Something Sacred Made into a Game

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@Fletcher
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Yoka was ambitious.

This was a fact. The two words were almost synonymous. The only thing seperating Yoka from her ambitions was time and, rather than making the mistake that most immortals would, Yoka never grew complacent. She did not take each second that passed her as granted. Everything she did had a wonderful purpose to it.

That did not mean she was blind to the past, however. Yoka remembered what it was like to have nothing. She remembered what it was like to only have one form, to only have that long arch of her back, her slender legs. The Japanese ideal had been straight, ruler-like figures, but Yoka had curves and breasts that fought against the rigid fabrics of her obi and kimonos. Times had changed and here, on the island, Yoka only had to use illusions if she wanted to. She was free to walk the downtown in a pencil skirt and a blouse that gave movement to her figure. Hell, she was free to do her grocery shopping as a fox, using her tails to carry the basket and add the items to the cart. She didn't have to pretend to be anyone other than herself.

But right now, Yoka was standing with her back to the door, her fingers gripping the pole, and she was pretending to be someone else.

The illusions cloaking her were powerful. She'd always been good at this sort of magic and, right now, the difference between her and the woman she was imitating were almost nonexistent. if she was being honest, this was one of her best pieces of spell craft ever.

It was probably the anger.

Yoka heard the door open.

She didn't turn around, didn't push her long, brown-hair over her shoulder or turn to give the boy she knew was coming a quick glance of her chalky skin. She was wearing one of the normal cross fox outfits, something special reserved for the private rooms, and even though it was small, she still seemed skin and bones compared to it.

For all intents and purposes, Yoka was Tara June.

"Henry," she said, her voice was a perfect imitation. She sound tired, she sounded sick. "I don't know how much longer i can keep dancing for you like this."

Yoka had the inflection perfect.

After all, she understood the feeling.

Yoka sighed. Her shoulders slumped and her body curved inward like, for just a moment, she was crossing her arms over her stomach and trying to keep it together. But, then, she reached up and held onto the pole.

She still didn't turn around.

"Mister," she said. "You just don't get it. Are you even listening to me, mister? I don't know if I can keep doing this."

Broken, tired, thin.

Someone giving everything they had for something they didn't even really want.

Yoka never had to sell herself the way Tara did for medication, but she'd been dancing long nights just to have the money to make sure she had a roof over her head and some rice in the morning.

She didn't want to admit it, but that chicken fried rice smelled pretty good.

"Why are you even doing this?" Yoka asked him. Her voice wavered, but remained strong, like she was stopping it from breaking. Yoka knew how strong Tara was even beyond the decay of her body. It's why she liked her. "Do you think I wanted it to be this way?"

Yoka didn't budge, but now she turned around. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she sighed. She leaned against the pole as though she'd collapse if she didn't.

"Mister," Yoka said. "Yoka found out. About what you did."

Yoka looked away. She forced a blush. It was always easier to blush when it was just an illusion.

"Did you....did you like doing..what you did to me?" she asked. She wouldn't make eye contact while she asked but as soon as the words were out, she looked straight into his eyes and wouldn't look away. Yoka swallowed hard enough so her throat moved.

Yoka seemed to consider this.

She was not privy on the details of the relationship between Henry and Tara. It was none of her business. The only reason she'd even let it go on the first two times was because Yoka thought there was something between the two. She did not like that it spilled out into work, but who was she to judge?

But what Henry was doing to Tara on Yoka's premises was something Yoka was not pleased about. Tara was a good employee. She came to work, she danced, and she made do with a bad situation.

"Fine, Henry," Yoka said. She looked away now, jutting her chin upwards, crossing her arms. "If you didn't like it, why did you do those things to me? I'm doing my job, Henry. This is what I'm getting paid to do."

She looked at the seat next to him and then up at him.

She put her hands on her hips.

This was a challenge. If he wanted her closer, he knew how to get her there.

"I do remember," Yoka snapped, and then, she seemed embarrassed because of it because she crossed her arms even tighter over her chest. She wouldn't look at him now. She was standing perfectly straight, a line as unmoving and rigid as the pole behind her.

She didn't budge, but when she glanced at him, she looked like she might start to budge.

"I don't know how you want me," she said. "Do you want me as Tara, or as your whore?"

Her face hardened.

Yoka took a step off of the stage, then another, and put a slink in her walk. It was easy, but only because she'd trained Tara to walk the same way.

Yoka knelt before Henry and said, "Do you like it when I'm like this? When I'm the one sticking my hands in your pants?"

She reached towards his crotch and started to rub him through the fabric.

His reaction was interesting to her, but Yoka didn't stop. She started in his eyes, her face blank. She blew a piece of her brown hair out of her face.

"You say you don't want me to be your whore, but I think you do," Yoka challenged him. "I think you liked having me up against that pole, and I think you like touching me, even though you know it's against the rules."

Yoka struggled to find the words the way Tara might say them, but they came out the exact same moment she was unbuttoning his pants and sliding her hand over his cock.

"You can't have both," she said. "You book the entire night with me, but Henry, this is my job. You can't want me to treat you like a client and like you're my..."

She froze, not sure what to call him, but finally she said, "You can't ask me to treat you like you're my client and you're like Henry at the same time. "

Yoka wasn't going to ask him to pay her, not for this one.

Her hand stroked the length of his cock, then gripped it and started to pump him in a slow, teasing hand job.

"This one is on the house, Henry," she whispered. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, as though asking, is this okay?

But it didn't matter if this was okay.

This wasn't a reward. This was a punishment.

"You didn't stop when I told you to," Yoka said.

She did stop though, but only so she could push up against henry's chest with one hand and climb onto his lap. She worked her hips in a circle, grinding up against him, her breasts up against his chest.

"Why do you want me to stop, mister?" she asked. She was flipping between the two now, getting formal the further she went. "Don't you like this?"

Yoka leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his neck, biting his skin between her teeth and working her way up his ear.

"Do you have any idea how expensive these new pills are?" Yoka asked him. She slipped her hand down his chest and back to his fly, unzipping it further and reaching down to squeeze his cock.

Yoka wondered if he'd caught onto her game.

It seemed likely given what he was saying, but he did not seem too freaked out about it. Still, Yoka didn't need him to change his mind halfway through. She pumped his cock between his fingers, using a firm but relaxed grip to work him. With her other hand, she slipped it into her bra and pulled out a pill and popped it into her mouth.

Yoka gazed up into his eyes and smirked.

She pressed her mouth against his and pumped him harder, waiting for a gasp so she could slip her tongue--and the pill--into his mouth. She reached up with her free hand and grabbed his throat, stroking it and forcing him to swallow it down. She pulled away then, a bead of spit connecting their mouths, and she grinned.

"Do you want to know what that was, Henry?" Yoka asked him. "You should be feeling it real soon baby."

She pulled her hand from his pants and then slid them both to his hips, grabbing onto them and jerking them down to free him and give her more access. She climbed back ontop of him, straddling him so his cock was right up against her pussy, and she arched her back and grinded it up against him.

"Does this feel good, henry? Do you like it? You haven't stopped me yet, even though you know she can see everything," Yoka said. "Or maybe you just like knowing someone is watching you fuck me."

She jerked forward suddenly, grabbing both his wrists before he had the chance to stop her and forcing them behind his back. She was strong, too strong, but Yoka didn't care. If he was onto her, it wouldn't matter now.

Yoka pulled a pair of handcuffs from her bra--god, she loved this bra, all bras should have such cleverly designed pockets--and snapped them over his wrists.

"That's better," she said. "Now you're the one who can't resist."

"I'm doing you," Yoka answered him. In response, she pushed her panties to the side and started to tease the head of his cock with her wet slit, lubricating it to make her eventual descent that much easier.

"About that little pill I gave you," Yoka said. "Have you ever experimented with male potency? I guarantee you, this will not be over quickly, Henry. Everything you feel is going to feel great."

She reached a hand between her legs and touched herself, letting her fingers become coated with her wetness and then she pushed them into Henry's mouth.

"Do you like the way I taste, Henry?" she asked him. She was still hovering over his ready cock, taunting him with her wetness.

"What isn't an answer, Henry. I said, do you like the way I taste? Or do you need another a little bit more to tell?" Yoka asked. She pulled away from his cock then, standing up on the couch. She swayed her hips right to left and pulled her panties down with her thumbs.

Yoka gripped Henry's hair with her hand, pulled his head back, and stood before him, her long legs caging him in.

"Lick it Henry," she said. "Go ahead and give it a taste. C'mon, for me?"