A Gift in Disguise Ch. 13

Once she realized both Risa and I recognized and clearly appreciated that her costume and performance were to excite Risa and me, she gave us a quick, almost imperceptible nod, and turned her eyes back to the two Joshis.

Bethany walked to the center of the ring and looked at each of them. Each gave a head nod to signify her readiness to fight. Bethany extended both her arms, one pointing at each Joshi. She began to back away while sharply bringing her arms together to signal the fighters to begin.

Whatever Risa's and my interest level had been in watching the evening's entertainment before, Bethany's dramatic on-stage costume change and her officiating the match in painted-on costume multiplied it ten-fold. I was getting rock-hard, and I shamelessly wondered if Risa was getting wet. I didn't see how she could have avoided it. That Bethany had the personal confidence to appear in the evening's performance wearing only body paint and tennis shoes for a costume only added to my increasing admiration and respect, not to mention my intensifying desire for her.

As the match progressed, both Joshis fought fiercely. I doubted I could have survived the kicks, chops, painful and contortionistic holds, and throws and slams they inflicted on each other. The sounds, the rubbing of the two women's bodies together, the efforts at sexual stimulation, and even the pain being inflicted and received noticeably intensified my arousal.

On several occasions each contestant had to fight her way out of clearly sexual holds intended to induce orgasm, holds that had they been applied to me, I would have cum uncontrollably. Of course, part of my own arousal was knowing that Bethany's intention with her own costume and officiating movements had been to add to both Risa's and my arousal.

In contrast with Bethany's poised and ladylike behavior on our first date, at least until we got back to her house and she looked at Misako's photo book, her blatantly sexual, albeit peripheral, participation in tonight's entertainment made me begin to want a second date with her even more.

When I could tear my attention away from the three women on the other side of the glass, I would cast a sideways glance at Risa. Though she was trying valiantly to maintain a calm composure outwardly, her facial color, breathing, occasional movements, and slight perspiration revealed that she was mentally participating with the women in the ring.

A scream from the ring audio through the suite's speaker drew my eyes back to the ring just in time to see Firestorm flying, literally flying, horizontally like a human arrow through the air, feet-first in an effort to dropkick Sky Blue into the next time zone.

With blinding speed, Sky Blue reacted reflexively and deftly to avoid the dropkick attempt. In the same motion she grabbed Firestorm's legs while they were still in the air and brought the slightly heavier but shorter woman to the mat. Holding Firestorm's legs tightly together, Sky Blue quickly stepped over the prone Firestorm with one leg while turning Firestorm so she was face down on the mat.

Still controlling Firestorm's legs, Sky Blue placed one of her own legs between Firestorm's forcing them apart just enough to allow Sky Blue to twist Firestorm's legs, pretzel-like, into a twisted configuration around one of her own legs anchored firmly near Firestorm's crotch.

In the continuing fluid motion, Sky Blue brought her free leg over the top of Firestorm's twisted outer leg while at the same time spinning her own body 180-degrees and then executing a controlled fall backward. The combination of Sky Blue's movements forced Firestorm to roll over on her back on the mat, her thighs splayed apart while her lower legs, twisted and secured by Sky Blue's legs, had been immobilized. The effect was that Firestorm's mound, barely covered by the red bikini bottom, was completely unprotected by anything but the filmy red fabric.

Firestorm cried out, perhaps less in pain than because she had quickly recognized how Sky Blue intended to attack her vulnerable pussy.

Bethany stepped close to the two women writhing on the floor and quickly assessed the hold Sky Blue had applied to Firestorm. Bethany instantly made two sharp horizontal criss-crossing motions of her arms in front of her and authoritatively yelled something in Japanese.

Not speaking Japanese, I looked at Risa hoping for translation. Clearly engulfed by the sexuality of the hold, Risa's eyes seemed glued on the action in the ring, but she practically screamed, "No submission - escape or orgasm! No submission — escape or orgasm!" I wasn't sure if Risa had been responding to my questioning look or if she had simply been sucked in to the action on the other side of the glass. Bethany had been telling the Joshis what they both already knew — that Sky Blue had applied an orgasm hold and that Firestorm would have to escape from the hold before cumming. If she could.

Firestorm flailed her arms, trying to roll out of the hold and free her legs. Sky Blue, in what looked like a contorted sit-up, spread her own legs slightly while still holding the leg lock on Firestorm. The sit-up action brought Sky Blue closer to Firestorm's womanhood, close enough that Sky Blue could reach out and begin to rub her hand over the bikini cloth covering Firestorm's clit and pussy lips while still maintaining her own stability. Sky Blue's hand masturbating Firestorm moved firmly but not with so much pressure that its inevitable sexual arousal would be painfully abrasive.

Reading Firestorm's movements, expressions, and screams, Risa whispered hoarsely, "She's going to cum. She won't last long at all."

I forced my eyes away from the intensely erotic scene rapidly unfolding on the wrestling mat in perfect view just a few feet away from us. I looked at Risa, seated next to me. She was clearly becoming even more aroused than before. Subconsciously or maybe just indifferent to my presence, she had eased her own hand under her dress and was apparently stimulating herself. Her beautiful legs had been almost completely exposed by her movements.

A moment later I turned my eyes back to the wrestling on the mat.

Firestorm's movements and screams had been frantic when she realized how Sky Blue intended to end the match. But Sky Blue had remained in control and had now slipped her hand down inside Firestorm's bikini bottom so her hand was in direct contact with Firestorm's clit and engorged pussy lips.

Now Firestorm's movements and screams were becoming less frequent and less frantic as Sky Blue's persistence redirected Firestorm's energy from trying to escape the hold to resisting the involuntary but inevitable orgasmic buildup inside her. It was clear her resistance was absolutely futile.

Maybe thirty seconds later, certainly less than a minute, Firestorm was overtaken by a thundering orgasm that caused her body to begin to spasm and her screams to go from those of a wrestling warrior to one of a woman being totally consumed in orgasmic pleasure. Her arms pounded flatly on the mat, her head thrashed from side to side, her face pinched in orgasmic muscular contraction.

Bethany once again stepped closer, her eyes intently focused on Firestorm's now-completely exposed pussy still being rubbed and fingered by Sky Blue. Bethany had extended her arms straight out horizontally to her sides, signaling the audience an orgasm was imminent. At the moment the orgasm hit Firestorm, Bethany brought her hands upward to a position resembling a football touchdown signal and yelled, "Orugazumu! Orugazumu! Orugazumu!"

Sky Blue instantly relaxed her body and lay back on the mat to help relieve the pressure on the now-defeated Firestorm's legs. Bethany stepped in and used her hands to untwist the women's legs.

Bethany looked at Firestorm and said something in Japanese. Firestorm looked at Bethany with a weak smile and, still lying on the mat, nodded her head once.

With both wrestler's lying on the mat and Bethany still standing over both of the heavily breathing women warriors, the black traveler curtain closed in front of The Club's guest suites and the wrestlers' audio feed into the rooms' speakers was cut off. The entire match had taken no more than 20 minutes.

I looked at Risa. Her face was flushed, and she had a slight bead of perspiration above her lip. She was slow to turn and look at me. She had removed her hand from under her dress, but she had made no effort at all to pull the dress back down.

It took her a few moments to speak. "That was so hot," she said emphatically.

My eyes were still on her legs. "It certainly was," I agreed.

"I meant the wrestling match," she responded when she saw where I was looking.

"Oh," I said.

We were both still digesting everything we had seen and heard. We sat silently but comfortably together, both of us intensely aroused but quite at ease looking into each other's eyes.

"Tom, will you please undress me," she requested quietly.

It was midnight when I eased myself out of the bed next to Risa Sato. She, too, had fallen into a deep post-orgasmic sleep after she and I had satisfied each other's intense sexual needs attributable to the evening's entertainment provided by the three women in the wrestling ring. She didn't stir when I dressed, retrieved my travel bag and the photo album brought to her room by the bellman, and left.

At the front desk I gave Sharon's suite key to the assistant manager on duty as she had directed. He called the valet and had my car brought to the front. The valet loaded my case and the photo book in the trunk of my car. I gave him a twenty dollar bill and began the drive home.

Undressing at home, I retrieved the piece of paper from my suit trousers left pocket. It was a hastily-scribbled note which read, "Tom, please call me." It was signed "Geri" and included a phone number. Given my state of both physical exhaustion and sexual depletion, I gave the note little thought and set it aside on my dresser. Then I showered and fell into bed. By then, it was about 2:30 a.m.

Sunday morning arrived for me officially at noon. I was awakened by my cell phone ringing at my bedside.

Once my eyes came into focus, I saw from the Caller ID that it was Karen.

"Tom, this is Karen Matsumoto. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

I tried to force my "I've been awake for hours" voice when I greeted her. I failed miserably.

"There's been some interesting traffic this week come back through our Special Collections network. It's about the couple who made the leather cover for your photo book."

"Okay," I responded with what must've sounded to Karen like the same interest I'd have for cold oatmeal.

"Is there any way you could come by my office later this afternoon so I can show it to you? Say, 4 p.m.?"

My sleep hangover was quickly fading.

"Sure. Four sounds fine. You're talking about your lab out by the airport, right?"

"Yes, not my office at Main Libe. And Tom, it's up to you of course, but I'd really like to contact Bethany and invite her to be there to see the feedback as well."

The mere mention of Bethany's name caused my mental photo file to retrieve the image of her in-costume in The Club's wrestling ring just a few hours earlier.

"That's a great idea, Karen, especially since it was Bethany that had spotted the leatherwork's unique characteristics."

"Thank you, Tom. But even if she can't make it today — work and all — I'd still like to go over it with you. I think you'll find it very very interesting. So I'll see you at four, then?"

"I'll be there. Do you want me to come to the end drive-in door or just park out front and come to the front?"

"Come to the drive-in door, Tom, and then park in any of the spots for employees. See you at four."

Promptly a couple minutes before 4 p.m., I arrived at Karen's office-laboratory in a little-used industrial area near the north side of the airport. I pushed the intercom button and after greeting me vocally, Karen raised the drive-in automobile door next to the still-closed larger truck loading dock rollup door. I drove in and parked. Karen greeted me on the loading dock.

"Tom, thanks for coming and for being so prompt. Bethany just arrived," she said as we walked through the lab to her office.

"Hi, Bethany," I said as we walked in.

"Good morning, Tom," she said cheerily and with that beautiful melts-your-heart-and-makes-your-dick-hard smile.

Karen began immediately.

"I have to apologize to you both, but I have another meeting at Main Libe at 4:45 p.m. today, so I'll be brief.

The responses to my data entry about Tom's photo book have been absolutely astonishing, far more in number and in detail than I ever expected for what I thought, wrongly it turns out, was just a nice piece of contemporary Japanese bookbinding.

Tom, I've collated all of the incoming responses, then prepared a footnoted interim progress report for you and for our file. I've tried not to exclude any details, but I haven't unnecessarily repeated any either. This is your copy of my interim report, a summary-to-date report."

She handed it to me. It appeared to be about ten pages. She continued,"Rather than have you read and digest it here today, let me summarize it for you. You can read it at your leisure and contact me with any questions or comments."

"Before you do, Karen, would it be okay for me to make a copy of this for Bethany?"

Before Karen could respond, Bethany looked at me with those expressive eyes and sincerely said, "Thank you, Tom."

"I hoped you'd ask," Karen said warmly. "Already done."

She reached into her desk and pulled out a copy and handed it to Bethany.

"I'd like to go on now since time is running short," Karen continued. "You may recall that the initial assessment of your book's binding was that it had possibly been done by the descendants of a family who had been the bookbinders to the Chrysanthemum Throne going back to Emperor Ninko around 1817.

That preliminary information was incomplete.

Newer information sent to us this week reveals conclusively that Risa's neighbors, the elderly Japanese couple who did the binding for your book, are the last descendants in a family that has been the document binders for Japanese emperors going back to about 1586 and the beginning of the reign of Emperor Go-Yōzei.

Now we know Risa's neighbors will be the last, because they have no children. They have no children because they are not husband and wife; it has been confirmed they are brother and sister, that neither had ever married nor had children. Margaret's forensic document examination of their signatures helped confirm that.

The details are in the report. But what that means, Tom, and why I wanted you to have this information as quickly as possible once I had confirmed it, is that your photo book prepared by Misako Sato has suddenly increased in both historic and monetary value.

Frankly, Tom, its historic value to the country of Japan eclipses its economic value. I fully expect the book, because of the provenance of its leather cover, is something the country of Japan will hope to have in its national museum.

I'm not telling you this to alarm you, Tom, but I do want to encourage you to take special care of the book and to consider if and how you would like the almost inevitable request from the Japanese emperor to be handled when it is received. Obviously, you don't have to answer this right now or even in the near future."

Karen's information left me speechless. Not so Bethany.

"Karen, as you know I've been meeting with Risa and Misako Sato to discuss their preparing an exhibit of Misako's erotic photography for The Club. In fact, I took Risa to the airport just this morning to return to the Bay Area. Mikki had gone back earlier to meet some work deadlines.

Because of the beauty and craftsmanship in the binding prepared for Tom's book by their neighbors and because of the effect Mikki's photos of Tom swimming had on all of us, we naturally talked about it during those discussions.

I don't know if this is something you'll want to put in your file or anything, but the neighbors took a genuine liking to both Risa and Mikki, perhaps Misako and Risa are also brother — well, newhalf — and sister. Regardless, neither Risa nor Misako are related to the elderly couple. In any case, the neighbors have for several years been teaching the bookbinding art and craft to Risa and Mikki. In fact, had the person who gifted the book to Tom not been in a rush for it, the leather binding would have been prepared not by the elderly neighbors but by Risa and Mikki, mostly Mikki.

Mikki became quite emotional when they told me this. She said the neighbors have told them, Risa and Mikki, that they consider Risa and Mikki's own skills to be worthy of their family name.

They, the neighbors, hope that since Tom's book will be the last book they bind and apply their name to, Risa and Misako will carry on with their work. To both honor their own family's name but to also ensure that no one mistakes Risa and Misako's bookbindings for theirs, the elderly neighbors have requested that Risa and Misako adopt the family mark, slightly modified in a way that reflects the family's authorization for its use by someone, Risa and Misako Sato, blessed by the family."

Bethany looked at me then and said, "Mikki and Risa fully understand the honor that has been bestowed upon them, and they are committed to upholding the honor of the family's name as if they were in the family lineage."

Then Karen said, "Tom, please give this some serious thought. And I hope you will have a serious face-to-face talk with Risa and Misako before you make a decision how to respond if and when the Japanese government and Emperor asks if you would allow them to be the custodians of something so tied to their national heritage."

Karen paused, clearly emotionally affected by the facts unfolding.

Finally, she perked up a bit and said, "Now, I've got to head on over to the Main building for my meeting. I'm sorry to rush you both out the door, but I felt like both of you needed to be updated on this. Frankly, I never saw this coming.

Can you both find your way back to your cars? I need to gather a few files for my meeting. The automatic sensor will open the rollup door as the car approaches it."

Bethany and I assured her we could.

While walking to our cars parked inside in the employees' parking spaces, Bethany asked, "Do you have time for a cup of coffee or something? I've got a little time before I have to be down at the restaurant for work."

"Sure. Any place in particular?"

"Have you ever been to the Full Stop Cafe?"

"No," I answered.

"When you pull out from here to the street, turn right. The first stop sign is Wright Road. Turn left on Wright and go all the way to its end. Look to your right and you'll see the Full Stop Cafe. It's a private pilot hangout here. I'll meet you in the parking lot."

I got in my car and left. Bethany's car was a little ways behind me.

I followed her instructions and easily found the Full Stop Cafe. I believe the polite term for its appearance would be 'rustic.' There were three cars in the parking lot.

Bethany pulled her car alongside mine and parked. We walked in together.

"Hey, Betts, how ya' doon?" the man behind the counter called out as soon as he saw her.

"Doin' good, Murph. How 'bout you?"

"Eighty-thousand feet and still climbing, kiddo" he yelled back. "Long time no see." He looked at me and said, "Ya teachin' again?"

"Nope. Murph, this is Tom. Be nice, Murph. Tom, meet Murph, the owner and operator here. Tom, don't take any guff off him."

"Hello, Murph. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too, kid," Murph answered with mock gruffness. "Grab a seat somewhere."

"Coffee okay?" Bethany asked me.