text: Osatsuki cast one last look down the trail, through the square torii arch, at the face of her friend and apprentice. Midori looked back at her elder sister, unable to erase the worry from her face. No women had gone through the arch in living or recorded memory. Osatsuki was the first, and Midori feared for her. Vague tales of the magic doings on the mountains rose persistently into her mind. She banished them forcefully, reminding herself of the master's power and righteousness, but they returned again unbidden.
  
  The last of the white-clad novices, trailed by a brightly dressed vanguard of senior men, disappeared past a curve in the trail. Midori still stood and stared, confusion and unhappiness on her face.
  
  "Well, come on, love. Let's get a move on. Can't stand there all day."
  
  "Lost a lover, dearie?" another of the yamabushi women laughed.
  
  "Yow, but she don't have a cock neither," a third giggled.
  
  "Oh, shut up!" demanded Midori fiercely as they turned down the trail. She hoisted up her goza mat and the small bag of her possessions. She was still worried, but there was money to be made before the men returned. Just in case... just in case the master was wrong and the millennium, with gold coins showering from the skies and rice bales for the asking, did not come.
  
  The group of yamabushi women paused at one of the larger temples down the trail. They turned in to the temple courtyard, to rest under the eaves and drink from the spring that bubbled near the entrance. Some prayed before the temple doors; the rest sat and chattered.
  
  A tall, massively built samurai entered the compound. He was filthy and stained from travel, his clothes plain. His unshaven pate marked him as a lordless man: a ronin. He drank thirstily, then looked around. Seeing the women, he drifted casually towards them. Noticing his arrival, some of the younger women eyed him sideways. The older ones, knowing that ronin were penniless more often than not, ignored the man. He looked the women over casually as he approached the steps to the temple, fumbling in his sleeve for a coin to throw into the offertory box.
  
  The memory of a conversation floated into Midori's thoughts. The ronin was very big, and his hands were enormous. Also, his features were slightly strange. There was something Elder Sister Osatsuki had said about one of her friends... Yes, that he was the son of a southern barbarian father. If so, perhaps help, or at least a way to calm her fears, was near. She looked to either side at her companions. If there were only some way to attract his attention without drawing theirs... The massive figure bulked before her.
  
  "Excuse me, lovely lady. Could I entice you to indulge me?"
  
  The group of women sitting on the temple steps had attracted Jiro's attention from the start. He had climbed the path up Yoshino Hill, stopping at each concentration of yamabushi he passed to examine the women. So far he had seen no trace of Osatsuki, though it appeared that many of the yamabushi were in a frenzy of excitement over something. That was their affair, however, and Jiro continued on, merely becoming more alert than before. Among the women sitting on the stairs was one who momentarily drew his attention. Her features were more regular than the others', the hair a fine soft brown. Unusual for a common woman and whore. For a moment, while she sat still under the shade of the porch, he thought it was Osatsuki. The brown haired woman's movements were very much like the Miyako courtesan's. As he moved closer, however, the similarity vanished. It was merely a similarity of gesture.
  
  He walked to the porch, and the woman stared at him thoughtfully, then looked at her companions to either side. Something caught Jiro's eye. It was a hairpin worn by Brown Hair. The visible end was decorated by an enamelled polychrome of azalea leaves. Jiro knew that the part stuck in her hair was a blade of the finest steel. He had seen Okiku make it herself, as a gift for her friend Satsuki—Azalea—and he himself had taken the blade to be enamelled.
  
  For a moment he wondered how he could find a way to talk to the woman; then he laughed inwardly. The mat tied in a roll to her back was the obvious clue. He bowed slightly to her and indicated his desires.
  
  The couple walked into the grove, staying within sight of the women, who observed them casually from the stairs.
  
  "Are you perhaps from Miyako?" The girl's voice was pleasant and polite, in contrast to the other whores' chattering behind him.
  
  "Yes," he grunted shortly, trying to work out a way to inquire about the pin.
  
  "Perhaps you are acquainted with the Gion area?"
  
  He turned and frowned at her, then nodded shortly.
  
  "Then perhaps you have heard of a certain woman, Osatsuki by name?"
  
  "What do you know of her!" he asked, gripping her shoulders roughly.
  
  She laughed lightly, and her friends, keeping an eye out for her protection, relaxed. "Not so roughly, please, Mr. Samurai. Are you perhaps acquainted, too, with a woman named Okiku?"
  
  He nodded again, his brows contracting. "I am Miura Jiro of Miyako. I know Osatsuki, and Miura Okiku is my wife. You will tell me what you know of them!"
  
  She knelt down and spread her mat. "You must make love to me now."
  
  "Here? In full sight?"
  
  "They are merely seeing to my well-being. They will follow if we are completely out of sight. Here we are slightly hidden, and no one will suspect us or fear for me. Come, join me. There is a message for you." She lay down and spread her thighs. He lay down beside her, and she loosened the ties of his trousers expertly. She delved inside his pants, and his flaccid cock rose to the challenge. She laughed softly. He pulled aside the hems of her robe and exposed the length of her legs. They were smooth and rather pale for a country woman. The pads of his fingers travelled their way up the soft inner parts of her thighs until he reached the juncture of her spread legs. He touched the first of her pussy hairs, and his cock stiffened at the challenge. The hairs were unusually soft, softer even than Rosamund's, he noted.
  
  Jiro bent forward and kissed her on the lips. She looked at him in surprise, unaccustomed perhaps to such practices from her customers. He grinned at her, admiring the smooth lines of her face, then bent to kiss her again. Midori responded this time. Her tongue, trained in a different mouth by her elder sister, snaked out and licked delicately at his. The young samurai pressed his mouth onto hers, and his fingers penetrated her lower lips, precipitating a plentiful flood of dew there.
  
  They loosened one another's clothing. Jiro's large hands roved over Midori's slim body. Her nipples were taut, and he pressed the rubbery nubs into the buttery softness of her breasts. Her tongue licked out and laved his ear while her hands dug into his back urging him on. Jiro rolled onto her, and she spread her legs and raised her knees for him. He guided his stiff prick into her opening. The thick, warm shaft parted the slick lips of her cunt, and he pushed himself forward. Her channel was elastic and very deep for a small woman. The head of his pillar sought the depths until its penetration was blocked by the merging of their hairs at its root.
  
  He pulled back, and Midori dug her strong fingers into the muscles of his ass. She enjoyed the feel of those muscles, knowing they would soon bring her pleasure, and her fingers applied more pressure than was really needful. He grunted and pushed forward again. Her tiny clitoris was mashed beneath the power of his pubis, and she wriggled her hips to show her appreciation. Jiro started to pull back again, but the brown-haired girl stopped him.
  
  "Now we must talk!" she said firmly.
  
  "Now?" the young man, sunk in her juicy interior to the hilt, was obviously surprised. His tone hardened. "I've been without a woman for a long time now. You must not get me into this state and then..."
  
  "And I without a man," she said calmly. "But we must not allow our preferences to interfere with our duty to our friend. We must avert suspicion this way. If we were to stand and talk, my companions would be suspicious and perhaps come to see what we were doing." She clenched her thighs around his back. To the outside world, her smooth face wore no particular expression. Inwardly, however, she was grinning happily. Most men finished too soon to suit her. Having this large samurai lend his prick for her pleasure was a comfort. By the time she allowed him to move again, she would be ready too.
  
  "I will move slightly," she added sweetly, "so that we will not arouse suspicion."
  
  "Tell me about Osatsuki!" he commanded.
  
  "She and I travelled together for some time..." She described the circumstances, and then her fears for her friend. "You must go after them. Taking a woman into the mountain is most unusual. And I have a bad feeling that she may not come out again."
  
  "Why do you fear that?"
  
  "I don't know," she said, "but the whole thing is very strange."
  
  He contemplated her face for a while, as she jogged her hips in place to keep him pleasantly hard. He rubbed his loins in a circular motion against her and grinned conspiratorially.
  
  "Can you get away from your companions?" he asked suddenly.
  
  "Perhaps." She shrugged. Divining his meaning she asked, "Will it help Elder Sister?"
  
  "I have sent a message to Miyako, and I hope it will be answered. Some friends of mine are waiting at Koya-san, in one of the pilgrim inns below the monastery. Seek them out. Tell them what is happening and have them head back in this direction. I will follow the yamabushi up the mountain. But if I find Osatsuki and manage to escape with her from their clutches, I might need help." He described his friends to her.
  
  "I will do it," Midori said. "But hurry—please hurry. I am so afraid for Elder Sister Osatsuki." She shivered in fear.
  
  The tremour of her frame returned Jiro from contemplation of his duty to the needs of the here and now. He clutched Midori's ass to him and raised himself slightly on his knees, then set to in earnest. The brunette responded fiercely. Her arms clutched at him, roving over his body, tickling his balls, and then rubbing the length of her creamy lips as far as she could reach. Her body arched, and she threw her head back as Jiro plowed into her. His movements became more rapid until at last he stiffened. She bit his shoulder, and a stream of thick seed hosed into her interior, pulsing the length of her gluey channel. She grunted quietly at his weight, and then forgot the familiar discomfort as the tremours in her own body grew into a wild climax.
  
  They rested thus for a while until Midori, with an expert and well-practiced twitch of her body, rolled the young man off her. He lay on his back and contemplated the dappling of the leaves high above them.
  
  "You must pay me something," grinned Midori, her eyes on her companions who waited on the temple steps.
  
  Jiro's eyes opened wide. "I am sorry. I have absolutely nothing to pay you with. When you find my friends, they will be able to repay you for all you have done..."
  
  "Oh, just like a samurai!" she said in exasperation. She smiled then. "I should be used to it by now. Slide your hand into my sash. There is a string of cash there." He did as he was told and palmed the small string of copper cash. The square-holed coins, threaded on a string, clinked dully. He passed the money to her ostentatiously, and she laughed in bitter amusement.