text: Okiku peered into the dark and debated whether to join the dance. Rosamund's snoring had forced her out of the confines of the boat. Her seasickness had worn off, and with its departure had come a desire for adventure. She drifted unnoticed from one group of onlookers to another, using skills developed through years of training as a spy and assassin. She paused behind a group of rural samurai and eavesdropped unashamedly. The men were debating the merits of the dancers, and the tone was not theoretical.
  
  Okiku knew, of course, that some samurai used their immunity from normal processes of law to prey on commoner women, particularly in festival time when youth was at its best. She disliked the idea, but as a predator herself and a realist, she knew there was no changing the world. The local villagers, however, had hit on a device to foil their would-be attackers. Dancers, male and female alike, were disguised by masks. Abducting a pliant village girl was one thing; abducting a violence-inclined young farmer, one who would undoubtedly struggle, who might have friends, another. Moreover, with faces covered how was one to know whether one's intended victim was worth the effort?
  
  The samurai were debating the issue with some frustration, when a malicious thought occurred to Okiku. Their eyes and attention were on the dancers, their ears assaulted by the music. One of the men was standing a little behind the rest. It was the work of a moment for Okiku to strike the samurai's jugular with a pointed-knuckled fist and to drag his unconscious form into the dark.
  
  The young man opened his eyes and tried to groan. A sash bound his jaws, and all he could get out was a mewing sound. He was naked and somewhat cold. He tried to move in the dark, and found he was bound with the cords from his own swords. The one who had tied him was a master of the art of hojo-jutsu, by which a captive can be subdued. None of the knots yielded, and his hands remained tied behind his back.
  
  "Enjoy rape, don't you?" inquired a voice above him.
  
  In the dark he could barely make out a shape that straddled him. A cold blade touched his neck, then traced a line down his chest to his belly. He braced himself to die.
  
  "How would you like to go on living?" asked the voice.
  
  Hope blazed in the man's eyes, and he nodded vigorously. Dying gloriously in battle was one thing; dying bound and helpless, quite another...
  
  "Get an erection!" commanded the voice, by now identifiably female. His surprise echoed even through the jaw bindings.
  
  "You heard. Stimulate yourself. Get an erection. I want to see that cock stuck up like your prissy self. Lets get a cockstand, boy—or aren't you able? Think of your wife, think of the girls in the dance, your servant, your hand—I don't care. Or else..." The sword tip descended until it pinked the base of his cock lightly, then withdrew.
  
  The samurai lay on his back. His eyes closed, and he imagined every erotic thing he could think of. His first woman... a servant at his father's house... the pleasure quarters on his one visit to Edo... other encounters through the years. His cock rose to its full glory, hovering over his belly.
  
  Okiku looked down at her captive. He was pitiful, she decided, but still, her captive. She raised her robe and squatted, impaling herself on the glowing pole. She let her entire weight down on the man. "If I'm not satisfied, I'll cut it off," she said conversationally.
  
  Rocking back and forth on her captive brought Okiku's lust well up to pitch. She regretted that his hands were tied, but she knew he would kill her if he got free. She recalled a similar instance—her first meeting with Goemon—when they had fought with swords and ended fighting with their genitalia. The images conjured translated themselves into a lustful frenzy. She bit and clawed the man beneath her, ramming herself furiously onto his supine body while her lust broke.
  
  She came in flashes of hot pleasure that made the man squeal as his balls were mashed beneath her ass. She mashed her mouth against his bound lips, then bit his neck and chest in a frenzy. Under her the man twisted in a mixture of lust and terror. When she finished, she noted that his tremours were increasing. His eyes were glazed and his hips bucked into hers. Notwithstanding the terror of her sword, the man beneath her was sobbing into an uncontrollable orgasm. Maliciously, Okiku rose from above him. A stream of white fluid splashed on his heaving belly, streaking his body with glistening drops.
  
  She laughed and rearranged her clothing. "Let someone find you like that, my friend," she said over her shoulder as she walked off into the night. Philosophically, the bound man went over the night's events again, hoping for another miracle to occur.
  
  There was the sound of a scuffle in the dark by a small shed. Cautiously, Okiku peered in. It appeared the samurai had made up their mind after all. Her first instinct was to reach for her weapons, but closer investigation changed her mind. Okiku settled down to watch.