Page 17 of Kotori

Kaito

Perfect.

She kneels on the hard stone path as I commanded, yukata pooled around her, blonde hair escaping its arrangement from the force of her submission.

The sight of her—defiant woman reduced to this position by my voice alone—sends heat coursing through my veins, a hunger I've been denying myself since she first stepped into my home.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly beneath the restrictive obi, whether from anger or arousal, I cannot tell.

Perhaps both. The flush spreading across her pale cheeks suggests her body understands what her mind refuses to acknowledge.

The morning light catches on the exposed skin of her neck, making my fingers itch to trace that vulnerable line.

She wants this. Craves the structure her chaotic life never provided. The security of knowing exactly where she stands, what's expected of her, who holds ultimate authority. Who owns her completely.

I remain standing, looking down at her kneeling form with the patience of a man who knows the outcome is inevitable. Cherry blossoms fall around us, nature marking the moment she begins to understand her place.

"You asked why I hired an American," I say quietly, my voice carrying in the mist-shrouded garden. "An excellent question that reveals how little you understand your purpose here."

Her blue eyes flash with defiance, though she doesn't dare rise from her knees. Good. She's learning the boundaries, testing how far her rebellion can extend before consequences become unpleasant.

"I didn't hire you despite your Western corruption, Paige-san.

I hired you because of it." I step closer, allowing her to see the ink flowing across my bare chest, the way morning light catches the sweat still gleaming on my skin from kyudo practice.

I let my gi hang loose, making no attempt to cover myself.

Let her look. Let her see exactly what kind of man now controls her fate.

"My daughters need to understand the enemy. "

"Enemy?" The word escapes her mouth quietly.

"Western individualism. The poison that convinces young women their personal desires matter more than family obligation.

The selfishness that destroys bloodlines stretching back centuries.

" Each word lands with precision while I study her reactions.

"You represent everything they must learn to resist."

It's not the whole truth, but enough to make her breath catch. She's beginning to realize this was never about language instruction. She's a tool in my daughters' education, a living example of corrupted thinking brought into our home for them to observe and ultimately reject.

"So yes," I continue, "I brought an American here deliberately. Someone young enough to relate to them, attractive enough to seem appealing, damaged enough to be easily controlled. You've served your purpose beautifully."

The lie flows from my tongue. In truth, she's far more than an educational tool.

She's become an obsession, a need that grows stronger each day.

But letting her believe she's merely a cautionary tale serves multiple purposes.

It wounds her pride, increases her isolation, and provides cover for my true intentions.

Her hands clench into fists against her thighs, silk whispering with the movement. "You bastard."

The insult hangs in the morning air. I allow it to settle, let her feel the weight of what she's just said to a man who could end her existence with a word.

I move to tower over her kneeling form. My hand closes around her throat—not squeezing, but claiming the space, tilting her chin up so she's forced to meet my eyes.

"Language, Paige-san." My tone remains controlled, but cold enters my voice. "Though I suppose such crudeness is typical of your upbringing. No father to teach you respect, no stable family to model proper behavior. Is it any wonder you turned out so... unrefined?"

The words hit their target. Her face goes pale beneath my palm, then floods with humiliated color as my assessment finds every vulnerable point.

Abandoned by her father, discarded by her fiancé, now reduced to a teaching aid in a foreign country where she understands nothing about the true rules of engagement.

"You know nothing about my family," she whispers, but the words lack conviction.

"Absent father who chose his new life over his responsibilities. Mother too focused on her own pain to provide stability. Parents who used their child as a messenger between hostile camps, forcing her to navigate conflicts that should never have been her burden."

I watch her flinch with each accurate detail, see the way her breath hitches as I dismantle the lies she's told herself about her upbringing.

"A young woman desperate for approval, willing to sacrifice her own needs to keep others happy.

So eager to please that she stays with a man who takes her for granted, who sees her as convenient rather than cherished.

" I complete the circle, standing directly in front of her again.

"Tell me, did David ever make you feel truly wanted? Or were you simply useful?"

"Stop." The word comes out broken.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" I kneel before her, bringing us to eye level but maintaining the psychological advantage.

My knees brush against hers through the layers of silk, a deliberate invasion of space.

"You came to Japan seeking the stability you never had, the structure your chaos craves.

And here you are, on your knees before a man who understands exactly what you need. "

Her breathing is rapid now, shallow. The combination of humiliation and proximity having its effect. Her pupils dilate as I lean closer, the scent of her skin filling my senses.

"I won't let you manipulate me," she says, but her voice shakes with the effort of defiance.

"Manipulate?" I reach out to cup her chin, tilting her face up to mine. Her skin is fever-warm under my fingers. I let my thumb drag across her lower lip, feeling its fullness. "Is that what you call giving you exactly what you've been craving your entire life?"

"I don't crave this."

"Your body says otherwise." My thumb traces along her jawline, feeling the pulse hammering beneath her skin.

"The way you respond to authority, how you melt when given clear direction.

You were made for submission, Paige. Bred for it across generations of women who understood their place in the natural order. "

"That's not—" she starts, but I silence her with a finger across her lips.

"Shh. Let me tell you what you are." I lean closer, my breath ghosting across her ear, my lips nearly touching her skin.

"You're a woman without purpose, drifting through life hoping someone strong enough will claim you completely.

You want to belong to something larger than yourself, to serve a master worthy of your devotion. "

My hand moves to rest against her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my palm. My other hand finds the small of her back, drawing her slightly closer, testing how her body responds to my touch.

"You want to kneel," I continue, my voice dropping to something intimate and commanding. "You want to be owned. You want to stop thinking, stop choosing, stop carrying the burden of independence that's brought you nothing but pain."

"No," she whispers, but the word holds no conviction. Her body betrays her, leaning into my touch.

"Look at me, Paige." I tighten my grip slightly on her throat, just enough pressure to make breathing deliberate. When she meets my gaze, I let my eyes drop to her mouth, then lower, to where the yukata crosses over her chest. "Look at me and tell me you don't want this."

Her blue eyes meet mine, and I see the exact moment her defenses crumble. The walls she's built around her heart collapse under the weight of truth she can no longer deny. Her lips part, an unconscious invitation that stirs my blood.

She wants this. Wants me. Wants to surrender every burden she's carried since childhood and let someone else make the decisions, bear the responsibility, provide the structure her soul craves.

"I..." she starts, then stops. Swallows hard against my palm. "I don't understand what's happening to me."

I brush my thumb across her lower lip, feeling its softness, watching her eyes widen at the intimate touch.

"Understanding isn't required." I release her throat and stand, looking down at her kneeling form with satisfaction. The sight of her looking up at me, lips parted, cheeks flushed, sends desire coursing through me. "Only obedience."

The morning mist has thickened around us, creating perfect isolation. No staff will venture this deep into the gardens without permission. No sounds from the main compound penetrate the careful landscaping. We exist in a bubble of my creation, where only my rules apply.

"Stand," I command quietly.

She rises on unsteady legs. The restrictive clothing makes her movements careful, deliberate, forcing the grace I require from all women in my household.

"Follow me."

I lead her deeper into the garden, following paths that wind between ancient trees toward the heart of our family's power. The ancestral shrine waits in its grove of cherry trees, weathered wood and stone.

Here, surrounded by the physical manifestation of our legacy, she'll understand what kind of world she's entered. What kind of man has claimed her. What her choices truly are.

The shrine emerges from the mist like a nightmare or dream, depending on perspective. Traditional architecture that predates her entire country, stones placed by men whose bloodline flows through my veins, whose spirits demand honor from their descendants.

"Kneel," I say again, gesturing toward the shrine steps.

This time, she doesn't hesitate. She doesn't question or resist. She sinks gracefully onto the ancient stone, like an offering laid before my ancestors.