text: The flickering of the tiny oil lamp barely illuminated the smoothness of her bare skin. She trembled slightly, less at the kiss of cold air on her exposed back than from tension and fright. The symbols that decorated the walls of the tiny hut, the brass and wood and paper objects scattered about—caldrons, weapons, scrolls, inscribed boards—all spoke of power. Before her, the cold, handsome man regarded her impassively. Outside, the last cold winds of winter howled like beaten wolves driven before the sun. It was the thaw of the sixth year of the Genwa period, almost twenty years since the Tokugawa clan had become the paramount clan in the islands of the Japans, and their head had been named Shogun by the All under Heaven. Across continents and oceans, other men of strange appearance, with red hair and barbaric ways (and, some said, tails) reckoned it as the year 1621 of their saviour.
  
  The man moved at last. He had a thin, handsome face, and his glittering eyes were sunk deeply into their sockets. He pointed to his lap with one hand while with the other performing an intricate flexing of the fingers: a mudra of power.
  
  "Undo me," he said. His voice had a peculiar resonance to it. It expected immediate obedience. Nothing could stand in the way of a will such as the one that owned that voice. She knelt before him. Her long hair fell over her shoulders. Small breasts swung forward, their finger-thick nipples puckered by the cold. She wished he would grab them, grab her, do something that any other man would do in the circumstances.
  
  She undid his robe, then the loincloth beneath. His cock lay flaccid in a nest of black hairs. She cupped the limp thing in her hands. It seemed as if it were the only warm thing in the room. Shivering with cold, she clutched it to her. Without his urging she bent further. Her breath blew cool against the shrivelled skin. The tiny pink tip of her tongue peeped forth and barely touched the warmth, then hurriedly fled back into the coolness of her mouth. She opened her moist lips, and the lower softness caught the tip of his strength. She sucked him in, enjoying the soft, almost helpless feel of him in her mouth. Her liquid tongue laved the length of his fleshy extrusion.
  
  With a suddenness that almost caused her to leap back, his cock expanded in her mouth. The long shaft filled the cool, sweet cavern, and the tip pushed against her uvula. She struggled to control her gag reflex, overcoming it only when she moved her head back. But he stiffened slightly, and she sensed his displeasure. In expiation, her tongue laved the length of the shaft as far as she could reach. She moved her head back and forth, the ring of her lips milking the length of the warm pole. Sucking on the end like a hungry honeybee, she began frigging the length of his cock, from hairy ballbag to her own chin.
  
  His lips pursed to a thin line, and his hands dropped lightly to her shoulders. He stroked the muscles of her neck, digging thumbs into the muscles of her jaw, and she gasped in pain through her full mouth. She moved uncomfortably, and his movements eased. Again she stroked the feverish shaft. Her cheeks hollowed, and she sucked ravenously at the plum-shaped knob. A faint salty taste permeated her mouth. Her sucking pressure increased, as did the speed of her hands. His hands were resting lightly on her head. She could tell by the contraction of his scrotum that his climax was near. She wished he would let her get some relief too. The taste and smell of his crotch brought on her own randiness, and she rubbed her thighs together as she crouched before him.
  
  He raised her, and she stood trembling. Her smooth skin was unmarked. Thin hips accentuated her flat belly and small erect breasts. Only the thick legs of a peasant marred her perfection. He stroked the length of her flank, then leaned forward to study the dew on her bushy mound. His thumbs parted the lips and slid the length of her labia. She shivered, her channel of love running with her moisture. One thumb penetrated her cavern, and she jogged herself forward and back on the digit. He regarded her movements curiously, then spread her legs farther apart. With the tip of his finger he began tracing signs on the soft flesh of her thigh, then drew her down to kneel before him again. She trembled as he worked, her hands reaching blindly for his smooth, powerful chest, then dropping down in search of his ready erection.
  
  He drew mystic symbols on her skin, his sharp nails marking the golden surface with a flushed line that lingered as if written in fire. He traced the character for beginning, the unknown one for the female principle, marks of power of various sorts. She writhed in his arms. Her breathing was agitated, and a moan escaped her lips.
  
  "More, more, lover!" she whispered in the dark. Panting with desire she sought to force him back and mount him. He resisted powerfully, though his fingers continued their tracing. He returned to the burning cavern of her lower mouth. He twisted the hairs that surrounded it into the seven braids, then pinched the slick lower lips between two sharp nails.
  
  She was almost howling now. Her teeth were flashing, and her hair tossed about. At last she succeeded in forcing him backwards. He fell flat on his back, the pole of his erection jutting into the air. With a howl of hunger that matched the winds outside, she impaled herself roughly on the waiting member. He bore her wild ride patiently, obviously uninterested even when she climaxed and squeezed him to a climax of his own.
  
  He rose, and she bowed deeply to the floor. She looked up, expecting a pleased face to look back into her own. His eyes were indifferent as he motioned her to leave the room.
  
  "She will not do," he called down the mountainside.
  
  Below, in a larger structure, an unseen figure in the dark responded with a disappointed cry.
  
  "Find me another!" commanded the ascetic in the hut, and closed the door. He returned to his meditations while below him his followers filled down the mountain. Salvation was not yet to be.