Samurai Captive Read online

  SAMURAI CAPTIVE

  Barbara Sheridan

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  www.loose-id.com

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  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Samurai Captive

  Barbara Sheridan

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © February 2008 by Barbara Sheridan

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-59632-641-5

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Barbara Marshall

  Cover Artist: Anne Cain

  Dedication

  To Tiffany and Anne for putting up with my bouts of writerly insecurity.

  To Armen for being the “go-to guy” when I had questions on samurai and nineteenth-century Japan.

  To Barb Marshall, who is the coolest editor evar. ^_^

  And I can’t forget Victoria (aka child number two) for introducing me to this corner of history I’d overlooked in my Western-centric nonfiction travels.

  Author’s Note:

  The samurai names are presented in Japanese order of surname, given name.

  Chapter One

  1863

  “Go on, stare at the barbarian,” Hannah Connolly muttered while watching the throng of curious onlookers crowding around the red-slatted front window of the brothel in the Yoshiwara district in the Japanese capital of Edo.

  She’d been “on display” for a week now, and you’d think that every person in the country had the urge to traipse by and see what a foreign woman looked like. It would be her stinkin’ luck to be in service to a man who was setting up in trade now that the bloody Yanks had forced open Japan’s ports.

  Her employer’s friend, a businessman by the name of Richardson, had been cut down months ago for not showing the “proper respect” to some high and mighty samurai overlord. She’d been injured as well and left for dead by the side of the road. The woman she’d been riding out with that day, the sister-in-law to one of the blokes, had managed to escape, but of course no one cared about the fool servant, ‘cept for some Japanese farmer who’d carted her home and had his missus tend her wounds.

  She thought them living saints as they nursed her back to health. Of course, it would also be her luck that they’d go and sell her to this whorehouse as soon as she was well again. And of course it wasn’t like the British officials gave a fig. And she knew they had to have heard. After all, comin’ to gawk at her seemed to be the hit of the male social season.

  Hannah breathed a sigh and looked around her cagelike room. Oh, Mamma, you worked so hard to give me a better life and look where I am ‑‑ right back in the kind of place where I was born and raised.

  She looked back toward the window at the beady, hungry eyes of the men vying for a glimpse of the merchandise they were apparently too afraid or too poor to sample. She couldn’t make out a lot of the language, but she had picked up enough in the year she’d been in Japan to understand that much.

  They gaped at her like they hadn’t ever seen a woman in their lives. Of course they probably hadn’t seen a white woman, that was for sure, and they probably wondered if her being so different from them made her unusual in her womanly parts too. All it would take was one with enough coin and big enough balls to get over any fear he might have about her and see for himself if she had the cunny and tits like any other woman, and she sure as hell didn’t want that. Once one took up the challenge, the rest were sure to want to follow to prove themselves.

  Hannah decided that she might as well let them see that there wasn’t nothing so different or special about her. She undid the buttons of her bodice and jerked the top down to expose her fair shoulders and the swell of her chemise-covered breasts. She unpinned her auburn hair and shook it free to cascade over her bare shoulders, then slid her hands along her midriff, skimming over her breasts, squeezing, stroking herself through the soft cotton of her garments.

  She heard her “audience” murmur, and a few groaned. It spurred her on to be even bolder. She slipped off the bodice, leaving only her thin chemise, and shivered when the cool outside air wafted through the window and puckered her nipples. With a flick of her fingers, she undid the little ribbon bow at the neckline of the chemise and opened it just enough for her breasts to be visible. The murmurs grew louder, and Hannah arched her back, threw back her head, and began to massage herself in earnest, freeing first one breast and then the other, pinching, tugging on her erect nipples until they tingled and ached.

  “You blokes want some of this, do ya?” she teased, lifting her heavy breasts with both hands and licking as close to the nipple as she could.

  The men nearest the window clamored and called out for the house madam.

  Hannah heard the clink of coins and feet scurrying up the stairs in the adjacent hallway. They wanted sex after her little show, but they preferred to get it from the native born whores.

  That was quite all right ‘cause she didn’t want none of them pawing at her.

  The madam came in and began yelling for “More! More!”

  “Yeah, why not,” Hannah said, standing to unhook her skirt and the one voluminous petticoat she still had. She wasn’t quite sure where the other slips or her metal crinoline had gone, but then she didn’t miss their bulk or weight.

  Hannah pranced around the perimeter of the small front room in her chemise and lace trimmed pantaloons, pausing often to stretch, arching her back and letting her breasts jut provocatively. She turned her back to the window and bent over, giving her audience a glimpse of her soft, round arse and a peek at her cunny, barely concealed by the center slit in her drawers.

  She turned and laughed at the sight of the men trying to reach through the barred window.

  “Oh, so now you’re not afraid, since you see that a woman’s a woman no matter what color they are, eh?” The smile slid from Hannah’s face. “Dream on, you foreign bastards.”

  * * * * *

  Sanada Katsuhiro had always considered his taller than average height to be a major asset in terms of his fighting prowess, but he had never truly appreciated it until just now, for it gave him a wonderful view of the red-haired temptress closeted within the front room of the Ichino-ro.

  He’d grown hard the minute she pulled her big breasts free of her clothing, and his balls grew tight and heavy when she pranced about the room and bent over. Even her hair down there had that fiery glint. And he wanted more than anything to shove his cock into her glistening depths. Unfortunately, he had to meet with his superiors. But he would be back for more.

  Soon.

  * * * * *

  Hannah spent the remainder of the afternoon alternately ignoring then “performing” for the onlookers outside much in the same way as she had earlier. Aft
er a while she got to thinking that maybe she was working them up to wanting more, and that “more” sure as hell wasn’t gonna be her body if she could stop it. When the madam brought her a light meal, Hannah asked if one of the other girls could come and keep her company a while. Hannah winked, and the madam grinned from ear to ear.

  “Yes. Yes.”

  The woman who joined her was Omitsu, who Hannah judged to be the oldest whore there. Mitsu, as they called her, didn’t seem to have many customers, though she was taken home every so often by an older gentleman who always promised to buy out her contract and take her home permanently.

  Right. As if that would ever happen. It was the same old song she’d heard as a girl growing up in the East End of London. The hoity-toity uptown gents would make all sorts of promises to her mother as long as they had that hard-on to ease, but in the cold light of day it was’ere’s yer coin, see ya some other time.

  The madam excitedly promised to give both Hannah and Mitsu a cut of whatever profits they drummed up with their little “show,” and the two women exchanged a knowing smile. They could certainly make all the waiting cocks hard as a rock.

  Hannah decided that she wasn’t going to give all her secrets away quite yet, so once she’d finished her meal, she leaned over and kissed Mitsu, then took her by the hand and led her to the center of the cagelike room. She slid her fingers up and down the silky sleeves of the other woman’s kimono, caressing her neck and white powdered cheeks, and circled her like a cat eyeing up a tasty little bird.

  She tugged on the wide obi that held Mitsu’s kimono closed and slowly walked round and round, unwrapping it from her petite body. She let it fall to the floor then peeled off the thin silk kimono like a fruit connoisseur might gently peel a grape.

  Mitsu murmured when Hannah glided her palms up and down her bare arms and over her small, pert breasts. Hannah saw her shiver when she unwrapped the thin silken underskirt that was left. Hannah stood behind her and squeezed her breasts, smoothed her hands over the Japanese woman’s small hips, then let her fingers fluff the tuft of dark hair between her thighs.

  “Not so fast, luv,” Hannah whispered when Mitsu parted her legs and arched forward for more.

  Katsuhiro’s erection swelled harder than ever when he returned from his meeting to find the red-haired whore fondling one of her housemates. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd and watched in rapt fascination as she led the other woman closer to the barred window and coaxed her to lie down with her legs splayed for all the men to see her wet sex.

  The redhead surely must have been a prostitute in her homeland, because no innocent girl could have moved with such calculating precision. She knelt beside the Japanese whore, giving the onlookers a clear view as she licked and kissed her way down the right side of her companion’s body then up the left.

  The Japanese woman writhed and softly begged the redhead to touch her throbbing cunt, but the redhead just laughed and instead laved over her breasts while teasingly dancing her thin fingers over the tops of the other woman’s thighs, coming close but never touching where the prone woman needed it most.

  Katsu tore his gaze away a moment to watch the house proprietors take in customer after customer as soon as those already done easing their loads came down the stairs. He turned his attention back to the open barred window when he heard the Japanese whore whimper.

  So the little barbarian wasn’t only a tease. He slipped one hand inside the side slit of his hakama trousers to rub his aching balls when the woman settled herself between her companion’s thighs. Like a seasoned professional, she placed the prone woman’s legs on her shoulders and bent forward.

  The redhead’s rear was high in the air and her knees parted for better balance, giving him a fine view of her own secret treasure. Her cunt lips were swollen, the soft reddish hairs clinging here and there to the wet folds.

  He signaled to the man at the door and tossed some money his way, then knelt before the barred window and reached in.

  Hannah went stiff when large male hands clamped themselves on her hips and pulled her closer to the window. She tried to see what the man was doing, but Mitsu had a hell of a grip on her long hair.

  She jumped when she felt his hand slide over her slit, and she instinctively moved her hips to increase the delicious friction. She heard a low chuckle and cursed him, whoever he was.

  “Please, please...” Mitsu said, squirming before her.

  Hannah sighed when the man began to rub her throbbing clit, and she knew she was lost when she felt her juices ooze out to coat his thick, rough fingers.

  She rocked back and forth when he slid in one finger then another. She’d only been had by a man once, a customer who had taken advantage of her when her mother passed out from too much drink, and it was that incident that had gotten her sent into domestic service where she’d be “safe.”

  The slow, seductive rhythm with which he penetrated her was opening up sensations that she’d never quite dreamed of. The feeling was similar to the one she got when she touched herself, only ten times greater, and she greedily lapped at Mitsu’s throbbing cunny while the desire built within her own body. After Mitsu came and released her hold on Hannah’s hair, Hannah eased herself back and continued to rock on her knees as the unknown man fucked her with his hand.

  She groaned when he slid his dripping fingers out of her cunny and sighed when he began to rub and prod her arsehole. She tensed when he inserted one finger into her there, but when he used his other hand to plunge back into her cunny she forgot about the slight burning pain.

  “Yesss, yesss,” she chanted, as the pleasure built and he finger fucked her front and rear. And when she came it was like nothing she could have imagined, all hot and cold and wave upon wave of bodily delight.

  She collapsed when the last wave passed but then turned quickly to see who the mysterious man was.

  But all she could see was a dark shape disappearing into the night.

  “Thank you, luv. Do come again,” she whispered.

  The madam came in and hurriedly closed the shutter-like doors over the front window. She seemed quite pleased by the profits the little display had brought. They had more men than the girls could handle for the rest of the night. And when she grabbed Hannah by the arm and tugged her to her feet, Hannah protested.

  “No. No, I don’t want to screw them nasty little blokes.” She struggled to force her brain to translate the Japanese words the woman was rambling.

  “No. You go. Someone buy you. Lots and lots of gold he pay. Go now.”

  Hannah jerked away. “No! I’m not going to screw one of your men! I won’t do it!”

  The house boss boxed her ears, and Hannah tried to kick him in the balls, only to be sent flying to the straw mat by a vicious shove. He shouted to one of the young servants, and she ran upstairs then back down again. The boss threw her only belongings ‑‑ her torn and mended British dress and shoes at her.

  “Get dressed. You go like the filthy foreign pig you are!”

  Hannah’s further refusal was met with a sturdy bamboo cane across the shoulders and arse. She was near to tears from the stinging pain by the time she’d gotten her things on and was unceremoniously shoved outside. She stumbled, fell face first to the ground in front of two servants sent to fetch her.

  Picking herself up, Hannah brushed the dirt from herself and glared at the men sent to carry her to their master in the small enclosed palanquin. “Fuck you,” Hannah said with a sneer before breaking into a run. She’d just rounded the corner of the whorehouse three doors down when a man stepped from the shadows and grabbed her from behind. Hannah struggled, but was no match for the grip of his strong arms.

  “You belong to me,” he said in accented English before tossing her over his shoulder with enough force to momentarily knock the wind out of her.

  Recovering, Hannah tried to struggle again, this time crying out to those in the streets entering and leaving the various brothels and teahouses. Though they al
l stopped and stared, no one bothered to come to her aid.

  He tossed her into another palanquin and sat half on top of her to prevent her from trying to escape. She couldn’t really see his face, but caught glimpses of it in the bobbing light of the lanterns outside the man-powered carriage. He had those striking high cheekbones so many of the other men here did with not a speck of facial hair to mar or hide his features.

  Hannah looked away from those piercing black eyes of his that seemed to stare straight through her. She gasped when he roughly cupped her chin and made her face him once more. “Let go of me.”

  “I own you.”

  “The hell you say,” Hannah muttered. Still, she couldn’t deny the little pulsing tingle that hit her low and hard at the sound of that deep, accented voice claiming ownership of her. He was the one. He was the one who’d diddled her so thoroughly through the whorehouse window.

  Hannah racked her brain to come up with what she hoped were the right Japanese words. “Why did you buy me?”

  “Many reasons,” he answered in English.

  He shifted, pulled her onto his lap. One arm thrown across her chest, he squeezed her breast with strong fingers like he was testing the ripeness of a melon in the Spitalfields Market. She felt her cunny get wet at the memory of what he’d done before, and she decided that it might not be so bad to be his personal whore. Unless he was a brothel master himself or worked for one.

  Hannah made herself whimper and stroked the samurai’s forearm. “Strong hands you got here, luv. I bet the Japanese ladies like you touching them all over.” She stroked his arm some more, teased his fingers with hers then lifted his hand to kiss it. “Oh yeah, these are real nice, strong hands,” she cooed. She kissed his fingertips, swirled her tongue across the calloused skin built up from years of sword training.