Tag Archives: winter

boreas’ curse

07 Saturday Oct 2017

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The gods are rabbits in burrows, sleeping
below the crunching feet on snow. The worst

time to conjure a spirit is during
the tree-dead months, when Boreas’ Curse

lays on the land. October is laughter
for fun; there’s still tree sap. But for the us,

because all the earth sleeps good, the wonder
comes that we roused something in this coldness.

Your jeans pulled down … call this a … revival.
Fingers curled in a C, stroking shocked fur.

Your mouth opens … spiritual agonies …
or ecstasies … they’re the same when knuckle

deep. Let the gods slumber through dead winter.
All I ask: “if you want to cum say please.”

glee of the wind

26 Thursday Sep 2013

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Frozen Lake Michigan, a flat ocean
of ice; a sight that I don’t want but will
come and find me, like the night to the sun,
or two headlights to a deer. We say “chill,”
we say “cold,” but what barefooted pilgrim
could walk these beaches and still be happy?
What warm sympathy could the winter’s grim
love have? hidden in our houses the glee
of the wind is both orderly and daft.
Singing but what does that mean? Storm shamans
might know, but there are none left to answer.
Winter! I would defeat you if my craft
would do so; but such magic and options
aren’t mine. So I must live with your burdens.

metal never forgives

25 Wednesday Sep 2013

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

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all the ancient classic fairy tales
have always been scary and dark.
—- Helena Bonham Carter

How much cold can you abide? If you kissed
me now you’d hear how the wind mews and talks
to you. Across the tundra of this tryst
you called me, like the warmth of a snow fox
in the endless night. I come from the west,
dreaming about blackberry juice; roughly
watching it trickle down your chin. Tongues pressed
tip to tip, although warm flesh on icy
metal never forgives. Little candle,
moppet, June spark, I would lick the hoarfrost
from your breasts, if I could; I think you’d just
sputter, though, warmth being such a fragile
play thing. How far will you go, my star-crossed
flame? The winter dark is my name for lust.

the shadow that came into the woods

22 Saturday Jun 2013

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shadow that came into the woods

PART I:

If the sky had not been filled with blinding snow Fuyu would have said there was nothing to dread that day. That there was no nameless fear walking upon the road before her. But she was winter-born and the first snows had been falling for an hour or more; the barren hill was now ash and nothing more. What wind there was came from behind her; rippling her robes, mussing her hair.

The long slope before her stretched out until it met the clouds, disappearing into the rounded horizon as it melted into the gray sky. Fuyu had been following wagon tracks, gashes in the snow, where infrequent strangers had marked their passage some time before. With the failing daylight the shadows around her turned from blacks and pinks into omens and warnings. It was a veiled land; a land of mist and cold. The world all around her was quiet, and for a long moment she did not move, curious about the chance to see things for what they really were. She was still not halfway home.

Fuyu’s eyes were not very good. She could not tell what made a faint ocher blur in the middle of the road until she was standing over it. Three brown grass stalks were poking above the snow; tall, thin, feathery late-autumn grass, now withered. It was so beautiful she was sorry to have to walk upon it.

Fuyu stood looking down at the tracks, and then, because she had to hurry on, lifted her eyes to the horizon once more. She frowned. There was now something dark approaching, something baleful cutting against the low sky. A shadow? On it came. Fuyu had scarcely enough time to wonder before she saw that it was a nun. This was a curiosity. Fuyu could never understand the lure of Buddhism, especially when it specifically stated that women could never gain salvation because of the Five Hindrances; the female soul could not attain Buddhahood until it had changed into a male. Who would want to make themselves miserable by believing in that?

Still, as the other woman approached Fuyu moved to one side and bowed her head.

“You are traveling all by yourself, mother,” Fuyu said, even those the woman appeared to be younger than she was. This was Fuyu attempting to be civil. She saw so few travelers pass down her road, for she lived twelve miles from the nearest village and was curious to know where this strange nun was going.

“To the temple, little sister, to the temple,” came the answer, spoken in a sing-song, little girl’s voice. It was not the type of voice one might hear at the temples, though. She must have beautiful at one time, Fuyu mused, but with her shapeless robes and shaved head she looked more like a corpse than anything that might visit her in her dreams. The nun was already five yards past her, walking with a gait that betrayed her youth.

“The temple?” Fuyu called out after her. “Which temple?”

“Hai Yo-tsuoni,” came the musical reply.

Hai Yo-tsuoni wasn’t so much a temple, it was more a roadside shrine that the few families who lived in the area used to placate the kami forest spirits when the need arose. There had been recently a funeral ceremony, Fuyu recalled. A little boy from the Watanabe family had been found dead three days ago. Attacked. At least that was what gossip in the village said, last time she had visited it.

“You are three days late,” Fuyu called back, wondering why the Watanabes had asked for a Buddhist to help bury their son. Mother Oki, the Shinto priestess, was enough for every one else. Then Fuyu wondered why the young woman had called her “little sister.”

Fuyu turned to watch the stranger move off down the hill, then she paused, seeing something that she had not noticed before. The young woman was lame. Her left foot dragged behind her, the way polio would wither a limb. In the newly fallen snow her foot prints ran dark and uneven where the healthy foot had been forced to take most of the weight. Fuyu shivered. The memory of the once beautiful but now gaunt face, those eyes that did not look at her as she passed by, the limping and odd voice of the strange nun. She did not know why, but there was something immeasurably lonesome, endlessly miserable in that robbed figure, now growing indistinct through the falling snow.

Sighing, Fuyu continued her walk, cresting the top of the hill and then making her way into the woods. The more she walked, crunching through the snow, the more a strange mood began to creep over her. She fancied she heard voices, thin little moans, high up in the air over head. There was a chattering of laughter from the kami, or at least what she assumed to be the kami, on the edge of human hearing. Now all the joy and wonder of a walk through a first snowfall had vanished. The familiar rocks and trees were grotesque in the twilight, threatening. On more than one occasion she had come across monstrous forms pressing themselves between the shadows of trees, under fallen stones, swinging through the naked branches. However, these only turned out to be rotten logs or dry leaves caught in bare bushes, tricks of the snow. She felt like a dog whose senses have alerted her to the sort of unseen terrors humans can only discern when it is far, far too late. These woods did not feel like her own just then, and that, more than all the queer sights and sounds, was what scared her. It wasn’t the idea of something following her that she could not see that caused her to sweat, despite the cold, it was the terror that within her some primal consciousness that she did not know she even possessed had suddenly come awake. Men did not scare her. Demons, though, did.

Finally, at long last, she found herself leaving the woods and entering her own clearing. Smoke curled from her chimney, which meant she had a guest. As she stopped to open the door to her hut she thought she heard a faint sound, a far off noise: alien, unrecognizable. She forgot the door was latched and pushed it harder than she intended. The rope broke and the wooden door swung into the room. There were no spirits inside, at least nothing to harm her. Turning sharply around from the smoldering fire sat an old Ainu woman, a neighbor who had just been in the process of filling her pipe. At the woman’s feet was Kuzunoha, Fuyu’s silver-tailed fox, who grinned, showing the tip of her teeth.

“Auntie Marewrew-sama!” Fuyu cried, for she had not been expecting company. “Please forgive my absence. Is anything wrong?” She worried when the old woman came unexpectedly, for it almost always meant that one of Marewrew’s large family was dead or gravely ill.

“I do not know.”

The old woman smiled as Fuyu carefully shut and barred the door using the rope she had recently broken.

“A dream told me to come here, so here I am.”

“A dream? What is it?”

“You know, those pictures in your head when you sleep, but that’s not important right now. A dream is a dream is a dream. But you were not home. So I waited and made supper.” She nodded at the dull embers. Fuyu saw she had a pot on the fire, with a hacked-off joint of dog meat bubbling away. “Koinu wa stew.”

Fuyu was glad to see her old neighbor, for she was so chilled and tired from her walk. It was not good to sit alone in a hut of the first winter’s night and know there was something out in all that darkness hunting for you.

When there was no more Koinu wa stew left they sat close together near the fire with Kuzunoha sleeping comfortably on Fuyu’s lap. Outside the wind had risen, full of lamentation in the branches that sounded something like the chatter of the little people of the forest. Fuyu saw that her adopted auntie was not ready to start for home, though the hour was growing late.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Marewrew asked, without a smile this time, almost anxiously. “It is a bad night.”

Fuyu was pleased with the request, but she asked if the old woman’s family would worry.

“They know where I went. They would only be worried if they knew I was outside and not in here.”

The old Ainu listened for a while to the wind, staring into the embers. Then she tossed a bark-covered log on it so that the sparks flew up the chimney.

“The Korobokkuru have left this part of the country,” Marewrew suddenly announced. “Men-folk chopping down trees, cutting into mountains, cursing the land with I don’t know what.”

Fuyu nodded. She knew all about the Ainu’s belief in the “the little people below the leaves of the butterbur plant,” as they were called, the Korobokkuru, who helped farmers and aided the lost. She had never seen any evidence of their existence, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. If Marewrew said they had left that part of Hokkaido then they probably had.

It took Marewrew a while to fill her pipe. If Fuyu had not been used to her ways she could never have known that the old woman’s eyes were not on the clay bowl in her hand, but on her young host’s face, half-hidden in the shadows.

“Two days,” Marewrew said abruptly. “In two days we are going to leave here.”

“What? Where to?”

“Lake Kussharo.”

“Why?” Fuyu was astounded. Marewrew’s family had not abandoned their homestead in all the time she could remember.

“I told you, the Korobokkuru are not coming back. It isn’t any good here.”

“But …”

Fuyu wondered if the old woman was afraid of the report that a few stray wolves that had come down off the mountains, earlier that year, for food had been scarce. But she knew that was nonsense. There was no fox, wolf or bear alive that Marewrew would see as a danger; a danger so terrible she would willingly abandon her family’s ancestors in their clay jars just to relocate to the shores of lake Kussharo. It must be something else.

“I tell you that it isn’t any good,” the old woman repeated; she lifted one long, muscled saffron hand solemnly. “You should come with us.”

Fuyu laughed. “And do what, Auntie-sama? Starve? It’s winter. Plus, there are wolves up by Kussharo, too, I am told. No thank you.”

The two women fell into a tense silence. The fire between them cracked and sputtered. Finally Fuyu broke the silence.

“Auntie, who was the strange nun I met today on the road heading to Hai Yo-tsuoni?”

“A nun, you say? Was it Mother Oki? no? Mother Erai?”

“No. She was much younger, but tired-looking and one of her legs was crippled.”

“Crippled! You mean she was dragging her leg behind her?”

Marewrew jumped off her stool and stood before Fuyu, suddenly tall and alarmed. The younger woman had never seen her neighbor so excited as she was now.

“Er, I don’t know.”

“You saw a strange nun not from these parts, you say? No, I do not believe it. That cannot be her. Still … still … you must come with us, daughter, to Kussharo!”

“Tell me about the nun first,” Fuyu began, still in a bit of shock.

“A lame oni, a lame woman, a lame nun, — one and the same and none of them are all any good!” Marewrew said, spitting into the fire. “We cannot leave tonight, but tomorrow, at dawn, we must be gone.”

Though it was not late Fuyu was more tired than she realize. Long after she had gone to her sleeping mat in the corner, however, Fuyu saw Marewrew’s wrinkled face alert and listening by firelight. She absentmindedly played with an object of some kind in her two hands. The wind had died away; there was no more fairy laughter to be heard. She fell to sleep with Kuzunoha wrapped around her neck and to the sound of the fire, the soft pat of snow against the roof. But the straight old figure in her chair sat rigid, waiting, as if she were holding a vigil with the dead.

lost in the clouds

27 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by in Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

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lost in clouds

Reading in the cold of the afternoon
I grow sleepy, stand up to get my blood
flowing. Under my window there’s a dune
of snow, a hillock. I have tried acid,
hashish and opium, but none of them
bring me such visions as that half-way state
between our life and death. When the warm phlegm
freezes in my throat, and all my deadweight
pushes upon my heart, then the dreams come.
Then I leave this body, cold as iron,
and fly, as Basho said, like “wild geese lost
in the clouds.” There is a lovely wisdom
to be found, lost in clouds. When I return
I find my poor body covered in frost.

* * *

Note:

The Japanese poet Matsuo Basho wrote the haiku I’m quoting part of. The whole poem reads: “Friends part/ forever — wild geese/ lost in cloud.” Ah, heartache.

varghonans

27 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

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... varghonans is swedish for female wolf

… varghonans is swedish for female wolf

* * *

It has turned bitter. The mountains look scarred
and blue in this light. Up from my village
is a waterfall; last night it froze hard.
Ice scares me. Far out in the dark savage
spaces I can hear wolf calls and other
voices, too. The rays of the setting sun,
ghostly, shines through our cooking smoke. Lover,
you are with your pack. Your clan that you run
with, that would kill me for blood sport. I hear
your song that hovers up in the cold air.
A song of the wild hunt warming my hut.
No one knows that you love me, for you fear
for my life. It’s why you keep our affair
from your Varghonans sisters a secret.

that’s enough for me

15 Friday Feb 2013

Posted by in Illustration and art, Poetry, self-portrait, sonnet

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putney in wintertime.

putney in wintertime.

London and a diet of shrimp curry,
Southern Comfort, hashish; I can recall
my poor hip pressed up against your icy

wall. We spooned all “winta.” Your Gravesend drawl
made me giggle. We loved Aladdin Sane.

I won’t list faults. Complaining kinda blows.

Why should I complain about love? Complain
it did not work? As if no beasts, heroes,
singers or thinkers ever once fucked up.

We don’t talk about redheaded witchcraft
or She Who Cannot Be Named. Talk is cheap.

Betrayal poems cheaper. I’m grown up.
You’re dead … so what? Once you told me you laughed
with joy as I lay in your arms, asleep.

upon a hint of ginger

02 Saturday Feb 2013

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A scent comes back to me. The last safe love
I knew smelled of pinon nuts, a winter
in New Mexico. Brine from an olive
still scares me. A bastard of a lover
ruined cloves and made the hint of Old Spice
into fear. A boy I loved in fishnet
stockings knew how to make plums smell like vice.
I have forgotten names. I don’t forget
the musk you once used to mask your true scent.
There’s no hiding from that. But memories
of scents are either sad joys or hell-bent
dread and nothing else … nothing that can please.
How odd that the one who loved me the most
turned this mild whiff into a vengeful ghost.

yuki-onna, the snow woman

24 Thursday May 2012

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yuki-onna, the snow woman

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.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

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.”

“Like this?”

“Tighter.”

“Like this?”

“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.