until just the sound of their breathing filled the air. The woman had written a poem across his body with her lips.

She looked at the rain pouring outside in long rivulets against the glass. She liked the quiet hush now, just holding him like this. He felt surrounded by the little silver net of her being, caught like a golden fish in her embrace.

"Touch me," she whispered, drawing his hand between her legs. She was so wet and slick that his fingers slipped easily against her, into her. He felt her tremble a little behind him and smiled to himself.

"I want to taste you," he sighed, drawing his hand across his lips and inhaling. Every part of him wished to turn around and tear the blindfold from his eyes and take her. He had never experienced such romanticism in his life.

"You're my captive this time," she whispered.

"Not the other way around."

His skin was on fire everywhere she had kissed it. A thousand little sparks seemed to blaze at once all over his body, where her lips had imprinted him. He was burning. But he was also curious to see where she would go with her poem. His hand blindly and obediently returned to her cleft and continued its caress.

She felt herself opening.

"Do you understand Ikebana?" she asked in a soft voice.

You are my canvas

"No," he said.

Teach me

She walked him backwards; to a low alcove, that held a deep futon on tatami mats. The alcove had hundreds of different flowers in vases. The riot of color would have assaulted his eyes, had he not been blindfolded. Delicate floral fragrances swirled all around him.

"You'll need to lie down."

She guided him onto the low bed. He lay on his back, with his legs slightly spread. She moved his arms away from his body, stretching them out like wings, palms upright. He was getting hard, and she blew her warm breath over his penis to stiffen it further.

"You are the primal element of this arrangement," she whispered to it, and it swayed under her mouth, dancing. She brought her cheek to rest against it, tenderly, for just a moment.

His legs quivered, just as his mind was quivering, at her presence, so close to his manhood. His mind reeled and a thousand images flashed in front of him. It took every ounce of his strength not to move, not to tear away the blindfold and just grab for her and pull her against him, to move inside of her in one quick fast thrust. He trembled under the weight of his own power to lie there, surrendered into his experience of her.

In the background he heard Kodo drummers begin to play. The drumbeats entered his bloodstream and he breathed in time with them. He felt her move against him.

Something soft dropped silently into his hands. Sweetly fragranced white gardenias now trembled there. He could hear her breath coming more quickly, now. I'm exciting her, he thought. Just looking at me like this is causing her mind to spin and drift. Someplace inside him smiled in the stillness. Zen.

He felt the brush of something against his skin. She had taken a large round ball chrysanthemum and was tracing it up and over his legs. Everywhere the flower touched caused him to shiver inside softness. A cry escaped his lips, or maybe it was a murmur.

Please touch me

She continued the tracing up and down his cock now. Just up and down and up and down, with her breath following closely behind. She impaled the silken mass of the flower over his plump cockhead. He moaned, and drew in his breath, as the blossom engulfed him.

"Shhhh…" she said, putting her finger to his lips.

She climbed over him until she was astride him. She pressed her moonlike breasts together until the rosebuds of her nipples were close. She brought them to his lips. He cried out as his tongue lashed across them.

"I'm so wet," she whispered against his ear.

His body strained, trying to push up against her.

"Don't disturb the arrangement of the flowers," she whispered.

His mind struggled with itself. I'm a man, he thought. No woman can do this to me. I don't have to do what she says. Nothing is holding me here. I'm going to just…

But then her breasts were at his lips again and he felt himself soften back against the pillows as he grew even harder. His cock felt like it was about to burst and his eyes fluttered open and shut against the blindfold.

She let him suckle, first one then the other, over and over again, while she moaned softly against him. She liked the image of her rosy nipples descending into his mouth with his face trapped inside the deep purple velvet of that blindfold.

"This is torture," he murmured, "I can't…"

"Yes you can, Shhhhh…bring your mind back to stillness."

"This is the way of great beauty, the way of Ikebana, and only true poets understand it. It is a meditation on one's desire nature. Listen to the drums and let your heart float in stillness. Imagine that a thread connects it to a star in the heavens."

Listen to the taiko…

She placed many flowers, with great care, across the surface of his body. At the base of his throbbing cock, she created a circular pattern. Periodically she let him suckle her breasts, or pressed petals against his mouth, or took his moist tongue inside her.

She continued to kiss him softly all over his body, all around the base of his cock. It swayed and danced to the rhythm of the drumming music. She brought her breasts around it, trapping it between them.

"I'm going to come," he said.

"Shhhh, no you aren't," she murmured. She removed the chrysanthemum and replaced it with her lips, tracing over his cockhead lightly, and rubbing back and forth like a whisper. She blew and blew along it, streams of warm windy breath. Her soft breasts cupped and locked his shaft.

"Mine," she said.

She had made an altar out of his body.

We are conceptual art, taken to its highest expression.

Nous sommes les enfants terribles du paradis…

"I'm going to come, I have to," he whispered.

He was like a river, pouring currents into the sea. She smiled while she watched him, dreamily. She had consecrated his body with flowers. He looked absolutely beatific. Her canvas was complete.

"Touch me," she whispered, placing her cleft over his gardenia-filled hand. His fingers moved and thrummed inside of her to the sound of the drumbeats. Her breath was deepening, as was his.

She rippled and swayed as his fingers thrust inside her, expertly. Her head arced backwards and her eyes closed. Little whispery sighs seemed to emerge from the great depths inside her. He listened to her sounds; until his synchronized with hers, in a perfection of union under the drums. Taiko and moon; Ikebana and flute, earth and sky.