The Sole of the Foot

Kiyohime let out a small, contemptuous “Hmph.” So you do know the meaning of shame, she thought, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. Aloud, she said with a wave of her hand, “You two can leave now. Get out.”

The bodyguard stationed nearby remained at his post, a silent, imposing statue. Kiyohime raised her voice slightly, her tone sharp with annoyance. “This doesn’t concern you. You can leave as well.”

Sakuya felt a sense of deep unease, a premonition that something volatile would happen if the Second Young Mistress were left alone with Haruka. “Perhaps I should stay,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

Kiyohime was about to let her stay, to have a chaperone for whatever game she intended to play. But then she saw Haruka watching her with that knowing, gentle smile, and her pride flared. In a show of absolute authority, she said dismissively, “Go and wait around the corner.”

Sakuya wanted to protest, her loyalty at war with her instinct for self-preservation. But Kiyohime leaned back in her chair, resting her chin on her hand, and lifted her small, jade-like foot, her expression one of supreme, bored arrogance. “I told you to go. Are you deaf?”

Sakuya sighed, defeated. She had no choice but to walk away, her footsteps silent as she disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

Ryo and Shiraki quickly told Haruka where the ointment and alcohol were, then retreated with the bodyguard as if fleeing a fire. As they left, their grateful, worshipful glances toward Haruka all fell into Kiyohime’s line of sight. A deep, ugly displeasure bloomed in her heart. She decided she would have to teach him a proper lesson for stealing the attention of her servants.

Haruka sat on the small stool and poured a tiny amount of alcohol onto a cotton swab. When he looked up, he saw Kiyohime’s foot held out directly in front of him, an offering and a challenge. Her small foot was exquisite, a perfect work of art carved from the finest, palest jade. Haruka held the cotton swab, but for a long moment, he couldn’t find the wound she had made such a fuss about.

“Can’t you see it?” Kiyohime asked, her smile cruel. She hooked his chin with her toes, her big toe tapping his skin with a playful, condescending rhythm.

It was only then that Haruka noticed a tiny, almost invisible crack in the nail of her right big toe. Compared to her other perfect nails, the tender flesh beneath was a shade redder, infinitesimally swollen.

He reached out and closed his hand firmly around her ankle.

Kiyohime’s body couldn’t help but tremble at the sudden, warm contact. She stared at Haruka’s profile, at the serious, focused line of his jaw, thinking, Is this a boy’s hand? It’s so big… so hot.

Haruka’s fingers were not still. They traced two slow, deliberate circles around the prominent bone of her outer ankle, a touch that was both clinical and shockingly intimate.

Kiyohime felt as if her brain had been electrocuted. A wave of liquid weakness shot up from the base of her spine. She could feel her foot wanting to pull away, a reflexive, panicked instinct, but he held it fast, his grip gentle but unyielding.

He took the alcohol-soaked cotton and gently, precisely, dabbed at the tiny wound.

“Ha… Ah!” Kiyohime couldn’t help but cry out, the sound sharp and breathy. A moment ago, his touch had been pleasant, but the sudden, sharp sting of the alcohol sent a jolt of pure pain through her, as if she had been cast from a warm heaven straight into a cold, sharp hell.

Haruka pulled the cotton away. “Does it hurt, Second Young Mistress?” he asked, his voice soft.

Kiyohime looked into his dark, bright eyes and said with a desperate attempt at indifference, “How could that possibly hurt? It just felt a little… cold.”

“Is that so?” Haruka nodded, then dabbed the wound twice more, slowly. Even without looking at her face, he could tell from the way her leg was trembling that her body was extremely sensitive, that she was terrified of this small, sharp pain.

He took a fresh cotton swab, applied some ointment, and began to treat the wound.

Kiyohime felt a cool, soothing sensation on her big toe. She let out a sigh of relief. But after a moment, the slick, cool cotton swab began to slowly trace the spaces between her toes, and a strange, new, unbearable sensation began to seep into her.

“Aren’t you… finished…?” Kiyohime’s voice was a breathy, indistinct murmur. “Why are you still… going lower?”

Haruka’s expression was calm, his eyes focused on his task. “I see that your big toe is not the only place you were injured, Second Young Mistress.”

“Oh… is that so…” Kiyohime’s voice was a mere whisper, her heart beginning to beat faster, a frantic bird in her chest. “Then… I suppose you may continue.”

Haruka lifted her leg higher, resting her heel in his palm. He could see the sole of her foot, clean and smooth, a pale white flushed with a delicate pink. But out of shyness or anticipation, her toes were curled inward, like the finest silk creased into soft, inviting folds.

Haruka twisted the tip of the cotton swab into a fine point and began to trace the sensitive lines on the sole of her foot, tickling her with a deliberate, maddening slowness.

Kiyohime’s body immediately reacted, trembling violently. A strange, strangled sound escaped her lips, her face a bizarre mask of someone desperately trying to hold back a scream.

Haruka tightened his grip on her struggling leg, and the movements of his hand on the sole of her foot grew faster, more insistent.

“Ha… haha… hahahaha!” Kiyohime finally couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst out laughing. It was a laugh she couldn’t control, a helpless, hysterical sound that was closer to a sob. Haruka could see her toes, which had been so arrogantly pointed just moments before, now curled up into a cute, tight, defensive ball.

“Let go… stop… please, stop tickling me…” Kiyohime’s voice was weak, breathless, stripped of all its authority.

“Is it ticklish?” Haruka asked, his voice a soft murmur.

His movements on the sole of her foot were sometimes fast, sometimes slow, a masterful, unpredictable torture. Kiyohime felt like she was going to lose her mind. She gripped the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles were white, her eyes filled with tears of laughter and humiliation. She knew now that Haruka was deliberately tormenting her as payback for how she had treated the maids. She glared at him, her voice a furious whisper. “Let go… or you’re dead… I’ll make you pay for this…”

“And how will you make me pay?” Haruka’s face was calm, his voice even, a placid lake in the storm of her hysteria.

Kiyohime kicked out with her other foot, aiming for his face.

But Haruka was prepared. He caught her other leg, holding them both firmly in his lap. She was already weak from laughing, and leaning back in the chair, she had no leverage. Now, both of her beautiful legs were trapped, and the pointed cotton swab was tracing frantic, merciless patterns on the soles of both her feet, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes heavy, sometimes light.

“Ha…” Kiyohs arrogant expression was gone, her beautiful features twisted into a strange, grotesque mask of pleasure and pain. Her hands gripped the chair’s arms as if she would break them. “Let… go…”

“Apologize to them,” Haruka said, his voice quiet but unyielding. “Apologize for what you did before, and I’ll let go.”

“I… did… nothing… wrong…” she gasped between peals of laughter.

Haruka began to write on the sole of her foot with the cotton swab, slowly, deliberately, tracing the characters for “I did nothing wrong.”

“Ooh… ahaha…” Kiyohime was on the verge of breaking. “Someone… help…”

Haruka said calmly, “If you want those servants to see you like this, then by all means, call for them.”

Kiyohime immediately bit her lip, but she couldn’t hold back the laughter for long. “Hahaha… I… I…”

The movements on the soles of her feet grew faster, more relentless.

Kiyohime felt as if insects were crawling inside her brain, a maddening, unbearable tickle. She cried out, her words a jumbled mess of threats and laughter. “Ha… hahaha… I… I won’t apologize… you’re dead… I’ll… tell my mother… to throw you out… ooh… hahaha…”

Haruka didn’t say a word, his hands never stopping, the cotton swab now moving like a frantic, merciless brush.

“Make… me apologize… to those servants… I… I won’t… I won’t… I won’t…” Haruka could see her mouth was full of saliva, her delicate body trembling uncontrollably, completely at his mercy. “Kill me… I’ll kill you… kill me… I… you…”

“No… no… don’t… no… sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’ll call you Onii-chan… don’t stop… please stop… I’m sorry… don’t stop… please stop… I’m sorry… I’ll only apologize to you… Onii-chan…”

Kiyohime went limp, leaning back in the chair, powerless, gasping for breath, her face an unreadable, tear-streaked mixture of pain and pleasure.

Haruka saw that she was crying and drooling from laughing so hard. He stared at her, stunned for a moment by the completeness of her surrender, and let her go.

In the next instant, she launched herself at him, a blur of red silk and black hair, tackling him to the floor and sinking her teeth into his neck.