Yellow Silk

The Shogun rested in the bath closing his eyes. The steaming water was fragrant with the apricot scent of freshly harvested osmanthus blossoms. He felt his tired muscles begin to relax. The hours on horseback and the continuous battles were taking their toll on his warrior body. Around him, he could hear the soft shuffle of his attendants, moving as flowers in the gentle breeze. Women ready to provide for his every need or desire were always on hand during his bath, and afterwards.

In his youth, he had considered his father's bathhouse an extravagant waste. The house was separate from the castle. It was built over a natural hot spring allowing for the bath to be filled at will without waiting on fires and servants. The path to the bathhouse was paved and covered to provide shelter from rain and snow. Now, a man in his thirties, he understood the necessity of this luxury.

His newest attendant, Sakurasou, was standing in the corner watching him closely as she had each time he bathed. She had come to him not as a gift from a family seeking favor. Instead, he had rescued the young woman from a vicious attack. Had he been but a moment longer, she would have preferred death to salvation.

She did not act as the other attendants, never pressing forward to demand his attention, but he always knew where she stood in the room. The connection between them was always present in his awareness no matter how spent he was.

He did not use her as he used his favorites, the roses among his attendants, who knew how to stroke, caress and massage his body to complete satisfaction and relaxation. Though she was of age, she remained innocent and unspoiled. He desired her but, if he was honest, he feared what the connection might grow into should he allow her access to his body. He was a warrior, a leader of Samurai; he did not need to risk distraction.

He raised his eyelids slightly and focused his intense glare on her. She was holding something in her arms. She did not usually do so. In the past months, she had stood as a statue, arms to her sides, head slightly bent, watching him. Now, she held a folded fabric with no discernible pattern that had been primitively dyed with bold colors. Camellia red faded to chrysanthemum yellow. A hint of magenta pink reminded him of the cosmos growing outside the formal gardens in the open fields to the south. He imagined unfolding the fabric and laying her down upon it in that field. He would unfold her petals as easily as he unfolded the cloth. Stroke her until her nectar flowed.

In the bath, he felt oiled hands move along his manhood in practiced rhythm. He had stiffened in response to thoughts of his little flower. The well-cultivated rose took it as a sign to act on his needs. He allowed her to continue while he gazed through heavy lids at Sakurasou, imagining it was her dainty fingers around him. He felt himself tensing, readying to release his seed. He stood and thrust his member in the attendants waiting mouth. Working through his release, her lips soft petals on his stamen. Finished, he opened his eyes and noticed his flower moving toward him, unfurling the beautiful rainbow colored cloth in anticipation of his exit from the bath. He could not allow her to touch him right now. He would be rough and demanding. He wanted her too much.

If he took her as he wanted, now with no prior instruction or preparation, he would be no better than the heathens that had attacked her all those months ago. He had no desire to crush his delicate flower. Instead, he turned from her and stepped into the waiting arms of his oldest attendant allowing her to wrap him in yellow silk.

As he walked out of the bathhouse, taking the attendant with him for the evening, he turned his head and over his should told the young woman "You will study with Ume." She looked down quickly, but not before he saw the rising tears in her eyes. She did not understand that she needed to be prepared. He would not take her in the bath as he did his other servants. She would be revered and give him sons one day as soon as he could be assured that his warrior spirit would not bruise her gentle soul.