A shrine priestess (miko) at the shrine of Benzai-Ten, goddess of love, the arts, wisdom, poetry, good fortune and water.
A Note From the Author:
In this story I use the name “Onihime” as a sort of personification of Death, set toward the end of World War II. While the Japanese term Onihime does, literally, translate as “Demon Princess,” the idea that she has some sort of connection with yuri-lesbians is purely my idea. “Yuri” is a term for stories involving love between women in Japanese literature, focusing either on the erotic, the spiritual, or the emotional aspects of girl-girl relationships.
* * *
Outra noite de verão.
Na cidade morta, tristeza;
não lavado pela tempestade.
One more summer night.
In the dead city, sorrow;
unwashed by the storm.
March 10, 1945
Her lover was dying; Mai sat alone with her. Nothing could exceed the desolation of her surroundings on that early summer night. Her beloved Kimiko, a young woman who would soon be taken from her, coughed in her troubled, thin sleep. Mai sat in the dark on the third-floor of a wood-and-paper boarding-house. It was so quiet, even the cicadas had abandoned their song. It was a claustrophobic night. The other boarders had fled the building the day before; all the servants except the cook had been dismissed, joining the endless stream of refugees trying to flee to the country, to the mountains, to anywhere. The landlady was also missing as well; as if she had left on a brief holiday earlier that morning, a journey that spiraled horribly out of control.
The glassless window was open to let in the thick, stagnant air; no sound sprung up from the rows of long, narrow backyards below in the dark. The streets were deadened; all light extinguished. The whole city held its breath; their ears poised, waiting for that unmistakable drone coming out from the deep, dark sea — the heartbeat of those long-range B-29 Super Fortresses — sent, as if from another world, to burn all of Tokyo to ruin.
Mai sat in the dark, plunged in the deepest grief that could come to a young soul, for in all other suffering we can still hold onto a sliver of desire, however brief; except for this, this one grief. Mai gazed dully at the unconscious form of the woman who had been her best friend, her extraordinary companion, her soul mate during five long years of joy; two souls so full of life, so optimistic for the future, now and forever twisted by such a terrible destiny.
Like the Imperial empire itself, it was a wasting disease that had consumed her Kimiko; the girl’s face was literally shriveled; her night gown hung loosely upon two breasts which had never known deformity, a body no longer muscular from cum and orgasms and a life as a factory girl. Dully Mai wondered why the body that she had loved so much, that had brought her so much desire, had been changed forever; why Kimiko’s beauty, too, had gone somewhere else. She had loved her glorious cunt, her magnificent ass, her splendid breasts, as if they were a part of herself; loved Kimiko’s wild-fuck magnetism. Now the body lay limp under the quilt. For a moment something convulsed within Mai. Everything in the world had abandoned her.
She leaned over her lover, listening. Kimiko was in there still, somewhere. The ill-shapen breasts rose and fell, almost imperceptible, true, but they still rose and fell. Where does the soul go from its sodden clay form when one is no longer alive but not yet dead? Was it still conscious in there? Was it simply unable to communicate through such decaying corpus? Did the soul struggle to be heard? Did Kimiko see Mai’s agony? She called her lover’s name, she shook those thin shoulders, suddenly crazed to rip the body open, part the breasts and ribs, the wild urge to find the soul of her soul mate, yet even in that tortured moment she knew that such violence would undo everything.
Violence. Violence would be here soon.
The dying woman took no notice of her. Mai ripped open Kimiko’s gown, pressed her cheek to her breast, felt the long nipple smothered against her cheek. She had once joked that nipple was the only food she ever needed.
“No,” Kimiko had laughed, looking up from between Mai’s wide open thighs, her nose and chin and lips all sticky in the dark. “A girl can’t live on cum alone, but I think we’re seeing if we can try.”
Indeed, they had tried, over and over and over; every night on that little tatami mat while Europe burned on the other side of the world.
How could the connection between lovers be so strong if one of them was not alive at the other end? Kimiko had to be in there; her other, her best part. But the faintly beating heart did not speed up under her lips, even when she took the unresponsive nipple into her mouth and began to suck. With a sob she rose to her feet, went to the window. She feared some psychotic act on her part. She feared her own grief. She feared just how much damage she could do if she lost control just now.
She couldn’t see the charred grass in the backyards from where she stood. Something sinister, like the dread of the approaching raiders, clung to the city. An inky shadow. She returned swiftly to the bedside, wondering if she had remained away a long twilit hour or a couple of minutes, if her beloved Kimiko was dead. Had Onihime, the demon princess that lived in the shadow-world and fed upon the passions of all yuri girls, found their room yet? Mai clasped her hands against her own wildly beating heart, watching with panic-stricken eyes at the graven face which was becoming less defined as the night closed in around them.
Fearfully, she put her ear to Kimiko’s lips; she still breathed. She made a motion to kiss her, then threw herself back in a quiver of agony, they were not the lips she had known, she would never have those lips ever again. Mai’s vision became blurred, closing her eyes, waited for the pain to lessen. When she opened them Kimiko’s face had disappeared; the heat waves from the city silenced even the starlight. Night was here.
She sat there in the hot heavy night, pressing her hand hard against the other’s ebbing heart, waiting for Onihime. Suddenly a queer idea possessed her. Why did she have to wait for Onihime at all? Why was She lollygagging and taking Her leisure to get to them? The heart sounded like the kind of music that was always played in Kabuki theater when the heroine was about to die on stage. Mai had always thought that sort of thing was ridiculous. And it was; every attempt to portray Death in human form always is.
Far out at sea she thought she heard something, only for a moment. A drone of engines, the insect hum of war machines. For a moment the sweat stood on her face; she knitted her brows angrily together and pressed her palm against that wondrous heart, as if to keep guard over. Then the pent-up air burst from her lungs. Damn her, Onihime-kami, where was She?
That noise, that hum, it did not repeat itself. What a curious experience: to be sitting alone in a doomed building, one she knew that everyone else had stolen out from, waiting for an invisible, resolute enemy, with whom the Imperial will could no longer wrestle against. Mai wondered at the demon princess’ frivolousness at such a time and, turning her head slightly, she cried out in horror. Something was creeping into the window-sill. Two round, moon-like eyes glared menacingly back at her just above the black void of the window. Mai’s limbs trembled, she struggled to her feet, looked away but her own eyes dragged themselves back to the window against her will.
She realized that it was not anger that possessed her; she was horribly frightened. Is it possible? she thought. Kimiko used to call me heroic; but then with her it was impossible to fear anything. She glanced apprehensively about; the eyes were gone. A trick, she wondered, a trick of my nerves. Then she wondered if she could be able to see Her when She came; wondered how far off She was now. Not very far, it felt. She had heard about the power of the dead to drive away all mortal courage, had scoffed at that, having no morbid horror of the dead herself. You could always tell when the dead were touching you; that sudden chill, the goosebumps, the way the hair on your scalp felt electrically charged. But this was a different sort of terror. To wait, wait, wait, perhaps for the rest of her life, perhaps only until the midnight, while those awful, unhurried war machines stole ever nearer.
Where was the unconquerable love that had held her all these years with such a strong, loving embrace? How could her darling Kimiko abandon her at her greatest need? Suddenly, far down in the building, on the first floor perhaps, came a sound; a wary, muffled sound, as if someone were creeping up the old, wooden stairs, someone fearful of being heard. The whole still night felt wet, a wave of death-sweat had broken over the city.
Then came another footstep. A pause. Then another.
Mai knew that it was Onihime who was coming to her through the silent deserted boarding-house. The demon princess of girl-love was toiling up the stairs painfully, as if She were old, tired, exhausted with the knowledge of the howling fire-storm that would consume not only all of Tokyo that night but all the gay little girls whose love kept Her well-fed and happy. She reached the first landing, crept down the hall to the next stairs, then crawled slowly up as before. Light as Her footfalls were, they were squarely planted, unfaltering; slow, slow and they never halted.
Automatically Mai pressed her hand upon Kimiko’s breast, trying to find that precious heart; its beats were almost too feeble to locate. That beat would cease altogether in moments, just when the demon princess who made those creaking footfall noises would enter the room and stand before the bed.
Not a sound came from the outside world, save the song of the gremlins in the armaments, the wasp-buzz of engines, the yawning of bomb bay doors swinging open. Even the cicadas had begun to sing this song; but inside the quiet building the footfalls were becoming louder, until thigh-high leather kick-boots were pounding up the stairs, echoing across the world.
Mai had counted the steps — ten, eleven, twelve — as they moved with slow precision, noting their hollow reverberation that sounded like the blood pumping in her veins. How many steps left before She reached the door? The noise turned the corner of the hallway; it advanced, slowly, down the hall; it paused before her door, a whirlwind of fire, a diabolic presence nothing could stop.
The floor was trembling as knuckles knocked upon the frame of the wooden, sliding door. Windows and glass all up and down the city street shattered. Thousands and thousands of small fragments of splinters flew in every direction. Mai felt glass slivers penetrate her thighs. She could feel the blood steaming out into the hot night from her wounds; tears beginning to roll down her legs.
Black smoke filled the skies of Tokyo.
The knocking became more demanding; the very walls vibrated. The sounds of terrifying, deafening explosions rolled across the cityscape. A stabbing pain filled Mai’s skull. Blood was flowing everywhere, her ears bleeding furiously. Deaf. The shock of the sudden pain and stillness scared Mai more than the creature standing in the open doorway to their room. A girl only a few years older than Mai herself, with piercing black pits for eyes, was breathing rapidly. She parted the folds on her kimono and Mai could see she wore nothing underneath it. Her hair was so black it seemed to suck all the light from the corridor outside. Her breasts were nicely shaped, identical, in fact, to Kimiko’s, back when they had been in their prime. Her lips moved but Mai could not understand the words. She realized that the other had shamelessly buried one hand between her legs, her fingers moving at a slow, leisurely pace. Tender. The girl closed her nothingness eyes for a second while her lips moved wordlessly.
Onihime purred as her hand moved faster. Though Mai couldn’t see her exploring her own wet, cum-sticky folds, the demon princess seemed well-versed enough in pleasure; but with an unquestionable hunger that Mai had never seen before, not even in Kimiko.
Onihime whimpered as she gently twisted her clit and all tenderness that desire can bring evaporated into the incendiary, petrol-fueled air. The girl fiercely pinched her nipples, screaming with joy as her hand began to furiously finger-fuck herself — deep — deep — impossibly deep. The hum of falling bombs were all around them. The demon princess’ wrist gleamed with her own cum, a netherworld glow, what God’s tears would look like, if only such a thing as a God existed.
Mai’s voice was on the verge of screaming as the burning air was sucked out of the room. She sounded like she was about to cry or sob; an inhuman sound only the devils and lovers of demons can make. The city was aflame, flailing about, writhing in agony, screaming piteously for help, but beyond all mortal assistance. The wall of flame rolled over everything; there was a horrific beauty to this last orgasm as the two women screamed, caught in the aftershocks. With a last, wild, spontaneous cry Mai flung herself across her beloved Kimiko as the walls came tumbling down.
Ankoku had been walking toward home for just over an hour, but already the snow had drifted across the the main road that led out of town to such an extent that it was nearly invisible before her. The wind plucked at her robes, tore at her conical, woven hat, numbed her toes. Starting out from town had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she had six miles of open hills to go if she wanted to see her hut again.
The afternoon had been cold, exceedingly cold, when Ankoku turned aside from the main Hokkaido trail, climbed the high earth-bank where she paused for breath at the top. There was no sun nor hint of sun when the clouds hung that low over the sky. She tried to remember what she knew of predicting storms and weather lore, but she was woefully ignorant on such matters. There seemed an unidentifiable chill over the face of the earth, an insidious gloom that made the afternoon dark.
Ankoku flung a quick glance back along the strange, weird path she had come. The far northern island of Japan, Hokkaido, lay hidden under three feet of ice. On top of that was half a dozen feet of snow. It was all pure white, rolling in gentle undulations. As far as her eye could see, it was unbroken white.
She watched the first snow flakes float down, little hints of death in that deathly world. Was a storm coming? Yes, a storm was coming. Soon.
She plunged in among the big oak trees. The trail was faint. Ankoku was surprised, however, at the suddenly drop in temperature as she rubbed her nose with her hand. She experienced a vague but forbidding dread that drowned out all the confidence she had in herself about seeing home again. Six miles was nothing, she had told herself. Hadn’t she walked this same path over and over all these years? To teach her students at the village’s dojo required her endless walking. But not in weather like this. With a start she realized that the frozen wetness of her breathing had settled in a fine powder of frost, especially along her lips and nostrils; her eyelashes were whitened by crystallizing moisture.
What were the signs of freezing to death? she wondered. The extremities were the first to feel the absence of blood circulation. Then a sense of warmth. Hallucinations. A howling wind picked up as her exposed fingers began to go numb. Then came the snow. Out of nowhere a storm of titanic proportions crashed down upon her. She stumbled and fell to her knees in drifts three and four feet deep. Her nose and cheeks were already freezing; the skin of all her body chilled as it lost its blood.
How could a sword master, a female samurai no less, an Onna bugeisha no less, die through mere foolishness? When she fell down a second time, the shivering came more quickly upon Ankoku. She was losing in her battle with the storm. A deathly cold was creeping into her body from all sides. The thought of it drove her on, but she was able to move no more than a hundred feet, when she staggered, then pitched headlong into the snow.
It was sometime before Ankoku raised her head. It took all her strength to raise herself to her knees and elbows. When she looked up again out of the blinding snowstorm a figure appeared, moving slowly through the snow. Ankoku had been raised on stories of the Yuki-onna, the Snow woman, who could only be seen in the heart of a snowstorm and used her icy breath to leave stranded travelers as frost-coated corpses. Was this death coming to visit? Did death look this beautiful?
The woman who approached the female samurai was indeed beautiful, with long black hair and blue lips. Her inhumanly pale skin made her blend into the ashy-white landscape and the sky-blue robes that billowed around her only added to her other-worldly appearance. She was a creature that lived only in this frozen world. At first she walked a route that would pass distance away from the fallen Ankoku but upon seeing the stranger on her hands and knees she altered her course and walked directly up to Ankoku.
“Sensei? Is that really you?”
Ankoku blinked, rubbed the ice away from her lashes. The Snow woman still stood in front of her, offering a outstretched hand; yet it was no longer a mountain spirit but a former student, a village girl from her dojo, one who she had been friendly with a couple of years back.
“Anei-chan! Is it you?” Ankoku croaked through cracked lips. “What are you doing out in this hell?”
“I could ask you the same thing, Sensei. Where are you heading?”
“I’m trying to make it home. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Home?” the younger woman said, her lips curving up into a smile. “I think, Sensei, that might be a little ambitious on a day like today. Come with me, my hut is close.”
“O!” Ankoku paused to smile, getting to her feet. “That would be wonderful of you. I’m so glad you found me.”
With that they turned around and began retracing the steps the older woman had taken. Anei had no problem on the snow covered world, though Ankoku found herself slipping often. She finally took Anei’s offered hand to steady her and they walked in silence for some time like that until they reached the outskirts of the village.
“Sensei do you mind if we stop off at the ghost bazaar? I have nothing to feed you just now.”
Despite the storm it was warm inside the little store that served as the village bazaar. Despite the long winter months lining the walls was produce, dried seafood, Chinese spices, Korean curios, Ainu crafts, devil jewelry and ancient hex coins. Ankoku loosened the scarf around her neck and cast an approving eye at her former student. Anei had to be at least twenty-two by now, if that. She found that Anei’s eyes lingered on her breasts, outlined by her tight fitting kimono. She caught her eyes looking at her nipples.
“So, Anei-chan, what do you need?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Something to make Sensei forget the cold.”
Ankoku looked at the younger woman with a smile, watched with delight as Anei’s face lit up a wicked grin. It surprised her but that wonderful warm wet feeling was invading her cunt. She decided to be more daring, said, “Then maybe in the morning you can come with me to my home and I can repay the favor?”
“O, I think we might be snowed in for days.”
Anei placed her hand on Ankoku’s arm, squeezed.
* * *
Anei’s hut was simply one low-ceiling room, but it warm and snug. Before Ankoku could even remove her outer robes Anei reached over, pulling her to her by the scarf around her neck. She kissed her wetly on the lips, forcing them open with her tongue. She let her tongue play in Ankoku’s mouth, taking her breath away like a shot of ice wind. After sucking on her bottom lip, biting it gently, she looked directly into her eyes, said, “I have wanted to do that ever since you agreed to train me as your student. Sensei has the sexiest lips.”
They had too many clothes on to touch each other anywhere they wanted; finally Anei pulled away, leading her guest into the center of her hut.
Anei’s fingers reached for her obi sash on Ankoku’s robe, clumsily getting it open. Her hands immediately found the older woman’s breasts. The Onna bugeisha leaned back against the wall, her eyes were closed, letting Anei squeeze and rub her. All she wanted to do was get her mouth one of Ankoku’s tits, as much she could. Biting, sucking, pulling; Anei sucked so loud, so hard, trying to devour it all that she could feel her teacher shudder through the tip of her own nipple. Gasping for air, Ankoku pulled away, stroking the younger woman’s hair, sending shivers all over her body.
Together they unrolled Anei’s sleeping mats and blankets then she silently began to undress her. First her coat and scarf were tossed aside. Stepping behind her, she pushed her long dark hair to the side, kissing the back of her neck, while her hands slid around to cup her breasts, feeling her nipples harden as she kissed. Her kisses turned to nibbles as her fingers found each nipple, pinching them gently. The moan that escaped from her lips told her that she was getting it right. She turned the older woman around, took her in her arms, kissed her hard on the lips, sliding her tongue deep into her throat, letting her hands slide down her back, scratching her lightly with her blue fingertips.
Stripping off her own clothing without a word, Anei, without breaking eye contact she slowly, seductively dropped to her knees, pressing her face into Ankoku’s curly cunt, inhaling deeply. Ankoku could feel the younger woman’s tongue lapping at her girl lips, tickling her with her light touch. She felt her knees buckle, she was in agony, nearly fell, but Anei grabbed her, helped to lower her to the floor. Kneeling over her, didn’t leave her teacher in agony for long. She lowered herself to her, laying her body on top of her own, breast to breast, nipple to nipple, cunt to cunt, open lips to open lips. Ankoku started to wrap her arms around Anei, but the other simply grabbed her wrists, pinning them over her head. She lowered her face close to Ankoku’s, licked her slowly with her wide, flat tongue, tasting her cheeks, her hair, her forehead, her chin, her neck. Ankoku’s mouth opened wide, hoping to take her in, but Anei simply, teasingly traced her lips ever so lightly, tickling her with the very edge of her wet tongue.
Anei’s hard nipples seemed to burn into Ankoku’s flesh. The mound of her cunt was melting into hers. She lay very still, just feeling her student breathing against her neck. Then Anei’s lips softly touched her skin, nibbled at her ear. Ankoku moaned, whimpered, “O, please, Anei, please.”
“Sensei, I imagined this moment a thousand times as your pupil. I undressed you very day, made love to you in your dojo. Nothing can live up to what I am experiencing right now with you naked, begging to me.”
Without saying another word, Anei kissed her mouth, then started to move down her body. She sucked upon her neck, nibbled at her ears, bit her nipples, licked her belly, kissed the scars that formed a curious cross on her right thing, finally breathed on her cunt; her wet, dripping, aching, throbbing cunt. Ankoku saw Anei’s absurdly tongue move closer to her as she stretched from of her mouth, touching her girl lips, dragging it slowly up from the bottom to her clit. She moaned, squirmed, cried out from the thrill of her touch. Anei did it again, pressing harder, moving just a little bit faster. Ankoku was jerking her hips, trying to grind her open cunt into her face. Anei slid her hands under her ass, pulled Ankoku even tighter to her mouth, pushed her tongue deep into her wet cunt. Now the older woman was moaning like a nine-tailed fox, begging for her touch, needing her to fuck her, to suck her, to do anything she wanted to her.
“Sensei, you have me so wet. I want to be your vixen …”
The rest of her words were drowned out as Ankoku felt Anei grab both of her ass cheeks, drive her demonic tongue deep into her vagina, up against the back wall.
“How?” she gasped while, wiggling around inside of her, she could feel Anei tongue and caress her inner muscles.
“Come on Sensei, pump those hips, force that cunt of yours to cum over my face, over my lips. Fuck me Sensei! Fuck this bad vixen! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!”
She wanted her to crawl inside of her teacher. She was slamming her cunt into her, she responded by thrusting her tongue in hard, faster. All Ankoku could do was moan, whimper. “It is so good, so good. Anei I am so close to cumming!”
“I want you to cum for me, Sensei. I want you to cum for your dirty, little vixen. I want to suck the cum from you cunt.”
Ankoku felt that wonderful slow burn start in her clit, then spread everywhere. It moved end-to-end in her entire cunt, up her arms to her fingers.
“O Anei, don’t stop, please, I am going to cum!”
Ankoku sucked in her cheeks, stopped breathing then it hit her like an earthquake, rocking her cunt, sending aftershocks coursing throughout her entire soul. Anei never let go; her hands were holding on tightly to her ass, her tongue still deep inside of her. Ankoku’s thighs had her head pinned, never wanting her to breath again.
Slowly, her breathless gasps returned to normal, her muscles relaxed.
Laughing Anei said, “Sensei, that was worth the wait!”
“O love, come here, let me hold you.”
They lay in each other’s arms for a long time. Ankoku was experiencing hungers she hadn’t felt in years, food she hadn’t tasted since her love had died. She stroked Anei’s hair, kissed her head. Looking around the room her eyes fell upon a scroll hanging from the wall, the only art in the entire hut.
“What is that?” she asked dreamily.
“That? That is the story of the great goddess Amaterasu who fled with her brother, Susa no O, into a cave, depriving the Earth of sunlight and warmth. In order to cajole Amaterasu from the cave, the deity of naughty girl love, Ame No Uzume, performed an erotic dance that involved flashing her breasts and cunt, inviting Amaterasu to taste them. Legend says that as Amaterasu stepped out of the cave Ame No Uzume held up a mirror; the combination of a going now on a goddess and watching her reflection while doing it got Amaterasu so excited that she took the nasty kami into the sky with her to be her soul mate and restore the sun back to the earth.”
While she was talking Ankoku’s hand slid down her back, enjoying the sensation of her hand on such soft skin. She kissed the younger woman’s neck, lifted her fingers to her lips so she could kiss them. She rolled Anei over onto her back, kissed her sensuous mouth, sucking at her lips.
“Please Sensei, please touch my cunt. Rub my cunt, please!”
Without a word, she quickly slid in between Anei’s legs. She pushed her thighs open wide, pressed her face into her, kissing her wet, swollen cunt lips. Anei gasped as her tongue made contact. She let her tongue explore the soft fold of skin, licking, sucking as her former student squirmed under her.
“Lick me, oh please, lick me. My cunt needs to be licked so bad!”
Splitting open her sticky labia with her tongue Ankoku ended up lingering on her clit. The sounds of her whimpering drove her crazy and Ankoku drove her harder, faster, finishing each stroke lapping at her clit.
“O, Sensei, I have been naughty, seducing my pure teacher like this. Spank me, Sensei, spank your horrible vixen.”
A cock-sure laugh escaped from Ankoku, she caressed the other’s beautiful ass, teasing her wet cunt with her fingertips.
“So you wanted to fuck your teacher, Anei-chan? Let me show you show it is done.”
Ankoku spanked the upturned ass with her open hand, feeling it sting on her palm, watching Anei’s cheek turn red where it was struck. Anei, startled, gasped, then moaned at the touch. Ankoku quickly spanked her again, then again, then again. Anei was whimpering, writhing under her. She could see how wet her cunt had gotten Anei was begging her to stop, long after her cheeks were a painful shade of red. When Ankoku finally did she lowered her head to her redden skin, kissing her bum softly, licking the marks left her her fingers.
“Anei-chan, get up on your hands, knees, darling, I want your ass.”
Holding her by the hips, Ankoku probed her cunt with her tongue and two fingers. Anei pushed back against her, letting her know who was in command. Once a samurai, always a samurai. Holding her tightly, Ankoku drove hard into her cunt with her tongue deep, started finger fucking her slowly, letting the sensation in her cunt build.
“O Sensei, I want to cum for you. I want to be your little nine-tailed shameless woman!”
Hearing Anei talk like that drove Ankoku into another frenzy. She soon had the younger woman bucking hard against her face as she drove her fingers in and out of her, fucking her wildly.
“You taste so good, Anei. Cum for me, baby, cum for me.”
They were both covered with sweat and cum, working hard to push Anei right over the edge. Ankoku’s fingers reached up into her, to that spot, that spot that —
— she let out a sharp gasp as she jacked her fingers deeper inside. Ankoku felt Anei’s muscles start to spasm, knew she was close to cumming. In, out, harder, faster, rubbing her clit, until she felt her tense up, stop moving. The pause, that wonderful pause; Anei screamed just before the big release hit her body, sending her thrashing as the orgasmic wave engulfed her. Her arms, legs would not hold her up, they both collapsed onto the floor. Both of them gasping for air. She crawled up into her arms, lay there completely exhausted, but happy. She kissed her softly, she held her tightly. After several minutes, Anei noticed the smile on her face, asked her what she was thinking.
“Less than three hours ago I was freezing to death in a snowstorm,” Ankoku smiled. “Now here I am, in the arms of my former student, well fucked. I suppose if I believed in ghosts I’d say you had come to rescue me.”
“O? Sensei doesn’t believe in ghosts?”
“Er, no, of course not. Why, do you?”
“I will believe in anything that makes Sensei happy.”
“It’s funny, the first time I saw you walking nearly naked through the snow I immediately thought of that old fairy tale about the Yuki-onna, the Snow woman.”
“O? And why is that funny to Sensei?”
“Because it’s a fairy tale. I thought I was hallucinating.”
“Hmm, Sensei says she doesn’t believe in ghosts but if she woke up tomorrow morning naked in a snow drift where my home now stands, how would she be able to explain that?”
“I don’t know, is that the sort of thing that is likely to happen?”
“Not if you love me.”
“You never explained to me what you were doing out in that blizzard in the first place.”
“You never asked me why I now have blue lips.”
“Does it matter?”
“Not if you love me. Hold onto me, Sensei.”
“Tighter! Yes, like that. Hold me, please, hold me, sleep in my arms all winter long.”
Then the Onna bugeisha drowsed off into what seemed to Ankoku the most comfortable and satisfying sleep she had ever known and the brief twilight drew to a close into a long, slow night.