The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 4

by Maxim Jakubowski

  “You are a red belt now. You are in training for Cho Dan. A part of that training is to break down the barriers you’ve built within yourself. I think . . .” She remembered how his glance had shifted to one side. “I believe you should discontinue your studies here.”

  His voice had sounded gentle, almost sad. After weeks of struggling with the Bassai form, she had expected him to be strict. She had not expected to be dismissed.

  Yet today, he had agreed to talk. To teach. Why else the order to wear her uniform?

  Go to class. Master the form. Move on.

  A dim yellow glow appeared ahead, signaling the tiny strip mall where Master Sengor had his studio. Anna eased the car to a stop, careful of the slick roads, and turned into the driveway. At this hour, the parking lot was empty except for one other car, an ancient blue Thunderbird, whose windows reflected Anna’s headlights and the red neon from the studio. She pulled into a space two down from Master Sengor’s car. The studio was lit; a dark figure waited motionless at the window.

  “Shi Jak,” she murmured, then gave a soft laugh.

  Inside, she bowed to Master Sengor, who bent his head in reply. Sengor was just as she remembered. Dark hair clipped short. Lean brown face. The ghost of a beard along his jaw. His master’s belt tied just so. Still, he seemed tired – the corners of his mouth turned down slightly, and a few faint lines showed beneath his dark brown eyes.

  Those dark brown eyes were observing her just as closely. Self-conscious of his gaze, she turned away. Like Master Sengor, the studio had changed little. The same photograph of the Grand Master hung between the Korean and American flags. The same scuffed mats made a checkerboard of red and blue. Racks of bow staffs, punching shields and sparring gear occupied one side, while mirrors lined the other. A few more certificates and trophies crowded the glass case, but these were small details. She breathed in the scent of old sweat, plastic and leather.

  A metallic rattle made her jump. Master Sengor had adjusted the blinds to slant upward, leaving only strips of night sky visible through the slats. Good. She didn’t want any chance passer-by to witness this class.

  “We’ll start with stretches,” he said. “Then some basic moves, just to evaluate your training. You have your uniform?”

  No other greeting. No wasted pleasantries. She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  She removed her shoes, then slid off her exercise jacket and pants, conscious that Master Sengor was studying her with the same cool look she remembered from class. Yes, she thought, I’ve worked out. I’ve kept in shape. He said nothing, however. When she had finished tying her jacket and belt, he gestured for her to follow.

  They took their places at the front of the studio and faced the flags, Anna standing two paces behind Master Sengor.

  “Cha Ryut. Bay Ray. Ba Ro. Muk Nyum.”

  Stand to attention, hand over heart. Return and meditate. Bow to the flags, to the Grand Master’s photograph, and then to Master Sengor. After the formal opening, Master Sengor led her through a short set of warm-up exercises and stretches. The sequence came back easily, and she found herself relaxing.

  Don’t get too comfortable, she reminded herself. This is temporary.

  “Stand ready.”

  She brought her fists together.

  “Stepping out left leg – low block, reverse high punch. Once more. Now high block, reverse middle punch. Again.”

  He took her through the basic blocks and strikes, then moved quickly to combinations. Kicks followed, from basic to jump to spinning kicks. Master Sengor had begun with English commands, but after a dozen moves, he switched to Korean, so that she had to think fast. If she flubbed a technique, she stopped, bowed, and repeated the move correctly. He offered no encouragement, but she had expected none. She was a red belt, a third Gup. She was supposed to be beyond coddling.

  By the time he called out Ba Ro, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. At his signal, she turned to the right and adjusted her uniform, then faced him again with a bow.

  “So,” he said. “You want to study Bassai.”

  His voice was uninflected; she could read nothing in his expression except a faint weariness. She resisted the urge to lick her lips. “Yes, sir.”

  A pause followed – long enough that her stomach fluttered – before he nodded. “Very well. We’ll go through the form by my count, just to see what you remember. Bassai Jhoon Bee.”

  He rapped out the last phrase, taking her by surprise. Anna blinked, then brought her hands around to meet in front of her face. Left hand over right fist. The Bassai Jhoon Bee.

  Master Sengor smiled dryly. “Good. You remember that much.” A briefer pause, then, “Shi Jak.”

  This time, she was ready for the command. Anna rose smoothly onto her toes, twisted left, and leaned forward. Just when she tipped beyond balance, she jumped and landed with legs crossed and her arms swinging up to the proper position.

  “Hap.” He signaled the next move.

  Spin around. Two inside-out blocks, left and right.

  “Hap.”

  Move by move, he took her through Bassai. She had practiced alone for weeks before she called; even so, there were blank spots in her memory. Master Sengor said little, except to give hints when she obviously had forgotten a step. Throughout, Anna was aware of his unblinking gaze. That look, that quiet intensity, had come from his early years. Plucked from one culture into another, he had learned how to observe in silence, absorbing every minute detail – or so she guessed. Master Sengor seldom spoke about his past. What bits she knew, Anna had gleaned from chance comments, a difference in tone or expression, the photos he kept in his back office.

  At the last move, Soo Do Mahk Kee, Anna faced front and held her position. A trickle of sweat ran down her back. Her leg muscles burned from holding the stance, and a strand of hair had worked itself loose from her braid.

  “Ba Ro.”

  With a sigh of relief, Anna returned to the resting position.

  Master Sengor regarded her a few moments. “Not bad, not good. You’re right – you’re still rough with the last section. When did you start classes at Wilcott?”

  Anna brushed the hair from her face, shrugged.

  Sengor’s mouth quirked into a smile. “I see. Well, you made a few mistakes. We’ll go through it again, slower this time. Bassai Jhoon Bee.”

  Did she hear a different tone in his voice? She didn’t have time to speculate, because he was motioning for her to begin. This time, he paused after each segment to review her mistakes, or to correct her stance. Eyes front, he reminded her. Hips turned just so. Hands lifted higher, so that she looked over her knuckles. “Like so,” he said, adjusting her hands with a touch as light as moth wings.

  The touch called up those distracting images that had assailed her during class, after class, in her dreams. His hands brushing her skin, each caress leaving a fingerprint of his scent. His warm lips . . .

  Sengor had stepped back and was studying her. Belatedly, Anna wondered if her expression had betrayed her thoughts.

  “Dasi,” he said mildly. “Again. Your count this time. And remember what I said about keeping your eyes upon your opponent. Imagine him well – how tall, how heavy, the way he moves.”

  Imagine. Yes.

  She started over, concentrating on each movement, and conscious how awkward she looked. Sengor kept silent for the first half dozen techniques. As she settled into the form, however, he began a running commentary: Twist your hip and block together in one fluid movement. Feel your feet – don’t look at them. Do not hesitate. Do not glance down. Commit yourself to each movement. Don’t anticipate the next one.

  Leaping into the middle punch, Anna stretched too far and landed off balance. Her foot twisted, pain lanced through her ankle, and she hissed in pain. Please, let it not be a sprain. Not now.

  A hand touched her shoulder. “Are you injured?”

  Anna cautiously flexed her foot. It twinged, but already the worst had subsided. “I don’t think s
o.”

  “Stand up, and we’ll see.”

  He grasped her wrist and pulled her up. For a moment, she was close enough to sense the heat radiating from his skin, and catch the scent of his aftershave, mixed in with sweat. Anna had the swift and vivid fantasy of leaning forward and kissing that generous mouth.

  Sengor released his hold and glided back. “How is your ankle? Too bad to go on?”

  Cool. Aloof. Dispassionate. Just as she ought to be. Nevertheless, her skin still tingled, as though he’d marked her wrist with his touch. Anna shook her head, not trusting her voice.

  “Very well. Please start the form over.”

  His continued coolness acted to steady her nerves. Anna drew a deep breath and closed her eyes a moment to focus. It came to her that she was choosing the wrong approach, but she didn’t know another way. A soft tread brought her attention back. She opened her eyes to find Master Sengor in front of her, observing her closely. She had not noticed before how thick and dark his lashes were.

  “Think of eliminating all boundaries,” he said softly.

  “Imagine all defenses gone. You, yielding them. You, offering your pride, your self, to the void.”

  Blue silk rippling in the shadows. Yes. That she could imagine. But she had come to rid herself of those fantasies, not to indulge them.

  This close to Dâvûd Sengor, however, and her resolution wavered. Even if he meant surrender to Bassai, she could do both, in the privacy of her thoughts. Surely that harmed no one, including her.

  Anna returned to her starting position and performed the Bassai Jhoon Bee. Her gaze flickered toward Master Sengor, then back to the wall.

  Shi Jak.

  She tilted forward into the first sequence. Surrender. Attack. Two opposites held in balance.

  She pivoted around into the next two blocks. She could tell, even without seeing herself in the mirrors, that her movements were stronger, sharper. Chop. Punch. Block. Back fist. When she sprang into her first Soo Do block, her bare feet hit the mats with an audible thump. Her uniform snapped in time with her side kick; her sharp exhalations marked each sequence. All the while, Master Sengor’s gaze followed – dark, impassive, unreadable.

  Surrender was the key. What had existed as words and rules became understanding, and her thoughts divided into parallel streams. On one side, Bassai Dai. On the other, her desire.

  Another series of Soo Do blocks. Then fists drawn together and pushed up high. Lunge forward into the double-fisted strike. Leap into the middle punch. Pivot and shift into the knife strike.

  Anna imagined Dâvûd’s fingers tracing a path over her cheek, down her throat to its base, one thumb resting there. A momentary pause – she could feel his pulse beating against hers – then the first hungry kiss. Yes, she could imagine it well. The scent of his body would be intoxicating, the taste of his mouth, his skin would fill her senses.

  Jerk the hand back. Breathe in slowly as you raise the left leg, slide it down to stand with feet together. Pause.

  Kiss upon devouring kiss, each one followed by a caress, his and hers. His mouth upon her breast, his palms cupping them. Her mouth nibbling his chest and shoulders and arms. Her hands pulling his body closer to hers. With quick deft movements, he would untie her uniform and slide the jacket free, while she tugged his trousers over his lean hips.

  Swing into the wheel kick. Back fist. Another with open hand. A flurry of punches, a change in stance, twist and thrust two fists into a double strike.

  Anna’s belly tightened. Her breathing shifted. Her eyes saw two figures, one of her teacher, one of her lover. Her body moved through the twin acts of sex and Bassai.

  Penetrate the fortress, he had said. All defenses gone.

  She had come to the final sequence – for her, the most difficult part. Anna pictured tumbling with Dâvûd onto the mats. Mouth fastened against mouth. Her legs opening up. Her voice babbling, Please, oh please, yes, now. Her hands running over his back, between his legs, guiding his penis into her vagina, already slick with sweat and desire. One smooth gliding motion and he would be inside. Break down the barriers. Yield.

  X-block. Back fist. Sink low, lower still. Double knife strike.

  A deep ache gripped her sex. Anna groaned, and strained to draw him even deeper. More, more. She thought she might be babbling. She didn’t care. Dâvûd buried his face into her neck. He was murmuring in a strange language, but though the words were foreign, she understood his meaning. Come to me. Closer, closer, my love. Yes. There, exactly there.

  Another back fist. Sink down low. Lower. Spring into the middle Soo Do block. Spin into the second one. The third, the last one, a block that is an attack.

  Dâvûd threw back his head and groaned. Anna’s body arched toward him, pushing as hard as she could. For a long moment, their bodies went tense and still, before Dâvûd sank onto Anna’s breast, his mouth covering hers in a kiss.

  The dream broke. Anna held her position, gaze to the front. Her uniform was patchy with sweat. More sweat pooled at the base of her neck, between her breasts. That was the last requirement of the form, to remain still until the teacher released you.

  “Ba Ro.”

  With the last of her self-control, Anna performed the Bassai Jhoon Bee. Her legs trembled. Had he seen the dual dance? Had he recognized himself as her partner and her opponent?

  “Very well. Yes. I could see the fortress broken.”

  Master Sengor’s voice was softer than usual. She could guess nothing from his tone, however. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. You proved yourself competent. You can leave here with all your doubts resolved.

  Not quite. She needed one last confirmation. Keeping her voice level, she asked, “Will you take me back as a student?”

  “No.”

  For a moment, she didn’t comprehend what he said. When she did, her heart gave a lurch. “Why not?”

  “For the same reason as last time.”

  “But you said . . .”

  “I said you should discontinue your studies here. I never meant for you to give up karate.” His gaze veered to one side, just as before. “It would not have been right for me to continue as your teacher. Or perhaps I misunderstood.”

  It was the same as before. The same refusal. The same . . .

  Had she misunderstood?

  Her pulse thrumming, Anna heard herself say, “Oh no. You understood quite well.”

  “Ah.” Dâvûd’s gaze finally met hers, and his mouth, so serious a moment before, softened into a pensive smile. “Did I?”

  Surrender, she told herself. Abandon pride and self-delusion. She had come here with too much of both.

  Anna lifted one hand to caress his cheek. “Kay Sok,” she whispered. “Begin Match.”

  Dâvûd shook his head, still smiling. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers, a sweet brief kiss. “Let us try again,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling her face. “Your count.”

  Shi Jak.

  The End of Daphne Greenwood’s Travel Career

  Tara Alton

  It started with the pen. I wouldn’t call it a stupendously fancy pen, but rather a clumsy, space aged like missile from a hotel vendor visit, where sales people fob off cheap little gifts so you’ll book them. If you click the pen, different chain names spin around in a tiny display on the barrel. It belonged to my team leader, Pam. She loved that pen. Pam also loved to think she was hot shit because she had a degree in travel from a university, while the rest of us have travel school certificates under our belts. I would say she’s not a team leader because of this. She’s a team leader because she doesn’t mind sticking her head up our boss’s ass.

  What have I done with this pen? I’ve moved it a few times so she had to look for it, stuck it in my mouth, licked it, doodled penises with it and took it into the bathroom. Why? Let’s just say I had sexual relations with it. I know it wasn’t consensual, but who is the pen going to tell? Besides the little bugger was so uptight I didn’t even come. Still, I got s
ome satisfaction planting it back on Pam’s desk, watching her face when she realized it was sticky and trying to figure out what it was before she wiped it with one of those antibacterial wipes for anal retentives.

  Pam left me a chastising note on my desk about someone whom I like to call Passenger Thirteen. Why Thirteen? I like to think that this row of seats on an airplace is the travel agent’s row of hell. If a passenger pisses me off, I put him in that row. Well, this guy really yanked me around over a trip to Des Moines, so every time since I’ve tried to deposit him there. Apparently, he wasn’t too happy about being in a middle seat again either, but it wasn’t my fault since the rest of the seats were under airport control. Well, they weren’t, but we won’t tell, will we?

  I crumpled up Pam’s note, tossed it in the trash and picked up my book. Between calls, management doesn’t care what we do as long as we are ready to take a call. Some girls knit. Some read fashion magazines. Some write bills or clip coupons. I read porn. Not outright crotch shot magazines, but rather anthologies of porn pretending to be erotica, but there are still a lot of muffs and cocks bouncing around, only in a more civilized manner.

  Reading about a girl who was having an erotic thrill ride on a cable car in San Francisco, I started to get all squirmy. I thought I might have to go to the bathroom to relieve myself in that special way, when Passenger Thirteen rings in. On and on he went about being in the middle seat again. It’s uncomfortable, blah blah blah. Well you shouldn’t have been such an ass to me about Des Moines, I wanted to tell him. My gaze swept back to the open page of my book. He was doing what to her? Could I slip a finger under my skirt?

  Looking up, I realized Pam had on her head set and her eyes were on me. She was monitoring me, the bitch.