text: Peering through the crack in the sliding doors Ito Shinichi huddled in the darkness of the bedding closet. He licked his lips while one hand fumbled at his crotch.
  
  Before him, oblivious of his scrutiny, Ito Haruko was flat on her back. Both her thin legs were raised to the ceiling. Uemura crouched over her, topknot awry. He was sweating visibly. He looked down at the juncture of their legs, at his own thick and now bejuiced pole that was shuttling in and out of the black furry thicket at the base of Haruko's stomach. He pulled her legs apart as wide as he could and rested his entire weight on his long shaft that was sinking out of sight into her flesh. Her cunt hair was sparse and the grip of her cunt lips on his cock was visible every time he withdrew.
  
  "Reluctant to let me go, eh, reluctant to let me go," he was muttering through clenched teeth. His perfect hairdo was undone and he was breathing stertorously.
  
  Haruko clutched at her sharp small breasts, squeezing them roughly. "Deeper!" she commanded. "Dig that cock in deeper. Now, now!" She half raised herself, belly muscles ridging, in an effort to see how deep he was in her. She saw the pulsing of his organ. "Don't come, don't finish now!" she cried and grasped the root where it merged with the soft bag. The pulsing stopped though Uemura's face turned as purple as the tip of his prick. He let her legs down and she hurriedly motioned him onto his back. She knelt over his face and parted the long inner lips of her cunt. They stuck out over the outer ones and he parted the two flaps with his tongue. She bounced up and down, fucking herself with the tongue he held obligingly erect. One hand diddled her clitoris while the other snaked over his chest to his erect member. She teased the monster for awhile, moving it to and fro over his belly, then set to work with her hand, exciting it to a red randiness. Uemura gripped her thigh, then inserted one hand between her buttocks. She raised her head with pleasure. He inserted a finger gradually to the portal of her anus. Haruko stopped her ministrations to his cock and moved the hand away. "I don't like that," she scolded.
  
  He desisted, but his tongue tired and he started sucking the inner labia with his lips. Haruko moved away and raised herself over his erection. Guiding it with one hand, she sank down gradually until he was engulfed entirely in her warm soft cavern. Her fingers dug into his chest and she bit him painfully.
  
  "Now I'm going to fuck you," she said crudely, and started bucking over his supine form. He tried to help her, raising and lowering her hips, but soon knew it was unnecessary. She was lost in a world of her own pleasure. Her hands squeezed her rather sharp breasts with almost painful intensity. A lock of black hair fell over her eyes from her elaborate hairdo. Uemura took the opportunity to please himself, touching and pinching her skin, drawing figures on it with his nails.
  
  Her eyes flew open and she stared blindly at the clothing closet before them, then rammed her hips deeply onto his cock. Her sharp pubic bone dug into his and he raised his own hips, hoping to come as well. She rocked and raved above him, spittle splattering his chest. Her hair was wild and she held him down below her with a violent grip. Slowly the spasms subsided. She breathed deeply, then rose off him, searching for some paper to wipe herself. He looked at her retreating thin buttocks ruefully. Without embarrassment, he began stroking his slick staff, looking at Haruko all the while. Ignoring him completely, she prepared her toilet. "I really need a competent maid," she said to herself, peering into the polished silver mirror.
  
  Ito could barely contain himself. The sight of the man masturbating himself to a climax, and the sudden fountain of milky fluid almost made him spurt in sympathy. He crept away hurriedly, tripping the slide behind the closet which allowed him access to his own quarters. He was breathing heavily. His eyes were slightly glazed and he knew he needed relief from the pressures that the scene he had just witnessed had raised. He rushed through the inner rooms to the outermost sliding door of his inner sanctum. His page knelt motionless before the door.
  
  "Bring the girl to me. To the rear garden, as usual," Ito commanded breathlessly and stalked on. The page bowed to the floor and rose smoothly to call the young girl and help her make ready.
  
  Ito strode into the garden in one of his favorite costumes. He was dressed as a footsoldier of the period when Miyako, then known as Heian, was the actual capital of the islands. A short leather hauberk covered him in front. His face was dotted with black to simulate unshaven jowls. His hair was undone and he wore a metal forehead protector. He waved a sword in the air ferociously. His legs were bare and his buttocks exposed underneath the armor. Beneath it he wore nothing but a loincloth.
  
  The girl emerged from the mansion. She had been with the household a long time and knew what was expected of her. Ito regretted the absence of the other one: she had been fresher and still exhibited her emotions without artifice. She stood before him dressed in formal court hunting-clothes. Over it she wore golden armor that glittered in the sun. Her face was made up in pale pink and over it she wore a tall black sugarloaf hat: the sign of aristocracy. Ito raised his sword. The aristocrat quailed before the provincial warrior. The warrior advanced and the effete aristocrat retreated hurriedly. The warrior slashed wildly with his sword and the aristocrat turned and fled. The warrior, his sinews toughened by years of campaigning, was faster. Beside a small pond he caught up to the fleeing figure and tripped it. The aristocrat fell to the ground, tried to roll over, babbling promises and threats. The warrior laughed and sneered. He inserted the tip of his sword underneath the aristocrat's clothes and ripped them off in quick strokes. The brocade robes fell away, exposing the aristocrat's nakedness. The warrior grinned and began beating the smooth white limbs with the flat of his sword, making the other whimper and beg for mercy.
  
  Ito fell onto the sprawled figure, the two sets of armor clashing together. He revelled in the discomfort of the metal and leather carapaces as his cock stabbed deeply into the waiting girl's overflowing cunt. He scowled. She was not supposed to be so eager. Nonetheless he pumped away vigorously, mouthing curses as the girl pretended a reluctance at his embrace. The feel of violent lust overcame him and he felt again the power of the primitive wild warrior. His hands dug deeply into her ass and his breathing quickened. He felt the arrival of his climax and the woman beneath him urged him on, panting frantically. His body was beyond control now. A mass of unexpended come was boiling in his crotch.
  
  "Now you die!" Ito cried triumphantly. He pulled himself from her soft cunt, scrabbled at her side and drew the gilt-hilted sword that the effete aristocrat had not even thought to draw. He raised the blade, poising it before him in chudan kamae for one delicious moment, then cut downwards as a spray of male liquid inundated the armor-clad woman resting on the ground.
  
  She managed to catch his weight as he fell, and he lay on her as if dead, then raised his head and smiled off into the distance.
  
  There was a step in the gravel walk behind them.
  
  "Abbot Saishiden of Saionji temple is here to see you, my dear."
  
  The voice of his wife broke into Ito's reverie and he slowly pulled himself off the girl. The armor was digging into his sides uncomfortably. It was a beautiful piece and he expected to use it frequently; at least for the present. Ito Haruko examined the girl with a raised eyebrow. Not too badly damaged this time. Her husband fancied himself a bold swordsman, but every once in a while he missed, and some of the women bore scars to show for it. At least he was properly apologetic afterwards. He really would not hurt a fly. Ito examined his wife at the same time. She appeared as cool and collected as ever. There was no trace of the recent past, of the way her legs had been spread, of the flush of passion that had inundated her interior. She knelt properly before him, wiping his moist cock with a soft tissue paper she had produced with wifely efficiency while he looked carefully and thoughtfully at the girl's back.
  
  "You will have to change, dear. You cannot meet him informally."
  
  Ito acquiesced and marched off to his quarters. She peered after him doubtfully, chewing her lip in slight puzzlement.
  
  The abbot was a jovial, plump-jowled cleric. His temple, now in the first stages of reconstruction after many years of neglect, was rising next door to Ito's villa. He and Ito had developed an odd friendship based partly on shared love of Chinese poetry, partly on the recognition that they were both men of the world, with tolerant views and passionate temperaments.
  
  Ito bowed properly and the abbot bowed in return. They sipped tea. Ito motioned to his page and the latter brought forth a small, plain wooden box. It rested, half covered by a silk kerchief, on a black and red lacquered tray.
  
  "I am so grateful for your gift," Ito said. "Please accept this trifle. It hardly makes up for the efforts you have gone to."
  
  The abbot opened the plain wooden box and raised the small tea bowl inside. "O ho ho," he said coyly. "Modest gift indeed. Ito-san, you shame me. This is a gift fit for a prince, let alone a lowly cleric like me. A bowl from the table of Senno Rikyu, Master of Tea himself. Why, the armor was nothing."
  
  "Not at all," said Ito. "You know my taste. Gilt armor. Such an extravagance. And practical too."
  
  "Practical?" said the cleric, smiling faintly.
  
  "Well yes ... You see, I have peculiar tastes. And your armour fits one of my women so well. A wonder it is so light too: just perfect." He laughed heartily. The abbot, guessing at the import of his words, joined in. His eyes were thoughtful, hooded, while his full lips curved in amusement.
  
  "May I disturb?" a cultured voice came from the other side of the shoji. It slid aside at Ito's murmured assent. A middle-aged, rather thin samurai knelt at the entrance.
  
  "Ah, Hori-san. Come in," Ito said jovially. "Abbot, please met Hori Narimitsu, my secretary. You have much to talk about. He is exceptionally well versed in Chinese literature, and a great collector."
  
  The two men bowed to one another. They drank their tea and chatted until the abbot made his leave. Ito signalled Hori to stay as he accompanied his guest to the entrance of the mansion.
  
  "It is a great pleasure to have you as my neighbor. I am extremely pleased you are refurbishing the temple," Ito said.
  
  The shaven-headed clergyman looked at his neighbor with an expression of benevolence. "There is nothing as important as supporting the temple to the one-and-only Daibosatsu Yakushi Nyorai."
  
  Ito murmured quietly that there were many buddhas and kami just as illustrious, but that of course of them all ...
  
  "No," the abbot insisted somewhat rudely. "There is none but the Daibosatsu." He was obviously an enthusiast, and Ito was prepared to give much latitude to such. "I hope you will be able to contribute some trifle, to aid in the gaining of merit," the abbot added casually. He bowed and left, his train of monks falling in around him.
  
  Ito watched him go, then chuckled. "So that is what it is all about. Oh well, perhaps I shall contribute a little something. Can't do any harm." He returned to the room where Hori still sat as before. Seating himself he motioned his secretary to make himself comfortable. They talked about various affairs until Ito, idly playing with a brush, asked abruptly, "Hori-san, that young woman? The one you recommended to my attention last week? Have you any idea what has become of her?"
  
  "No, I have no idea, Ito-san. I merely noted that she was the type you seemed to like. As in other occasions before, I took the initiative of calling her to your attention."
  
  "She seems to have disappeared. Left the mansion on some errand I'm told and has not come back. Pity. She was quite good. I'll need another such soon ..."
  
  Hori bowed respectfully. "If one such comes to my attention ..."
  
  Behind the sliding paper shoji door, Ito Haruko listened on in growing puzzlement. The house, alive with the sound of servants and retainers moving about, darkened with the night. There was a look on her husband's face that presaged deep thought. She wondered what had crossed his mind.