by Jade Lee
She shook her head.
"Then lie back and cover your mouth—and send your yin fire to me."
She did as she was told. She let her head drop back. The pillow smelled of lilac and starch, and the weight was hot upon her face. Ken Jin's tongue was circling around and around in the most amazing way. She tried to gather her thoughts. She mentally catalogued each little flame that seared her body. Was that yin? How was she supposed to send it to him?
It made no sense. In truth, she felt silly doing it. But his orders were too compelling to refuse, so she mentally commanded each little locus of heat to where he...
He began to suck, right at the top of his figure eight. His lips encircled all of the flesh and pulled. She felt a blockage there. She didn't understand any of it, and yet she knew there was something preventing the fire from crossing to the cool wetness of his tongue.
He pulled again. The heat was building exponentially behind the dam. Especially since she was trying to send all the other fires to it. Her neck tensed with steam. She ordered it to his mouth. Her shoulders burned. She sent it to his lips. Her belly caved to her spine as flames compressed her insides. She sent it to his tongue...
He sucked again. Harder this time. Charlotte clenched the sheets, drawing the cotton into crumpled knots that became torches in her fevered imagination. She sent the blazes down to him as well. She had to break through the barrier. She had to sear and burn and destroy all that separated her from him.
It worked! The barrier burst into flames and disappeared. Power flowed.
There was no warning trickle, no small flow that became large. The change was enormous: silent one moment, electrifying the next. A current pulled from the top of her hair, from the farthest reaches of her fingertips, her mouth, and her nipples—roaring through her. It sizzled and cracked through each restriction until there was nothing in its way.
Her belly contracted in orgasm, but it was more than just that. Her entire consciousness pulsed and pushed and poured. She became a river of lava. She was the crackle and fire of electrical current. And Ken Jin was the well into which she poured.
More and more, the river grew, the current shining brighter and hotter, until he suddenly stopped. She felt him collapse against her thigh, his breath heavy, his body trembling.
She whimpered in protest. Without him to take it, the heat continued to build without release. Her legs quivered and her belly clenched, but there was no outlet so the power began to curl in on itself.
"No," she sobbed into her pillow. "Ken Jin, please..."
She felt him against her thigh, still gasping for breath. "There is so much," he murmured, awe in his tone.
Her body was still shaking, and not with release. The energy was churning inside her, and she was beginning to feel ill from the heat.
"Take it away, Ken Jin. There is so much, I cannot contain it. You must take it!"
If she had the strength, she would have forced him. She lifted the pillow off her face to order him, but her hands were trembling with untapped power, and the cooling streak of air against her wet face confused her even more. How could she be crying? Her body was a torch that was consuming itself. There was no moisture left in her. Only fire.
"Ken Jin!"
She felt him move; his hand this time. She pressed forward, groaning slightly as his fingers pushed deep inside her. She had no idea how many fingers, only that the pressure added to her heat. Wood to the flame.
"No," she whispered.
But then she felt it: another opening of the floodgates. His thumb once again rolled across her most sensitive spot. In her mind, he just brushed the blockage aside. She didn't understand how, but she didn't truly care. She knew only that the power began to flow again to his thumb; not into him, but around him. Her body pulsed around his fingers, and the power flowed across his hand.
Thank God, it flowed. Bit by bit, the heat dissipated. Soon she could breathe again; so long as it continued to flow. On and on and on, in rhythmic contraction.
Finally, it stopped.
She released a sigh of exhausted delight and fell deeply asleep.
* * *
Feb 9, 1889
To honored Grandmother Wen Ai Men, Tigress sister:
I am pleased the gui zhi I sent benefitted your morning pains. How unfortunate that you cannot find such a useful herb in Peking. I also would have difficulty buying such things if it were not for my thrice-blessed assistant.
Did I tell you that he has left my service? Yes, he was beginning to feel caged in my little school. Too many beautiful women to distract him, I suppose. So he chose to avoid temptation and spends more and more time at the docks where he makes a great deal of money helping to unload barbarian cargo ships.
His ability with English—the barbarian language—serves him well, and he thrives. He now has enough money to buy his own residence and live in a comfortable style. Plus, he is also able to procure the best foreign herbs and teas for me. He does this out of respect because of the love between us, and I count myself most fortunate that he lived with us for so long.
Even more happily, he told me yesterday that he wants to become a Dragon student! I already know the perfect partner for him: a girl his own age named Little Pearl. She comes to me from a troubled path as well, and I think they will work very well together.
The only sadness in his young life is his wish for his family. He was tragically lost to his parents, you recall; but I know that if some magician were to discover their location, he would abandon all to reclaim those who once loved him. Oh, how I wish that were possible for this most excellent young man. Do you perhaps know if his parents can be restored to him?
Most Sincerely,
Tigress Tan Shi Po
QUICKIE TECHNIQUE
FOR EMERGENCY HANDLING OF TENSION:
Reach back to the base of your skull. Place the third finger of each hand into the hollow at the base of your skull. Rotate them around. Note the pain. Now move to the right of this hollow. Note the bump. It too will be tender. It may be downright painful on pressure. Give it Acupressure, USA. Repeat on the other side of the hollow. Now with your head bowed forward, run each hand firmly down the back of your neck toward the shoulders. Repeat five times.
Acupuncture Without Needles
JV Cerney
Chapter 6
Charlotte woke slowly. She could hear William in his room. The whole house could probably hear William. He was throwing a tantrum, complete with kicking and screaming. She had long since told the staff to just leave him to his fits, shut him in his room until he found a way to control himself. All breakables had been removed, and in time, he would learn. Except after ten years, he still hadn't learned.
She heard her mother's hurried footsteps rush down the hall. Her brother's door opened and the volume increased tenfold. He might not be bright, but William knew when to throw his whole soul into a tantrum. It would be a long twenty minutes before he settled enough to let Mama hold him. Then another long hour as she prayed and sobbed over her poor boy.
Usually Charlotte would be at her mother's side, reassuring both woman and boy that they were loved and all would eventually pass. It never seemed to make a difference. Indeed, nothing ever seemed to change in the unending tedium of her life.
Rolling over, she groaned at the pull of sore muscles. She winced at the pain even as she smiled. The feel of being completely naked beneath her covers was scandalously delightful. Her smile widened into a grin. Nothing had changed until last night.
* * *
"Mits Charet! Mits Charet!"
Charlotte blinked, then stared blearily at the family's newest maid. The woman was young, her English deplorable, but after fourteen years in Shanghai, Charlotte knew how to translate broken English.
"Good morning, Mei Su." At least she hoped that was the girl's name. There was a rather large number of Mei- somethings in China. "What—"
"Peas, Mits Charet. Te bo."
Te bo? The boy. "William?"
She listened intently. Her room was positioned right next to the nursery so that she could hear disasters, but there was nothing, no sounds at all. Was that good or bad? Truly, by his very nature, William created commotions wherever he went. And new young maids were most subject to needless alarm. Yet...
"Go find Ken Jin," she abruptly ordered. "I will be there directly."
"Aie, no!" the girl wailed, obviously distraught. "Te bo—"
Frustrated, Charlotte pushed up on an elbow. Her nudity be damned. "Fetch my robe and tell me what exactly occurred," she said in Shanghai dialect, hoping to distract the girl. It worked. The girl spun to fetch her housedress while Charlotte jumped out of bed and kicked her ruined gown into the cold fire grate. Mei Su whipped back with the robe in hand and finally answered the most pressing question.
"The boy," she said in her native tongue. "He is not moving. The mama just cries and prays. We do not know—"
"Go get Ken Jin. He has knowledge of medicine." Why she thought he could help, she didn't know. Except, of course, that just yesterday she had seen him with needles in his flesh for some medicinal purpose, and last night he had created the most amazing sensations in her body. Most important, in a crisis Ken Jin possessed the most level head in the entire household. She had always called for him at times like this. From the moment he began working as their First Boy, he had been the rock upon whom she relied. But Mei Su was shaking her head, her wail increasing.
"Not home! Left early this morning."
Charlotte didn't pause. Pulling on her housedress, sans corset, she felt her insides churn into cold knots. "Where did he go?" she asked as casually as she could manage.
"Nobody knows," the girl responded. "Miss, te boy. Please."
Charlotte was already heading out the door, but she paused long enough to grab a match off the mantel to toss at the maid. "Please burn my nightdress, Mei Su. It irritated me last night, and I think I tore it." Then she was out the door.
Two steps inside her brother's room, she knew what had happened and roundly damned herself for it. Her brother lay on the cold floor, curled into himself, and she saw he'd bruised a leg and bloodied his knuckles, and probably a lot more, too. When William threw himself into a fit, he pulled out all the stops. His clothes were torn and dispersed across the room, though one shoe had miraculously stayed on. Apparently he'd been almost fully dressed when temper had taken hold.
Now he lay still and silent on the floor. As always, Charlotte checked first for signs of life. He was obviously breathing, and nothing appeared to be bleeding or broken. Mostly he appeared cold, so she grabbed his favorite dark blue blanket and settled it around him.
Next, she turned to her mother. Mama was kneeling in prayer near the wardrobe, her rosary beads in her hands as she meticulously cycled through them, her lips moving without sound. Charlotte knew from experience that she would not speak to anyone until she was done with her prayers.
So Charlotte set to the task of straightening the nursery. Nanny hovered nearby, half hidden in shadow. Fortunately, she had seen many William fits before and had already accomplished the bulk of the work. Which left Charlotte with little to do but sit in the only chair, a large cushioned contraption that was bolted to the floor, and wait for her mother.
Unfortunately, Mama was only halfway through her rosary, so Charlotte had ample time to dwell. She could see from the sunlight that the morning was well advanced. William must have woken at his usual time and, without Charlotte to keep his temper in check, descended into some fit. It didn't truly matter why; William always had his own reasons. One day, he'd begun kicking because the curtains weren't drawn. The next day's fit was because the blanket was blue. Mama had spent a month driving the staff to distraction making sure the curtains were pulled just right, every fabric was to William's taste, and even the walls repainted to his choice.
Except, William constantly changed his mind, and that produced more fits. In the end, Charlotte had ended it all. She decided the walls would be a soft blue. The carpet was stripped away to a bare wood floor. The furniture, including bookshelves and window treatments, all were removed. His bedroom became bare except for the mattress and white sheets that now lay on the floor. Even his clothing was stored in a separate room.
And William's fits had lessened.
Bit by bit, they had introduced new things. The chair came first, even though it had to be bolted to the floor for fear he'd grow stronger and throw it out the window. He now had a bookcase—also bolted down—with three soft toys on it and two books. And a dozen or more blankets of a variety of colors were scattered about the room.
Nanny was taking the blankets away. She had already collected the books and toys. After a fit of this magnitude—one that ended in unconsciousness—William's environment had to be stripped down to nothing. It would take at least a week before he'd be able to build back up to tolerating anything beyond his one blanket and the bare floor. She only prayed they didn't have to remove his bed. Sleeping on the floor always made her brother cranky. Still, it was better than endless days of tantrums.
She sighed and stared at her brother. Was this latest debacle her fault? She knew with absolute certainty that she could have avoided it. Years of trial and error had given her a sixth sense when it came to her brother. She knew the signs of oncoming breakdowns and was usually able to stop them before they began. Minimal light, no stimulation, and silence had prevented numerous disasters.
But she hadn't been around this morning. She had chosen to sleep and leave things to her mother and Nanny. She had, in fact, slept through a major disaster because she was exhausted from her nocturnal adventure. And now William had regressed—again—to near infancy. She would spend months restoring him to some semblance of normalcy, and all hope of real progress was completely gone.
Why hadn't she gotten up? Why wasn't William better able to handle life? Was it her fault? Was she doing things wrong?
"This is all your father's fault."
Charlotte looked up. Her mother had spoken in low tones, not wishing to disturb William. The boy would likely not wake for hours yet, but just in case, they continued in near whispers. William never reacted well to being startled.
"What did Papa do?"
"He didn't come home last night."
Drinking and carousing, then. The usual.
"God punishes the wicked," her mother continued.
"But William isn't wicked." The response was automatic; she and her mother had this argument every time William had a fit.
"God chooses the nature of his punishments. It is not for us to say."
"What if God doesn't work that way, Mama? What if—"
"I will order another Mass. Maybe it will speed William's recovery." The woman crawled the few feet to her son's side. She didn't dare touch him for fear of waking him, but she obviously wanted to hold him. Her hand hovered over William's shoulder, over his head, then finally settled back into her lap. "I am so very sorry, my little boy. So very, very sorry."
The agony in her mother's voice tore at Charlotte's heart, and Charlotte couldn't remain silent. "You have atoned, Mama, for whatever ill you did. I am sure God has forgiven you."
Her mother pushed to her feet, and Charlotte could see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. "Only God can say when I have atoned. I was a drunken slattern when I was pregnant, and God visited my sins upon my son."
"That is over, Mama. You are forgiven." Charlotte could only repeat the words over and over and pray that one day Mama would believe them.
Obviously, that day wasn't today. Her mother turned back to William and said, "His slowness is my fault. This fit..." She shook her head. "That is your father's." She sighed and headed for the door. "Nanny will stay with hi
m until he wakes. You, Charlotte, need to tend to your hair. Cleanliness is next to godliness." She glanced back at William still immobile on the floor. "Learn from my sins, Charlotte. Do not hurt your own children."
She left then, abandoning Charlotte to the weight of guilt. After all, her father had spent many nights carousing through the whole of Shanghai's foreign concessions. William didn't suffer a relapse every night Papa was gone. She could think of at least ten instances when William had suffered no ill effects whatsoever from their father's debauchery. But how often had Charlotte spent the night in a world of corruption? And not more than fifteen feet away!
The thought was chilling. Could it be God? Could William's current state be her fault? After all, he wouldn't be like this now if she had simply gotten out of bed when it started. But she'd slept in because she'd been exhausted. Because she'd chosen her own path of wanton sin.
Charlotte pushed to her feet, horrified to discover she was trembling. It couldn't possibly be true; William's difficulties were not directly tied to anyone's moral behavior. If so, then there would be a lot more unconscious, half-naked children like her brother. And yet, the coincidence was difficult to stomach. Perhaps she should go to Mass with Mama. It couldn't hurt, could it? She could pray for her sins, ask for enlightenment, maybe even search the Bible for guidance.
Unfortunately, she had pursued that course a million times before; her mother as well. If prayer or Bible study truly gave answers, William would be normal by now. Charlotte had no faith in those particular paths. Which left... what exactly? Where could she turn?
Nanny returned, but Charlotte sent her away, wanting to be alone with William. Then she sat with her brother for the rest of the day while the same questions boiled uselessly in her mind.
* * *
Ken Jin muttered as he rubbed down the carriage horse. Like all things barbarian, the beast was large and ill-tempered—at least until its needs were met. Then it became placid, cooperative even, and life could proceed as it was meant to. Too bad things Chinese worked on a different level. And worse, because he had been working for the barbarians most of his life, he had become used to acting in the barbarian fashion. That meant whenever he was forced to be Chinese, the task became ten times more difficult.