text: Sugiyama Tamasaburo walked out of the clan elder's villa. His face was set in its normal scowl and expressed none of his feelings. He stood for a second, watching the eddies of dust raised by the wind. Finally he shrugged slightly and turned to go. The clan had no need of his skills, the elders had made that clear in the recent talk. A noted brawler and fencer in a clan that wanted no more trouble with the ruling Tokugawa was an anachronism. He had been told politely, but very firmly, that he would have to find employment elsewhere. His younger brother would eventually inherit his father's post. And the stipend that went with it. Sugiyama shrugged mentally. He did not care for financial security. Nor the boredom nor the staid life that went with it. But the affront--being thrown out of the clan--stung deeply. His shadow preceded him in the late afternoon. The small townlet had few pleasures to offer, but right now he needed at least one of them. He headed for a house he knew. There was a young wife there. She had been accommodating to him in the past. She was available, and he was in the mood for a woman right now. Unrelieved violence did that to him sometimes. Townsmen, seeing the thunder-visaged samurai, scurried out of Sugiyama's way. They knew that an expression such as Sugiyama bore on his face was an invitation to trouble. Moreover, his reputation as a brawler preceded him.
  
  He stopped before the house. Wood had faded to grey, thatching straw was sticking out untidily. He bent under the straggling thatch and stomped inside. The plump woman looked up from the mortar. Sweat had beaded her brow and her sleeves were held back by a sash tied crosswise over her patched blue gown. Her face was pockmarked, but otherwise roundly open. She saw Sugiyama and alarm showed on her face.
  
  "You must not be here at this time," she hissed, staring past the stocky samurai. "Not at this hour!" There was a hint of supplication in her voice.
  
  He said nothing as he stepped onto the cracked wood of the house platform. He drew his sword, still in its sheath, from his sash and laid it beside him. She watched his actions as a rabbit does a snake's. Before she could say a thing he had her by the shoulders and she was being pulled backwards. She struggled fruitlessly. He pushed her down and flipped open her worn gown. She tried to fend him off with one hand while covering the triangle of fur at the juncture of her legs with the other. Without haste, using only a portion of his strength he forced her knees open and slapped away her hands, then knelt between her thighs.
  
  His cock was thick, throbbing with impatient lust. He forced the crown at the entrance to her cunt.
  
  "Let me prepare first," she begged.
  
  Sugiyama ignored her and pushed strongly forward, embedding the tip in the dry hole. She sobbed and tried to relax and ignore the painful penetration. With one thrust he was up her channel. She protested weakly, pushing against him with her palms, to no avail. He rose on his hips, mashing down on her pubic bone to increase the penetration. His hands groped for her soft small breasts and his mouth searched for hers. She turned her face away and he nuzzled into her neck. His ass started bobbing and his long dark pole shuttled greasily into her cunt. She sobbed, now partly from awakening lust as her moisture started to rise. She knew he was always like this, and that if she wanted any pleasure, she had better get it before he came. He removed one hand from her breast and crushed one of her buns to him. She raised her legs to facilitate his entry and locked them over his heaving back. Her eyes were partly closed now as she allowed him freedom to do with her what he willed. Sugiyama was panting audibly now and his stones were slapping wetly against her raised ass. Both his hands were clutching at the soft buns, powerful fingers dimpling the skin deeply. She cried out and closed her eyes just as his own lust exploded, drenching her willing but far from satisfied insides. She heaved her hips up at him, hoping for some more, hoping for her own dew to descend. He endured her frantic motions for a minute, then pulled out of her and groped for something to wipe his cock. She looked at him reproachfully but did not dare complain.
  
  "Hey! What the devil do you think you're doing!" The watchman's rough voice broke into his pleasure. Sugiyama acted reflexively. His short-sword, still sheathed, was out of his sash and, held reversed, hilt forward, blocked the blow of the staff at his head. He rose in one smooth motion. He unsheathed the wakizashi with his right hand, turned right and the short-sword cut across the man's belly. He twirled the hilt in his hand, then plunged the blade twice in a smooth motion into the heavyset man. The staff clattered to floor, followed by the hollow thump of the body.
  
  Sugiyama ignored the frenzied screaming as he pulled his clothes together. Only a slight smile betrayed the pleasure he felt as he walked out of the house. Neighbors hovered uncertainly, waiting only for the sight of his back before they could rush inside. He walked out of the town. Passing the house of the ward headman he stopped and entered.
  
  "I have killed the night firewatchman," he said formally.
  
  The headman gulped, but did not rise from his bow.
  
  "He was impertinent. Report that to the city magistrate. You know my name?"
  
  The headman nodded fearfully. Sugiyama's reputation preceded him.
  
  "Good. Don't forget to report."
  
  He headed eastward, his shadow going before him. Behind, had he cared to notice, he would have heard the wailing of the new widow, and the gnashing of helpless townsmen's teeth.