Little Plum Kitaki was a woman of appetites. Some of them were easy to tell just from looking at her: she loved good food and knew how to make it, so those appetites she could fulfill for herself. Others were easy to tell from talking to her: she loved culture and the arts, and she was able to fulfill these by immersing herself in the city around her. Some, though, one could only know as a man might know a woman: that was how he was learning her appetites, now, and wondering whether or not he could fulfill them entirely.
She was lying on her back at the edge of the bed, her legs propped at his shoulders as he stood to deliver. The rhythm was slow and steady and forceful - it was the best he could do for now, but it was what she responded to best anyway, angled just enough to hit her sweet spots.
As women her size went, she was beautiful: her skin was the color of cream and the texture of it was smooth and full. On her back, gravity pulled her breasts down and apart, giving a nice sense of their heft as she idly played with them. Her eyes were closed, her lips compressed as she squirmed. She was a strong woman, a lot moreso than she looked, so he watched her very carefully in case a reaction of hers should break something of his. Any appearance of vulnerability in this woman was an illusion only perpetuated because she allowed it to be.
"All right," she said, "stop for a minute." He did, pulling out on command, and took a step back as she sat up. Plum Kitaki was a woman to be shown deference, even in a situation like this one. "Come here a moment, I have something else to show you."
He sat beside her on the bed. "What is it, Little Plum?"
When he said her name she looked up at him and smiled and leaned over and smelled his shoulder. For some reason it sent a tingle running through his skin.
"You smell nice. Here, look," she said, reaching over to her folded kimono and drawing out of it a small reed tube, about six inches long and as big around as one of his fingers, too small to be a sex toy for someone of her experience. He hoped. She turned it over in her hands. "This is something that I have learned to cultivate over a very long period of time. It adds much to the pleasure experienced by a man and a woman. Would you like to see its use?"
"I would," because his curiosity demanded it.
She twisted the reed, and out of it she slide a knife, long and thin and appearing sharp enough to slice through silk.
He looked at the knife. She looked at him. She grinned.
"What's the matter, loverboy? You've never done any knife play?"
"Oh Hell."
"Get over here and let's pop that cherry! WAH HA HA HA HA HA!"