Page 31 of Kotori
"Mine." I lean closer, my breath ghosting across her ear. "Completely, utterly, permanently mine. The rope is just helping you remember."
I settle back to watch her adjust to the restraints, the way her breathing changes as she realizes how thoroughly trapped she is. The rope between her thighs creates friction with every small movement, building arousal she can't escape or relieve.
"Tonight, you'll learn patience," I tell her. "You'll kneel here, bound and helpless, until dawn. You'll think about what you said in my study, about the disrespect you showed, about the consequences of interfering with family matters."
Her eyes widen with understanding. "All night?"
"All night. No sleep, no relief, no escape from the rope's embrace." I rise to my feet, looking down at her bound form with satisfaction. "By morning, you'll understand exactly what your place is in this household."
"I can't," she whispers. "Please, I can't kneel like this for hours—"
"You can. You will. Because you have no choice." I move to the traditional desk, settling behind it to begin reviewing papers while she kneels in my peripheral vision. "This is what happens when naive young women think they can challenge traditions they don't understand."
The hours pass slowly, but I find myself unable to concentrate on correspondence. Instead, I watch her through careful peripheral vision, cataloging every response as the rope does its methodical work.
At first, she tries to maintain dignity—keeping her back straight, controlling her breathing, pretending the intimate pressure isn't affecting her. But rope doesn't lie, and neither does her body's gradual surrender to sensation.
The first sign is her breathing—deeper, more deliberate, as if she's trying to control responses she doesn't understand. Then comes the subtle shifting, unconscious movements that only increase the friction between her thighs, making her gasp and go still as pleasure spikes unexpectedly.
My cock hardens watching her discover what the rope can do, how every attempt to find comfort only creates new stimulation.
The way her eyes flutter closed when she thinks I'm not watching, the soft sounds she tries to suppress, the growing flush that spreads down her chest as arousal builds beyond her control.
"Struggling, kotori?" I ask without looking up from papers I'm no longer reading.
"I'm fine," she lies, voice strained.
"Are you? Because from here, it looks like you're learning exactly what helplessness feels like." I finally turn to study her properly, letting her see the hunger in my eyes. "How does it feel, knowing that every breath, every heartbeat, every tiny movement only makes you more desperate?"
Her face burns crimson, but she can't deny the truth written in her body's responses.
Around two AM, soft sounds begin escaping her lips despite her efforts to stay quiet. Not protests—something far more interesting. The rope between her thighs has been doing its relentless work, creating friction that builds need without allowing satisfaction.
I set down my brush and turn to face her fully, no longer pretending to work while she falls apart so beautifully in front of me.
"Look at you," I murmur, rising to circle her bound form like a predator savoring his trapped prey. "Fighting so hard to maintain dignity while your body betrays every thought you try to hide."
She's trembling constantly now—thighs quivering with strain and something else entirely, breath coming in soft pants that make her chest rise and fall in the most distracting way.
"The rope is teaching you things words never could, isn't it, kotori?" I stop directly in front of her, close enough to see how her pupils have dilated with need. "Teaching you that resistance only makes the lesson more... intense."
When she tries to lean away from my proximity, the movement sends her weight shifting against the rope between her legs, making her cry out softly at the unexpected pleasure-pain.
"That's it," I breathe, satisfaction coursing through me at her helpless response. "Feel what fighting gets you. Understand what surrender offers instead."
My hand traces the air just inches from her skin—not touching, but close enough that she can feel the heat, the promise of contact she can't escape or demand.
"Please," she whispers, and the word holds everything she's trying not to want.
"Please what?" I let my fingers hover near her throat, watching how her pulse hammers against pale skin. "Please touch you? Please release you? Please give you what the rope is making you crave?"
She can't answer because admitting what she wants means acknowledging what she's become.
By three AM, she's completely falling apart. The rope between her thighs has done its relentless work, building arousal to a fever pitch that has her trembling constantly. Her breath comes in desperate pants, and soft whimpers escape her lips despite her efforts to stay quiet.
Sweat gleams on her skin despite the cool night air, her body flushed from throat to thighs with need she can't satisfy. The bindings force her thighs apart, displaying everything while denying her any relief from the constant, maddening friction.
"Please," she gasps, the word torn from her throat. "Matsumoto-sama, please, I can't... I need..."
"What do you need, kotori?" I rise from my desk, moving to circle her bound form with predatory satisfaction. "Tell me exactly what your body is begging for."
"Touch," she breathes, shame burning in her cheeks even as desperation drives the admission. "Please touch me. Please make it stop. I'll do anything."
"Anything?" I trace the air just above her skin, close enough that she can feel the heat but not the contact she's craving. "Such a generous offer from someone who spent the evening questioning my authority."
Her head falls back in frustration when I don't give her what she needs. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was wrong, I understand that now. Please..."
"Please what?"
"Please let me come." The words are barely audible, wrung from what's left of her pride. "I'm dying, I can't think, I can't breathe, please just..."
"No."
The single word hits her like a physical blow. A sob escapes her throat as the hope dies in her eyes.
"But you've learned so much tonight," I continue, settling back onto my cushion to watch her suffer so beautifully. "You've learned that your pleasure belongs to me. That I decide when you receive it, how you receive it, if you receive it at all."
She makes a sound of pure anguish, her bound body writhing uselessly against the rope that won't give her what she desperately needs.
"The lesson isn't complete yet, kotori. Your body needs to understand that satisfaction comes only through my generosity. That every sensation you crave exists at my discretion."
"How long?" she whispers brokenly.
"Until dawn. Until you've learned that your desires mean nothing without my permission to fulfill them." I lean forward, letting her see the dark satisfaction in my eyes. "Until you understand that even your most desperate pleas won't sway me unless I choose to be moved."
Her tears come freely now—part frustration, part exhaustion, part the overwhelming realization that she's completely at my mercy and I'm choosing not to show any.
"Perfect." I rise from the desk and move to kneel beside her, one hand cupping her face to tilt it up to mine. "And what does that understanding make you want, kotori?"
"To please you," she whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. "To never disappoint you again. To be whatever you want me to be."
"Good girl." The praise makes her shudder with something beyond physical need. "And what about my decisions regarding Mizuki-chan? What have you learned about interfering with family matters?"
"That it's not my place. That I don't understand enough to have opinions. That I should trust your judgment about what's best for your daughters."
"Excellent." I trace the rope pattern across her chest, feeling how her heart races under my touch. "One more lesson, kotori. The most important one."
I lean close enough that my lips brush her ear as I speak.
"You'll never threaten to leave this household again. Not because you can't, but because you won't want to. Because after tonight, you'll understand that this is where you belong. Bound, helpless, completely mine."
Her sob is part relief, part surrender, part something deeper that sounds like broken gratitude.
As dawn light begins filtering through the shoji screens, I finally reach for the knots that will release her from the rope's embrace. But not completely—never completely. Some bindings are too perfect to untie.
She collapses forward when I release her wrists, catching herself on shaking arms while feeling returns to numbed limbs. I gather her gently, lifting her to the bed where she can finally rest.
"Sleep now, kotori," I murmur against her temple. "When you wake, you'll be exactly who you were always meant to be."
She's unconscious before her head touches the pillow, exhaustion finally claiming what the rope had held captive all night.
I watch her sleep for a few minutes, studying the rope marks that will fade but the lesson that will remain forever.
As she sleeps, I check my phone messages. The situation in Seoul has escalated beyond what my lieutenants can handle. My presence is required immediately. The timing is inconvenient. But perhaps perfect in its own way.
I make the necessary call. "Prepare the jet. I leave for Seoul in three hours."
Then I compose a message for Hayashi with instructions for the American teacher's care during my absence. Three weeks should be sufficient time for this lesson to fully settle into her bones, for her to understand exactly what her place is in this household.
And when I return, we'll see just how thoroughly she's learned to crave what only I can provide.
By the time I return from Korea, she'll be counting the days until she can feel my rope again, my control, my possession. She'll understand that challenging me only ends one way—with her surrender, her submission, her complete acceptance of who she truly belongs to.
Some education requires time to fully take hold. Three weeks without me should prove most educational indeed.