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The clatter and subsequent splatch sound of the burnt umber hitting the floor drew both sets of eyes downward.
Yumi snorted an ungracious ‘oops’ through a giggle and bit her lip, smiling at Sachiko with mischievous eyes. Quickly, her fingers resumed the familiar task of unbuttoning the other woman’s blouse.
Sachiko, jolted out of her ardour by the paint tumbling to the floor, shimmied closer to the edge of the table again, closer to Yumi, and pincered the smaller woman’s hips between her knees swiftly. She raised an eyebrow. ‘I hope you didn’t get any of that on my skirt, miss.’
Yumi, having made short work of the first five buttons, pushed the cream collar open to reveal Sachiko’s equally pale skin, wrapped delicately around her collarbone and gracing her elegant neck. She lunged in, pressing wet lips against the soft sinews that led to Sachiko’s jawline, punctuating each kiss with a dart of her tongue, her breath heaving and hot with arousal in the cold room.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, miss,’ came the muffled response.
Sachiko leaned her head back. She could already feel flushes of pleasure coursing through her body. Her parted lips were dry and she knew where all the moisture they previously held had travelled to. She wrapped her legs around Yumi, pressing the calves against her buttocks and pulling her in to feel the heat of the other woman’s body through the thin material of her pants. It was exhilarating.
‘I’m supposed to be in front of a class in twelve minutes, you know,’ she managed between ragged breaths.
‘Ha! I quickly dashed out for another whiteboard pen!’ Yumi replied, pushing herself against the apex between Sachiko’s legs with a moan. She placed a hand at the nape of her neck, fingers brushing against soft dark hair, and trailed another down her belly thumb first. ‘You’ve got nothing on my irrational decisions, Ogasawara.’
Sachiko chuckled and melted into the gentle circles Yumi was drawing excruciatingly slowly on her clitoris.
‘Oh, my,’ she breathed. She was unusually wet today, for some reason. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t been together in some time: somehow they regularly found time to do this despite their… situation.
Yumi brought Sachiko out of her thoughts with a giggle. ‘I don’t know how you manage to sound so gentile when we’re having sex in a storeroom but you do, Sachiko.’
Yumi continued her ministrations as Sachiko flushed from the neck down. She was remarkably good at keeping a poker face, which was probably the only reason they hadn’t been caught already. Yumi had a terrible poker face.
‘I’m not sure if that was meant as a compliment or not,’ she replied, brow raised in a bid to appear indignant. It failed as she shuddered against a quick palm pressed up against her wet flesh.
Yumi laughed again. ‘Only you,’ she sighed with a happy smile, and leaned down for a kiss.
Sachiko’s bones turned to water.
This was what had captured her in the beginning, and what kept her. Yumi’s touch was wonderful- it was soft and purposeful, warm and electric, firm and encompassing. Her conversation was always welcome- she was bright and articulate with a melodic laugh and an unmatched sense of empathy. She was also beautiful to behold.
But her kiss.
Sachiko shivered around Yumi’s tongue again, like hot velvet trailing along the curve of her own, and when Yumi sucked gently on the bow of her bottom lip she moaned into the other woman’s mouth, keening and pressing closer against her.
It was mountains and forest lakes. It was soft, clean cotton sheets. It was the most delicious food she could imagine.
For Sachiko, Yumi’s kiss was like waking up in a whole new world.
Some Months Earlier
Sachiko followed closely behind the black sheen of his jacket as they entered the restaurant, casually glancing at her surroundings with a keen eye. The establishment was clean and minimal; modern, but hadn't ventured the stark and sterile way that most new eateries did nowadays. The round tables were covered only by white tablecloths and lit from underneath, emanating a pleasant glow that cast the shadows of the legs against the material, a charming match to the white and grey curtains that adorned each window.
She felt the heel of her shoes sink into the red carpeted walkway as she followed Suguru, both led by the maitre d', between the tables of other patrons as they dined, honestly quite looking forward to dinner. Sachiko liked Italian foods. She was a fairly picky eater by nature, a side of her character that had clearly endured from her childhood, but she allowed herself the luxury; in almost every other respect she was a very mature young lady.
Sachiko had married her cousin, Suguru, almost immediately after graduating from university, where she studied history. It had been arranged for years, since long before she could recall now, betrothed during their formative years, and where it wasn't an unhappy marriage, not particularly, it was certainly one of convenience.
'If this table would suit you, please take a seat.' The maitre d' gestured to the table as he bowed, the thickness of his accent pouring through the Japanese. Sachiko smiled at him as she seated herself in the chair Suguru pulled out for her, silently impressed that one; this Italian restaurant had a genuine Italian maitre d', and two; he was fluent in her native language. Clearly, she had never had to learn her own mother tongue but she was aware that even when speaking with other Japanese one had to be mindful of multiple word meanings.
'Would you care to order drinks now, or would you like more time to decide?' The maitre d' enquired.
Sachiko remained silent; she was no connoisseur when it came to wine. It was pleasant enough to taste, if the mood suited her, but more often than not she wouldn't indulge in more than one glass. Alcohol, she found, was not much suited to her disposition.
She pulled the menu towards her, perusing the dishes on offer this evening, as Suguru took charge and requested his wine of choice; a light Tuscan red of some year she had little interest in. '76, or '78, or something. She sighed lightly. Even this wine is older than me. It wasn't, as far as she could tell from the list, the most or least expensive of them; Suguru wasn't thrifty with money nor was he as flamboyant with it as his manner could often be, but she was sure it would be to her taste. He was always considerate of her in that respect.
The head waiter gathered the wine lists, which Suguru hadn't consulted before ordering, and left them alone at their table, withdrawing almost silently as he was no doubt trained to do.
Sachiko idly thumbed the corner of the leather-bound menu, her eyes looking without seeing. This was the first time they had been out together in quite some time, and she wasn't ignorant of either of the two reasons he'd suddenly suggested it last night, and was feeling, in a word, used.
Suguru, her cousin, husband, and now heir of the Ogasawara Group, had split from his 'mistress', Tadashi, and as far as she could tell, it had been rather... messy. She didn't know the details, nor did she particularly care to find out, but with the recent lack of vibrations from her spouse's cell phone and the fact that his usually genial personality had become sullen and depressed, she'd put two and two together.
Yamaga Tadashi, whom she had met before on one occasion, was an author and journalist. She had found him agreeable enough on meeting accidentally when their paths crossed one weekend afternoon. He seemed solid and dependable, the kind of man who liked to wear slippers and enjoyed the same brand of coffee each morning. A man of routine. Absolutely the kind of man Suguru was not.
'So, what do you think, Sacchan?' her husband asked, a smile in his eyes.
'Yes, I'm sure that will do nicely, thank you,’ she answered, committed to having a small glass of this one given that he had made the effort to ask.
They spoke affectionately for most of the evening; Suguru asked her about the school and how the students were this year, about emerging trends, what the new sports building was like. She, in turn, enquired about the family business and his new cars, complimented his suit and asked about his family.
It really wasn't all that bad. As her cousin, they could always rely on speaking about relatives if there was a real struggle to think of a subject to discuss but it was genuinely unusual to find themselves in that situation. Suguru was an intelligent, well-educated man with a variety of interests. They would generally find something to chat amicably about when the time came for them to do so. At least I’m not in poor Miyuki-san’s position… Sachiko sighed inwardly, thinking of her old pen-friend. He may be bourgeois, irresponsible and lecherous, but at least I don’t hate him. Truly, she had loved him once, before she came to know his nature, but that felt so long ago now that she barely remembered it.
‘-for the final quarter of returns and outgoing from our great rescuer, The Accountant. After that it’s back to business, as usual. Meet and greets, board meetings, with an o-r-e-d…’
Sachiko smiled at the young waiter as he set her meal down with professional grace, feeling the warmth of the alcohol in her cheeks. Probably best I only have the one, she thought, swallowing. Much more and my teeth will be going numb.
As she began to delicately fish the seafood from her cut linguini, Suguru’s conversation trailed off. She rolled her eyes discreetly, knowingly.
‘Is it too much to ask that you at least be a little less overt when we are out together?’ She implored. ‘You know I find no moral issue with your proclivities but we have a veneer of marriage to uphold, at least.’
With a flippant smile, her husband’s eyes swivelled back to face her. ‘Oh, come now, Sacchan. I’m certain you’re the only person who notices these little indiscretions.’
‘On the contrary, Suguru, I think that poor young waiter actually hastened away from a burning sensation; the burn of your eyes on his posterior.’ She replied sweetly.
‘Honestly, one would think you were jealous,’ he scoffed quietly and, raising a hand to stop her indignant retort, continued. ‘By all means, not of my wandering attentions, but of my ability to indulge in said attentions.’
Sachiko scowled at him over her pasta. This particular subject had emerged in conversation more frequently than she cared for in recent months.
‘I may not play that particular field, Sacchan, but even I know that you are a very beautiful woman. I find it absurd that you remain celibate.’
Celibate?
She put her fork down a little more forcefully than she’d planned to. Much to her satisfaction, however, he did flinch.
‘Glazing over the patronising tone in which you address me, dear husband, I would like to make it clear that my ‘celibacy’ has nothing to do with you, Suguru, nor does it with the lascivious manner in which you seem to conduct yourself regardless of whether you are entertaining a ‘mistress’ or not. I do not invite myself into your personal life and I would very much appreciate it if you could see your way to doing the same for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
With a quiet, deep breath, Sachiko stood and pushed her chair away from the table. Suguru remained seated with a raised brow and an infuriating grin quirking his lips. He was well aware that he had pushed her buttons and she left his smugness behind as she made her way to the ladies restroom.
Honestly, the nerve he has!
She pushed open a door.
At home without an audience is bad enough but to bring this up in public?
She huffed as she pushed open another door.
What right does he have to question my personal choices? The last thing I need is advice from someone who doesn’t even date the right-
BOFF.
’UWAH!’
Sachiko slammed her hands against the cistern with a thud. She quickly adjusted her balance and pushed hard against the white porcelain, bouncing back into a standing position.
‘What on earth..?’
She looked around as her internal physics righted themselves. It seemed she’d been so engulfed in her own thoughts she hadn’t registered her arrival in the ladies lavatories.
Or the person that had been doubled over in one of the stalls doing… something?
‘Eyah…’ Came softly from below.
Sachiko looked down. A woman, a little younger than her at a guess, was sitting on the bathroom floor, rubbing her head, and Sachiko, fuelled by her earlier frustrations with Suguru (and now with a dangerous dash of embarrassment added), stepped back with a scowl.
‘What could you possibly have been doing that required you to be on the floor of a bathroom stall in a restaurant?’ She huffed, arms crossed.
The other woman bowed low.
‘I’m so sorry, ma’am! I was just trying to find the key for the roll dispenser I managed to drop when I was replenishing this stall. I heard the door but I wasn’t expecting anyone to rush in so quickly!’ She hurried out of the stall and inched around Sachiko to the sink area. ‘With your pardon, please, go ahead!’
Sachiko flushed red at the insinuation and her irritation was instantly bypassed with intense embarrassment.
‘No, I don’t-‘ She stopped, brought a hand up to her forehead and exhaled.
The other woman looked on at what seemed to be an important internal process for this elegant lady. She fidgeted slightly and eyed the soaps.
‘My apologies, miss, for startling you in your task. I wasn’t quite myself as I was entering the restroom and, in my defence, it’s unusual for the stall floors of a restaurant’s ladies room to be furnished with actual ladies. Are you injured at all?’
It was beautifully spoken. The young woman with a bump on her head shook it in reply, her vague panic somewhat assuaged now by such a lovely voice. She smiled at Sachiko sheepishly.
‘Oh, no, I’m alright. I’ve suffered far worse from my own clumsiness,’ she confessed sweetly. ‘We haven’t long been open so I’m trying my best to keep on top of things, but we’re quite busy tonight.’
Sachiko considered this as she looked over the bathroom attendant. She was slightly smaller than herself, though not by much, with very young, girlish features. Her mid-length brown hair fell softly around a heart-shaped face, with a little ski-slope nose and large, doe eyes.
How cute she must have been as a girl, thought Sachiko, thinking back to her Lillian days involuntarily. As it was, she was quite beguiling as a woman, something that Sachiko was not prone to acknowledging frequently.
‘Pardon me for questioning your employers,’ she said, her eyes wandering over the woman’s blue polo neck sweater and jeans, ‘but do they not require that bathroom attendants wear the same uniform as the waiting staff?’
This time it was the brunette’s turn to flush red. ‘Oh, no! No, I don’t work here, ma’am, I, no, it’s actually, my husband has the, I mean, my husband is the owner! He’s the, the head chef and the owner of the business. I have, I do have a job, just not here.’
It all rushed out so quickly that, as she grappled for the hand wash she’d dropped at the question, the not-attendant dropped it on the side and slipped as she lunged for it, barely catching herself from tumbling over again.
‘Uwah!’ she exclaimed again, then stood right again, looked at Sachiko and laughed self-deprecatingly. Then she beamed at her husband’s refined customer. ‘See? You can’t do anymore damage to me than I can!’
Sachiko watched it all with fascination. She had never met a person like this before in her life. This person was clumsy, scatty, disorganised… And yet, Sachiko felt a small smile settle on her lips. This person was also sweet and humble, with such a sunny disposition and the uncommon ability to laugh at herself.
‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself!’ She flapped again, put down everything and moved into a bow. ‘My name is Fukuzawa Yumi. I’m very pleased to meet you.’
‘Ogasawara Sachiko,’ Sachiko replied, amused and charmed. ‘Thank you, Fukuzawa-san, for brightening my otherwise difficult evening.’
She was being peculiarly forthcoming with this stranger but there was something alleviating about her gentle eccentricity. Besides, it’s not like Sachiko was likely to see her again; there were thousands of restaurants for Suguru’s whims to sample yet.
‘Oh, my pleasure, Ogasawara-sama. I do hope the rest of your evening is pleasant.’
Sachiko nodded. ‘And you,’ she replied with a soft smile, and turned to leave, feeling as though it was inexplicably more effort to do so than it should have been.
-------
Yumi stood with wobbly knees as the inner door closed on a curtain of long, black hair. She had made such a fool of herself in front of someone who was clearly a very, very refined woman. I bet she does tea ceremony and fan dancing and writes traditional Japanese and everything… With an internal facepalm, Yumi set about tying a knot in the top of the bag of empties she’d collected. She had never met a person like that before in her life. Someone so poised, so educated, so elegant… So beautiful, she thought. I didn’t know people that beautiful existed outside of the TV.
There was something about her, though. Something that felt different to all the other wealthy wives and mistresses that passed through the restaurant in their designer dresses and expensive jewellery. They were always polite but it was often a veneer over an inherent haughtiness that seemed to come with inherent wealth. The conversations she would overhear from them often sounded either obsequious or supercilious. Ogasawara Sachiko, on the other hand, felt like a different animal altogether…
Yumi shrugged. Oh well. I doubt I’ll ever find out.
She pulled the door to the stall closed and left.
‘Ooh!’ Sachiko inhaled sharply. ‘Left, left! Your thumb nail… This position is a tad obstructive.’
She looked up at Yumi with a quiet laugh. Whilst the art supply closet had been an inspired choice for privacy, Sachiko couldn’t help but despair at its lack of comfort. It was a small, cold room lined with shelves and containers and had one desk in the centre. They considered the floor for almost two seconds before deciding the desk won; it was not made of stone.
Yumi chuckled softly and acquiesced, moving her thumb slightly more central against the wet, pink flesh. Sachiko arched and moaned- she was getting close. The tips of her fingers had started to feel electric and deep in her belly, right behind the little nub of nerves that Yumi was nudging rhythmically with her hand, Sachiko was on fire. It always happened this way.
‘Hey, this was your idea, Sachiko. I just needed that pen.’ Yumi grinned.
‘Well, consider this your pen toll,’ Sachiko breathed. ‘One pen per orgasm.’
A chuckle. ‘For you or me?’
‘Consider the effort you’ve already made, Yumi, and answer your own question logicall-OH.’
Sachiko pressed against Yumi’s hand again, chasing the exquisite feeling, craving the release it would bring. She was vaguely aware of a small pool of her own arousal on the table between her bare buttocks. Thank goodness Yumi had hitched the skirt up around her waist earlier…
Yumi tutted. ‘Yes, logic was definitely your main motive when you pulled me in here.’
With a raised brow, she withdrew her hand. Sachiko’s indignant reply died in the back of her throat and she whimpered at the loss, grieving it.
‘Why did you..? What..what are you.. OH.’ She let her head fall back as she lowered herself onto her elbows. ‘Oh, Yumi…’
Yumi smirked, thankful that Sachiko couldn’t see it, and flicked her tongue lightly over the hard, hooded clitoris not five millimetres from her nose. Sachiko’s low, guttural moan of pleasure rolled over her, making Yumi acutely aware of the pulsing between her own legs, and she breathed in the scent of her lover deeply through her nose. Sachiko always smelled fresh and clean, like spring water, which belied what Yumi considered a glorious tang to the taste.
She sampled it again, languidly this time, with her tongue flat against one of Sachiko’s inner labia, dipping ever-so-slightly into the entrance. She would never say it aloud, partly through shyness and partly because she wasn’t sure how Sachiko would react to such language, but the same sentence formed in her mind each time, clear and bold and quite filthy: Sachiko had the most delicious pussy.
Monday Morning After The Bathroom Incident…
‘In as much as the Meiji Restoration had sought to return the emperor to a preeminent position, efforts were made to establish a Shinto-oriented state much like the state of…’
Sachiko stifled a yawn. It wasn’t the fault of 19th century Kyoto, although she couldn’t honestly claim that it was her favourite period of history to recount daily, but rather the fault of the young restaurant owner from the previous evening. Bizarrely, Sachiko had met her again in her dreams. It had been just in passing; she was on a bridge in some European city, looking out over a canal and trying to decide which boat to get on when a woman with dark boots asked her if she knew Fukuzawa Yumi, the young painter who created a masterpiece only to cut off her own ear.
‘No,’ Sachiko had said to her, puzzled. ‘That was Van Gogh.’
‘No, it was me,’ said the woman in dark boots, who was now the ‘artist’ in question, dressed in her blue turtleneck sweater and jeans, looking every inch as bashfully cheery as she had in the bathroom.
‘Wait, I do know you!’ Sachiko had almost shouted at her.
She had woken after that. Or so she assumed, anyway. It was said that dreams were just fragments of thoughts and images that we re-arrange in our waking moments, that they are only stories made from our memories and ambitions… If that were the case there was every possibility that Sachiko was still asleep, dreaming about history books in the school staff room and avoiding speaking with much of the other staff.
She yawned again with a slight shake of the head. What am I thinking of this morning? It was unusual for Sachiko to ponder dubious psychological theories before 9am, especially on a Monday.
She grazed her eyes across the faculty office, half-heartedly listening in to the murmurs of staff gossip and news of the week from her throne in the corner. In general, her coworkers were very genial and polite, not at all the sort of people she would prefer not to associate with. However, even the grown men and women they were seemed fairly intimidated by her status. It wasn’t that they seemed to avoid contact with her or were indifferent or even shy, they just all seemed to congregate more easily together. Birds of a feather, her mind maximed.
It seems I am a black sheep in a pitying of doves.
She grimaced reflexively. And now I’m mixing my metaphors. Oh dear.
Sachiko closed the book she wasn’t reading, settling it into her bag, and finally committed herself to admitting she’d flown unnecessarily hard off the handle at Suguru last night. She’d been avoiding thinking about it all morning. Something that doesn’t come with an experience- and materially-rich childhood laced with emotional neglect is the tendency to immediately recognise one’s petulance. Sachiko rolled her eyes and scoffed. Perhaps that should be a self-pitying of doves.
Still, she knew enough about herself to identify that she didn’t engage in particularly negative behaviours - like storming away from the table in the middle of a public dining establishment, for example - unless she’d been wounded or, at least, perceived herself to be so. And Suguru had unwittingly pierced the loneliest corner of her heart yet again with nothing but a flippant remark.
Glancing down at it, Sachiko’s eyes settled on the gold as she thumbed the ring on her left hand. It was cool to the touch, solid, and dull from years of wear with lack of care. Even the diamond didn’t really sparkle. I am a walking metaphor.
‘If I could have your attention please, everyone.’
Sachiko chuckled wryly to herself, abandoned her last train of thought, and turned her attention to the Deputy Head. Ah, yes, she remembered. A new faculty member starts today in the art department. A flutter of interest beat its way across her skin and she sat almost imperceptibly forward. In almost every school, the one department you can rely on for unusual and interesting faculty members is the art department and, despite her upbringing— perhaps even because of—, Sachiko had a real penchant for unusual and interesting people; people who were governed less by societal scripture; people who were creative and passionate; people who were, more often than not, quite joyous in their unconventional nature.
Without warning, Fukuzawa Yumi’s bright smile bloomed in Sachiko’s memory, and then—
There she was.
‘Hello, everyone. It’s a pleasure to meet and join your team. I look forward to working hard with all of you.’
That same bright smile that Sachiko had subconsciously burned to memory like a cerebral tattoo was at the front of the room, beaming unabashedly at the congregation.
It took until Yumi bowed for Sachiko to close her mouth. Indeed, a fine display for an Ogasawara this is, she admonished, clearing her throat with a furtive glance left and right. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed her uncharacteristic gawking, so absorbed were they in greeting the new blood. Still, I should think I can be granted amnesty for such a reaction, given the circumstance. The sheer luck of this…
Sachiko blinked.
Luck?
She took a step toward Yumi, one hand tightening on the handle over her shoulder.
She looked different in a suit, Sachiko noted. One could tell that it was not her usual sartorial fair- posture and demeanour nodded towards a preference for more casual outfits- but she did not wear it without grace; the trousers were tapered and tailored, a practical but feminine choice, and the fitted blazer buttoned but with the sleeves rolled up, the cream shirt rolled into it like tamagoyaki. Sachiko found it a not unpleasant divergence from the endearingly flustered Yumi she’d literally bumped into at the restaurant. This Yumi carried a maturity and calm that only came with being in one’s natural habitat.
As Sachiko made her way to the lecture of teachers surrounding the newest arrival, the flutter across her skin from earlier returned. She hesitated.
Am I nervous?
She tightened her grip on the bag. A light sheen of sweat coated her palm. She could almost smell the tang of it, so heightened were her senses.
But that would be ridiculous. She shook it off, chalking her own strangeness up to the strangeness of the whole situation. After all, she reasoned, this has been most uncanny. No doubt when we exchange greetings it will all settle into normality.
-------
Unfortunately, the Deputy Head had chosen the very moment before Sachiko opened her mouth to whisk Yumi away on the premises tour. She would have to find another opportunity to greet her.
Even more unfortunate, however, was that the younger woman had chanced a glance her way as they exited the staff room and their eyes locked. Sachiko had seen as interest became recognition and realisation became joy. Yumi had looked so unabashedly happy that Sachiko was there and now Sachiko, sitting down heavily at her desk, fifth period dispatched, could think of absolutely nothing except that woman, all day.
It was infuriating.
‘Oh.. oh yes. Yes. Yes, that’s good… More. Inside. Oh…’
Subconsciously, Yumi moved an arm between her own legs. She pressed it against her pelvic bone, grinding against her own wrist and she continued to lap at Sachiko’s soft, pink entrance. She could feel her nose brushing erratically against the clitoris but she knew this wasn’t enough- Sachiko needed rhythm.
She brought her other hand up and slowly inserted the thumb, trying not to break time with her tongue. Sachiko responded beautifully with a shudder and raised up. Yumi followed, withdrew the thumb and brought it up to where the little bundle of nerve endings was peeking out of the hood. Sachiko was so ready to come and Yumi was so ready to see it. She rubbed slow, light circles right on the target, which Yumi had come to realise would be too much for Sachiko at any other time than right before climax, increasing the pressure by increments to match her tongue.
Her own arousal was forgotten now- all Yumi cared about was getting Sachiko to the edge and hearing her go over, feeling her shudder and shake and convulse against her face, having that slight flush of heat against her chin as she came. She didn’t have time to focus on her own needs- now was the time to make sure she was going just the right speed, at just the right pressure, just enough to make Sachiko…
And sure enough, with a low cry and holding Yumi’s head against her, the woman on the desk arched up into her orgasm, riding the waves that Yumi encouraged as much as possible with her mouth until she sighed happily and sunk back onto the wood.
Yumi rolled back on her feet and pushed up unsteadily to a standing position. Her knees were shouting bloody murder at her for such a sudden movement after being planted on a cold stone floor but, standing by the desk, looking down at Sachiko spent and sated, her skirt hiked up to her waist, one breast hanging out of an open shirt, chest heaving, eyes closed…
The arousal that had subsided a little between Sachiko’s release and the pain in her knees returned full force. It hit Yumi like a fireball, like lava in the blood, and she folded down over the other woman.
Still flushed and panting, coming down from her orgasm, Sachiko could do nothing but moan loudly as Yumi snaked a hand to the back of her head and crushed their lips together. She could tell, between the hot, short pants from Yumi’s nose as they kissed and the movement near her right knee that Yumi had thrust a hand into her own pants. She loosed another moan at the mental picture of how they must look now, suddenly marvelling at the things she was willing to do with this woman. To this woman.
How do you do this to me?
‘Sachiko…’ Yumi murmured, breathing in her breath, steeping herself in Sachiko’s scent as the woman below her grasped at her shoulder and wrist. She could feel Sachiko’s knee gently caressing her other arm as she rubbed herself up to her own climax. Yumi moaned, dragging her lips away from Sachiko’s and down to her chest to lick at the valley between her breasts.
That was all it took in the end.
‘Sachiko!’ The tang of sweat on her tongue and Sachiko’s knee goading her on at the crotch, Yumi came hard, falling forward ever-so-slightly as her knees gave up. A set of long, elegant arms drew her in even closer and the tip of her nose grazed the inside of one of Sachiko’s ample breasts. Yumi licked at it, nuzzled, licked again; drew the flesh into her mouth and sucked lightly. Between her legs she was still humming, easing down from climax.
The two women lay together for a short while, calming their breathing, settling their bodies. Yumi still nuzzled lightly at the inordinate softness of Sachiko’s breast, revelling in the glide of their skin.
They’d never spoken in or about these moments before, this stillness after sex. At the beginning, right after the first time, Sachiko had frozen in shock as soon as she’d come down after her orgasm. Understandably shocked, though, Yumi admitted. It wasn’t just our first time- it was her first time. It had taken Yumi herself some time to get over that, once the truth had emerged. Beyond that, as the rendezvous (planned or spontaneous) accumulated, they had seemed to fall into a tacit agreement to just keep their silence together for that time, almost as though neither wanted to stain the moment by acknowledging everything that felt so right, and yet so wrong.
Yumi could feel it, though, over the last few weeks; a tension, rising. Rising sooner and sooner each time.
Sachiko shifted slightly under her and the younger woman sighed inwardly, clenching her jaw.
I don’t like this feeling.
To her lover, however, she gave a low chuckle, standing up and away from the table. ‘I’m going to have to start wearing secret knee pads if the store room becomes a regular haunt for us. It’s a shame we didn’t meet when we were younger.’
Sachiko had the good decency to blush as she followed suit, fastening her blouse and rising from the wood. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t even think of you.’
Yumi waved her off with a laugh. ‘Ah, they’re not so bad. Besides,’ she added, quilting her smile with sincerity, ‘it was absolutely worth it.’
Sachiko’s expression visibly softened. She pressed long fingers to one of Yumi’s cheeks and worried her own lip a little, bashful. ‘But I also… I didn’t even… you had to…’
Yumi couldn’t help but roll her eyes a little. ‘When I think about what we just did and the fact that you can’t even euphemise, I just—’ She broke off, laughing.
Sachiko furrowed her brow. ‘That’s not a word, Yumi, so how could I possibly?’
Yumi laughed again. Despite the tension, there was always a mild giddiness in her soul at these times, a giddiness that left her saying half-truths like, ‘you know, you seem so cool on the outside but really you’re just petulant and I love that about you, Sachiko.’
That was as close as she could ever get to the real thing. That was as close as she dared to get.
Sachiko flushed lightly. ‘Let’s see who’s so cool when they have to explain away how long it took to find a whiteboard pen.’
‘Gah, my class!’ Yumi grabbed the nearest pen she could find all but flew to the door.
‘Yumi, wait!’
The shorter woman leaned back around the door frame. Stared at Sachiko, stared at the firm grip on her arm. Half-in, half-out, just waiting for the words from my lover. When did I become this cliché? Yumi wondered, grasping the pen.
‘I didn't get to… I mean to say…’ Sachiko swallowed her courage. ‘Would you care to join me for dinner at my residence tomorrow evening? I would be honoured.’
It was Yumi’s turn to freeze.
Dinner. At Sachiko’s house. Tomorrow.
She blinked at the woman before her blankly then let gravity drag her gaze to the whiteboard marker.
Come on, Fukuzawa, said the pen, rotating gently in her hand. This is an *easy* yes, babe.
She scrunched her brow at it. Absolutely nothing about this is easy.
It rolled its metaphorical eyes. Do you want to go?
Yumi rolled her eyes right back at it. Yes. Obviously.
See. Easy. Smug.
What? Yumi glared at it. That’s not how this works!
What would I know? I’m just a pen.
‘Of course, if you’re busy or—‘
‘Yes.’ Yumi cut in before Sachiko could get any further into talking herself out of it. ‘Yes. Tomorrow. Six-thirty?’
Sachiko, stunned, nodded minutely. Then, remembering her manners, withdrew from Yumi’s forearm. She patted down the front of her blouse. ’Of course. six-thirty would be most agreeable.’
Yumi beamed and nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘It’s a date!’
And before she could even think about the implications of that, Sachiko flashed her a smile so radiant that its light burned away the shadow of any and all worries Yumi could have possibly had in that moment.
Happiness looks so beautiful on you, Sachiko, and you are already breathtaking.
-------
She hightailed it back to class before that particular gem fell out of her face.
A wise choice, said the pen, nodding sagely. There’s a time and a place.
Yumi sighed. The way that things had moved between her and Sachiko, so quickly, so closely… and this rising tension, not to mention… well…
She swallowed, guilt cloying her throat. Yumi’s relationship with Masamune had always been comfortable and safe. He was a good man; kind, thoughtful, dedicated. She blanched. Loyal. Those few years ago when he asked her out and she said yes, had she honestly thought they would end up married? Had she dreamed of it?
No. Yumi shook her head as she traversed the halls back to class.
No. She’d happily allowed herself to be carried along someone else’s path, content with a comfortable life with a good man until…
Until you, Sachiko. I thought I knew love, safety, joy, passion. A wry chuckle. What a child I was.
She turned a corner. Her classroom door was just up ahead.
Passion, she thought. Noun. Emotion. Love. Sexual desire.
(Obsolete) Suffering.
Yumi gripped the door handle and took a deep breath. She exhaled slowly.
Dinner with Sachiko.
Yumi felt the heavy weight of decision finally settle on her shoulders. She’d put it off for so long, much in the way Sachiko had put off inviting Yumi into her life until today. As it was, she was standing at a crossroads and which way she went very much depended on Sachiko, her lover.
Her love.
She was going to tell Masamune, that wasn’t a question. She had to, simply because it was the right thing to do, but she needed to talk to Sachiko about it because it was impossible to be more embroiled in this than Sachiko was and Yumi needed to prepare her for the inevitable fallout and also, maybe…
To see if she could do it too.
Could Yumi be a mistress? A secret?
Perhaps, for a time at least.
She turned the handle.
One step at a time, Fukuzawa, said the marker as she crossed the threshold. Masamune’s in Dubai and you’ve a class to teach.
Let’s get to work, eh?