As a woman, bound by duty or obligation to provide pleasure of the flesh, Sakura was used to staring at the ceiling with a bored look in her  eyes.   While she hid her boredom well with a few well-placed coo’s and feigned gasps of pleasure while her ‘Master’ for the evening set out to make himself feel as masculine as possible,  tonight was an exception.<br/><br/>Each thrust felt like an eternity, even when they sped up and her master for the evening neared his finish. The hands coarse masculine hands trailing over her stomach and thighs felt like skidding a crossed sand, and the low hoarse grunts became a unmistakable reminder that this man..whatever his name was, was –obviously- not her Tsuru.<br/><br/><br/>Five months. Averaging thirty days a month,and with four to five ‘masters’ any given day , it was getting hard for Sakura to remember –what- the tender, sometimes gentle, but all together , simply different caresses of her lover felt like. While she missed her love daily, she ,much like her beloved ,  knew that things simply could not be as they would like. They each had their stations in life,and…this was simply her lot. Her part to play.<br/><br/>The roll of warmbody was taxing at its best, and gut-wrenching at its worst. While she implored her clients to finish their task on a external body part, it was becoming far more common for her masters to do as they pleased, finishing where they may. Sometimes even laughing at her as she unintentionally gave a little cringe ,hoping that the seed did not take, and loathing that she would be upping her daily intake of Wild-Yam root tea to ensure that her thoughtless mark did not ‘win’ in his intentionally cruel actions.<br/><br/>And so she stares at the ceiling, thinking of her little crane, and how she will soon be held within her arms, as her last client sees fit to finish as deeply inside as possible.  She does not groan, she does not look on in terror, or hatred.  She simply pushes the young man off of her with a gentle strength , stands, bows, and walks off to her bathing chamber.<br/><br/>Once bathed,  she dresses in her finest red and white silks, letting her hair remain lose ,and simply pulling it back under a long hood attached to her winter cloak. She pulls the garments over her shoulder.  She moves to her desk, in her modest dwelling and removes a box of roughly 150 paper cranes.  She shoves them into her bag, and slings it over her shoulder.<br/><br/>She wonders if her little crane thought she was foolish, or silly for believing in the old wives tale and legend…but it was all they had.  The only hope –they- had.  With the addition of these 150 paper cranes she would be up to 534. OVER half way there!  If she could see a few more clients a week, perhaps she could purchase more paper…and maybe..just maybe when she reached 1001 cranes, the great mythical crane would come to her,and grant her wish.<br/><br/>The only soul to know about Sakuras ventures was of course Sayomi, and if her lover felt the over the top romantic gesture was silly and childish…she certainly didn’t say so.<br/><br/><br/>Her little Tsuru, her crane, her love: The one whom she’d spent every free waking moment thinking of, would never…ever…let her lose hope.<br/><br/>She smiles, paints her lips a simple shade of red, foregoing her daily makeup, and heads out into the snow ,to their little meeting place. It was the same house every time …and the only place Sakura ever felt safe.  It is not far from her home , and subsequently not far from her place of business, but being a lady of pleasure, she is a bit over cautious.   Ensuring she is not followed she makes her way up their sanctuary.<br/><br/>Once at the door, her face flushed from the cold, she smiles when she sees the pair of sandals at the doorway. Warmth fills her heart and suddenly she remembers nothing of the six months spent on her back, wiggling about and acting as if she was enjoying herself.<br/>She removes her own sandals, and is immediately warmed by the fire in the small hut.  She quickly maneuvers to the doorway to the kitchen where she simply watches the silverhaired woman sip her tea.<br/><br/>Her painted lips curl into a grin, she removes her hood and her raven black hair frames her face.  She smiles warmly, and reaches for the box containing the cranes. She takes a few steps forward and sets them on the table, a wide grin playing over her features.  She leans on the table her hands spaced apart on the other side as she grins at her lover, embodying a temperament that would be far too bold for –any- courtesan.<br/><br/>She proudly proclaims, “This puts me over half way…” she smiles softly, “Soon I will have the great cranes favor… and you…-you- will be stuck with me forever. “<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>