Ceremony 2

CEREMONY

1853: The Tokugawa shogunate resists Commodore Perry's attempt to force Japan to open to the Western world. War breaks out.

1854: Kyoto falls. Japan becomes the first colony in the new American Empire in Asia.

1910: 56 years later a tea ceremony is held to finalise an important trade deal.

***

Asami-san is anxious. Everything must go well tonight. As owner of the salon she will lose face if any guest is disappointed. Etiquette must be followed. Every ritual observed in perfect order, grace and dignity. It must be perfect, precise, pleasant.

I will be a hostess. She trusts me. My sister Chieko too. Kimiko and Misaki make up our four. We will attend upon the white guests.

All will go well. The order and grace that will mark tonight are not yet on display. The maids are frantically preparing, cleaning and arranging. Everything must be in its place.

Everything must be perfect. There is rhythm and order in the ceremony.

We prepare as well. We bathe thoroughly. We inspect each other's bodies minutely for any stray hair. A hair out of place will bring a whipping. Chieko had a small one on her pussy which I luckily spot and pluck away. We oil our bodies lightly, naked our bodies will shine ever so slightly during the ceremony. We do each other's hair and makeup. We are exquisite. Like porcelain dolls.

We kneel on all fours. An unchosen girl kneels behind. We are well licked. It is always this way, they say a roused girl attends to the ceremony more keenly. Aiko is behind me. Her tongue delves, caresses. Ah she is good. Her tongue is soft, wet, warm, its flickering and dancing over my clit is impossibly tantalising. My eyes roll in pleasure. I wish she would let me finish. Perhaps after the ceremony we will find each other.

Faces flushed, we stand. We are almost ready.

Our bells are attached, to our nipples and clits with little clamps. Their music as we move will prove our grace and precision in our every movement. An awkward or clumsy girl will be loud. A bellringer we call them dismissively, like the hopeless Okinawan girl who clanged and chimed constantly no matter how many times she was whipped for it. She didn't last. Unsuitable to the dignity of the ceremony. But not us, we are like dancers or cats, graceful and practised in our movement and nothing more than the occasional gentle tinkle shall ever be heard.

Asami-san inspects us. A loose hair, an imperfection in makeup could ruin the perfection of the ceremony. She scrutinises us closely. She feels between our legs in turn, checking we are roused enough.

She smiles and relaxes just a little. Everything is as it should be. The honour and name of the salon are so far upheld.

We begin.

Asami-san greets the white guests and brings them to the tea room. They are men of importance, not the highest circle, not royalty or European ambassadors but men of the second rank, men of worth and station, leaders of great industries. There are four of them just as there are four of us.

They are seated and made comfortable.

We are led in. We keep our eyes lowered. It is forbidden for girls of our rank to look upon a white man without permission. A whipping, a hard one, guaranteed.

Asami-san introduces us by name. We bow and then curtsy in the western way. We do not raise our eyes or speak.

The men go to talking among themselves. They are talking of options and contract clauses, trade opportunities. They pay us no mind.

Asami-san guides each of us to the feet of one of the white men. We kneel. She departs.

We lay out tea and delicacies. We are graceful and elegant. A good hostess is quiet and does not disrupt important men's business. She is feline and delicate, full of poise. There is an order in how I proceed, ritual to be undertaken.

Just as with the guest's robe.

I undo his robe with proper etiquette. I do not disrupt him nor interfere with his conversation with the other men. He sips tea.

Chieko is to my right with her guest, tending to him as I do mine.

There is protocol, art, skill, manners. It is important the moment is perfect. Exquisite timing is required of the best hostess. To begin too soon is indelicate and crass, to begin too late a sign of low skill.

His knees part. He is hard already. He is big, big even for a white man.

I kiss around his groin, his thighs until the moment is right. My lips encircle him, caress the bloated head.

He sips tea. He has his part as I have mine. He will not acknowledge me.

This is introduction. It will go for two minutes, I count it out in my head.

Time up, I shuffle right, without even needing to glance sideways, I know that Chieko and Misaki to my left are doing the same. We have done this before many times, our timing is impeccable. It is the ritual of welcome. A good hostess rotates to the next guest seamlessly, an unskilled one makes it awkward and does not last. It is unobtrusive and elegant when we do it.

The next man's swollen cock is slippery with my sister's spit. Two minutes again, two minutes of greeting and worship. It is a sign of respect. All guests will be so honoured by each hostess. We count in our heads, our perfect choreography, two minutes, switch.

Each man is greeted, we rotate back to our original guest.

I am lucky. My guest today is experienced in the Ways. Inexperienced guests make it hard and often result in a girl being whipped for being disappointing. Mine knows the rituals. His hands communicate with me. He uses my ears, he pulls gently in the prescribed etiquette.

Speed up, slow down, take me deep down your throat, ease back off, that's good, I like that, bring me on now. His fingers speak.

I wonder what he looks like.

He is talking with the other men of matters of importance. They sip tea.

We suck, we lick. His fingers tell me when to go to his balls. When to suck on the head.

We are quiet, dignified. I can barely even hear the sound of my sister only three feet to my right. We are not bellringers or slurpers that make unbecoming noises unseemly of the dignity of the ceremony.

His fingers tell me he's going to cum. I know already of course, I am a good hostess and the swelling in his balls and their tightening already told me that.

He erupts. He is talking of commercial ventures with the British Empire. My mouth is filling with his sperm, he is a vigorous man and there is so much. That Okinawan girl would choke and splutter at such times but I am a hostess of great art. I receive his offering quietly and gracefully, swallowing and leaving no mess. To let the sperm of a white man fall upon the ground is a serious offence and a girl won't be able to sit for a week but I am far too skilled to worry about such amateurishness.

We are dismissed when the last guest is finished. They mostly came at the same time. It is not accidental. It is our art.

We are led out by Asami-san. We do not raise our eyes.

Kimiko has sperm glistening at one corner of her mouth. She knows better. She will be whipped tonight but probably not too hard. Luckily the men did not see.

Asami-san is pleased. The ceremony went well.