Love Through Lemons Contest

Pen Name: AngryBadgerGirl

Title: Danna Guy & Geisha Girl

AH, E/B

I do not own Twilight, watashi ha haku akari wo shoyuu shiteimasen.

Bella and I have a Sunday afternoon ritual that we never miss. When we first started it, we promised each other that this would be our time, just the two of us. We wanted to explore physical intimacy in the form of role play. I suggested we research something I'd always been curious about—the relationship between a geisha and her danna, or 'patron.'

A geisha in Japanese culture is a woman trained to entertain men with conversation, singing, dancing, poetry and the like. She is not a prostitute, but some geisha retain a sole customer, or danna, who sometimes becomes her lover. The arrangement varies with each individual couple.

I walk into our living room at 3pm sharp like I do every week. Bella is there waiting for me. No matter how many times I've seen her in full geisha attire, it always takes my breath away. Today is no exception. She looks like a billowing flower in her intricately embroidered sky blue kimono. Her long brown hair is in a tight bun ornamented with kanzashi—the beautiful hair pins and clips made of gold and silk flowers, their satiny ribbons flowing down the side of her cheek down to her neck.

Because of the limited time we have, Bella forgoes the heavy white face paint that's customarily used but dusts her face and neck with a fragrant white powder to make her creamy skin paler than it already is. Her kimono is also a less traditional variation of what a true geisha would wear. It's much simpler, with fewer layers. Anything more complex would require someone to help her dress. I bought her clothing during my business trips to Tokyo.

She stands in the middle of the room where she's assembled some bamboo matting for us to sit on. We usually start our 'date' with a tea ceremony, and Bella has all the components ready and waiting for my arrival.

Her head is cast down, her eyes on the floor. She's waiting for me to speak first.

"Konichiwa, Bel-chan," I say with a reserved expression. I call her 'Bel-chan' as a sort of pet name, adding the suffix 'chan' as a sign of familiarity.

"Konichiwa, Cullen-sama," she says back to me, bowing deeply. She uses the most formal way to address me, essentially calling me 'Mr. Cullen' in its most polite form.

"Please, angel, call me the name you use in your mind," I offer, bowing back to her.

"If it pleases you, anata," she answers with a small smile. 'Anata' is a term used typically by a wife to her husband, also to show familiarity and a casual tone.

"Sit, please," I say, gesturing toward the tea service. Bella nods and sits in a kneeling position, her legs folded under her with her hands facing palms down on her thighs. She has her eyes lowered out of respect for my presence in the room.

Bella bows her head slightly and begins the 'sado,' a tea ceremony that is incredibly intricate and requires years of practice to truly master. She took a night class to learn the basic steps but the way she performs it is still quite detailed. Surprisingly, she has no trouble with her coordination, and her movements are beautifully delicate and graceful. Her small hands move with careful precision and beauty. She knows that I can appreciate something requiring such exacting and skill, and she undertakes it with reverence and great care. It is her gift to me.

"I've missed you, Bel-chan. You look beautiful, as always," I tell her as she prepares the tea.

"I've missed your flattery," she replies with a smile. "Your good spirits are a welcome sight to me," she adds, reflecting more on my mood than on the compliment I paid her. It's a subtle way of always trying to make me the center of the conversation, and she's very good at it.

Being the danna, how we pass the time is completely up to me. She waits for me to guide the conversation and choose whichever subjects I enjoy. Our tea ritual always involves discussion, initiated by me, but my wife is so skilled at it that I can pick any topic and she's not only able to keep up with me, but makes sure that we never run out of things to talk about. I decide to go right to something provocative.

"Bel-chan, tell me, what do you think is the true essence of pleasure: physical acts, or those things that stimulate the mind, like philosophy, poetry, music?" I ask.

"I believe it is difficult to separate the two—the physical stimulation from the intellectual," she says thoughtfully. "Both play a part in achieving a state of bliss, wouldn't you say?" she asks with a knowing smile. She always ends her comments with a broad question for me in order to keep the flow of exchanges steady. She is an incomparable conversationalist and I find it incredibly fucking sexy.

"I'm not certain," I reply coyly. "Perhaps you can give me an example of what you mean," I add with a smirk.

"It would be my…pleasure," she says with a purr. "I can offer you something in the form of verse, from the poet Tomonori," she adds, and with that she leans over to me and whispers in my ear. I can feel her warm words on my skin and smell her lightly floral and citrus perfume. It simply intoxicates me.

"The haze of spring
Streaming over mountain
Cherry blossoms:
I am never sated of the sight
Nor am I of you.

"Did that give you pleasure, anata?" she asks, gently kissing my earlobe.

I close my eyes as I reply.

"Nothing gives me more pleasure than knowing that you hunger for me, angel," I answer, holding her chin in my hand. I brush my thumb across her sumptuous, painted cherry red lips.

"My hunger is a constant ache. It is never sated," she murmurs, looking into my eyes. Her words go straight to my cock, which is now throbbing inside my black khakis.

I think it's time for us to deviate from the traditional geisha/danna interaction and take this where we want it to go. I can tell from Bella's slightly accelerated breathing and lip biting that she's ready.

"Do you hunger now?" I ask with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"Yes," she whispers, closing her eyes and pressing my palm to her lips.

"I have something for your mouth," I tell her, kissing her softly. She reciprocates, pressing her lips to mine, and then parting them to feel my tongue on hers. I pull away from her after a moment because my raging hard-on is distracting me. However, if my immediate need is met, I can then focus on more prolonged play and seeing to it that both of us enjoy ourselves.

I rise to my feet and Bella immediately turns to face me, still kneeling. Without saying a word, I stand with my groin at eye level to her. I don't need to ask. She knows what I need, unbuttoning my pants and lowering the zipper. She frees my cock from my boxers with her dainty hand and strokes it softly with her palm, gathering the clear liquid that's begun seeping out with her fingertips. Looking up at me, she gingerly puts her fingers to her lips and places them in her mouth, cleaning them off.

"Show your hunger for me," I command in a low voice. This is where our dynamic shifts from Bella being my geisha to being my submissive. We like to use the geisha role play almost like a 'warm up' because the subservience she shows as a geisha makes a nice transition to sexual submission. As our interaction becomes more erotic, I will become her dominant and claim ownership of her body because she gives it to me freely and derives pleasure from it.

Her tantalizingly soft, wet mouth works my cock at an even pace, at exactly the right speed and pressure. She anticipates everything, right down to how forcefully she should press her tongue against me. I grip her head in my hands more to turn us on mentally than physically. I'm showing her in a very clear way that she isn't sucking my dick—but rather, I'm fucking her mouth. There is a difference.

seven…eight…nine…ten…

I count how many strokes into her mouth I make before I cum. This number is something I keep in the back of my mind should I need it later.

"Such a good angel, so perfect," I sigh. By the time I count to eighteen, I'm almost there. She hums into my cock at my praise and by the count of twenty, I'm done. I keep one hand on the back of her head and cup one under her chin. I want her head perfectly still, my cock as deep down her throat as it will go, and to do those things in a way that demonstrate that I will use her body in whatever way I see fit.

"Fuck. Drink it all. Every drop," I hiss as my cock spasms and cum coats the back of her throat. My fingers rest lightly against her neck to feel for her swallowing. I want her know that I'm checking to see if she carries out my command quickly and without hesitation. She does not disappoint me.

"Thank you, angel," I say softly as I stroke her hair and remove myself from her mouth. She takes a warm washcloth from the low table next to us and gently wipes me clean. She gingerly presses her lips to the tip of my dick before fixing my boxers and doing my pants back up for me. I lean down and kiss her forehead, then take her hands and help her stand. I kiss both of her hands—first the back of each one, then the palms.

"I'd like to practice my calligraphy," I say with a smile. "But I'm missing my favorite canvas. Perhaps you can assistant me with this problem," I add as I run my finger from her temple, to her jaw and down her neck. My hand continues downward, grazing the side of her breast before reaching her waist. I pull on her intricately tied satin belt, the knot effortlessly unraveling as I softly tug on it.

"It's hidden from my view. I want to see it," I tell her, pulling her kimono open. She has a plain linen slip underneath with the traditional Japanese bindings tied around her waist much like a western corset would be.

"Exquisite," I say, touching her breast with the tip of my finger and then moving it down to her tightly bound waist. There's something about seeing that part of her body confined in such an extreme way that makes me want to bend her over and fuck her senseless. I'm already getting hard again despite the fact that I just gave her a mouthful a few minutes ago.

"Thank you, anata," she replies with a sweet smile. "I have your calligraphy set ready for you," she adds, gesturing toward the coffee table.

"Like always, you take good care of me," I say, tilting my head and inspecting her bare shoulder before kissing it gently. I push her kimono and watch it slide off her body. She sighs softly when I run my hands down either side of her neck and leave kisses in their wake.

"Turn around for me," I command gently. She happily complies, moving slowly as my hands rest on her beautifully restricted waist. I caress her ass through the thin layer of her slip before pressing myself against the curve of her backside and wrapping my arms around her tiny middle.

"Do you feel that? Feel my cock getting hard so soon after you sucked it dry?" I whisper in her ear. My hands are on her full, supple breasts, her nipples hardening and a quick shiver passing through her when she hears my words.

"Who is the submissive one here? Because it seems to me my cock is your slave. Do you like doing that, making me think of nothing but how to get rid of this massive hard-on you're giving me?" I taunt in a soft, calm voice. I squeeze her breasts, massaging them lightly.

"Mmm, anata," she moans, putting her small, soft hands over mine.

"You know, two can play at this cat and mouse game," I inform her. "Legs apart, please. Lift your skirt to your waist." I order. She shifts her weight, placing her feet shoulder-width apart and bunches her slip up, exposing her shapely, cream-colored legs. Peeking down, I can just see the top of her smooth, hairless pussy.

I move one hand slowly down her abdomen while the other teases her nipple, pulling and rolling it. I kiss her delicately on the neck as my hand eases its way between her legs. My middle finger grazes over her moist labia. Pressing gently, I feel how wet she is. I take two fingers and skim them over her delicate flesh, gathering some of her body's warm cream.

"Open," I say, my wet fingers in hovering in front of her lips. She complies, licking and sucking my fingers clean. "Do you taste good?" I ask, teasing her.

"Yes," she sighs.

"Why are you so wet?" I ask.

"Because you make me that way," she answers. Her voice is a small hush; it makes her sound like the angel I always call her.

Why is she truly my angel? I am my wife's first and only lover. No other man touched her where I have, nor will he ever. It was my cock that broke her hymen, that took her ass for the first time, and that made her cum so easily just by rubbing against it while she was fully clothed. I marked her as mine in those ways and I mark her still, every time I touch her, kiss her, fuck her. She. Is. Mine. Every part of her body belongs to me—even the womb that nurtured the child I put there.

She gave that ownership to me so freely and effortlessly, and in return I consider it a privilege and make it my obligation to bring her pleasure for it. But the relationship we have is full of subtle mind play as well as overt physical play. She enjoys my dominance over her and that means acting the part. I speak to her in commands, praise her with just the hint of a patronizing air, and even remind her that there are consequences if she disobeys me. None of it is to humiliate her or turn her off—it's to heighten the experience, and never once has it done anything but soak her panties. I wouldn't do it if it hurt her in any way, shape or form. I would feel like a failure and a disappointment if that happened.

The flip side of the obligation is the reward. I get to sully, violate, corrupt and defile my beautiful, innocent wife over and over—fucking every hole, putting my mouth and hands wherever I please, and simply being the demon to her angel. It's almost poetic how we complement each other like this—two opposites that when joined together make one intricately woven piece. It's poetic because we are total opposites in so many ways, not just with sex play.

"Take your slip off, please," I tell her. She pushes the straps from her shoulders and lets the garment fall to the floor. She's only wearing the waist bindings now, and the sight of her exposed hourglass shape is so fucking gorgeous, I have to subtly bite my lip to keep from groaning. She'll keep those bindings on. I like to fuck her while gripping that beautiful tiny waist in my hands.

Looking at her now reminds me of the last time she had on a little corset I bought her for Valentine's Day. She was trying to get dressed so we could go out for dinner. I took one look at her in that thing, leaned her over and rubbed her clit while pounding into her, not realizing that the corset was making it difficult for her to exert her breathing. She very nearly told me to stop until she herself got too carried away to care. She told me afterward that the resulting orgasm was earth shattering, magnified in intensity by her slightly limited intake of air.

"Come, I'd like to start my calligraphy now," I say, taking her hand. I take her satin belt from the floor first and for a split second she looks at me with a confused expression but says nothing. I know she's probably being driven insane with curiosity over why I'm taking her belt but the element of surprise and anticipation has to be part of the game to add to the sweet torture she craves so badly.

I take the black box that sits on the coffee table and open it. From it, I remove my fude, or brushes, and sumi, or ink. Instead of taking our usual spot on the couch, I opt for something a little different this time. I gently lead Bella to the other side of the room, taking my calligraphy supplies and her satin belt with me.

"Your wrists, please," I say after setting my things down on the end table next to me. Looking at me with those beautiful brown eyes, she holds her hands out to me without hesitation. I bind her wrists with the smooth red satin, cautious not to tie them too tightly but not loose enough to allow her hand to come free.

Using the footstool I keep in the closet nearby, I tie the other end of the belt to a discreet hook on the ceiling that used to hold a potted plant that met an unfortunate demise when my sweet but careless wife over-watered it recently. I'm surprised she didn't wonder why I hadn't removed the hook or replaced the plant. She should know me better by now. I make a mental note to playfully tease her about it later. Now isn't the time for being playful. Although knowing Bella, she probably knew full well the potential this hook has and deliberately didn't ask me about it.

"On the footstool, please," I gently command. I help her place her feet on it, careful to steady her since her hands are bound and her arms are over her head. I make sure to give the belt enough slack so that she can still bend her elbows and keep from becoming too uncomfortable.

"Perfect. Now my canvas is ready," I say, smiling at her. She looks back at me with a soft expression, her supple body restrained beautifully. I feel my cock come alive at the sight of how magnificent she is—a living work of art that I will embellish with ink and then enjoy in my own way.

"Where shall I write first, Bel-chan?" I ask, tickling her nipple with the soft unused brush in my hand. I always keep one brush clean to use on her body, to tease her with, almost like a feather. I discard it when we're done and use a fresh one each time.

She closes her eyes and moans softly. God, I never get tired of making her feel good. Ever since that first time in this very room, kissing and groping on the couch, I've been addicted to bringing her to ecstasy and back. All I had to do that first time was whisper 'cum for me,' and she was gone. Right then I knew there was a kind of magnetism, an attraction, so deep that it had a life of its own. Once again, we are each other's perfect complement.

"You know, there's something missing here," I say, stroking her cheek. I take two of the delicate ribbons from her hair. I play with her left nipple, teasing it to hardness with my tongue. I tie one of the ribbons around it, making it into a soft clamp. I flick my finger over her bound little bud. Bella closes her eyes and gasps softly.

"Do you like that?" I tease. "I know you do," I add, putting my hand between her legs. Her pussy is hot and slick against my fingers. I repeat the same process with her right nipple, evoking the same response.

"Tell me where to write my name," I say, lightly dragging my brush against the inside of her thigh.

"Over my heart, of course," she murmurs, smiling at me.

My brush poised against the skin above her left breast, I carefully begin writing the Kanji characters that make up 'Edoado,' the rough translation of 'Edward.' My hand moves ever so slowly and I watch as goose bumps form on her delicate skin. I tease her some more with the other brush, tapping her nipples with the end of the wooden tip, eliciting a moan from her sweet lips.

I lift her thigh and place her foot on my lap as I sit in the chair in front of her. Her legs are now open, her delicious pink pussy exposed to me. Dipping my brush into the ink, I begin to write on her inner thigh. I decide to practice the characters that make up the word 'utsukushii,' which means 'beautiful.'

While waiting for the ink to dry a bit more, I softly stroke my alternate brush against Bella's clit. She moans rather loudly as she watches me. I can't resist and place a small kiss on it as well.

"Mmm, anata," she whispers.

"Patience, angel," I reply with a chuckle, putting her foot back down on the stool and raising her other leg toward me. Softly caressing her smooth inner thigh, I think back to her birthday last year and the small Japanese calligraphy print I got her as a gift. I had the piece commissioned myself, asking the artist to simply write the word 'giver' on the delicate parchment.

If there was one single word I could use to describe Bella, it would be 'giver.' She gave me her world when I existed in one that was cold and empty. She gave me her body and her soul when I'd never learned to share myself with anyone before. She gave life to my child. Quite simply, she gave me everything.

My brush skims lightly over her skin as I write the characters for 'kichou na' which means 'precious' because that's exactly what she is to me. There is only one Bella Cullen and she is the only woman for me. I sneak glances at her, eager to see her response to my touch. Her face is the very picture of arousal—her eyelids heavy, her red lips in a delectable, needy pout.

I put my brushes down and kiss the top of her pubic bone. My fingers stroke her pussy as I lean my mouth toward her clit and tease it with the tip of my tongue. Her moans and whimpers tell me she's becoming very excited. Not to mention, she is completely wet.

"Be patient now, angel," I warn, watching her try to writhe against me. "Whose is this?" I ask, pinching her clit between my thumb and index finger.

"Yours," she says in a languid voice, her head dropped to her shoulder.

"That's right. I'll tell you when I'm done with it," I inform her. Bella's climax is heightened exponentially when I toy with her like this. The fact that my cock doesn't seem to mind either is an added bonus. I play with her clit a little more, the idea being to work her up but not actually bring her orgasm.

"You'll cum when I let you," I say, fixing my lips to her once more and giving her flesh a few licks. I suck on it gently, and then lightly press my teeth to it.

I can't say I'm surprised when I notice that Bella does, in fact, cum the second I bite her. I feel her muscles spasm around my mouth and hand convulsively.

"Oh God, uhhhn," she gasps, her breath ragged.

"Isabella," I say in firm voice, standing up from the chair immediately. I look at her with a very stern expression. There's no doubt in my mind she let herself cum. She wants chastisement. I've noticed in the past that sometimes she's just in the mood for me to smack her ass. I'm certainly not about to complain.

Her eyes snap open and she looks at me with wide eyes.

"How many strokes did it take for me to cum in your mouth earlier?" I ask.

"Twenty," she says softly, looking down at her feet.

"That's right. Twenty strokes. Twenty swats. Count them."

Facing her side, I give her ass a good slap, making her take a sharp breath. She counts out each one, her voice becoming softer and more aroused with every successive slap. I watch her backside turn a delicious shade of pink and it's enough to make a grown man cry. I stroke and rub her after each swat, both to diffuse the sting and because I just can't help groping her ass.

"Fifteen," she whimpers as my hand cracks against her pink behind. I lean into her and give her ass cheek a nice little bite and suck on the skin lightly. A faint purple mark appears—my mark on her.

Mine.

I sit back down in the chair, deciding on something different for the last bit of her punishment. Once again, I place her foot on my lap, exposing her pussy to me once more.

"I'm not sure your backside deserved that when it was this part of you that misbehaved," I say, stroking her rose petal lips with the back of my hand. "Keep counting," I add, right before slapping her clit lightly.

"Sixteen," she purrs as her eyes roll up in her head.

I alternate between licking her and gently swatting her until we reach the count of twenty. She looks so beautiful, writhing her hips, gasping softly and murmuring each number as my hand doles out her pussy's sweetly torturing punishment.

"Are you going to be good?" I ask.

"Yes," she murmurs, looking up at me innocently.

I stand and untie her wrists, massaging and kissing them. My hands and lips work diligently all the way up one arm and then the other. I help her down from the footstool and kiss her forehead. She smiles back at me, her face serene and just as breathtaking as always.

"On all fours," I say, gesturing toward the floor. She complies without hesitation, offering up her pussy and ass to me, causing my cock to strain painfully against my pants. I turn and take something out of the end table drawer before kneeling behind her.

I undo my khakis and free my now rock hard dick. I tease her, rubbing the tip up and down her wet lips from her clit to right below her ass. She mewls like a cat in heat, grinding against me, hoping I'll give in and thrust into her. But I restrain myself, knowing it will be far better if I hold off as long as possible.

"Beg."

"Please fuck me," she pleads.

"I'm not fucking you after you've been bad. If you want to get off, you do the work," I tell her, keeping myself perfectly still. At this point, I'm hanging by a thread. If she begged once more, I may actually just turn into a savage and fuck the living daylights out of her.

Instead, she follows my command and pushes her hips back, her body enveloping my cock in one swift motion. I bite my lip and curl my hands into fists when I feel her tight little hole grip me like a vise. She bucks hips back and forth in a steady rhythm, moaning and hissing like a wanton little vixen.

I squeeze some lube onto my thumb from the small bottle I took from the drawer a moment ago. The second I touch my thumb to Bella's little pink asshole, she gasps.

"Work for it if you want it," I tell her. I hear her swear under her breath but I ignore it. I lightly press my large thumb against her. She impales herself onto my finger, grunting wildly and arching her back. When I tell her to play with her clit, she furiously rubs her hand against herself.

"Make that beautiful pussy cum, angel. I want it to clamp down on my cock," I hiss. I grab her hip with my free hand, making her move faster and harder. I feel her ass muscles around my thumb relax completely as the rest of her body tenses up.

"Edward, fuck! YES!" she yells as her entire body shudders and her pelvic muscles spasm wildly around my dick. The heat and pressure that have been building up in the base of my cock, causing my balls to tighten, erupts out of me. I grab her shoulder to still her as my cum fills her.

"My perfect angel girl," I murmur softly as the last of my jizz releases into her. I lie on the floor on my back and pull her into my arms, both of us completely spent. I gently untie the ribbons from her breasts and unlace her waist bindings, kissing and massaging her tender skin. We cuddle and kiss for a minute until we hear a sound coming from the small white receiver on the coffee table. The sweet little coos and gurgles tell us that naptime is over.

"For the life of me, I will never know how the hell you time that so perfectly, every single week," Bella tells me with a laugh as she puts on the t-shirt and sweats she usually wears on the weekends.

I just wink at her and smirk before we dash up the stairs to the nursery, holding hands the whole way.

A/N: Just a note about the use of the word "anata." I fudged with the translation of this a bit--it's actually the familiar term for the word "you," so while it's appropriate for Bella to call Edward this, it isn't technically a pet name. Thanks very much to DeviKalika for her awesome advice and insight into the Japanese language.

If you'd like to see an example of what Bella's kimono may have looked like, go here:

www . marlamallett . com / k-7797 . htm