Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

With an expression that was strangely adult yet disconcertingly childish, she placed her hand against his bare chest above the neckline of his kimono. Her fingers were soft and warm. Gasping, Masahiro flung her hand off him. “Don’t touch me!”

“Why not?” Kikuko asked in a pouty, wheedling voice. “I can make you feel good. Don’t you want to feel good?”

Masahiro was astonished. She sounded like the bathhouse girls he’d sometimes visited before he and Taeko had fallen in love. She squeezed his erection. The pleasure made him groan. She giggled. “You like that, don’t you?”

“No! Leave me alone!”

“Would you like to see me?” Kikuko untied her sash, let her white silk kimono and red under-kimono drop to the floor, and stood naked, preening like a little girl. Her body was slim, her skin sleek, her breasts bigger than they’d looked under her clothes. Her long hair fell over her narrow waist and curved hips, tickled her crotch. Masahiro was so hard that the pressure from his loincloth hurt. He breathed as if he were running too fast. He tried to avert his eyes from Kikuko, but they wouldn’t move.

She cupped her breasts in her hands, teasing her nipples into pink buds. She dimpled with mischievous pleasure. “Wouldn’t you like to make me feel good, too?”

Masahiro trembled with his desire and his effort to stanch it. His lips moved in a silent curse or plea. Kikuko inserted her finger between her legs, then held it up. It glistened wetly. As Masahiro watched, thrilled and horrified, she put her finger to her mouth, licked it, and purred. She seemed to know everything he liked, everything he would never ask of Taeko because Taeko was too good. As Kikuko tore off his clothes, he let her. He let her push him onto the bed. Crouching over him, she nuzzled, cooed, and murmured down his chest and belly. She took his erection in her mouth and sucked. The sensation was so arousing that Masahiro nearly climaxed right then. Shocked by her behavior, desperate not to betray Taeko, he pushed Kikuko away.

“Where did you learn this?” he demanded.

Saliva drooled down her chin as she smiled. “From Daiemon and Genzo.”

“Who are they?”

“They work for my papa. He doesn’t know they’re my friends. Neither does Mama. It’s a secret.” Kikuko positioned herself on her hands and knees on the bed, her bottom pointed toward Masahiro. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Do you want to play dogs?”

It was irresistible. Masahiro tried to think of Taeko, but her face was a blur in his mind. All he could see was Kikuko’s bare buttocks, the cleft between them, and her saucy smile. He tried to remember how much he loved Taeko, but only Kikuko was here now and real. Hating his weakness and faithlessness, Masahiro knelt behind Kikuko. As he plunged into her, his last coherent thought was that Taeko would never have to know.

* * *

Taeko stood in the snow outside the cottage, sobbing as she spied on Masahiro and Kikuko through a hole she’d torn in the paper windowpane. They didn’t hear her. They were moaning too loudly while Masahiro held Kikuko by her hips and rammed himself against her. Taeko watched in misery and disbelief.

Masahiro couldn’t even keep his promise for one day! He’d said he loved her, but look at him! His eyes were closed, his mouth open. Sweat glistened on his skin. Taeko had never seen him so excited. Not that she’d ever really seen him while they’d made love; they’d always done it in the dark. He plunged so wildly that his penis slipped out of Kikuko for a moment. Taeko wailed. This was her first clear sight of Masahiro naked, and he was with someone else!

Her anger at his faithlessness turned on herself. She wasn’t beautiful or exciting enough for him. She hadn’t even known that people did the things she was seeing! Kikuko was beautiful, and she was giving Masahiro what he liked, so why shouldn’t he want to be with her? Taeko cried so hard that she choked. Self-hatred consumed her as she beheld her rival.

Kikuko panted. Her breasts jiggled while Masahiro coupled with her. She rocked forward and backward, her buttocks meeting his thrusts, crying, “It feels so good!”

Taeko moaned, tore at her hair, and clawed her face. Kikuko was married to Masahiro. She didn’t have to sneak around to make love to him, and she could be as noisy as she wanted. Taeko couldn’t console herself with the thought that she was the one Masahiro loved. Masahiro threw back his head, arched his back, rammed Kikuko hard, and shouted as he climaxed and shuddered. Kikuko squealed, “Yes, yes, yes!” Taeko’s tears blurred their images. They were so passionate, they would surely fall in love, and Taeko would be where she was now-alone in the cold. She felt an ache in the pit of her belly, as if the baby was also suffering.

Masahiro and Kikuko collapsed onto the bed together. Kikuko stroked Masahiro’s heaving chest and cooed. Taeko wanted to rush into the cottage, tear them apart, and yell, “You can’t have him! He’s mine!” But he wasn’t. He never would be. Taeko couldn’t bear to watch any longer. She turned and ran.

* * *

When Sano and Marume returned from the morgue, Yanagisawa was waiting for them, tapping his foot as they crawled up through the trapdoor. They joined him in the chamber in which a lacquer chest, now pushed aside, had concealed the secret exit. His nose wrinkled at their odor of cesspools.

“What did you learn?” He sounded skeptical yet hopeful.

“Nothing,” Sano said. He and Marume had agreed not to tell Yanagisawa about the fingerprint. Yanagisawa wouldn’t care; the fact of the boy’s murder wasn’t ammunition against Lord Ienobu. And Sano still felt compelled to protect Hirata, bound by a loyalty that persisted in spite of everything. Although Marume disliked Hirata and wouldn’t have minded holding him accountable for the murder, he disliked Yanagisawa more. He saw no good in giving Yanagisawa ammunition against someone Sano cared about. And both Sano and Marume realized that Hirata’s role in the boy’s murder put the attack on the shogun in an entirely different light.

“The boy died of the measles,” Sano said.

Yanagisawa looked as if he’d expected as much but was disappointed anyway. “No more wild-goose chases. I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same.” Striding out the door, he called, “It might be our last chance of sleep for a long time. Tomorrow we attack Lord Ienobu.”

Sano had failed again-failed to protect his family and the shogun, failed to solve the crime. He and Marume exchanged troubled yet elated glances. The war they’d never thought to see in their lifetime was nigh. They hurried to their quarters. Marume went to tell Sano’s other men. A lamp glowed in the chamber where Sano found Reiko. She sat up in bed, put her finger to her lips, and pointed at Akiko, asleep beside her; she started to turn away from Sano.

“I have to talk to you,” Sano said in a quiet, pleading voice.

Reiko’s expression warned him not to try to placate her with futile apologies. They both felt the absence of Masahiro, who was with his new bride. Sano said, “We’re attacking Lord Ienobu at the castle tomorrow.”

She merely nodded, unsurprised.

“Hirata murdered the boy.”

“What?” Reiko exclaimed, startled out of her aloofness. Akiko stirred. Reiko lowered her voice. “How do you know?”

At least she was finally willing to talk to him. Sano explained about the bruise. Reiko put her hands to her cheeks, dropped them, and said, “But why do you think it was Hirata? Why not one of his friends from the secret society?”

“It’s as if they’ve disappeared from the face of the earth. But there have been sightings of Hirata. It has to be him.”

“Not some other martial artist?” Reiko sounded anxious to exonerate Hirata.