Daisy Chain/The Dragon
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
The following story contains bits of blood, violence, sex, et cetera.
Mina and Sayuka lay together, the Empress tracing fingers over the curves of the dragon tattoo adorning the hip and side of her beloved kunoichi.
"Mina... where did you get this?"
"I do not remember, Empress. I am fairly sure that it came after my .. conditioning. Else I would have remembered the application, as I remembered the other tortures. It does feel significant, somehow."
"I've not seen such workmanship. The colors, the detail in the linework... whoever gave you this was a master."
She silently padded across the tatami floor, bearing a tray of tea and rice cakes, while her lover lay reclining. She let her eyes roam over his perfect physique, lips parted, her teeth barely nipping at her lower lip.
"Ah, my lovely Miss Dragon. Your prowess in our struggle earlier was epic... but in the end, I did catch you, yes?"
"Hai." A single nod was all she gave.
"And still barely more than a word. You're so modest and demure, it is hard to believe your serpentine and predatory skill in bed, my lovely." He sat up to accept the cup of tea, the sheets falling away to reveal his tattooed, scarred and yet extremely fit belly and the very beginnings of the pubic hair at his groin. Again, she bit her lip, while inside her head, several different conversations were occuring.
...he's a master as well.
...this one is to kill him.
...one more romp in the bedsheets, as a reward?
...there is no pleasure without pain. Kill him, and return for debriefing. Then this one shall be rewarded.
She felt a hand caress the long hair of her ponytail queue. "I have decided. For many years I have had the ultimate work of art in my head, yet, I have never had a canvas worthy of it, until now. Will you be my canvas, sweet Dae Se?"
"Hai." This one has little choice, this one is to do as he says, until the time comes.
"Perfect. Disrobe and lie down, and enjoy the tea, while I prepare."
She lay as he requested, her unbroken skin exposed to the sunlight filtered though the rice-paper wall. He soon returned, carrying a tray of small jars of ink, and a traditional tattoo hammer, along with an oil wick with a guttering flame. He set the tray down to one side, and removed a clean red silken cloth from his sash, the quality of the brocade obvious by the dogwood-rose pattern sewn into it.
"Now... lie still... and allow an artist to make love to you properly."
Over the next several hours, he applied ink to her hip and ribs, and around her breast. She bit into the futon to stifle her cries of pain, yet with each sting of the needle, there came a touch of the cloth, and then his lips kissing the wound. The needles were sterilized in the flame several times, when the ink was changed, and each time, she cried out as well.
After the first hour, she was numbed. After the second, she was euphoric. After the third, her cries were no longer of pain, but of passion, and as the Dragon took shape and then color upon the canvas of her skin, she began to climax, slowly and then with increasing ardor, until his final kiss upon the nipple of her breast, right next to the snout of the dragon, the smear of her blood as fire from the flared nostrils of the beast. She cried out in passion, her body releasing hours of tension and arousal, her scent musky as he took her, gently, until he too cried out, the seeds of his love planted within her womb.
He opened his eyes to stare into her cold and calculating gaze. "What is th...?" Then came the abrupt crunching noise, as her arms, coiled around his neck in loving embrace, quickly snapped his head sideways.
She got to her feet, carefully blew out the candle, and left the head of the Chiba district Yakuza triad cooling in his own bed. Upon her return, the debriefing was thorough, such that by the end of it, she had no memory of the episode, just as the Ghong Wai had planned. Her chains were placed back around her body, her chastity lock was put in place, and Daisy Chain was placed back into service for the Ghong Wai.
Nine months later, she bore a child, one with deep dark eyes and a serious expression, a boy who would later grow to be an art prodigy. As was the way of the Ghong Wai, the mother was separated from the baby, and again conditioned to 'forget', but she always wore a sash of red silk brocade under the chains at her waist...
"Sayuka?" Her fingers traced along the outline of the dragon tattoo, then picked up the red silk lying crumpled under a tangle of heavy gold-anodized chain links.
"Yes my love?"
"I... have a son."
