Seedlings (5)

The bed was covered in a russet silk, with a large dragon embroidered on it.  She saw, and was once again impressed at some deep level, at Mrs. Wu’s handiwork.  She watched, impassively, as he carefully folded the cover back, revealing simple white  sheets. Yet from the sheen she could tell that these were also made of silk. The bed itself wasn’t large, more like an oversized cot, and it sat low, just barely above the floor. He guided her down to sit on the edge, then fingertips touched gently on her forehead,  pressing her backwards.

“Lay down, student.”

He rarely used her name, preferring to remind her of her place. That she was a submissive woman was proper. He knew she was dazed, and that the memory of what happened here would remain choked in  a foggy haze.

She lay back, a pretty girl, her hair fanning across the bed. Silk on silk. He appreciated beauty, now more than ever before in his life.

Before he set about disrobing her, he shuffled to the kitchen. Filling the teakettle with filtered water, he set it on the stove to boil.

Returning to the sleeping area, he looked down at her. She lay exactly as he had left her. Good. His herbs were working to full efficacy.

His hand slipped under her back to unfasten her bra.  To his confusion, however, it had no clasps. With a grimace, he took a pair of silver scissors.  Lifting the fabric from where it hugged her body, he cut between her breasts, then the shoulder straps. He rolled her shoulder to one side, and slipped the now useless thing  from under her, and tossed it into his trash bin.

Her tits were plumper than he preferred in a woman, but her nipples were pleasing to his eye. Next he removed her socks, then her sweatpants.  He smiled his knowing smile when the waistband slipped past her womanhood. She wore no panties underneath.

Her vulva was red and swollen. Drops of dew flecked along her folds, glowing a soft golden-green. She was ready. More than ready.  Her womanhood was begging for a cock now.

Yet there were preparations to be made. He slipped back into his kitchen to prepare another special tisane. As the pot began to rise to a boil, he washed his hands, measured out his herbs. As he had downstairs, he spooned them carefully into a mesh bag, and set it into one cup.  He prepared a second cup with a second packet of herbs, being careful to not mix them.

Now was not the time for error.

Pouring the boiled water into the two cups, he set the timer, then went back to the sleeping area. At the foot of the cot was an engraved chest. From within, he took several thick silk cords. Gently he took her wrists and pulled them over her head, wrapping them beautifully in the cord, wrists together. There was a large ring on the wall behind the bed. Skillfully he tied the rope through the ring. She would not pull it away no matter how hard she might tug.

There were matching rings set into his floor, one on each side of the bed, and covered by rugs. These he scooted out of his way. Another length of rope wound around her left ankle; pulling her leg down from the bed, so that her toes almost touched the floor, and once more he finished off by securing the end of the rope through the ring embedded decades ago into the floor. He had been preparing for a long, long time. Rising, he moved around the bed, and made quick work of tying her right leg as he had her wrists and other leg.

The timer chimed before he could make his last tie, but he had expected that. He looked down at her as he moved past the bed. She stared up at him, eyes clouded with the drug that beat through her.


He had rarely thought that about European woman, finding them more overblown than his personal tastes in women went. Mrs. Wu had been a tiny delicate flower of a woman, always quiet, staying in the background and doing all in her power to take care of him. It had been a primary goal in her life.

Yet, she had not been the One.

To have found her, here, still struck him as a gift from the Ancestors. Of all the places in the world he could have chosen to settle after Mrs. Wu’s passing all those years ago, he had found this place.

And his Student had found him.

Pausing for a moment, he drew his fingertip down her nose, across her lips. They too were flushed and reddened, as if maddened by a lovers mouth. He watched as her nipples tightened into tight, almost impossibly hard buds.

She was ready. So too would he be, soon.


The tea was decanted, filters rinsed. The herbs were thrown into separate trash containers. Taking a colander of ice, he filtered the first tea through, cooling it without releasing too much water into it.

He took the cup, and brought it out to where she lay quiescently. Taking one of his brushes, he dipped it into the tea, and painted it across her lips. Her tongue came out and tasted it, drew it inside of her. Her body arched and she moaned.

“Yes, it is good, is it not, Student?” His voice was silken, smooth, as he dipped the brush and again painted her lips.  Dipping again, his brush lapped around her right nipple. Quickly it puckered again, and flushed a beautiful poppy pink. Dipping and painting, he covered her nipple three times, watching it swell and rise and deepen in color.

Her breath came in pants now, as the herbs did their work. He rose and made his way to her other side. Her left nipple received the tisane as well. Her head tossed, her hips rose, and he recalled that he had wanted to make one more secure tie.  Setting the teacup and brush on the nightstand, he went to the chest and removed two more pieces of silk cord.

He tied a fat coil of it around her thigh, just above her knee.  Sliding the end of the rope first through the ring on the floor that held her ankle tie, he pulled it slowly taut, opening her leg wide. Holding the tension, he drew the rope up to the ring on the wall over her head, and tied it off. Repeating this for her other leg, he paused to examine his handiwork. She was totally restrained, open and available. She must accept what would happen to her now, she had no further options. Her lower lips were fully exposed, swollen and wet still. The lurch of his own arousal nearly caught him off guard.

“Soon,” he murmured, patting his crotch.

Retrieving the cup and brush, he set about coating her womanhood. Each pass of the brush over her folds, over her clitoris, over the gaping space where his cock would soon enter, caused her to gasp, moan and roll her hips. She was nearly incapable of movement, but he was pleased that her body begged so sweetly for him.

Carefully he lifted the dregs of the teacup to her lips and let the last few drops pass into her mouth. Rising, he shuffled to the kitchen to rinse the cup, and begin his own preparations.