text: The leader of the yamabushi band seemed asleep or dead. There was no color to his face, and his eyes were closed, his muscles slack. She examined him closely, unsure for a moment of his identity. It was indeed Daisangyoja. He was dressed in white, weaponless and seeming harmless. A man peacefully dead. No, she decided, he must be meditating. He was seated in double lotus, his feet resting on his knees, his hands twisted behind his back and joining in front. His broad chest was stuck out as he held his own feet. She drew back, intending to run for help, fearful of his awakening.
  
  Her movement was arrested in mid-motion. Unconsciously while she thought her hand stirred the thicket between her legs. Slowly, resolution budded in her. She turned away, only to return with her sash and the weighted length of chain that had served her so well as a weapon. It was work of a moment to tie him hand to foot. She stood back and admired her handiwork.
  
  Neither a foot she shoved roughly into his face, nor cold water dashed there seemed to wake the man. Rosamund stood back and considered. She spied his sword leaning against the inside of the niche and cut his clothes from him. As Satsuki had noted, he had an impressive physique, though somewhat stringy for Rosamund's taste. She leaned forward and warmed her hands on his genitalia. The cock was flaccid for a while, the balls in their silky bag warm to her touch. Her hands and his natural reactions warmed up at the same time, as his cock rose slowly to full erection. She fondled it for a long moment, then bent forward and licked the tip slowly and sensuously. The rate of his breathing increased, she noted. Her treatment, she well knew, would bring any man out of a trance.
  
  Now for the final act. She straddled the seated figure. The walls of the niche were narrow and scraped her sides, but she managed to lower herself onto the waiting pole. She teased herself for a while, not allowing the desired mouthful to penetrate her lower lips; then with a sigh she relaxed her thigh muscles and tensed those inside her. Gravity alone impaled her with exquisite slowness on his turgid erection.
  
  She bounced for a while, making herself comfortable and not incidentally putting pressure on his hands and feet. His breathing quickened, and his eyelids began to flutter. Without warning she squeezed her inner muscles. His eyes snapped open, and he looked into her face. Instinctively he pushed forward, and the juices in his balls sped upwards. He jerked in surprise as his orgasm splashed warm liquid into Rosamund's waiting channel. She leaned forward and bit his lips, sunk in her own pleasure.
  
  He tried to heave her off, then discovered his bound condition. She slapped his cheeks playfully, then, in a more serious vein, contracted the muscles of her interior. He glared at her, trying to scare her away with his fierceness.
  
  She laughed heartily at him.
  
  "I am Daisangyoja, the living incarnation of the mighty En-no-gyoja. Who are you to disturb my meditations?" His breath quickened, and he writhed, trying to free himself from the caverns of flesh and rock that engulfed him. She smiled sweetly, then clenched her vaginal muscles spasmodically. He winced with the unexpected pain.
  
  "You do not know who I am," she said triumphantly. "I am the friend of one whom you sought to bury alive in your unholy rites. One of those you tried to kill yesterday." She glared at him, no longer amused.
  
  "She would have won everlasting life!" he shouted. His shout was ended with a yelp as once again she applied her slick, well-trained insides to his member.
  
  "No! She would have won death. Now I will try you. I will strangle you to the death you wanted with my bare..." She paused to giggle as the sense of what she was saying broke through to her. He stared at her in horrified fascination, and she emphasized her meaning by squeezing once again.
  
  "But... but... that is unnatural," he said. "The female principle must not be dominant! I'll never be reborn in my proper shape!"
  
  "Too bad!" She smiled at him again. "In any case, you're wrong. I am dominant. You will see..."
  
  She set to work on him in earnest. Her milk-white hips moved her heavy ass up and down his cock. The slick insides of her cunt laved the length of his heated shaft. He tried to ignore the sensation, starting the complicated words of a ritual to exorcise demons, but the sensations of her cuntal tissues penetrated the words and broke him out of his trance. Unwillingly, unable to control his traitorous body, his hips began to respond to her movements. The pain was terrible. He was used to sitting in the position for hours, but not chained and confined the way he was.
  
  The pulse beat in his head, and his cock throbbed with painful anticipation. Way below, at the bottom of his scrotum, uncontrollable forces gathered. He gritted his teeth, and she laughed in triumph. She leaned back and gathered her rosy-tipped breasts together, raised them to his face, and rubbed them across his unshaven jaws. He snapped at the perfect white mounds, capturing a bit of skin and biting down hard on one of them as she jerked the tempting mouthfuls away. She yowled as a drop of blood appeared, and squeezed his prick with such force that he groaned. He groaned again as a rush of sperm from his balls spurted the length of his cock and flooded her insides. Again and again, like a hooked fish, he drove uncontrollably into her. The waves of pain and pleasure subsided at last, leaving him only with a feeling of heaviness and a reminder of pain. Surprisingly, her versatile cunt still held him in a crushing grip.
  
  "You have won, this round at least," he said. "I shall have to meditate for a long while before I am pure enough to try the Way again."
  
  She shook her head, and the golden fall of her hair swirled around her face. "No. I am not finished with you." Her inner muscles began milking his rod with renewed fervor. To his horror he found himself responding again. This time the orgasm was longer in arriving. He twisted in her arms, trying to shake her free. Waves of pleasure swallowed up his will, and the struggle turned to forceful thrustings as she bounced over him. He cried out as a thin stream of come spurted from the tip of his member, joining the rivulets that made their joining parts a humid swamp. His head sagged, but within, he knew she could not tempt him again.
  
  He was wrong. Without cease, and against his wishes, Rosamund brought him again and again to climax, until the dusty floor he sat on became a morass of mud. Finally he knew he could not go on any longer. Rosamund looked down into his eyes, fierce blue eyes, unnaturally large and round, looking into the eyes of the would-be sage. She laughed, and her body shook. Even in his exhaustion and humiliation he found himself unable to ignore the beauty of her full white breasts as they billowed before his eyes with her full laugh.
  
  Rosamund's hands began stroking his body sensuously. Her fingertips ran over his exposed skin, leaving trails of electric thrills behind. They descended lower, scratching at his pubic hair, then somehow insinuating themselves lower, tickling his exhausted ballbags. Her lips and teeth nibbled at his ears, his shoulders, his neck, his chest. Inside her, he felt his flagging prick revive. Be still! he commanded his mind, but the rebellious member, detached from thought, raised it head again. Her smooth inner muscles milked him incessantly, and to his horror he found his whole body responding once again.
  
  The woman riding him showed signs of arousal too. She twisted incessantly in his lap, gouging sharp edges of rock into his behind. She threw her head back, exposing the pale whiteness of her throat, emphasized by the faint blue of her veins. He leaped forward with his teeth. Rosamund jerked her head back just in time, though the sharp nip of his teeth grazing her skin brought added and unexpected pleasure. She let herself go fully now. Her cunt squeezed his cock forcefully, urging it more fully into her. Her hands and teeth were busy as his fettered body, urging it on to a final climax that was already building inevitably in her own down-covered mound.
  
  The climb to a climax was slower this time. Daisangyoja was almost detached from his laboring body. His breath, coming in gasps, was that of a cornered animal. Their approach to the peak she sought and he avoided was slow and torturous but speeding up with every move and every moment.
  
  She squeezed now in earnest. His cock was in a soft, infinitely strong vise. Stronger than the power of his magic, softer than the infinity he had sought before in the Way. His throat was too dry, his power too exhausted to control himself. Veins bulged in his face. His eyes rolled back in his head, and spittle tinged pink with blood emerged from between clenched lips. Racking sounds came from his throat. He heaved convulsively, once, and again. The second heave was so strong that Rosamund was flung off her perch. He let out one final yellowing growl and collapsed. His body fell sideways, seeming to collapse in on itself.
  
  He was dead. There was nothing left of the feared Daisangyoja but a dry husk of a man.
  
  Rosamund staggered erect and looked at him long and tiredly. Then she bent and did what had to be done.